#all i know is that it was long and frustrating and the word makes me shudder years later

[salem-s]

FINAL ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN (18+) ── RAFE CAMERON

── SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. ── WARNINGS language, flufffffffff, angst if you squint, smmmmmuuuutt (unprotected...everything so don't take after them please). 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 13k. legit do not say anything. this was originally 4k words but i obviously couldn't let that happen for the last chapter. so. ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. please see the note at the end of the chapter!! ── SERIES MASTERLIST ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER the only exception by paramore

Rafe swears he hears pounding on his door.

He takes an ear bud out, trying to discern if the noise was real or a part of the song he’s currently listening to. After a moment’s silence, he moves to put the bud back in but one, two beats later, the knocks sound again, confirming someone is at his door so late into the night.

Irritation bubbles in his chest.

Rafe’s been at these stupid memorization cards for what feels like hours, getting nowhere close to being ready for his eight a.m. exam. His mind has – obviously – been elsewhere for the betterment of a week, and he'd be lying if he said the attempt in drowning himself in work has properly distracted him from the events of last week.

Spoiler alert: it hasn't, and it's only getting worse.

Especially now, as the handwriting on the paper started giving him a headache hours ago, so he begrudgingly put on his glasses that he refuses to let see the light of day. The specks, unfortunately, do assist in not making the letters blur together, especially when he’s so tired that his gaze falls in and out of focus.

However, he hates them so goddamn much that it only worsens his already sour mood.

But now they aren’t the only annoyance of his night.

The fact that someone is ferociously pounding on his door only augments his headache, his frustration, and his precariously bubbling temper. He glances at the time, nearing two in the morning, angry that someone has the audacity to not only interrupt his studying, but probably everyone’s sleep on his floor, careless to rhyme or reason or simple ethics. 

He wastes no time standing so quick his chair nearly falls over, stomping over, a long list of curses and horrific things to say are on the tip of his tongue, ready to viscerally berate this person until next Tuesday.

Rafe whips the door open. “The fuck is the–”

His words die in his throat when he sees you.

The air is momentarily knocked from his lungs.

Your hair and makeup are done, as if you've just come from somewhere, adorned in one of his favorite tank tops on you and jeans that hug you too tight to be anything holy. You peer up at him with wide eyes at his harsh words, hugging your basically bare frame in a feeble attempt to warm yourself from wherever you just came from.

God, you look beautiful.

He knows he’s supposed to be mad at you and giving you space and all that, but all of that fades in an instant when he notices your arms coated in goosebumps and your teeth slightly chattering.

Something ugly brews in his chest, discomforted by the thought of you bracing the cold all by yourself. Where is your jacket?

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” he grumbles, ushering you into his room without a second thought.

In an attempt to regain his cool, he frowns to keep up with his indifferent demeanor since he's supposed to be cordial and all, even though the mere thought of attempting small talk with you settles a kettlebell in the pit of his stomach. His heart aches looking at you, because you're simply a walking reminder of how he fucked it all up, said the wrong things and came on too strong with poor timing, a reminder of what he could've had if he was a little more patient, more calculated, less stupid in his endeavors.

Because the past week has been absolute torture for him.

He learned very quickly that almost everything around him reminds him of you: books with an aged spine and annotations adorning the wrinkled pages, simple parts of nature that resemble the color of your eyes, strangers hugging, the mere smell of eucalyptus, everything all at once. The day he got back, he went to the liquor store with Elliot in an attempt to distract himself, but it proved fruitless when he found himself wandering idly in the wine aisle, frozen in place when he found the same bottle that you snagged two of after that grueling dinner with your family.

From that point on, Rafe really only stayed in his room unless it was absolutely necessary to leave.

But it seems as though even the confinements of his room don't provide the solace he's been desperately seeking, as the knowledge of how your room shares a wall with his has been plaguing his conscience. There have been countless times where he's debated saying fuck it, knocking on your door, and begging on his knees to have you in his life again, but he knows he can't do that.

He needs to let you come to him, to not bombard you as he has before. That was what scared you off, his forwardness, so he's vowed to keep cool, keep a distance, and keep quiet as much as he can to give you the space you need.

So, he knows he needs to remain stoic, indifferent, guarded.

Reminding himself of this, Rafe hands you a hoodie off the back of his chair. “Did you lose your key again?”

The sound of his voice is so nice to hear, so refreshing, and you nearly sigh as you hug the hoodie close to your body before pulling it over your head, relishing in the way it smells like him, in its warmth as if he was just wearing it moments ago. Pathetically, you nearly sigh at how it feels adorning your body.

“I left my purse at Elliot’s,” you whisper, hugging your body. “Since when have you had glasses?”

Rafe freezes, forgetting he had them on. 

Ignoring his pink cheeks and ignoring your question, he moves on, putting his guard back up.

Quickly.

“What are you doing here?” His tone is harsh, so he reels it in. “Uh, it’s late. I have an exam.”

You frown at the considerable distance he’s put between you, but part of you really can't blame him since you were the one who orchestrated the falling out.

“I won’t…I won’t take too long. I just need to know if…” You trail off.

How on earth are you going to go about this? Especially when his stare is so piercing, as if he's looking right through your body and into your soul, brows pinched in what you assume is irritation at your stammering.

“Know what?” he drawls out.

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, gaping to try and find the words. You shiver as you recover from the chilly walk, but also at his stare that you can’t quite make out the meaning behind. Is he mad? Irritated? Relieved to see you? You hate how you can’t tell.

But you take a deep breath.

You know how he feels about you, you know all of it, despite this front he’s wearing right now. If Elliot can confirm it, it must be true. 

And as if you needed the extra push, your gaze drifts slightly beyond him, fixated on his desk and noticing the sprawl of papers, his computer open to an online textbook, and notecards that have almost perfect handwriting etched onto them. What gets you, though, are the five almost professional looking photo prints laid out side by side across the top of his desk.

All of you.

You in the distance teetering your balance on a particularly precarious rock in your private cove. You walking up the dirt path to your nonna's cottage with the mountains behind you. You holding a hand up in an attempt to block the lens as your body adorns a hideous dress you only showed him for shits and giggles. You leaning forward to do your mascara in a tiny mirror hanging on the wall, wearing the perfect beaded dress. And, finally, you sitting alone in the garden chair in your nonna's yard, the moonlight hue behind you as you read your book, unknowing to his presence from the kitchen.

Just above his desk, just hovering over the photos, is his ceramic fish hanging on the wall, one of his only pieces of decor in his entire room.

Rafe follows your gaze with confusion, and his posture stiffens when he realizes what you're looking at, what you discovered. Instantly, he frowns as he side steps just enough to block your view of the photos, of the fish. But the damage has already been done, and your breath hitches as you immediately get the confirmation you need to open your heart up.

All of a sudden, you're blurting it out. 

“Elliot told me what you said to him.” The lack of clarification has Rafe raising a brow, to which you add, “About what happened with Yara.”

Rafe’s breath hitches. 

“Is it true?” Your voice is so small that it doesn’t sound like you. 

“Which part?”

“All of it.” You take a cautious step closer, the tequila running through your bloodstream giving you the confidence. 

Rafe doesn’t answer, instead he cocks his head to the side and lets his eyes trail down your body in calculation, gears working overtime in his head as he soaks in your words, the sliver of desperation coating your tone, the way you're playing with the hem of his hoodie, your brows etched in slight worry as you anticipate his response.

Then, it clicks with him, eyes slightly widening at the realization. The reasoning behind your acute coldness towards him wasn’t out of unrequited feelings, but rather the latter.

You cared too much, felt too much. 

The thought gives him whiplash. You must've seen him and Yara in that godforsaken closet and gotten the complete wrong impression on the matter. His heart fucking lurches at your wordless confession, and no wonder you were so apprehensive about his words, about his intentions, and pushed him away at every single opportunity that presented itself because of a stupid miscommunication, because of her stupid actions.

“Is that why you were upset?” He takes it further and steps closer. “At your nonna’s, you said you were upset about something that made you tell your mom about us. You saw us? In the closet?”

Suddenly, he’s standing right in front of you. 

“Is that why?”

You can’t speak, not while he’s practically caging you in, standing so broad and tall in front of you that it renders you speechless. He faintly smells of shampoo, an intoxicating scent, and you can almost see yourself in the reflection of his thinly wired glasses, only shielding his bright blue eyes through shiny glass. His hoodie swallows you whole, and you're grateful for the extra layer that feels like it’s warding off the vulnerability you're reeking of.

All you can manage is a small nod. 

Rafe clenches his jaw, and a part of you fears you've said the wrong thing. 

But then his eyes immediately soften as he brings a hand up to hover over your jaw, almost in muscle memory, as if he's been paining him to not do so, to not touch you.

For fuck's sake, he almost looks relieved.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You nearly snort at the simplicity. For a number of reasons, really, but the biggest one comes first.

“I was embarrassed. I thought you didn’t mean what you said in the ballroom.”

Your voice is so quiet that you almost think he doesn’t hear it, especially when he gives no reaction for a few seconds.

Then his palm is pressing harder, fully allowing himself to touch you. And, god, you can't help but lean into the embrace with a long sigh through your nose, not breaking eye contact with him as his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip, over the wound that’s practically all healed with little to no remnants of the disaster that occurred in that bathroom all that time ago. 

A flicker of pain etches over his face at the reminder of the cut, of what your own mother did, but then his eyes trail back up to meet yours, now glossing with certainty.

“Nothing happened with Yara,” he reassures firmly. 

You nod, sure of yourself now. “I know.”

“All I could think about was you.”

You can’t breathe. 

Cautiously, Rafe leans down to test the waters, and once you make no move to pull away from his touch, he indulges in his endeavors to brush his lips against your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss there.

“About your pretty smile.” He pulls back to move to your other cheek. “Your pretty laugh.” To your forehead. “About how being with someone else made me sick.”

The air escapes your lungs. 

“I meant what I said.” Rafe pulls back so he can meet your eye, a flicker of worry glossing over his pretty eyes, but nonetheless filled with determination. “Every word.”

You can’t help your second nature and let a sliver of panic let up. 

“I thought you didn’t want to date in college.”

The excuse is meek, you know that, he knows that. It’s a last ditch effort for him to truly understand what he’s getting himself into. 

But he's serious. Not a fraction of uncertainty glosses over his pretty features, or give you any shroud of doubt that he didn't mean what he said on that ballroom floor. With the firmness of his palm against your burning skin, the narrowed yet softness gaze in his blue eyes, and the way his other fingers on his other hand twitch in your direction tell you all that you need to know: that he's fucking missed you as much as you've missed him.

And – normally – that thought would scare you and send you running for the hills with a heartbeat too erratic and a mind too gone, but now it only solidifies you, grounds you, keeps you tethered to the boy standing in front of you. He's handing you a proverbial knife and hoping you don't stab him with it, and you have once before, but now you don't dream of letting it happen again.

“I didn’t,” he confirms cautiously. “Not until you showed me what it could be like.”

If it’s possible, you lean further into his touch, frowning in your overwhelming blossom of emotions. The thought of being wanted by someone settles a foreign feeling in your gut, wavering between pride and uncertainty. 

“I want you, too,” you whisper, nearly sighing at how he visibly relaxes at your words, but your voice remains shy. “But I’m scared.”

Rafe pinches his brows in the slightest at your tone. “Of what, baby?”

The words die in your throat.

The list is endless, really, piling with a million excuses that only grow by the second. Where can you begin? How the idea of someone wanting more than just your body is evidently unheard of? How the concept of more implies putting up with the ugly parts of life, the parts you push deep down and never let see the light of day?

Your hands find his unoccupied one, holding onto your lifeline as if it'll fucking kill you if you let go. 

“I don’t know how to be more than just…a body.”

That makes him frown. Immediately. 

Despite it, you continue.

"All my life, I've just been..." You try and find the right words, avoiding his eyes and looking down at your connected hands instead at the weight of your upcoming words. "I've never been wanted, or yearned for, or anyone's first choice. It's really hard for me to believe that someone...that you...would want me..."

Rafe reels.

Have you really thought this entire time that he’s only here for the sex? That that’s all you're good for? All you're worthy of being loved for? 

How can you not see how much more you are? How much you mean to him? Don't you know that you occupy his mind at every waking moment? That you're the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up in the morning to the last thing he sees at night, and how he shuts his eyes when he’s alone and pretends you're right there beside him, holding his hand or scratching his back or playing with his hair.

Don't you know how much he loves you?

“Sweet girl,” Rafe murmurs gently before leaning forward, wrapping you in a bone crushing hug that makes you oof against his chest, getting pulled taut against him. “How can you say that? How can you even think–? When I can’t even–” He grips you tighter. “Fuck.”

Your confusion is through the roof at his desperation. “Rafe, are you–”

“Do you even know how much you mean to me?”

That silences you. 

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone,” he says in a wrangled breath. “Ever. I don’t know how to trust people. I don’t like to and I don’t know how. But with you, it’s never felt easier.”

A large hand comes to cradle the back of your head, and your heart lurches when you can feel a slight tremble. 

Especially when he murmurs your name so quietly, so ardently, that you can't help but just listen.

“You’re so much more than a body.” Rafe’s voice is quiet yet firm and it makes you fumble at the sincerity. “You’re smart. You remember things better than anyone I’ve ever met. You wouldn’t admit it, but you’re actually sweet. You take care of things and people you deeply appreciate. I’ve never seen someone so delicately handle a ceramic fish before.”

You shakily chuckle against his chest. 

“And the thought of not being around you anymore really scared me. And even if you...didn't feel the same," he says low, "I wouldn't have minded, as long as I could be in the same room or exist in the same friend group, it wouldn't...matter. As long as I could still see you.” 

Rafe finally relents on his grip, pulling back a fraction and taking his hand to gently grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him and face the ferocity of his words, as if they didn't just fucking crush you in a way you've never felt before. 

“I liked being with you.” His stare is piercing. “Existing together. Doing all of it.”

You hum. On instinct, you reach up to brush some hair out of his eyes.

Rafe’s heart pounds. “Tell me,” he says, voice dripping in desperation. “Tell me it was real to you.”

You nod instantly. “It was real. All of it.”

He sucks in a breath at the verity, and goes to say something else but you don't let him, instead pulling him down to kiss him. 

And, god, it’s exhilarating. 

All of your fears, all of your doubts, all of your uncertainties that plagues yours and his heart, mind, soul all fly out of the window. You can finally lean into one another without the steel weights cursing your shoulders or the cage locking in your hearts. The kiss is a wordless promise, an oath, a safety net. 

His hands are everywhere instantly: arms, waist, face. Not an inch goes unnoticed as he finally, finally can touch you again, feel you again, hear you again. Your hands trail up to the nape of his neck, holding yourself here in his arms as if to remind yourself this is real and happening. He’s here, right here, and he’s not going anywhere, nor is he letting you go anywhere. 

As much as it scares you, the tension in your shoulders slowly release. 

You slowly back him up until his knees hit his desk chair, Rafe taking the hint and sitting down and wasting no time to pull you into his lap. It's muscle memory at this point, molding yourself onto his body. You both sigh at the sensation of the familiarity.

Straddling him, you place your hands on his shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkles in his t-shirt as his hands trail up and down your side, settling under your – his – hoodie and skimpy tank top to feel the ridges of your ribcage, a connection he's been yearning to make ever since his hands left your body last. His palms are hot against your icy skin, sending a plethora of goosebumps up your spine.

Rafe simply stares at you, watching you admire the planes and grooves of his shoulder muscles, his biceps, anything you can get your hands on to make up for lost time spent pining in silence.

When you finally meet his eye, you shyly smile when you notice him already shamelessly looking right back at you. 

One of your hands cradles his jaw, fingers gently skimming over the lenses of his glasses. “I like these.”

Rafe groans, rolling his eyes and darting his gaze away. “I hate them.” 

“Why?” You nudge his cheek to force him to look at you. “I think they make you look handsome.”

“They make me look stupid.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “There’s no need to be embarrassed about it. They're glasses."

"Still stupid."

"You should wear them more often,” you demand lightly.

Rafe frowns. “No.”

“Well, don’t they help you see?”

“Obviously, but–”

You smile, and he’s having trouble focusing. “Then case closed.”

His lips twitch. “Sweet girl,” Rafe warns.

There’s no backbone to it. 

“Don’t sweet girl me,” you warn right back at him. Then, quieter, “Why didn’t you bring them?”

Instead he cocks his head to the side with a teasing smile.

“Are you really that interested in my optical choices or is this your sweet little way of getting in my pants?”

You snort. “We both know I don’t have to be sweet to get into your pants.”

Rafe laughs boyishly and you love the sound. But he’s still avoiding your question. 

“Answer.”

“Bossy.”

“Rafe.”

“Okay,” he huffs playfully, “I didn't really have to bring them. I only need them when I’m reading or writing a lot. My eyes get tired.”

You pout endearingly. “That’s, like, the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard–”

“Fuck off.”

“No.” You lean forward and press a slow chaste kiss on his lips. 

Of course, he can’t even fathom pulling away and mmrphs low into your mouth, leaning up to chase your lips again for another kiss when you lean back. You hum at his neediness, but giving in anyway and slightly parting your lips to give him all the access he wants.

Rafe wastes no time in doing so, a hand coming up to cradle the side of your neck to guide your movements as he lazily makes out with you as if he has all the time in the world to do so. The warmth of his mouth, his body, his palm nearly make you melt in your very spot, a wave of relief washing over you.

You decide that you love this spot right here on his lap. Your favorite seat. Your throne. 

When you happily hum again, Rafe kisses you harder, squeezes a little harder. 

“God,” he mumbles against your lips, “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

The possessiveness makes your stomach pool with pride. All his. All yours. No one else's but each other's.

You can’t help but tease him. “I don’t remember you asking me officially.”

“You’re still mine.”

And Rafe kisses you again. Harder. A mark of his words. 

“Say it,” he demands quietly against your lips. 

And you just fucking beam. “I’m yours.” Your fingers splay through his hair. “All yours, Rafey.”

Scoffing, he turns his head away as you chuckle at his reddening cheeks, peppering kisses on his cheek, jaw, lips, anywhere available for you to coat in markings of you, you, you.

“Stop calling me that,” Rafe murmurs, but loses all the edge in his tone because the feeling of you pressing your lips all over him sends his mind for a loop.

You simply hum. “No. You have so many names for me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but you like those.” 

“Who says I do?”

“Be so fucking for real.”

The laugh that escapes your mouth is loud and boisterous, probably waking up someone on your floor. But Rafe can care less because the sound is music to his ears, despite you jesting at his expense. Shit, you can make fun of him all you want if this is how you're gonna react, smiling and sitting pretty in his lap whilst drowning in his clothes, kissing him like he hung the stars himself. 

You playfully slap his shoulder. “Whatever. But I’m still going to call you–”

“No.”

“Yes. When you’re least expecting it.”

Rafe hums low, a warning.

Shrugging, you suppress a smile. “What? I gotta keep you on your toes somehow.”

“Shut up.” Then, softer. “C’mere.”

You laugh incredulously. “I’m already here.”

You nearly have the gall to laugh again when he ever-so-slightly pouts, but it all dies in your throat when he’s tugging you impossibly closer, resting your face in the crook of his neck as his hands splay wide and broad on your back. It takes you one, two seconds to register his actions, and you find yourself melting at the notion of Rafe Cameron hugging you.

It feels so achingly familiar that you can’t help but sigh in contentment, letting your eyes shut for a few moments as you feel his chest heave in and out with his low syncopated breaths. 

Your heart lurches at the action, pressing yourself impossibly tight against him in fear he's going to disappear if you inch back even in the slightest. He takes a particularly deep breath, one of relief almost, your chests brushing together even closer than before. It makes you hum, pressing another kiss to the soft skin on his neck.

You speak before you register it. "Thank you."

His hands gently rub up and down your back. "For what, baby?"

"For..." You swallow the lump in your throat. "For not running."

Your words make him frown, and he eases you back so he can look you in the eye, confusion glosses over his features as one of his hands reaches up to cradle your face, forcing you to look at him when you turn your head away in embarrassment.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says firmly. "Gonna take a cavalry to get rid of me."

A smile twitches at the end of your lips.

His gaze flickers down to your mouth, letting it linger there for a moment before moving back up to meet your eyes, but before he can do anything else, you're already leaning in and severing the distance.

Rafe's large hand holds you in place, reciprocating your kiss with more fervor than before that makes his breath hitch. Your hips barely – just barely – move in tandem with his that has his hand gripping your waist, stopping your moments immediately.

You lean back at his sudden apprehension, almost shy. "What?"

"Don't- Don't do that," he answers meekly.

Of course, you've never been one to listen.

You roll your hips again.

His other hand leaves your face to grab your waist, both of his palms and all of his fingers digging deep into your flesh to cease your movements. His face is uncharacteristically scrunched in pain at the reluctancy of initiating what he's been dreaming about since the last time you had him.

You notice immediately. "What's wrong?"

Rafe's eyes dart between yours, sucking in a breath as he looks at you. "I don't want to hurt you again."

The words confuse you. Tilting your head to the side, you try and rack your brain on where this sudden approach is coming from, where the sudden apprehension stems from. The expression on his face tells you that he's holding back, he's pained, haunted by something you can't conjecture.

"You haven't hurt me," you tell him earnestly, a little confused, but one-hundred percent honest.

He furrows his brows. "...The day of the wedding?"

What?

You only look at him in befuddlement, mind trailing off when you replay the course of events of the day in your head. The only thing that would pertain to his words was when he fucked you deep and rough that morning because you asked him to. It had felt good. Too good. It was when you realized you were in too deep and it scared the shit out of you.

"Rafe," you say slowly, "what are you talking about?"

He looks pained even repeating it. "You cried. After we..." He shakes the thought away. "There were teardrops on your pillow."

The confession makes your heart skip.

That's why he was so weird with you for the entire day? Why he kept himself at an arm's length and could barely look you in the eye when you lounged together on the beach? Because he thought he'd hurt you? Made you cry? When you were upset for the complete opposite reason?

You frown at his anecdote, hurt that he's had to carry this miscommunicated guilt with him for a week, unknowing to the real reason, and under the complete wrong impression of your feelings.

Before you know it, your hands are reaching up to cradle each side of his face tenderly.

"That wasn't because of you," you whisper ardently, almost pained that he's been thinking that the whole time. "Not at all."

But Rafe doesn't seem to believe that. "I was too hard."

"No," you say immediately, shaking your head to emphasize your point. "No, you were too gentle."

That makes him furrow his brows.

At his silence, you continue with a deep breath.

"I thought that if I asked for it rough, it would let me get over my feelings for you, to remind me that it had to just be sex." Your voice is impossibly quiet yet firm. "But you didn't treat me like another fuck, you made sure I had what I needed, said all of these beautiful things, treated me impossibly gentle afterward."

The pad of your thumb brushes over his cheekbone.

"I cried because I was scared," you admit gently. "Not of you. Never of you. But of my feelings. You didn't make it easy for me to try and stop liking you."

A smile twitches at the end of his lips.

"So," he says quietly after a moment, "I didn't hurt you?"

You shake your head earnestly to confirm. "No. I'm sorry that I let you believe that you did."

His eyes blink, soaking in the weight of your words with a slow nod, the gears in his head turning as he gradually lets himself understand that it wasn't his hands that orchestrated your tears. He didn't hurt you. You are fine.

"You're okay," Rafe drawls out cautiously. "Right?"

Your nod is immediate. "Yes. Always with you."

That seems to make the tension in his shoulders release bit by bit, relaxing under your touch and allowing himself to believe you, believe that it wasn't what he thought it was, believe that he didn't hurt you.

"Okay?" You ask gently, confirming that he understands what you're saying.

Now he does, nodding against your touch and letting his hands experimentally skim your waist, easing up on his grip, and letting them venture over the smoothness of your skin. He waits a beat for you to pull back, to tell him to stop, but you don't.

Instead, you press yourself down onto him, making his breath catch.

It's out of clarity, certainty, especially when you lean forward and press a chaste kiss on his lips, a confirmation of your truth. He leans up to chase your mouth, and he's successful when you close the distance, allowing his tongue access to your mouth as teeth clashes against teeth, a wave of passion emerging like a tidal wave at the notion that he didn't hurt you. He didn't hurt you. He didn't hurt you.

"Fuck," Rafe mutters against your lips when you roll your hips once more. "You're going to fucking kill me. I swear."

Experimentally, he grips your waist and moves you back and forth against his already hardening dick, and when you don't pull back or voice your discomfort, he allows himself a deep exhale, allows himself to soak into the moment, allows himself to enjoy the feel of you, you, you.

"I missed you," you nearly whisper before you can stop it, the vulnerability feeling foreign on your tongue. "Missed this."

Rafe groans against your lips. "Me too, baby." He kisses you again as you moan quietly into his mouth as he continues guiding your movements against him. "Let me show you, mhm?"

Anticipation pools in your stomach, blossoming in your gut and sending warmth down to where your body touches his.

You're barely nodding before his hands venture down to your ass, holding you taut against him as he stands, your grip tightening around his neck like a koala and wrapping your legs around his middle. In seconds, your back hits the mattress, his knee is slotting between your thighs, and his lips are on yours again.

It's so familiar, so achingly familiar that you cannot believe you went so long without it, without him.

You arch into his chest, bodies molding together as puzzle pieces connect. A hand flies to his hair, tugging the strands gently that makes him omit a low groan into your mouth, one hand shamelessly groping one of your breasts under his hoodie and the other bracing himself over your body, barely hovering.

Rafe pulls back just slightly, a flicker of irritation coating his pretty face as he leans up to take his glasses off, ones that have slid down the bridge of his nose just enough to annoy him.

But you react before you realize it.

"Wait," you say, leaning up a tad for emphasis, a hand coming up to cradle his face and gingerly skim the metal as he freezes. "Keep them on."

A teasing smile twitches at his lips. "Seriously?"

You sheepishly nod, biting your lip.

Rafe stares at you for a moment, amused gaze darting between your eyes at the request.

"Please?" You add sweetly.

The scoff that leaves his mouth makes you suppress a grin, knowing how that one word makes him feel and using it to your advantage. He shakes his head in disbelief at you, but his faux irritation proves to be fruitless as a smirk can't help but grow on his lips.

"Can't say no to that, hm, sweet girl?" He murmurs, half in playfulness and the other half in adoration.

You shake your head slowly at him, your grin fading into something shy, as if asking for what you want proved to be difficult.

But he wouldn't dream of denying you that. Ever. Especially when you asked so nicely, so sweetly, just for him. Who is he to say no? Hell, you could've asked him for a car in that same tone and he wouldn't hesitate to ask what color, make, and model.

So Rafe indulges your request, pushing the glasses up further on the bridge of his nose and leaning down to connect your lips for the umpteenth time, nearly grinning when you let out a satisfied mmrph at him letting you get what you want. His hands are everywhere they can reach, groping and mapping out the curves of your body and nearly moaning at the softness of your skin.

"Can't believe you're mine," he murmurs against your lips, sending a shockwave down your spine as his thumb brushes over your nipple. "All mine."

"Yours," you whisper sultry, needy, desperately, nearly bucking up into him.

Rafe's eyes roll back at the sound of it, pushing the hem of your – his – hoodie to reveal your chest, and you sit up to aide him in taking it off. The act is deliberately thorough, as his calloused palms smooth over your skin, gingerly pushing it up over your head. Your tank top is next. Then, your bra. Then your jeans. Before you know it, you're almost completely nude, simply left in your light blue underwear and exposed in the cool air of his room.

All he can do is stare at your bareness, letting out an appreciative hum as one hand grabs a breast, his cool ring ghosting over your nipple that causes you to sigh deeply, eyes raking from your stomach, to your chest, and eventually back up to your face, where you peer up at him in anticipation. His hand gropes you meaningfully, as if he's studying the feel of the swell in his palm, relishing in your warmth.

"You're so beautiful," Rafe admires gently, almost to himself, before leaning down and taking the other breast in his mouth.

The words make your heart skip a beat, but you shove down the feeling as you arch into his mouth that licks and bites and sucks against the soft skin, a hand in his hair to keep yourself grounded, keep yourself tethered to him. No inch of your chest goes unnoticed, untouched, ignored.

Rafe is thorough in his appreciation, and as lovely as it is, you're growing impatient with need as you writhe underneath him.

"Want you," you whine under your breath, not like he can hear you anyway as it comes out as an incoherent babble, but figuring it's better than saying his name over and over like a mantra, but it proves fruitless when he albeit hums. "Rafe?"

"Yes, baby?" He asks lazily in between kisses as if he has all the time in the world.

"I want... I..."

He etches lower and lower on your body until his mouth is ghosting over your clothed cunt, a low hum emitted from his mouth as he presses a kiss against the wet patch on your underwear, greedily inhaling and exhaling hot breath that makes you squirm. By the looks of it, he's pleased at the sight of you eager for him, ready for him, squirming for him.

Instead of responding, he licks and sucks against the cotton of your panties, against the spot he knows makes you crumble all the same. You moan raggedly, almost embarrassed at the volume given the fact that you've just started, given that he's doing this over your clothes.

"Words," Rafe mumbles teasingly, the baritone of his voice vibrating your core with such fervor that it makes your back arch and your fingers grip a little harder in his hair. "What d'ya want, hm?"

"You," you manage to say, breathless and writhing. "Need you."

His nimble fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down achingly slow until they're fully off, discarded somewhere carelessly as he resumes his position between your legs, taking in the sight of you: so pretty looking down at him, cunt glistening with need, face flush with anticipation.

One of your legs hooks over his shoulder as his mouth ghosts over your core.

"You have me," is all he says before closing the distance.

You moan at the contact, as his tongue plunges deep where you need him and his nose brushes against your clit. The taste of you has him groaning into your heat, the rumble causing your eyes to roll back at the sensation. The sound is obscene, especially when he eats like a starved man, like he's been depraved of his favorite meal, like he's ravenous.

"Taste so good, princess," he practically moans into your heat.

It's almost unbearable. You've been so worked up this past week at the thought of him, the thought of never being able to make things right, the thought of losing something you can't help but love. The wave of relief that washes over you only augments your pleasure, because your worries dissipate and you allow yourself to enjoy this, enjoy him, enjoy what he can give you.

One of his hands venture up your body to grab a breast, as if he can't allow his hands to be unoccupied, to not feel and dote on you with every fiber of his being. The added pleasure makes your eyes roll back involuntarily.

"Oh my god, Rafe," you whisper so quietly that it's barely audible.

Your other hand covers his, gripping the back of his hand and squeezing tight to wordlessly reciprocate your want, your need, your appreciation.

His other hand comes to aide his mouth, maneuvering his body so he can both use his fingers as they glide in with ease, and his tongue that can't bear to separate just yet. It makes you whine so beautifully that his hips stutter forward against the mattress, groaning low into your cunt at the sudden sensation.

As Rafe sucks and laps and fingers you so brazenly, you let out a ragged breath at the plethora of pleasantries, suddenly hit with how nice everything feels, how the combination of his mouth, plunging fingers, and the hand fondling your breast start the familiar coil bubbling in your core.

"Fuck," you curse at the intensity, and how quickly it builds. "Please, I-I-"

Your hips writhe under his touch as you let out a particularly broken whine, chest heaving as you get closer and closer to your release.

"I know, baby," he murmurs low, almost strained.

Gasping, you momentarily lose breath at the speed of it, gripping his hand that's on your breast tighter, affirming how quickly you're approaching your high with your body language, one that he seems to understand quite well, something he's come to know better than a lot of other things in life. He's well versed in your tendencies, a pride he wears with his chest.

"Rafe," you whine as your orgasm comes closer, and closer, and closer. "I'm-"

You don't finish the sentence, and you don't even hear if he responds, because your orgasm hits you so quickly, so blindly, that your back arches off the mattress, a tidal wave of ecstasy flooding your veins and searing hot in your core. Your heartbeat is up to your ears, and he could be saying the secrets to the universe and you'd simply have no idea. It's pulsating, inebriating, because you don't hide behind a curtain of shame of how much you need him, not anymore, and that makes the release tenfold.

Despite your writhing hips, Rafe is able to lap up every drop, groaning deep into your cunt at the taste of you, of how nice you feel against his fingers, against his tongue, how pretty you sound as you let him hear you louder than ever.

Lazily, he licks and sucks you through the aftershock, nearly grinning at how your thighs tremble against his head and your ragged breaths ease from the intensity. Your thumb rubs absentminded circles on his hand, a gesture so fucking sweet that he reciprocates by placing a chaste kiss against your cunt, eyeing it for a moment as a brief goodbye before he sighs a hot breath against it.

"You did so well, sweet girl," he praises, trailing kisses up your body while turning his palm in your hand to gingerly lace his fingers through yours, squeezing once, twice, three times until his mouth is against your neck, sucking that sweet spot that makes you shiver.

You practically shake underneath him, still attempting to return to planet earth.

Rafe's nose nudges your jaw. "You okay?"

You exhale a noise that you think is affirmation, but frankly you're still trying to screw your head on straight after hearing your heartbeat in your ears, shuddering under his grounding touch that sends electricity through your already amplified veins.

"Yes," you start breathlessly, "I-I've just been– my brain– I couldn't... I need to..."

Rafe's face is suddenly inches from yours, practically beaming down at your incoherent babbling with a knowing glance, one that affirms just how nice he fucks you (your words, not his, as you've so graciously told him once). It's proving true now, as he takes in the sight of your gazed expression and bleary eyes, chest swelling with pride.

Watching you attempt to figure out your words all breathless and pouty, he can't help but let his gloating simmer into something more affectionate, something softer that he seems to only reserve for you. It's fascinating to see you like this, completely unguarded and fucked out and beautiful, nonetheless.

"Couldn't what?" He eggs on, heart blooming at the state of you.

"It doesn't matter," you mutter absentmindedly as you slip your hand out of his to paw at his chest, still recovering from the dizziness of your brain, movements sluggish as you reach down for the tent in his sweatpants while your eyesight slowly returns to normal. "C'mere, I–"

"Easy," he drawls out amusingly, taking the trembling hand that reaches for his dick and lacing his fingers through yours instead. "You're shaking."

You blink through your frustration, your vision returning (almost). "I'm not– I– You're being withholding."

His grin is impossibly wide. "I'm sorry, sweet girl." He doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest. "I'll give you another, just catch your breath, yeah?"

Your struggle is obvious, and your desperation even more, because you've missed him so fucking bad and all you want to do is feel him irrevocably, completely, ardently. The realization is pathetic, you know, but you figure that you're past the point of being shy, especially with him, who has seen you at your all.

You frown, spluttering, utterly flustered at his nonchalance, especially when his unoccupied hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, running the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth. "Wh– No, I don't want another, I want–"

"You don't want another?"

Groaning, you flush under his piercing stare. "No, I– Ugh, Rafe. I want you."

"Me?" Rafe repeats in faux surprise, brows raised playfully. "Could've just asked."

You roll your eyes so hard it only makes you a little more dizzy, trying really hard to appear angry but it goes nowhere when a hint of a smile ghosts your lips. And it only grows when he leans in, placing a long, chaste kiss on you, and you melt into it when you taste yourself, lungs wound tight. You figure you can breathe later.

He notices immediately, pulling back with a boyish chuckle that makes your chest feel funny. "Sorry. Couldn't help it."

"Do it again," you mumble shyly, eyelids heavy with desire. "Please."

And he does. Immediately.

You albeit whine into his mouth as he reciprocates the noise at the sound of it, squeezing your hand once more and the gesture nearly kills you as you practically pout into his mouth at the sweetness of it. With your mind airy and lungs breathless, all you can think about is Rafe, Rafe, Rafe, how he kisses you, how he touches you, how his voice sounds reverberated against your body.

It's incriminatingly intoxicating to be surrounded by him in all of your senses: his hand laced in your own, his breathy whimpers against your lips when your hand trails to the hem of his shirt to brush against his bare abdomen, teasing the waistline of his sweats. You're caught in a whirlwind of him, drowning in his scent and caged in by his arms.

You realize quickly, as you've noted before, that Rafe Cameron should come with a warning.

He pulls back, and you're about to protest until you see he's moving to take his shirt off in one swift motion, sick of the cotton barrier between your chests. As he begins to take his sweats and boxers off, you sit up, idly waiting for him as you tuck your legs underneath you. The sight of his cock hard and aching, dripping pre-cum off the tip, has you shamelessly staring, as you let out a small breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Rafe notices your change in position, patiently waiting all pretty and breathless and brazenly looking at his dick, and he can't help but tilt his head and stare at you with an amused gleam in his eye.

When he makes no effort to move, your eyes travel back up to meet his to see that they're already staring at you, a piercing gaze that has you biting your lip at the notion of being caught.

"What?" He asks teasingly, searching your face for any indicator of what you want.

But you're apparently good with your words now, or at least better than before.

"Wanna ride you."

The sentence makes Rafe scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head at you as he runs a hand through his hair, practically in awe of you, of your words, of how good you're being for him tonight, how you're starting to ask for things. It makes his chest swell with pride, proud that you feel comfortable enough around him to start voicing your needs, your wants, things that he'll give to you in less than a heartbeat.

Nonetheless, once he's learned how to use his brain again, he leans forward, turning his body so he's sitting up against the headboard and extending an arm for you almost immediately.

Which you graciously take, gripping his forearm as you crawl onto his lap, sucking in a breath when his dick is the only thing in between your two stomachs. You can't help but stare down at it, bringing a hand to grip his length like you've been dreaming about for days, letting out a deep sigh that makes your hot breath fan over his tip.

Rafe lets out a low moan, gripping your hips impossibly tight as he watches you spread the pre-cum off his tip with your thumb, spreading it down his length and jerking him off at a painfully slow pace that nearly has his hips bucking at the sensation of it. The sight of your hand wrapped around him nearly makes his brain shut off, dumbifying him to the point where all he can do is pathetically whine as you hold his dignity in the palm of your hand.

A particular tight squeeze makes him tense underneath you, eyes screwing shut for a moment to compose himself as one of his hands leaves your hips to wrap around your wrist, stopping your movements altogether.

Your head whips up, pouting. "What?"

Rafe just shakes his head, almost pained as he can't even get the words out.

But you understand him, and you pout. "But I want to."

"Sweet girl."

You hum, looking back down as you feel his hand push your wrist down, down, down until, with some adjusting, his cock is sliding in between your folds.

The sensation makes you both moan shamelessly, your lashes fluttering as your eyes roll shut. Your stomach pools in warmth for the anticipation, especially when your hips rock back and forth against him to coat his cock with the remnants of your previous orgasm, mixing it with the pre-cum that you graciously spread on him. The feeling, almost on command, makes him practically shudder underneath you.

Rafe whines out a curse, and if you weren't so light-headed you'd think he's begging. "Feel so nice already, making me go crazy."

Frankly, the stubborn part of you wants to elongate this as much as possible, but as you feel your prior orgasm practically dripping onto his length, it's clear that you're in no position to withhold him from experiencing the same euphoria. All you want to do is give back what he did for you, how he made you feel, to wordlessly tell him how much you appreciate him, yearn for him, want him to be taken care of.

With shaky hands, you guide his cock to your entrance, not wasting another second before you're slowly sinking down onto his length.

"Shit," he murmurs shakily against your lips, his grip iron tight on your hips – borderline, your ass – as he feels you lower inch by inch. "Oh my fucking god, holy fuck. Taking me so goddamn well."

It isn't until you feel him fully bottom out when you're letting out a ragged breath, one that you were unaware you were holding at the intensity of the feeling, of the stretch, of how much more you can feel him in this position, his cock hitting places unknown as you still on his lap, soaking in the moment of simply being full of him, relishing in the notion of how nice it is to be in your favorite spot.

Your arms sling around his neck, draped over his shoulders to impossibly taut yourself to his chest as you place a chaste kiss on his lips, one that he can't even reciprocate because he's still sharply breathing, still not over how well you're taking him and how perfect you feel around him. It's, understandably, making his brain all fuzzy, and all he can try and concentrate on is not coming in this given moment.

So, no, he doesn't kiss you back. He can't.

Instead, he shakily exhales against your lips, gently shaking his head when you cheshire-cat grin at him, attempting to roll your hips in retaliation but his grip on your hips is iron. Part of you relishes in the marks you're going to wake up to, imprinted by him, and greedily want to and move again to get him to dig deeper, to be able to feel the reminders of him in the morning.

You try. He holds you still even harder.

"Just- Fuck," Rafe groans. "Gimme a minute, wanna feel you."

You pout, ignoring the way your heart thumps at the simplicity of his words, yet find yourself obeying. Leaning back a fraction, you take a moment to take a selfish peek at him: blue eyes blown black with lust, hair falling onto his forehead in messy waves that you brush back gingerly, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose that you fix silently, lips parted and swollen from all the activity he's been engaging in with them.

He looks unequivocally fucked out. You assume you look equally as such.

Without thinking, your arms retract from their position around his neck, slithering up the sides of his neck and letting your hands cradle each side of his jaw, holding his face in place as your thumbs absentmindedly trace circles, squares, triangles on the soft skin. You simply stare at him, admire him, wait for him to give you the green light to continue moving.

And Rafe doesn't think he's ever been held like this before.

It does something irreversible in his chest, a pang of an unknown emotion jolting through his skin like electricity as he simply sits under your touch, teetering between wanting to explode with admiration and shutting down altogether to sulk in the feeling. He's sure you have no idea what you're doing to him, and whether you mean to or not, he's sure there's nothing better on the planet than this, than the feel of you wrapped around him, holding him, grounding him.

His hands move up and down your spine, tracing vertebrae bone by bone in a delicacy he never knew he possessed. As his heart pounds in his chest, his mind morphs to mush, and the only thing he can conjecture is that he is, irrevocably, yours for the rest of his life. There's frankly no doubt about it, and the thought makes his lashes flutter shut to truly soak in the physicality of it all.

He feels you place a feather-light kiss on his lips, and before you can pull back to continue to give him the moment to gather himself, he's chasing the kiss and closing the distance again.

This time, Rafe's the one moaning into your mouth, especially as you accidentally shift your hips when kissing him back. At the slight movement, his impatience is suddenly through the roof as his hands venture down to your ass, slowly starting to guide your motions up and down, back and forth, taking him in ways that has his eyes rolling back.

Your thighs aide his movements for about a minute, but soon begin to tremble as your bounces get needier, kisses become breathless, sighs turn into whimpers. Calloused palms roam the entirety of your body, groping and rolling the flesh of your ass in tandem with your movements, slithering up your ribcage to squeeze and suck on your bouncing tits, down to where your bodies connect to press a firm thumb on your clit.

That right there makes you whine so gutturally deep where his hips unexpectedly jerk into you, his cock – somehow – burying deeper inside you to a spot unreached before.

Rafe moans your name like a mantra, like it's the only word he knows.

It makes your brain fuzzy, as your neediness takes over and your conscience is on autopilot. You say something, but it comes out like an incoherent babble, something insignificant and probably pertaining to how good he feels, as you continue to shift your hips up and down to take his full length, lift up to where his tip barely pokes out, only to sink back down onto him again. Over, and over, and over.

Your arms sling back over his shoulders, lazily linking behind his neck as one of his hands snakes around your back to pull you impossibly closer while the other works your clit, thumb pressing on it so firmly that you momentarily see stars at the ferocity of it all. Nails scratching the smooth skin of his back, you almost break skin at the attempt to pull him closer, as the need for more, more, more stems from the coil beginning to rumble in your stomach.

"Rafe," you gasp, sucking in a breath as you feel the familiar sensation bubbling. "Feel so full, feels so good."

"You feel like a dream," he mumbles shakily against your lips, hips jerking up into you as you recognize that he must be close. "Never gonna– fuck. Can't believe you were– and I was– oh my god, oh m– You feel so fucking nice– I'm gonna–"

Your chest is light, core on fire. "Something's– I feel– I–"

For a second, your eyes roll back as a searing hot sensation floods your lower half, and you momentarily only see white as you feel your body practically give out and lean forward onto his, gasping into the crevice of his neck as his hips slam into you from underneath. Your nails sink into the skin of his shoulder blades as firmly as you can muster with your little-to-no strength in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. Your whines are loud and straight pornographic at the branding fire feeling in your cunt.

Did you just come?

Given the heat overwhelming your core and the bundle of nerves shooting electricity through your veins, you think you just did. With your heartbeat in your ears, the sound of Rafe's shameless moans feel like they're underwater as you're practically putty in his grasp, both of his arms bear-wrapped around you as he thruuuuusts up into you with such intensity, such fervor, that you think he just came, too.

Spots blur your vision as you moan into the hot skin of his neck as he fucks you through your orgasm, only now feeling the hot spurts of his cum gushing into you with every upwards thrust of his, and you can't deny how fucking good it feels to be full of him – to be really full of him – as the sensation is burning hot and tempestuous and everything you've needed.

Your chest heaves at the intensity, clawing at his upper back for some sort of leverage that you're not sure will do anything to aide your limp body. His hips grind up into your core, and once you gain some sort of semblance back from practically passing out from the orgasm he just gave you, you realize he's been speaking the entire time.

You happen to catch the tail end of his words.

"–ve you, I fucking– I– fuck-" Rafe whines, and the sound vibrates your lips that are pressed against his vocal cord. "It's like you're made for me, feel so fucking nice, so pretty on top of me, I– fuck. How could I– When you–? With the–? Oh my god, oh my fucking god."

All you can respond with is a low moan, overstimulated as you come down from your earth-shattering orgasm as he fucks himself using you through his, his cum leaking out of you and spilling down your thighs and onto his lower stomach. The sight of it makes your breath hitch, breathless at how much you both came at the same time.

His bucking gradually ceases, becoming less and less grandiose and eventually settling in stillness as his chest heaves against yours. You register his hands trailing up and down your back soothingly, lips pressed to your hairline and placing chaste kisses with sweet nothings riddled between them. Your eyes flutter shut, butterfly kissing the skin on his neck that makes goosebumps adorn his arms.

The two of you sit like this for a minute, mentally coming down from the daze your simultaneous orgasms put you through. Once your vision returns to normal (i.e. you're no longer seeing stars every time you open your eyes to try and look at him), you gently press the palm of your hands to his shoulders, pushing yourself up off his chest to sit up and find some semblance of independence.

Your brain is foggy, no doubt, as you hazardously sway as you blink at him, heart racing as you discover he's already looking at you.

"Holy shit," you murmur, dazed and fighting exhaustion.

He exhales shakily. "I know."

You manage a wry smile. "That was-"

"I know," he repeats bashfully, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth.

With a trembling hand, you reach up to push his glasses further up his nose, letting your fingers dwell on the metal sides before bringing it down to cup his jaw. It's as if you're a ghost in your own body, feeling airy and light yet wrecked all the same, shaking as if you've been left in the freezing cold with no amenities, shaking as if he just gave you the best orgasm you've ever had.

Noticing your frailness, you laugh in a self deprecating way. "I think I passed out."

Rafe exhales a shaky chuckle, one of disbelief, as a hand travels up to the side of your neck, keeping your head in place from all the swaying. Though a flicker of concern coats over his eyes at the hazy smile you're flashing him, eyes blinking ferociously as if they're regaining sight.

It makes him frown. "Did you? Are you okay?"

You nod, lazy yet immediate. "Uhm, did you hear me? I think our neighbors are gonna kill us."

A boyish laugh escapes his lips, and he lets himself ease into the fact that you're fine, you're smiling, you're gazing at him like he hung the goddamn stars himself.

His thumb brushes a tear from the corner of your eye, one that you didn't know you had, humming low and sure as his eyes rake over the features of your pretty face. Now, you're left in the stilled silence of your own doing, basking in the aftermath of your actions, of the words that led you to this point. Your heart skips a beat at the vulnerability, knowing it's more than sex, knowing that what you're feeling right now – the gravitational pull towards him – is reciprocated, especially as his gaze softens. It's replaced by something deeper, more raw, cut open for you to do what you please.

The intensity of his stare makes your breath hitch, and, despite literally what just occurred, a wave of shyness overcomes you, averting your gaze down to his chest.

But in your bottom peripheral, you catch a glimpse of the fucking mess.

Your eyes widen, looking down to where your bodies connect. "Oh my god."

His gaze follows lazily, glancing at the sight with nonchalance for his soaked bedsheets, suppressing a shit eating grin as he continues to see small amounts of cum still dripping out of you, as if there's an endless supply of it inside you, continuously adding to the plethora of a mess on his (freshly washed, by the way) bedsheets.

You blink stupidly, attempting to fathom the sheer amount of mere sex all over your lower bodies, all over the sheets, some of it even grazing his abdomen. How did that even get there? How could the two of you produce that much? And – oh, god – is it ever going to come out of his sheets? Fuck, is it leaking through?

But he has no qualm with the matter, and instead beams at the fact.

"That was all you, sweet girl," he teases with a hand skimming the faint bruises starting to form on your hip. "You came so hard. You squir-"

Your hand comes up to cover his mouth.

Your face scrunches up in embarrassment at the word, because you fucking hate the term, and frankly assumed it was a myth for the longest time since you've never done it before, nor have any of your friends. Yet your heart thumps at the possibility that – most of – this mess is from you.

No, it couldn't be. It can't be.

Because if it is, he is never, ever going to let you live it down, and you can count on that for a fact.

Eyeing him quickly and feeling your face flush as he stares right at you, eyes twinkling with amusement, you remove your hand from his mouth and ring your fingers together, looking back down to the sheets with a dismissive scoff.

"I did not," you argue meekly because, frankly, you have no idea if you did or not. You don't even know what that was. "This is all yours."

Rafe's grin is blinding, teasing, fucking proud. "You totally did. Went everywhere, baby."

Face flushing, you groan and throw your hands up to cover your face, hating how hot your skin feels at his laugh and complete nonchalance over the matter.

"Fuck," you murmur as you take in the sight of it. "Are you serious? But I didn't– I don't even– How could I–?"

Instead of answering, he whistles low. "Holy shit, you really did pass out, didn't you?"

You refuse to answer, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth as guilt riddles your chest for ruining his sheets. Expensive ones, at that. You're assuming it has a crazy thread-count imported from god-knows-where, as he's the person to get the best of the best of material things as long as he has the means to obtain them. You've always liked sleeping in his room on the random occurrence it would happen, partly because his bed is always so damn comfortable, the sheets definitely having something to do with it.

"I'll wash them" you offer quietly, slight panic settling in now that you're – somewhat – back to normal and coherent enough to register that this is a problem. "I'll buy you new ones-"

But, of course, Rafe simply shakes his head, pressing his palms against your spine to lure you closer, letting the words die in your throat as he tugs you against his lips. He kisses you slow yet meaningful, a wordless promise that he's not mad about something like this, he's not even concerned, barely letting his beaming smile falter at the thought of having to clean it up. He's only thinking about you, you, you.

"No need," he murmurs against your mouth, still fucking grinning. "I'm framing and putting this shit on my wall."

You groan at his words, cheeks unabashedly hot.

"Gonna time-stamp it and everything," he adds just to be a prick. "Wave it around like a flag, and shit."

You want the ground to swallow you whole. "Stop."

"Wear it like armor."

"You're insufferable."

"And you're hot. I mean it, baby. I'm gonna get you to do that every time."

"Rafe."

"What?" He says incredulously as if it isn't the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you. "You can't expect me not to go crazy over that, hm?"

You only shake your head at him, but you suppose if the roles were reversed, you'd definitely feel an inclination to drawl out the teasing to a T. After all, riling him up is one of your favorite past-times, as riling you up actually might be his number one.

Eventually, you secede. Especially when he threatens you with another orgasm.

After he cleans you up and delicately dresses you in his own clothes, with wobbly legs you attempt to help him strip the sheets (even though all he told you to do is sit at his desk and look pretty, which you wholeheartedly refused to do) and replace them with his spare set. In an effort to get your shit together, you use the communal restroom to wash up, taking one of his spare toothbrushes – because of course he has one – and using it. He goes into the restroom across the hall, stating he was bored of being alone, to freshen himself up.

When you return to his room with him hot on your tail, you slither back onto the clean sheets and settle under them as if you were made to lay there.

Getting comfortable, you quietly watch him resume his tasks of the night: organizing his notes, taking off his glasses and leaving them askew – to your utter dismay – as his shirt and sweatpants follow, leaving him in boxers, and finally turning off his desk lamp as he navigates through the dark and and climbs into bed beside you. 

It’s muscle memory the way you puzzle-piece your way into each other’s arms. Rafe tugs you impossibly close, placing a chaste kiss on your hairline as your hands splay across his bare chest, nearly sighing in relief at the familiarity. It's unfathomably inviting, it's cloud nine, it's home.

When he starts to twirl your hair with his nimble fingers, you sigh again.

“Tired?” Rafe murmurs gently. 

All you do is nod against his neck, placing a ginger kiss on his vocal cord.

He hums at your sweet gesture, nearly melting at the implication. “Okay, sweet girl. Go to sleep. I'll be up early tomorrow but you can sleep in, m'kay?”

Tomorrow. Early morning. Notes. Glasses.

Fuck. Exam.

Your eyes flutter open as you remember his night before you arrived, all the papers scattered on his desk, the reason he was wearing those godforsaken glasses in the first place, the open textbook on his computer, the entire reason he was up so late in the first place.

A kettlebell settles in your gut.

“Wait.” Rafe hums lazily in response. “What about your exam?”

With a chuckle, he nuzzles into your hair, unbothered.

“Baby, if I don’t know it by now, there’s no use.”

Part of you feels guilty. Guilty about plaguing his conscience for the betterment of a week and – no doubt – pulling his focus from his studies and all of the important shit going on in his life. Guilty about arriving at his door in the middle of the night and – again – pulling his concentration from what he needs to pay attention to in order to get the marks he needs to pass.

Guilty about everything you've put him through, him, Rafe, your Rafe, who's been so patient with you in your journey of self discovery or whatever bullshit.

“I can help,” you offer weakly, as he rubs soothing up and down your back. “I’m a good teacher.”

Rafe chuckles quietly and you nearly frown, unsure of his nonchalance. 

“Best teacher I know,” he murmurs. His voice is deep and baritone and it practically lulls you to sleep. 

Your eyes are already closed. “Let me help. Please.”

“Very sweet of you. Go to sleep.”

“‘M really smart. You said so.”

“I did.”

You yawn. “What’s the class?”

Rafe doesn’t answer for a minute, and you soon believe he falls asleep. But then, quietly, “Art history.”

Your heart flutters. “I know about that.”

A warm hand rubs up and down your back. “I’m sure you do, baby.” Then, it cradles the back of your head in brazen laziness. “Sleep.”

His voice emulates a lullaby, low and alluring and smooth. Impossibly, you nuzzle closer to him with a stupid smile on your face. Grinning against his neck, you press the lightest kiss you can muster as your hands gently skim over the hills and divots of his chest, grounding yourself, a reminder that this is real. He’s here, right here, holding you, reciprocating your love, your want, your need. 

“Stop smiling,” he says above you, but his tone is far from authoritative. Instead it’s softer, as if he’s suppressing a smile as well. “I can feel it.”

You squirm when he pinches your side, reciprocating the act and attempting to tickle him, but he doesn’t budge in the slightest.

Suddenly, Rafe grabs your wrists lightning fast and pins them high over your head, the motion forcing you on your back as he hovers over you. Despite the darkness, you can feel his face inches from yours, breath fanning over your lips. 

“I thought you wanted me to go to sleep,” you challenge. 

Rafe snorts. “You’re being a brat.”

Ah, that word. That sort of behavior has gotten you in trouble before, and the thought of annoying him makes you grin even harder. 

“Rafey, that’s hardly nice.”

The guttural groan he lets out makes you laugh quite unattractively, letting out an oof when he collapses against your body and therefore crushing you. Nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck, he shakes his head and mumbles something incoherent against your soft skin that feels like a million pin pricks to each nerve.

His hand leaves your wrists and slowly drags down your arm, settling on the top of your ribcage just under the swell of your breast, lazily rubbing his thumb over the grooves and curves of the bone with little to no shame whatsoever. 

The act gives you goosebumps. “What? Nothing to say?”

“Go to bed.”

You hum, kneading your fingers through his hair and smiling when he lets out a content sigh. “Okay, fine.”

Rafe practically clings to you, breathing in your scent and unabashedly nestling into your embrace. Your fingers through his hair feel so achingly familiar, and he doesn’t realize how much he’s missed it until now. He feels your lips gently press on the crown of his head, his heart skipping a beat as he involuntarily lets out another sigh, a wordless thank you for trusting him, believing in him, and – most importantly – letting yourself have this. Trusting him. Trusting yourself.

Exhaustion seeps through his pores, eyelids heavily shutting as his body seems to sink deeper into the mattress, deeper against your body. Your nails lightly scraping his scalp and back quickly lure him to sleep, so gentle and adorning that he’s so close to–

"Hey."

"Sweet girl, I said go to bed."

You pause for a moment, elongated the silence in the darkness as he can practically hear you thinking. After a second, he frowns as he just now analyzed your tone, which was far from teasing.

He's about to prompt you to continue when you shift slightly above him, and his heart fucking melts when he feels your lips press a kiss against his hairline.

"Those photographs are beautiful."

Despite the complete darkness, and despite the fact that even if the light was on, you wouldn't be able to see his face anyway given his position, his face flushes hot.

Because you weren't really supposed to see those. They'd been the final prints he submitted for his photography class, tasked to photograph the pleasantries of life that may emulate beauty in everyday life. And, to him, he wanted you as his everyday muse since you already occupy almost every waking thought of his.

Rafe sat on the prompt for the entire semester, never once finding a muse meaningful enough to him to make him feel like he could complete the assignment. However, once Lorenza had given him the camera, the task seemed like the easiest thing he's ever done. Plus, you made it pretty simple. You emulated effortless beauty. All day. Everyday.

"I had a pretty model," is all he responds with.

And your thanks is translated enough when you press another kiss to his forehead, ticking his soft skin with your gentle breaths, and all he can think is sweet, sweet, sweet girl. It's concerning, really, how he really only thinks of you. He thinks of you when he wakes up, when he sees something funny, when he's scribbling down notes, when he goes to sleep.

So. Yeah. You are his everyday beauty. By a longshot.

He continues to think of your pretty, of how warm you feel pressed against him, how sweet you smell. He remembers how you looked in the moonlight, the candlelight, under the Sicilian sun with a glisten he could swoon over. It lulls him to sleep. Simply the image of you, you, y–

“Rafe?”

Rafe’s pulled from his slumber, barely lifting a finger and humming in response. He can’t even open his eyes, bloodshot and tired from all the studying. 

“Do you want me to come home with you for Christmas?”

Out of all the things he expected you to say, that has to be the last topic on the list. 

All exhaustion comes to a halt as his eyes blearily blink open, unsure if he’s heard you right, as the question is so out of left field that he doubts you actually said what he thinks you said. Despite his head feeling like a million pounds, he manages to lift it so he’s looking at you in the darkness.

Rafe can just make out the outline of your face. “What?”

He hates how small his voice is. 

But your fingers continue to massage his scalp and he feels you shrug underneath him.

“I dunno, I was thinking I could do for you what you did for me." Your voice is impossibly shy, almost as if you didn't mean to bring it up but now there's no going back. "Provide some moral support, I don’t know. Just a thought.”

Yes, he wants to scream. Of course he wants you to. 

It would make life incredibly easier, not to mention he’d get to spend more time with your undivided attention and shower you in a ridiculous amount of appreciation now that you're officially his. He can show you off to his friends and family and flaunt you around, shamelessly hold you and kiss you and not have to feel the slightest bit guilty about it. 

He'd tell you to bring that beaded dress he bought you, take you out to dinner on the mainland and fuck you for the whole island to hear. There's no doubt he's going to buy you anything under the sun that you express interest in, shower you with the kind of love you've been aching for for so long. He'd have to be assertive, though, because you're exactly the girl his sisters will immediately love, and there's no way he's going to be able to share you.

Rafe needs to relax.

Instead of saying all of that, he takes a deep breath. “You’re not going to Lorenza’s?”

“No,” you respond quietly. “I was supposed to go home so she’s already going on a trip with her girlfriends. But now I'm just...” You take a breath. "No, I'm not."

He frowns at the idea of you spending winter break alone, because there’s absolutely no way you're going to go home and face your family again, and the long haul across the Atlantic feels like a chore after just recovering from doing so. 

“You can say no,” you murmur playfully. “I have a sublet lined up for December, and I’ll come back to the dorm when they open on the new year.”

That makes Rafe scoff. “You’re not doing that.”

“I’m not?”

“No,” he commands. “You’ll spend it with me.”

Suddenly you clear your throat, almost shyly. “I didn’t mean to, like, invite myself. You seriously can say no–”

Rafe is sitting up before he knows it, leaning on an elbow and finding your jaw with his other hand to navigate through the darkness, and kissing you firmly enough to let it do all the talking for him. 

You mmrph in surprise into his mouth, effectively shutting you up and assumingely shutting down any doubts you have about the entire idea. Rafe kisses you certainly yet deliberately slow, as if to reassure you of his answer, that you don't have to stress about being too much, especially around him. In fact, he wants you to be too much, yourself, unapologetically you. He craves it, utterly deprived every second you're acting shy as if he wouldn't give you anything you asked for.

Pulling away, Rafe resumes his previous position and lowers onto your body, his original position. His lips find the soft skin of your neck and place a kiss there, sucking ever so slightly to emphasize his point, to stake his claim, to wash away your doubts. 

“I want you to stay with me,” he murmurs quietly. “Okay?”

You hum shyly. “Okay.”

Rafe runs his hands over your ribcage. “I need you to know something, though."

"Yeah?"

Your tone is so fucking sweet that it makes his upcoming words difficult, understanding you can completely hold your own against a family full of narcissists yet wanting to shield you from it all anyway. He wants to hide you away from it all, but he knows you're tough, you're strong, you're too kind for your own good.

"My dad probably won’t be the friendliest.” Rafe figures that's the nicer term for Ward. "He'll be charming and inviting when you first meet him, but behind closed doors..."

He trails off, not necessarily wanting to get into the specifics of his father's tendencies right now with you, laying pretty beside him and body exhausted with earlier passion. To subject you to this all over again, it makes his chest pull, knowing that his father will probably say or do something to remind you of the obscenities of your own family, to remind you of the darkness that shrouded you a week ago.

Before he can continue, you gently massage his scalp. "I understand. I'll be alright."

It makes him nearly swoon. "You're too sweet for your own good, hm? You can be mean to him if you want."

You laugh and he swears he's never heard a prettier sound.

"I'm not doing that."

"If I asked you nicely?"

Chuckling again, your nails rake down to the nape of his neck and back up to his scalp, making him sigh low into the confinements of your hold. But it's much more than physicality, it's almost a promise, reaffirming your stance and wordlessly convincing him that you have his back. Now and always.

"Still no," you murmur, and by the tone of it he swears you're smiling. "You're the one who said I'm incapable of being evil."

Rafe snorts. "I did."

You hum happily, content with 'winning' the conversation as you continue to massage absentmindedly. "Besides, I’m great with parents.”

This conversation feels all too familiar, full circle, echoing his words that he spoke to you all the time ago when your mother stormed into your dorm room, the catalyst for all of this, the start of the spiral to where you lay now with limbs entangled and hearts out in the open.

Shaking his head slightly and allowing himself to shut his eyes, Rafe murmurs in agreement, almost tauntingly.

“I’m sure you are, sweet girl.” Then, quieter, “Sleep.”

The words are like a command, and despite every effort to not do so, you find yourself babbling something incoherently, words soon dying in your throat as you fall asleep, but not without being lulled by the sound of his syncopated breaths, and that, somehow, his hand has found yours in the darkness, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gentle enough for it to be a long lasting reminder: he's here, and he's not going anywhere.

You let yourself succumb to that. You let yourself deserve it.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni

notes holy shit???????? i have a few (more like a hundred) things to say. legit where do I begin.

thank you for 900 followers FIRST OF ALL i only started posting laaaaaate march (practically april) so this is absolutely incredible, thank you for all the support it's been so overwhelming in the best way. half of the comments genuinely make me lol and the other half make me legit spiral bc huh???? you like my stuff??? anyway.

for those who have sent me inbox messages: I SEE YOU!!! I APPRECIATE YOU!! I HAVE NOT IGNORED YOU!!! i'm gonna try to get around to answering them but trust i see y'all!!!!

on the topic of inbox messages, a few of you have been asking about if i'm open to blurbs, and i 100% am. i cannot guarantee i will be able to answer all of them (i started a full-time job??? crazy) but i would love to try and provide that.

okay i think that's it from me. again. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT i'm legit sad this is ending but, again, im open to blurbs about them so TRUST this def won't be the last time we read about them. GODSPEED!

[cutielando]

revolving door | lando norris

synopsis: in which he will do anything to win you back and prove to you he has changed

a/n: based on this request!

pairing: lando norris x ex-girlfriend!reader

my masterlist

The first time you walked away from Lando Norris, it had been raining.

Fitting, really, because everything about that night had felt like a storm—rushed words, emotions colliding like thunder against lightning, and the eventual crack that split you apart.

“I can’t keep doing this, Lando,” you had said, voice barely above a whisper, but somehow it still cut through the downpour. “I can’t keep being the girl you come back to when it’s convenient.”

Lando hadn’t said much then. Just stared at you with those sea-glass eyes, his lips parting like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words.

Maybe he knew you were right. Maybe he was tired of this cycle, too. Maybe he thought you’d come back—just like you always did.

And for a while, you really thought you wouldn’t.

But the thing about revolving doors is that no matter how many times you step out, you always end up back inside.

♡♡♡♡♡

It started again three months later, like it always did.

You had told yourself you were over him, that you were stronger this time, that you wouldn’t let yourself be pulled back into the orbit of Lando Norris.

But then he showed up at your doorstep, soaked from the rain, a bottle of your favorite wine in one hand and a ridiculous, sheepish grin on his face.

“Hey”

Just one word. One stupid, simple word, and suddenly, you were caught in the same cycle all over again.

You let him in. Of course, you let him in.

And it was good—for a little while. It always was. Lando had a way of making you forget why you left in the first place.

He was warm touches and late-night laughter, tangled limbs under white sheets, and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.

But then came the other side of the cycle.

The part where he got distant, where racing took priority, where texts went unanswered for days, where you sat in the grandstands watching him but wondering if he ever truly saw you.

And you told yourself you wouldn’t do it again, that you wouldn’t be his revolving door, but God, it was so hard when every time he came back, he made you feel like you were everything.

♡♡♡♡♡

“You’re mad”

You didn’t even bother looking up from your drink.

“What gave it away?”

Lando sighed, sliding into the bar stool next to you. His hand brushed against yours on the counter, a silent attempt at connection, but you pulled away.

“I had a race” he said, like that excused everything. “I had obligations”

You finally turned to face him, your jaw tight.

“And what about me? Do I not count as an obligation? Or am I just something you pick up when it’s convenient?”

His face twisted in frustration. “That’s not fair”

You scoffed.

“No, Lando, what’s not fair is me sitting here, wondering if I’m even a priority to you, while you’re off living your life like I don’t exist”

He ran a hand through his curls, his knee bouncing under the table.

“You know how much this means to me”

“And you know how much it hurts to be treated like an afterthought” you shot back.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just stared at you like he was trying to figure out the right words to keep you from slipping away again.

But you were tired—so damn tired—of always being the one waiting, always being the one to put in the effort.

So, you pushed back your chair and stood up.

“I can’t do this anymore, Lando.”

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. “Wait—”

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m done being your revolving door.”

And this time, you meant it.

Right?

♡♡♡♡♡

A month passed. Then two.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t look back.

You threw yourself into work, into friends, into anything that kept your mind busy.

You ignored the texts he sent—the I miss you, the I’m sorry, the Can we just talk? Because you knew if you answered, you’d be right back where you started.

But then, one night, you found yourself at a race. Not for him—at least, that’s what you told yourself. You were there with friends, just another face in the crowd.

And yet, somehow, his eyes found yours the second he stepped onto the podium.

You should’ve left. You should’ve walked away before he could find you.

But you didn’t.

You were standing by the paddock entrance when he appeared, still in his race suit, his hair damp with sweat. He looked at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

“You came” he breathed.

You folded your arms over your chest.

“I didn.t come here for you. Don’t read into it” you said, trying to keep your emotions at bay.

He took a hesitant step closer, watching your every move and gesture for any sign that you didn't want him closer. But he found none.

“But I want to read into it”

You swallowed hard, willing yourself to stay strong.

“Lando—”

“No, listen,” he interrupted, his voice almost desperate. “I know I’ve screwed up. I know I’ve been selfish. But I swear to God, I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t matter.”

You looked away, because if you met his eyes for too long, you’d break.

“Then why did you?”

He exhaled shakily, looking down at the ground.

“Because I’m an idiot. Because I thought you’d always be there no matter what. And I was wrong”

You bit your lip, your heart pounding.

“And what happens when this cycle starts again?”

His hand found yours—gentle, hesitant. “It won’t. I swear to you, it won't ever happen again”

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. But could you?

Lando squeezed your fingers, as if sensing your doubt.

“I don’t want you to be my revolving door, love. I just want you to be my home”

And maybe, just maybe, this time… he really meant it.

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[tikitakatia]

Under Watch — A. Putellas x Reader

"You´re Late"

WC: 1.4k

Summary: You’re hired to protect her but she’s reckless, untouchable, and wants nothing to do with you.

The first time you met her was in a hallway.

She’s already late. Cleats in one hand, hoodie slung low, hair still damp from the shower. She’s got that just-finished-practice glow: skin flushed, breath still a little quick, body loose in a way that says she just spent an hour tearing up the field.

She doesn’t look dangerous. But she is.

Not in the way your briefing warned about, no wild-eyed stalkers or coded threats here. Not yet. She’s dangerous in the way she moves like nothing can touch her. Like if the building crumbled around her, she’d walk out of the dust without a scratch. There’s a kind of recklessness in her that doesn’t read as careless, it reads as power.

She stops a few paces from you and looks you up and down. That’s intentional. Every part of her is practiced, the cock of her head, the slow drag of her eyes, the way she lets the silence stretch just a little too long before she speaks.

“You’re the bodyguard?” she says, unimpressed on purpose.

You nod once.

She sighs. Loud. Theatrical. “This is ridiculous.”

Another nod. Slower this time.

You don’t explain yourself. That’s not your job.

She mutters something under her breath and turns away. Her voice follows her as she walks.

“What do they think is gonna happen? I trip over a ball and need saving?”

You follow. Quietly. That part is your job.

She slouches in her seat during the security briefing like she’s doing the club a favor just by being there. One foot up on the table, twirling a pen between her fingers, face locked in that unimpressed athlete expression she wears like armor.

The head of security goes over it all again. The notes. The photos. The fact that one of them was left on her locker and no one saw who did it. Another showed up two days later. No fingerprints. Just words. Messy, threatening, graphic.

Too many people know where she trains, where she eats, where she lives. Too many eyes on her at all times. She’s high-profile. Always careful with her words. Polished. Politically correct. She knows how to play the media game and never slips, at least not publicly. But lately, someone’s been trying to push her off balance and get under her skin.

You’re not assigned to investigate. You’re there to be the barrier. The buffer. The human shield.

She doesn’t look at you once during the meeting. But she knows you’re watching.

At lunch, she sits two tables away with her teammates. Tosses her head back in a laugh that’s too loud, too staged. 

Then leans into the physio and says, “She stares too much.”

The physio glances at you. You don’t blink.

You’re not trying to intimidate her. Not consciously. But you don’t look away either. You’re paid to see everything.

She bites into an apple and smiles like she’s won something.

That evening, she tries the back gate. You don’t need cameras to know it. You already clocked her angle the second she cut out of the hallway with her phone pressed too casually to her ear.

You’re leaning against the car by the time she gets there.

She halts and doesn’t bother to hide her frustration. Instead, she frowns like a teenager caught sneaking out past curfew.

“Do you ever take breaks?” she asks.

You say nothing. Just open the passenger door and wait.

She slides in, arms crossed. No seatbelt. You don’t start the engine. You wait.

The silence stretches. Long enough for her to shift in her seat. Tap her fingers on her thigh. Glance your way once. Twice.

Twenty-three seconds, you count.

“Okay, what, is this your way of interrogating me?”

Still, you don’t respond.

She mutters under her breath, clicks her seatbelt into place.

The engine starts.

She doesn’t speak for the rest of the ride. But when she gets out, she slams the door just hard enough to make a point.

The first real conversation happens on day four.

She’s supposed to be at a press junket. You find her in the equipment room, legs swinging off a crate, scrolling her phone like she’s waiting for the universe to give her an excuse to skip it entirely.

“You’re late,” you say.

She doesn’t look up. “It’s boring.”

“You have a schedule.”

She shrugs. “So adjust it.”

You don’t move.

She lets the silence drag for a while before finally looking at you. Really looking.

“Do you ever lighten up? Pareces mi sombra.” she says the nickname slowly, as if trying to see how she likes the feel of it in her mouth.

You sigh. Not loud. Not annoyed. Just… necessary.

She grins. Slow and sharp. “That’s a yes.”

From that moment on, you’re Sombrita.

She uses it everywhere. Says it with a smirk, like it’s an inside joke only she’s in on. She teases you with it in front of the others. Whispers it under her breath as she walks past.

You don’t correct her.

She knows your coffee order by the end of the week even though you never told her. Hands it to you without fanfare one morning. Just a paper cup and a look. Like she’s waiting for something to break.

It doesn’t. Not on the outside.

She wanders into a crowd of fans, photographers and noise. You’re beside her before she realizes she’s drifted too far.

She veers off schedule. You’re at the next checkpoint without a word.

Eventually, she starts pretending you don’t exist. But narrates your presence like it’s a game.

“And here comes mi sombrita,” she says once, as you appear in a doorway.

“Silently judging my existence.”

Her teammates laugh. She watches you from the corner of her eye.

You never laugh back.

The third time she tries to ditch you, it’s raining.

She slips out a side door after training, hoodie pulled up, steps quiet. Like she’s testing you again.

You find her half a block away, hands jammed in her pockets, shoulders hunched.

You reach out, catch her arm. Gentle, but firm.

“Don’t.”

She startles, pulls back.

“Jesus. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“You’re not cleared to leave alone.”

“I’m going to get coffee.”

“Take me with you.”

She scoffs. “I’m not five.”

You hold her gaze. Calm. Unflinching.

“I know.”

Something in your tone slows her down. Makes her look at you like she’s seeing you for the first time.

She doesn’t argue again.

You’ve guarded politicians, CEOs, criminals with targets on their backs. You’ve been shot at, stalked, followed.

None of them ever looked at you like this.

Like they’re waiting for you to crack. Like they want to know what’s behind the armor.

You avoid reacting. That’s protocol.

She makes it difficult.

You’re at your usual post in the lobby when she appears beside you without a sound.

"Ever wonder if you’re the threat?" she asks, eyes fixed ahead.

You turn your head. She’s closer than she should be. Close enough to count her lashes.

“Every day,” you say.

You step back before she can respond.

For once, she doesn’t have a comeback.

Two weeks in, she pushes too far.

It’s post-match chaos. Adrenaline. She’s been fouled hard, and it shows. She barrels past you, muttering curses under her breath, knocks over a table full of water bottles. The PR team flinches.

You follow. Not too close. Just enough.

She stops. Spins on you.

“You gonna give me a time-out now?”

You don’t answer.

“Maybe call my mom? Tell her I’m being difficult?”

Still silent.

“Seriously Sombra, what’s the endgame here? You gonna follow me into the shower next?”

You cross your arms. Don’t flinch.

She storms past. “Fuck you.”

Your voice follows her. Low. Steady.

“I don’t care if you like me. I care if you stay alive.”

She stops mid-step and the hallway holds its breath.

“I don’t need saving.” She says quietly.

You say nothing.

This time, she walks away slower.

You don’t follow right away.

The next morning, she strolls into training like nothing happened. Yawns too loud. Tosses a ball toward your feet like it’s a peace offering disguised as mockery.

You pick it up. Toss it back.

No words.

She grins like she won something.

Maybe she did.

She disappears after a match. For thirty minutes, your pulse climbs by degrees. You check every room. Sweep the perimeter. Quiet panic simmering under your skin.

You find her outside. Alone on a bench. Hoodie pulled up, headphones in, eyes closed.

You sit beside her. Not close. Just there.

She doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t move.

“You’re late,” she murmurs.

You sigh.

Of course she notices.

[scirelistener]

LONG TIME NO SEE

sanji x gn! reader

synopsis : a familiar face emerges in an unfamiliar town. someone calls his name and sanji feels the world go blank with only one to focus on.

things to note! : kind of ooc! sanji (??), reader is older than sanji but not by a lot, reader was a helper/baker at the kingdom but i think and hope it’s ambiguous to be whatever role you wish to choose! also there’s a disgusting amount of ‘-sama’ used so i apologize in advance

“Great job, Sanji-sama!”

The little prince winced at the ominous ooze radiating from the chiffon cake you held so carefully, but when he looked up, all he could see was the radiance beaming from your grin.

“R-Really?” Sanji wriggled his fingers, hope rapidly blooming inside of him as you nodded.

The boy watched with anticipation when you reached for a nearby fork and took a bite. Once he saw you hum in delight, Sanji let the smile overtake his face.

“I used a different method to make the cream this time, just like you told me!”

“Well, you did fantastic! Oh, but who am I kidding.” You let out a theatric sigh, placing down the fork and clasping your hands together against your chest. “Our Sanji-sama is good at anything he puts his mind into!”

The fits of giggles your words sent the prince into made a smile break through your dramatic facade, the kitchen now filled with an air of joy and happiness.

“It’s only because you helped me!”

“My prince is so kind..” You fake sobbed, pressing your hands closer to your chest while looking away to ensure blindness doesn’t come for you with how brightly Sanji’s expression was.

The prince giggled once more before leaning closer with a look full of anticipation, his eye sparkling with the child-like curiosity that couldn’t be found from the other children of Vinsmoke.

“Can you teach me more?”

Easing down the facade, you broke into a wide smile. “Of course. I’ll teach you everything I know.”

“…” With how strongly Sanji was glaring into the cake, it was a surprise that the dessert hadn’t been struck with two holes.

There was something wrong with the way the newly finished chiffon cake held itself. A certain factor was frustrating the cook yet he could not, for the life of him, figure what exactly was it.

Perhaps the cake was underbaked and therefore too soft? No, it was unlikely considering the toothpick he poked into the cake came out with slight crumbs and not batter. It also wasn’t likely that the chiffon cake was over cooked either as it still had the signature soft yet bounce to it.

Perhaps it was because he rushed to the kitchen to make a cake as soon as he woke up from that dream.

With a heavy sigh, Sanji instinctively shoved his hand into his breast pocket to find his relief cancer stick when Luffy slammed the door open.

“Sanjiii~ Do you have any- Woah! Cake!” The captain, as he barged in, immediately had stars shining in his eyes and hurried towards the counter where the cake sat in prime condition. Luffy then, with expecting eyes, whipped his head to Sanji. “Can I eat it??”

As Sanji was about to say no out of habit, he took a second glance at the cake before thinking otherwise. “You know what, sure. Go right ahead.”

Without a thought, Luffy dug in and Sanji left the galley for a smoke break. His fingers itched to figure out what felt wrong about the cake, but there was no need to overthink over something that was probably already in Luffy’s mouth.

With his elbow leaning against the railings and a cigarette in his hands, Sanji stared out at the waves and let out a heavy sigh. If only you were here to help him.

———

The town they stumbled upon was strange. Not only were there pirates roaming around and talking to the locals without any malice from both parties, there were also a lot of bakeries and patisseries. A lot might’ve even been an underestimation.

“Hooooly cow!” Luffy guffawed as the Strawhats walked down the street, everyone but the captain sporting wary expressions.

Wherever they looked, it was a strange sight. All the other pirates seemed wary of each other, but never at the locals. In fact, as the Strawhats made their way into the main town, Zoro noticed a gang of pirates swarming around an old lady.

As the swordsmen squinted his eye and was about to tighten his grip on the hilt of his swords, he realized the pirates were helping the lady. Zoro blinked when one of them crouched down to carefully pick up all the groceries the lady must’ve dropped and handed in over with a smile all too kind for a pirate.

Zoro immediately let loose of the hilt before scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “… What is this town on?”

Meanwhile, Sanji was rather amazed and impressed as they passed by the many stores selling backed goods. None of the shops seemed to be selling cheaply made desserts and breads; no, even by a passing glance could one tell the amount of dedication and quality in the baked goods.

An impressed whistle came out of the cook’s mouth as the crew passed by a shop that displayed a rather wide variety of assortments. From breads that seemed to differ in thickness and texture to pastries that glistened with a shine that tempted passerby to come take a bite.

“They look quite good, don’t they?”

Sanji almost jumped out of his skin, but quickly regained himself as Robin approached with her usual all knowing smile.

“They surely do, but! No worries, Robin-chwaan! Whatever desserts we come across, I’ll make sure to make it ten times better once we get back to our ship~!” Sanji swooned as he always did, heart replacing his eyes. To his words, Robin’s only reply was a polite chuckle.

Sanji was just about to speak up when someone called him from behind with a voice all too familiar. A voice he knew all too well.

A voice that he heard only in the cold kitchen of his old home, the only thing that managed to bring warmth into such an environment.

“Sanji-sama..? Is that you?”

The crew all halted their steps, looking back to their cook whose face had no other expression other than shock.

Sanji slowly turned his head around, a silent prayer in his head that begged for this not to be a cruel joke.

As he turned to face the owner of the voice, Sanji’s heart stopped beating. The world came to an abrupt stop. Time stopped ticking and the only thing he could focus on was..

You.

You stared at him with a startled expression that was probably plastered all over his own face.

You looked different from how he remembered you in his faded memories at the shitty kingdom. No longer were you the teen that was taller but never loomed over him. No longer were you the teen that helped raise little Sanji up when he couldn’t reach the baking soda in the cabinet.

Your eyes held a different kind of maturity from the one back when you both were young, but still held that same shine that Sanji liked seeing whenever you baked. Your cheeks were slightly shined by a thin layer of sweat that made you glisten in the attention of the sun, but there was no hiding the smudge of flour near your nose. (His heart ached, you always had flour somewhere on your face whenever he stumbled into the kitchen.)

Sanji wanted to comment on the irony of how you were still wearing the worn out apron from before even after all this time yet the words died down in his throat before it could even reach the tip of his tongue. How could he when you looked so.. beautiful.

He whispered your name into the air, his words almost dissipating in the crowd that felt like it was getting busier with every passing second, but it caught your ear. He could tell. Sanji could tell by the way your eyes were glistening with newly forming tears and how your arms tightened around the bag of groceries.

“Is it really you..?” It was Sanji’s turn to ask as he dared to take a step closer. He could feel the crew’s confused stares glaring into his back, but he cared not one bit. You were in front of him. “A-Are you really.. here?”

You wetly chuckled, placing down the grocery bag with the same carefulness he remember you used with everything he made back then. You then opened your arms and tilted your head with a smile, a silent invitation.

Without hesitation, Sanji sprinted.

He ran until he could feel you and wasted no time in diving into your embrace. Sanji wrapped his arms around you like you were going to slip away any time soon. The lingering smell of sweetness, flour and freshly baked bread hit his nostrils, and Sanji fought the urge to sob on the spot.

When he felt your arms gently wrap around him in return, Sanji decided to give up fighting and let a stray tear escape from his eye.

“It’s you.. It’s really you.” Sanji heard you mumble and pulled away to feel his heartstrings get pulled at the sight of you with tear eyes, a warm smile tilting up the corners of your lips. “You’ve grown, Sanji-sama.”

“Don’t.” Before he could think, the words stumbled out of his mouth. You blinked away the tears in replacement for confusion, but the confusion went away as Sanji spoke, “I’m not- I’m not a prince anymore.”

Sanji watched the way your smile reappeared, this time with more fondness. Your eyes shined knowingly and he safely presumed you knew what he was implying.

“Well, at least that means I get to do this without any problem.” You spoke up with a tone that cleared the air of any sad nostalgia, one beaming with an eerie mischief.

“What do you- Hey!” Before he knew it, Sanji’s hair was getting tousled and ruffled as if he was a dog. Despite his protests, you kept on going with both hands. Your laughter boomed through any complaints coming from Sanji and the cook felt more and more pliant as the sweet melodious sound of your laugh rang in his ears.

Your eyes creased like crescent moons as you playfully messed up the cook’s hair. “I must say, you’ve grown into a fine young man! I still remember how little you were, Sanji-sa-” The ruffling and your words halted, making Sanji look up. You coughed into your hand before correcting, “Sanji.”

The way you said his name like it was a delicacy made his heart twist and turn. Without the honorifics, somehow his own name sounded even better than usual. Almost like a song meant only for him.

“I missed you.” Sanji let the words slip out, not even bothering to care about the crew’s reaction. He really did miss you. A part of him almost forgot you in the process of forgetting about that wretched place yet in his mind, it was always you and his mother that managed to shine through the bad events that happened at the kingdom.

Sanji grabbed your hand and gently pressed it against his cheek, closing his eyes when he felt your warmth radiating through the contact and letting out a shaky sigh. “I missed you.” He repeated.

With his eyes closed, the cook could not see how your eyes visibly softened. Instead, what he felt was your forehead pressed against his as well as your other hand cupping the other side of his face. Your thumb caressed the skin under his eye, treating him like he was a delicate piece of art.

“I missed you too, Sanji.”

Out of the captain’s request, you somehow made your way to the ship that loomed over you with an impressive height. Sanji’s friend was his friend, Luffy declared and immediately invited you over to which you agreed to despite Sanji’s reluctance in letting you deal with the hurricane that is the crew.

Yet you seemed to be dealing with them just fine. Conversing with the crew like you’d known them for years, laughing at Brook’s terrible jokes.

It felt like you were home.

Sanji tightened his grip on the mug, suddenly all too conscious of how your shoulders pressed against his. He was too busy overthinking about how the scent of baked goods weirdly matched well with the ship that he hadn’t realized Luffy had started running his mouth. Only when the captain mentioned the word ‘cook’ did he snap his head back into the conversation just in time.

“A cook? That’s amazing, Sanji!” You beamed at the blonde who flustered over the attention and looked away with a hasty grin along side a blush that overtook his features.

Luffy let out a hearty laugh, one that dared to echo out of the ship and to the town’s ears. “Sanji always makes the best food! Everything he makes taste incredible!”

“Oi, Luffy!” Sanji was no stranger to compliments and he wasn’t one to deny any either yet it felt weirdly embarrassing when you were with him.

Despite Sanji’s protests, you only seemed more impressed and let out a laugh that matched Luffy’s exuberance. “Well, I’m not that surprised!”

You looked over to Sanji and smiled so proudly it made his heart ache. “Sanji’s great at anything he puts his heart into.”

While the crew laughed and tried to coax you into telling more tales of you and little Sanji, the cook couldn’t stop the concerningly fast rate of his heartbeat. You’d said that to him before, but the way your words was soft yet stern with conviction and pride made something in his brain go haywire.

As you were about to reach for your glass, your hand was pulled and held by fingers that were larger and wider than yours.

When you glanced at Sanji, he was having an argument with the swordsman who had a cocky smirk on his face. Meanwhile Sanji, on the other hand, looked as red as a strawberry. Even as he snarled at Zoro, the tips of his ears burned bright red.

You let out a quiet chuckle before gently squeezing back, finding warmth in the way Sanji’s hand held yours.

It’s nice to see you again.

a/n : little sanji is so cute, i want to hug him and let him cook anything he wants. he’s so cute that i want to drop kick vinsmoke judge over a flight of stairs and proceed to pluck out every single strand of that fucker’s hair. hate judge. how dare he treat my child like that. (i have not reached the whole cake island arc yet.)

[writeriguess]

request/idea

katsuki x reader where reader gets really depressed and doesn’t leave her bed for days and doesn’t really eat

Only if you want of course!

When the Fire Goes Out

It starts slow. At first, it’s just a heavy feeling in your chest, a weight that makes everything feel harder than it should be. Getting up, eating, showering—it all takes too much effort. And then, one day, you just stop trying.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in bed. The curtains are drawn, but dim light still leaks through, enough to remind you that the world is still moving outside, even if you aren’t. Your phone buzzes somewhere on the floor, probably another message from Katsuki, but you can’t bring yourself to check.

It doesn’t take long for him to show up in person.

The first time he knocks, you ignore it. The second time, he pounds on the door, the sharp, angry raps rattling the walls. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping he’ll go away.

He doesn’t.

“Damn it, I know you’re in there,” Katsuki’s voice is sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Open the damn door, or I’m kicking it in.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Even breathing feels like too much effort.

A moment later, there’s a loud boom, and the door bursts open, swinging on its hinges. You flinch at the sound of heavy footsteps stomping toward your bedroom.

“Oi,” his voice is closer now, laced with something that sounds almost like panic. “The fuck is this?”

You don’t turn to look at him, but you don’t have to. You can picture him perfectly—wild blonde hair, crimson eyes burning with frustration, arms crossed in that defensive way he always stands when he’s feeling something he doesn’t know how to express.

He storms to your bedside, the mattress dipping as he sits down heavily. You still don’t look at him.

“Hey.” Katsuki’s voice is softer now, but still firm. “You gonna tell me what’s going on, or am I gonna have to drag it out of you?”

You swallow thickly, but say nothing.

You hear him sigh, the sound uncharacteristically unsteady. “Shit… how long have you been like this?”

When you don’t answer, you hear rustling—he’s checking your nightstand, probably noticing the untouched water bottle, the empty snack wrappers from who-knows-how-long ago. Then he’s moving again, probably checking the trash can, the floor, maybe even the bathroom. You don’t have to look to know he’s putting the pieces together.

“Have you even eaten?” His voice is lower now, almost too quiet.

You shake your head once.

“Dumbass.” There’s no real bite in the word, just a strained kind of frustration. “You think you’re just gonna lay here and waste away? Huh?”

You don’t have an answer.

Katsuki exhales sharply through his nose, then stands up abruptly. “Alright, that’s it. Get up.”

You don’t move.

“Not fucking around, babe. Up. Now.”

Still, nothing.

Then, suddenly, the blankets are ripped away, and a burst of cold air rushes over your skin. You curl in on yourself instinctively, but Katsuki is faster. His arms hook under your body, and before you can process what’s happening, he’s lifting you up against his chest.

“K-Katsuki—” your voice cracks from disuse, barely above a whisper.

“Shut up,” he mutters, adjusting his grip so you’re secure in his arms. “You really think I’m just gonna let you rot in here? Hell no.”

He carries you out of the bedroom with ease, his strength making it seem effortless. You want to protest, but your body is weak from days of neglect, and part of you doesn’t even mind.

He sets you down on the couch, then disappears into the kitchen. You hear cabinets opening and closing, the sound of water running. A few minutes later, he returns, holding a glass of water and a small plate of food—something simple, toast with butter, a banana, and a protein bar. He sits down beside you, shoving the glass into your hands.

“Drink.”

You hesitate.

“I swear to god, if you don’t drink that, I will force it down your throat.” His glare is unwavering, but there’s something softer underneath it—something almost desperate.

You take a sip.

His shoulders relax just slightly.

“Good. Now eat.” He breaks the toast in half and holds out a piece to you. “Don’t care if you only take a couple bites. Just eat something.”

You take the toast with shaking fingers. The first bite is hard to swallow, your stomach protesting after being empty for so long, but Katsuki doesn’t look away, doesn’t let you stop. Slowly, you finish it.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You sit in silence for a while after that. Katsuki doesn’t push you to talk, doesn’t ask for explanations. He just stays there, close enough that his warmth seeps into your skin.

After a long pause, you finally whisper, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Katsuki clenches his jaw, staring at his hands. “Nothing’s wrong with you,” he mutters. “You’re just… struggling.”

You blink at him, surprised. He sounds almost guilty.

“I should’ve noticed sooner,” he says, voice rough. “Should’ve been here before it got this bad.”

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault.”

He scoffs. “Like hell it isn’t. You’re my girl. It’s my job to take care of you.”

You feel something tighten in your chest—something that feels dangerously close to relief.

Katsuki shifts closer, resting his arm along the back of the couch. “I ain’t letting this happen again. From now on, you eat, you drink water, you move—even if I gotta drag your ass out of bed every morning.”

A small, tired smile tugs at your lips. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Yeah, well, you’re worth the trouble.” His gaze softens, and for a moment, there’s nothing but quiet understanding between you.

It’s not a solution. You know you’re not magically better just because Katsuki showed up. But right now, in this moment, you don’t feel so alone.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to hold onto.

[sunnybunnybabygirl]

Babies For My Baby~

Bang Chan x chubby fem!reader smut.

Request status: open

Unprotected sex, breeding kink, use of the word slut.

Full masterlist

Stray Kids masterlist

Enjoy, sinners ;)

Love, Bunny

You and Chan, or as you call him, Chris have been dating for three years now. He's met your parents and you've met his multiple times. Today you and him are at a family diner at his parents house. He's wearing a simple white T-shirt and some jeans. You're wearing a simple outfit too since it's just a simple dinner. However, what his parents and siblings don't know, is that your hand is cupped over his hard cock through his pants. Your soft hand rubs slightly and you feel him tense up, his breath hitching.

    He leans closer to you, his voice low and husky “Stop it, baby..” He groans softly, biting his lip. “We’re at a family dinner..” His hand covers yours under the table, squeezing your hand around his length.

    "A family dinner that you forgot to tell me about until last minute when you promised we'd have a romantic night." You whisper to him as you squeeze more.

    "Fuck..." He mutters under his breath, trying to maintain his composure. "At least... at least stop being so fucking..." He adjusts his seat awkwardly as you teasingly stroke him "Your hand feels so good..." He leans in closer "Baby, please..." He whispers softly.

    "Fine." You pout as you reluctantly pull your hand away and back to your own lap.

    He lets out a soft sigh of relief and frustration, adjusting himself discreetly. “You’re killing me,” he whispers, shooting you a playful glare. “You know I’m hard as hell right now.” He shifts in his seat again

    "I know, I'm sorry." You say quietly. "But you promised me that you'd take care of me tonight." You pout.

    He leans in closer, his voice a low growl. “And I will,” he promises “I swear to god baby, when we get home...” He shifts again, clearly uncomfortable “I’m going to fuck you so hard...” He says to you.

   You clench your big thighs together and nod slowly, looking over at him with your big eyes.

A Few Hours Later

    You two get home and walk inside after a long dinner with his parents and siblings. As soon as the door closes behind you, Chan pins you against it, his lips crashing onto yours. “Fuck, I’ve been hard all night.” He groans into your mouth. “You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now.” He says.

    You whine and quickly get rid of your clothes. Taking off your shirt, bra, bottoms, and panties for him. His eyes darken as he takes in your soft, naked form, his pupils dilating with desire. He quickly takes off his own shirt, tossing it to the side before unbuckling his belt and pulling down his pants and boxers, freeing his hard, throbbing cock.

    You immediately get down onto your knees for him. You look up at him with your beautiful eyes with your soft lips parted slightly.

    He groans as he watches you kneel before him, your innocent yet seductive expression driving him crazy. He grabs a handful of your hair, his other hand wrapping around his thick, veiny member. “Open your mouth.” He demands hoarsely. “Show me that pretty mouth.”

    You obey him, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. His breath hitches as he sees you like that - innocent yet so fucking sexy. He slowly guides his length into your warm mouth, his eyes rolling back as he hits the back of your throat. “Fuck baby, just like that... take it deep.” He moans as you suck on his throbbing cock.

    You reach up and cup his balls as you suck on his cock, bobbing your head back and forth, making slurping sounds and whining as you feel him hit the back of your throat.

    His hands tighten in your hair as he watches you suck him so eagerly and innocently. The combination is too much. He starts moving his hips, fucking your mouth roughly. “Shit, look at you taking my big cock like a good girl... You suck dick so fucking well.”

    "Hm." You hum against his cock. You live off of his praise, you love it and you're so so wet. So, you reach down and rub your clit. He looks down to see you touching yourself as you suck him, his mind goes blank with lust. He pulls your hair harder, forcing you to take more of him. “You like that baby? You like sucking daddy’s big cock and touching yourself like a naughty girl?” He asks roughly.

    You nod quickly and whine more, trying to make him cum in your mouth so he can finally give you what you need. You need him inside of you, you need him hitting that sweet spot and rubbing your clit.

    He can feel you getting more desperate, your mouth and hands working faster. He feels his balls tightening. With a deep groan, he holds your head in place and explodes in your mouth, his hot cum filling your throat and spilling out the sides of your mouth.

   You swallow all of his cum and open your mouth so he can see. You kiss the tip of his cock softly and lovingly. You're so excited, so wet, so ready for him.

    He groans at the sight of you swallowing every drop and kissing his sensitive tip so sweetly. His cock twitches slightly as he pulls out of your mouth slowly. “Fuck baby,” he pants heavily, “Get on the couch and spread those pretty legs for me.” He commands softly.

    You nod and lay down on your back on the couch, spreading your soft legs and showing him your wet pussy. You're dripping for him, clenching around nothing. He watches your thick thighs spread for him, your wet, pretty pussy glistening. He sees your entrance fluttering, trying to find something to squeeze. He licks his lips. "You need my dick baby? Your little pussy hungry?"

    "Yes, daddy. Please, I've been so good and I need you so so bad." You beg him, even though he didn't ask you to beg. You're just too desperate, begging for anything and everything.

    He growls at your words, his cock already hardening again. He quickly positions himself between your legs, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit. “Such a good girl,” he praises, pushing the tip inside your wet entrance. “You want daddy’s big cock inside you?”

    You gasp and nod, grabbing onto his muscular arms to ground yourself as you feel the head of his cock push into your tight, dripping pussy.

    He pushes in deeper, feeling your walls stretch around him. He leans down to kiss your neck as he bottoms out inside of you, his thick hips pressing against your inner thighs. “Fuck you're so tight baby. I'm gonna ruin this little pussy." He groans.

    "Yes, yes, daddy fuck me." You moan breathlessly as he starts to fuck you. You wrap your thick legs around his hips, pushing him deeper into yourself. He groans at your legs wrapping around him, pushing him deeper. He grabs your thick hips and starts slamming into you, his big dick hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. “God damn, you’re such a fucking slut for my dick.” He praises.

    "Oh fuck oh my God, daddy." You moan out as your pussy tightens around his cock. He groans loudly as he feels your pussy squeeze him tighter. He leans down to kiss you roughly, biting your lip as he continues to pound into you. “Take my big dick, baby girl. You love this thick fucking dick?” He asks.

    You nod quickly and moan loudly. "Daddy, 'm so close." You warn him as you squeeze your eyes shut and scratch up his muscly arms. His pace quickens, hitting that sweet spot harder with each thrust. He can already feel your pussy fluttering around him. "Cum for daddy baby. Cum all over my cock. Show me what a good girl you are." He reaches down and circles your clit with his thumb.

    You gasp and cry out, arching your back as you cum hard around his throbbing cock. You reach up and scratch his shoulders and down to his abs. "Fuck! Fuck so good." You breathe out.

    He groans deeply, feeling your pussy clench and release around his cock as you cum. He continues to thrust into you, riding out your orgasm. “That’s it baby, milk my dick with that pretty little pussy.” He grunts, his own orgasm building up.

    "Cum inside me, daddy. Breed me, fill me up, please." You beg him, breathing heavily as you feel his cock stroke your soft walls, overstimulating you a little.

    He growls possessively, his big hands gripping your curvy hips possessively as he slams into you harder, hitting that spot that makes you whimper. “You want my babies, baby girl? You wanna be pregnant with my big strong baby?” He pants, his abs tensing under your nails.

    You nod quickly, scratching at his abs as he thrusts harder. You throw your head back. "Need your babies, daddy, please!" You cry out. With a roar, he buries himself as deep as he can go, his hot cum filling your pussy up to the brim. He holds you in place, his hips bucking as he empties his big load inside you, truly trying to breed you like the dirty little thing you are, begging him for babies.

    You breathe deeply, calming yourself down. You close your eyes and yawn softly, very tired after that. He pulls out of you slowly, watching as his cum leaks out of your puffy, well used pussy. He scoops some of it up with his fingers and pushes it back inside you. "Keep it in there, baby. I want you pregnant with my kid." He says softly.

    You hum sleepily and roll over onto your side. He wraps his big arms around your curvy waist, pulling you back against his muscular chest. He nuzzles his face against your neck and belly, inhaling your scent deeply. "My baby," he murmurs softly, his hand resting on your lower belly. "My baby, yes..." He whispers and kisses your cheek as you fall asleep.

[itdontmatter283472374]

What are we? Chapter Fourteen

A/N: Ok, quick side note, Mother's Day was literal hell at work, so I am kinda burnt out right now. Also, don't be surprised if I low-key make a one-shot or start another story. I have plans for this, but I am getting a little tired of it, and I know y'all want smut, but it might not be happening for a while for this series, so yeah.

BREAKING: ESPN HEADLINE – “UConn’s Paige Bueckers Suffers ACL Tear During Pickup Game on Campus”

The notification hit phones like a gut punch just before noon: Paige Bueckers, UConn’s standout guard and a face of women’s basketball, had gone down during an informal scrimmage in the practice gym. No game lights. No crowd. Just a handful of teammates and the sickening sound of something tearing mid-step.

Silence followed. Then panic.

She was rushed to the emergency room not long after, her arm slung around a trainer’s shoulder, crutches waiting for her when she arrived. Her face was pale and tight with pain—the kind that doesn’t show up on a scoreboard but still changes everything.

The hours that followed blurred together. X-rays. MRIs. A too-quiet room and a diagnosis she already half knew. Complete tear. ACL. Surgery within the week. Minimum a year before she’d see the court again.

Paige didn’t cry when the words landed. Not when the doctor sighed through the prognosis, not when her mom arrived wide-eyed and frantic, not when the nurse handed her a thick folder labeled “Post-Op: ACL Reconstruction & Rehab.”

But in the hallway outside radiology, where no one was looking, she pulled her hoodie over her head and let the tears fall. Fast. Hot. Quiet.

Back in her dorm, her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—messages pouring in from teammates, coaches, journalists, distant friends. She ignored them all.

All but one.

Incoming FaceTime: Azzi💗

Paige stared at the screen for a beat, wiped at her face, then answered.

Azzi’s face filled the frame, framed in soft lamplight from her room back home. She looked like she hadn’t moved in hours—eyes puffy, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands.

“Hey,” she said gently. “Are you okay?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, like speaking might make it worse. Finally, she gave a small, tight nod.

Azzi’s voice dropped. “What happened? Are you…?”

“It’s torn,” Paige whispered. “Completely.”

Azzi flinched like she’d been hit. Her hand came up to her mouth.

“God, Paige…”

“It wasn’t even a bad move. I just… stepped. It popped. Like that.” Paige snapped her fingers. The sound made her blink hard.

Azzi breathed out slow. “Where are you now?”

“Still at the hospital. They’re gonna discharge me soon.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was thick, alive with everything neither of them could say just yet. Azzi shifted on the couch, eyes locked on Paige’s face.

“I should be there,” she said suddenly. “I should be with you.”

“You are with me,” Paige murmured. “This helps. Really.”

Azzi shook her head. “I’m coming. I’ll change my flight. Be there tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she said, firm this time.

Paige exhaled, eyes slipping shut for a beat. “I was just starting to feel like everything was clicking, you know? Us. Ball. Life.”

Azzi’s voice cracked just slightly. “It still is. This doesn’t change that.”

For a moment, Paige just watched her through the screen like she could reach through it and feel Azzi’s steadiness for real.

And in a day full of fractures and free falls, that was the first thing that felt solid.

--------------------------

​​The next afternoon, Paige was exactly where Azzi expected to find her: curled up in bed, hoodie pulled over her head, blinds half-closed, TV flickering in the background but not really being watched.

The room smelled faintly of Icy Hot and frustration.

Azzi didn’t knock—just walked in with her duffel slung over her shoulder and a quiet sigh.

“I figured this is where I’d find you,” she said, setting her bag down and crossing to the bed.

Paige peeked out from under the hoodie. “Hi.”

“You look like a haunted blanket.”

“I feel like one,” Paige muttered.

Azzi didn’t smile. She sat at the edge of the bed, resting a hand on Paige’s shin, careful not to touch the brace. “You’ve been in this room since you got back?”

Paige shrugged.

Azzi stood. “Alright. Get up.”

Paige blinked. “What?”

“We’re going to get ice cream.”

Paige groaned and rolled over, burying her face again. “Azzi, no. I’m not in the mood. I look like I lost a fight with a robot knee.”

“You kind of did,” Azzi deadpanned. “Still not an excuse.”

Paige’s voice was muffled. “I’m in sweats. I haven’t washed my hair. I’m—”

“Nope,” Azzi cut in, already pulling open Paige’s drawer for a clean t-shirt. “You can sulk after your surgery. Your Stepmom and Dad and Drew will be here in two days. You’ll be doped up, stitched together, and sore as hell. That’s your sulking window. This? This is pre-sulk. You get ice cream during pre-sulk.”

Paige lifted her head just enough to squint at her. “Is that an actual medical term?”

Azzi tossed the t-shirt at her. “Get changed. I’m driving. And yes, it’s medically backed by the Azzi Fudd Protocol for Temporary Joy and Controlled Wallowing.”

Paige couldn’t help it—she smiled, just a little. “You’re annoying.”

“Yup. And exactly what you need.”

A few minutes later, they were out the door—Paige slowly, carefully, Azzi at her side without hovering too much. It was hot outside again, and the walk to the car took longer than usual, but Paige didn’t complain.

Not once.

And when they finally got their cones—Paige’s favorite, cookie dough with rainbow sprinkles, and Azzi’s classic chocolate soft serve—the world didn’t feel fixed, exactly.

But it didn’t feel broken beyond repair either.

Paige leaned back in the passenger seat, cone half-melted, and looked over at Azzi.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

Azzi looked over. “For what?”

“For getting me up.”

Azzi bumped her shoulder gently. “That’s what I’m here for.”

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky by the time they pulled away from the ice cream shop, painting the world in that soft, honey-gold August light. The kind of heat that didn’t press so hard anymore, just lingered like a memory.

Azzi had the windows halfway down, the breeze rolling in warm and slow. Her curls fluttered against her cheeks, and the air smelled like cut grass and pavement.

Paige had her seat reclined just enough, her brace propped awkwardly against the dashboard, cone in one hand, the other lazily out the window. Her hair was tied back, hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows, looking worn out but a little more herself.

SZA played low through the speakers—"Good Days" drifting through the car like it had been waiting for this exact drive. Neither of them talked. They didn’t need to.

They just vibed.

The kind of quiet that didn’t ask for anything. That made space for the ache, the healing, the pieces still in the process of rearranging.

Azzi drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, nodding softly to the beat, eyes on the road ahead. Paige glanced over at her, and for a moment, she wasn’t thinking about surgery, or recovery, or the months she’d be stuck watching from the sidelines.

She was just here.

In this car.

With her.

Late summer sun dancing through the trees, SZA humming about trying to be present, and Azzi—steady, calm, there.

“I missed this,” Paige said, voice barely above the music.

Azzi looked over, smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Azzi reached out and gently laced their fingers together over the center console. Still watching the road, still driving, but grounding them both in something wordless and warm.

They didn’t say anything else for a while.

They just let the music carry them home.

----------------------

The hotel room was dim, the curtains half-drawn against the late afternoon sun. The air smelled faintly of takeout and antiseptic, and the soft clicking of an iPad game was the only thing filling the space.

Drew sat cross-legged on the floor, headphones on, zoned out in his own world. Paige’s dad and stepmom had just stepped out to grab food, leaving the room quiet except for the occasional grumble from the bed.

Paige was propped up on a mountain of pillows, her post-op brace elevated, eyes narrowed at the ceiling like it had personally offended her.

Azzi knocked once before slipping in quietly. She was in a crewneck and shorts, tote bag over her shoulder, and a soft look in her eyes the second she saw Paige’s face.

“Hey, soldier,” she said gently, dropping the bag by the door. “How’s our fearless leader?”

Paige let out a grunt. “Our fearless leader wants to throw her leg into a lake.”

Azzi chuckled and crossed the room, settling on the edge of the bed. “You’d sink like a rock with that brace.”

“I’d take sinking over this pain.”

Azzi gave her a sympathetic look and nudged her lightly. “You look like a grumpy burrito.”

“I feel like a grumpy burrito.”

There was a short silence. Azzi tilted her head.

“You want a back rub?”

Paige blinked, surprised. “Seriously?”

Azzi nodded, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. Might help. Or at least distract you from the stabbing pain in your leg.”

Paige hesitated, then gave a sheepish little nod. “Okay… yeah. That actually sounds nice.”

“Alright. Scoot down, grumpy.”

Paige winced as she shifted, slowly lowering herself onto her stomach with a grimace. She moved carefully, breath catching every time she adjusted her brace or tugged at her pillow. Once she finally got there, she let her head drop into her arms with a sigh.

Azzi sat open-legged behind her and started rubbing gentle circles into her back—firm enough to loosen the tension, soft enough not to jostle anything too much.

“God, your hands are magic,” Paige mumbled into the pillow.

“I know.”

The room was quiet again, except for Drew’s game. Paige’s shoulders started to loosen. Her breathing slowed a little.

After a few minutes, Azzi let her fingers trail up into Paige’s hair, scratching gently at her scalp the way she knew Paige liked.

And sure enough, not long after, Paige let out a small sigh… and fell completely asleep in Azzi’s lap.

Azzi looked down at her—mouth slightly open, a little bit of drool threatening the hotel pillow—and couldn’t help the grin that pulled across her face.

She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, angled it just right, and snapped a picture of Paige knocked out cold in the most dramatic, snuggly way possible.

📸 Sent to Team Group Chat

Azzi: mother has passed out after 3 minutes of attention 🙄 [photo attachment]

Nika: AWWWWW LOOK AT THIS BIG BABY Aaliyah: not her needing cuddles to survive 😭😭 Caroline✂️: someone make this the team poster Nika: we need this printed and framed for the locker room Azzi: no one is safe in this group chat Aaliyah: tell her when she wakes up she still owes me $5 from the Waffle House bet

Azzi shook her head, still smiling, and gently pulled the blanket up over Paige’s shoulders. Paige stirred just slightly, then relaxed again, face nuzzled deeper into Azzi’s leg.

And for the first time all week, everything felt a little lighter.

--------------------

Later That Evening – Hotel Room

The room was suddenly full of noise, laughter, and limbs. Someone had propped open the door with a sneaker, and now the entire squad was crammed inside like it was a dorm lounge, not a midsize hotel suite.

Caroline had brought snacks. Aaliyah had brought board games no one was going to play. Aubrey was already perched on the windowsill eating half a bag of popcorn. Nika walked in like she owned the place, flopped onto the edge of Paige’s bed, and dramatically fluffed the pillows behind her.

Paige, still stiff and sore from surgery but in a noticeably better mood, had on fresh sweats and her leg propped up like a queen holding court. Drew sat on the floor in front of the TV, only halfway interested in the new crowd.

“I feel like a zoo animal,” Paige said, grinning despite herself.

“You are a zoo animal,” Nika replied. “You’ve been on the injured list for less than a week and already everyone’s babying you.”

“She just had surgery,” Caroline pointed out, offering Paige a gummy worm from a massive bag.

“She also fell asleep in Azzi’s lap like a toddler,” Nika said with a wicked little smirk.

Paige blinked. “Wait. What?”

The room paused. Aaliyah coughed into her fist. Aubrey made a sound like a tea kettle trying not to boil over.

“Oh no,” Caroline muttered under her breath.

“What do you mean?” Paige asked, eyes narrowing.

“Ohhhh no no no,” Nika said gleefully, already pulling out her phone. “I forgot you didn’t see it—hold up, I got you.”

“See what?”

Aubrey scooted over and handed Paige her phone instead, screen already pulled up.

On it: a photo of Paige completely knocked out, face smushed into a pillow, drooling slightly, laying across Azzi’s lap like a very cozy, very unconscious golden retriever.

There was a beat of total silence.

Paige’s face slowly turned toward the back corner of the room.

Azzi was standing there by the door, sipping a LaCroix and very much not making eye contact.

Paige narrowed her eyes. “You took that?”

Azzi just smiled—mischievous, innocent, entirely unapologetic. “You looked peaceful.”

“You sent it to the group chat.”

“I shared a moment,” Azzi replied, suppressing a laugh. “A vulnerable, adorable moment.”

Everyone erupted with laughter.

“Don’t worry,” Aaliyah said, patting Paige’s shoulder. “We only roasted you for, like, fifteen minutes.”

“Seventeen,” Nika corrected. “And I do want to print it.”

“You people are lucky I can’t walk without a crutch,” Paige muttered, trying—and failing—to hide her smile.

Azzi raised her can. “To cuddles and chaos.”

And somehow, in the middle of pain meds, group chat slander, and a dozen bodies squeezed into one too-small hotel room, Paige felt more like herself than she had in days.

Eventually, the chaos had to end.

The team slowly started gathering their things—empty snack bags stuffed into the trash, shoes pulled back on, phones buzzing with texts from group chats and coaches.

“Alright, we’re outta here before we all get kicked out by hotel security,” Nika said, stretching like she’d just run a marathon. “Later, Patient Zero.”

Aaliyah leaned down and hugged Paige gently around the shoulders. “Rest up. I better see you on crutches courtside by next week. You’re not skipping film sessions just ‘cause you’ve got a robot leg.”

Caroline waved from the door. “We’ll bring real food next time.”

Aubrey gave Paige a fist bump. “You were kind of cute drooling, not gonna lie.”

“Get out of my room,” Paige groaned, laughing despite herself.

One by one, they filed out, calling goodbyes over their shoulders. Azzi lingered behind, near the TV where Drew was still posted up with his iPad, legs swinging idly off the edge of the bed.

She crouched beside him. “Hey, Drew.”

He looked up, headphones around his neck now. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for hanging out tonight. You kept the vibes chill.”

Drew gave her a lopsided smile. “Paige always gets grumpy when she’s hurt. You made her less grumpy.”

Azzi grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment. G’night, bud.”

“Night.”

She stood, crossed the room to where Paige was reclined in bed, already looking sleepier than she probably wanted to admit. Her hair was messy, a heating pad resting across her shoulders, eyes heavy with pain meds and exhaustion.

Azzi leaned in close, lowering her voice just for her.

“We’ll get through this.”

Paige met her gaze, eyes soft. “Promise?”

Azzi brushed a hand gently against Paige’s cheek, then pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Promise.”

Paige didn’t say anything else—just let her eyes fall closed, mouth relaxed, her whole body finally starting to let go.

Azzi pulled the blanket a little higher, then quietly slipped out the door.

The highway was quiet, the sky above streaked in purple and deep blue. Azzi’s phone was on speaker, resting in the passenger seat, connected to the car’s Bluetooth.

Caroline’s voice crackled through the speakers. “She looked good tonight. For, you know… being post-op and mildly drugged.”

Azzi kept one hand on the wheel, the other fiddling with a ring on her thumb. “She’s holding it together in front of everyone. But when it’s just us? It’s hitting her hard.”

“Yeah. Figured.”

“She hasn’t said it out loud, not really,” Azzi continued, voice soft. “But I can tell. She’s scared. Angry. All of it.”

Caroline was quiet for a second. “She’ll get through it.”

“I know. But she’s not great at letting people carry stuff for her.”

“You’re there,” Caroline said. “That counts for more than you think.”

Azzi glanced out the window at the blur of streetlights. “I just wish I could do more.”

“You’re doing everything right.”

The silence that followed was easy. Comfortable.

And somewhere, behind her, Paige was asleep in a too-firm hotel bed, with her team, her family, and Azzi holding down the edges of her world.

-----------------------

The Chipotle line was long, as usual. The smell of grilled chicken and cilantro rice filled the air, and Paige had her crutches tucked under one arm while she waited for her burrito bowl, wearing UConn warmups like she was still suiting up.

Azzi stood beside her, scanning the menu she already had memorized, hoodie pulled up halfway over her head.

“You nervous?” Paige asked, bumping her gently with her elbow.

Azzi exhaled through her nose. “Not really nervous. Just… focused.”

Paige gave her a knowing side-eye. “You always say that when you’re nervous.”

Azzi didn’t deny it. She just shrugged.

“Hey,” Paige said, her voice softening. “You’ve been killing it. You’ve stepped up in every way this season. Today’s just another day to show people what we already know.”

Azzi glanced over. “You mean what you know.”

“I mean what we all know. You’ve got this. You just gotta stop waiting for permission to lead.”

Azzi blinked at that, letting it land.

“I’m trying,” she said after a beat. “Trying to believe I belong in that role. That I’m not just holding the space for you while you’re out.”

Paige leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You’re not holding space, Az. You’re owning it. And I’m proud of you.”

Before Azzi could answer, a voice cut in from behind them.

“Excuse me? Are you… Azzi Fudd and Paige Bueckers?”

They both turned to see a teenage girl in a Huskies hoodie and her mom behind her, holding a phone.

Azzi smiled. “Yeah, that’s us.”

“Could I maybe… get a picture with you? I’m a huge fan.”

“Of course,” Paige said instantly.

Azzi leaned down, smiling as the girl beamed between them. The mom snapped the photo, thanked them about three times, and they waved goodbye as the two walked off.

Back in line, Azzi glanced at Paige. “I never know what to do with my hands in pictures.”

“You looked fine. I was the one holding crutches like a confused flamingo.”

They grabbed their food and headed out to the car, the mood still light. Once inside, Azzi started driving, weaving them out of the parking lot and toward the arena.

Silence settled for a few moments, the kind of comfortable pause that always existed between them. Then Paige spoke up again.

“You know, you lead even when you don’t try. People trust you because of how you move. How you care.”

Azzi kept her eyes on the road, fingers tightening slightly on the wheel.

“I just don’t wanna fake it,” she said quietly. “I want it to be real. Earned.”

“It is,” Paige said. “Every second of it. You’re not stepping into my shoes. You’re walking in your own.”

Azzi smiled a little. “You’re getting really good at this motivational speech stuff.”

“Yeah, well,” Paige grinned. “Not being able to play leaves a lot of time for monologues.”

They turned into the arena lot, security waving them through. Azzi pulled into their usual spot, put the car in park, and took a breath.

“You’re ready,” Paige said again, voice steady.

Azzi nodded, grabbed her gym bag from the back seat, and turned to her.

“Let’s go win a game.”

The arena was buzzing with the kind of electricity only gameday could bring. The air was thick with anticipation as fans packed into the stands, the Huskies' bench a hub of activity, and the announcer's voice echoing over the speakers as the teams took the court. Azzi stepped out onto the floor with a quiet focus, her eyes scanning the crowd, the noise, the movement — it was all part of the rhythm now. Her nerves were gone, replaced by that familiar adrenaline.

Paige, sitting courtside with her crutches, gave her a reassuring nod from the sidelines, her presence like a quiet anchor in the chaos.

The ball tipped off, and from the get-go, Azzi was a force. Every possession, she attacked with precision and poise, moving with a fluidity that looked effortless, but beneath it all was the drive of someone who had spent every waking moment preparing for this.

By halftime, she had already racked up 16 points — a mix of smooth jump shots, aggressive drives to the basket, and some slick passing to keep the defense guessing. She was pulling off moves that had the crowd on their feet, cheering louder with every made shot.

Lou was on fire as well, working with Azzi like a well-oiled machine, creating space, knocking down threes, and finishing strong under the basket. She added 17 points to the board, her energy contagious as she sprinted up and down the court, pushing the tempo and making Northeastern’s defense scramble.

Aaliyah wasn’t far behind, showing off her quick thinking and athleticism. With 14 points, she was crucial in keeping the game out of reach for Northeastern, hitting timely shots, and dishing out assists like a true floor general.

Azzi’s highlight of the game came in the third quarter. With just under five minutes left, she pulled off a steal on the perimeter, sprinted down the court, and finished with a fast-break layup that had the crowd roaring. It was an exclamation point on an already incredible game, showing just how much she was able to take control of the tempo.

On the defensive end, she wasn’t slowing down either. Her anticipation for steals was uncanny, getting in passing lanes and forcing turnovers. By the fourth quarter, Northeastern’s offense had no answers for her. Every time they thought they had a rhythm, Azzi was there to disrupt it.

The final buzzer sounded, and the scoreboard read UConn 85, Northeastern 67.

Azzi finished with an impressive 26 points — a career-high for her, while Lou and Aaliyah combined for a solid 31 between them. The win felt good, but it wasn’t just the points or the victory that stood out. It was the way they had come together as a team, with Azzi stepping up and showing the world just how much she had grown into the role of leader.

On the sidelines, Paige was grinning, her eyes locked on Azzi, proud and beaming as she watched her teammate shine.

Azzi jogged off the court, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, high-fiving teammates and coaches as they congratulated her. When she finally made her way over to the bench, Paige gave a pat on the butt.

"You killed it," Paige said, her voice a mix of admiration and pride.

Azzi laughed, breathless but glowing. “Couldn’t have done it without Lou and Aaliyah.”

"Still, you led us," Paige said, her voice carrying that quiet reverence that Azzi was just starting to get used to.

“Yeah,” Azzi grinned, feeling the weight of the moment. “Feels pretty damn good.”

----------------------------------

The local bar, Ted’s, was buzzing with energy. Music pulsed through the speakers, and the familiar chatter of UConn students filled the space. The team had claimed their victory, and now it was time to let loose and enjoy the night. The table was surrounded by smiling faces, a mix of teammates and friends, each of them still riding the high of the game.

Azzi leaned back in her chair, one hand wrapped around her drink, and the other resting on the table. Paige was seated beside her, as always, her crutches leaning against the booth as she sat with a grin that could have lit up the whole place.

"26 points, Azzi!" Caroline said, raising her glass in a toast. "You were on fire tonight!"

Azzi laughed, a little embarrassed by all the attention. "Thanks, but it’s not just me. We all killed it."

"Yeah, well, you were the one putting them in the basket," Paige teased, nudging her. "Don’t be humble, you earned it."

Azzi smiled at her, but there was a flicker of worry in her eyes as she glanced at Paige. "You good with those crutches? Need any help?"

Paige rolled her eyes but laughed. "Chill, Az. I’m good. I’m off these crutches in a week anyway."

"You sure?" Azzi pressed, still looking concerned. "You know I’ve got your back, right?"

Paige reached out, squeezing Azzi’s hand. "I know. I’m fine. Tonight’s about you. Have fun. Don’t worry about me."

Caroline raised her drink again. "She’s right! You deserve this, Azzi. You’ve been putting in the work. It’s your night to shine."

Azzi felt her face warm. "Alright, alright," she relented, shaking her head. "I’ll try to enjoy myself."

The group kept celebrating, chatting, and laughing, the table overflowing with pitchers of beer and shared plates of fries and wings. But as the night went on, Azzi couldn’t fully shake the feeling that she needed to keep an eye on Paige. She kept glancing at her, making sure the crutches weren’t too much of a hassle, that she wasn’t pushing herself too hard.

"I’m serious, Azzi," Paige said, catching her looking again. "Chill out. You’re making me feel like I’m 90 or something. I can take care of myself."

Azzi just nodded, taking a deep breath, trying to let go of the concern. The celebration was about the team, the victory, the bond they had built.

But before long, the mood shifted. Nika, always the wild card, was laughing loudly at something Aaliyah had said when her face suddenly went pale. She put her hand over her mouth and excused herself from the table.

"Uh-oh," Lou said, narrowing her eyes. "Nika’s about to lose it."

Azzi's eyes darted to Nika, who was now heading toward the bathroom, looking like she was about to puke.

"Great," Azzi muttered, getting up from the table. "I'll go check on her."

As Azzi made her way to the bathroom, she heard Nika’s voice groaning from the inside. "I can’t believe I’m doing this… again."

Azzi knocked gently on the door. "Nika? You okay?"

A muffled response came. "I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute."

Azzi waited outside, glancing back to the table where the rest of the team was still laughing and enjoying the night. But her mind was on Nika, and on making sure she was okay. After a few minutes, the door finally opened, and Nika stepped out, looking a little green but otherwise okay.

"Alright, let's get you home," Azzi said, wrapping an arm around Nika to help steady her.

The rest of the team continued celebrating at the table, but Azzi was focused on getting Nika back to her dorm. As they made their way toward the door, Azzi spotted Paige, who was still seated, grinning up at her.

"You good?" Paige asked, noticing the way Azzi was hovering around Nika.

"Yeah, just making sure Nika doesn’t faceplant in the parking lot," Azzi replied, trying to keep her tone light.

"Take care of her," Paige said with a wink. "I’ll be fine."

Azzi gave her a quick nod and then headed out with Nika. They made their way across campus, walking slowly since Nika was still a little unsteady. Nika leaned into Azzi as they walked, resting her head on her shoulder.

"I should never drink again," Nika muttered, and Azzi couldn’t help but laugh.

"You say that every time," Azzi teased. "And yet, here we are."

When they reached Nika's apartment, Azzi helped her inside, making sure she got to her room safely. As they walked up the stairs, Azzi spotted a familiar door — Paige’s room.

Azzi paused for a second, glancing at Nika. "You good here? Need anything?"

Nika waved her off, already heading for her bed. "I’m good. Thanks for the rescue."

Azzi stepped into the cozy living space that Paige and Nika shared. The place had the usual college dorm vibe—messy but lived-in, with half-packed bags from the earlier game and leftover pizza boxes scattered around. The walls were covered with posters, pictures, and a few random mementos from their last tournament.

Azzi took a deep breath, glad the night had ended on a high note despite the chaos. She scanned the room, her eyes landing on Nika, who was trying to balance herself on the couch after the late-night drinking fiasco.

“Hey, I got her home safe,” Azzi said with a smile. "She’s fine now."

Lou, who had been helping Nika, shot her a knowing look. "Yeah, but someone is going to pay for this tomorrow," Lou teased, glancing at Nika. “I’ll leave you two alone, though. I’ve got plans.”

Azzi chuckled as Lou waved goodbye, stepping out the door. It didn’t take long for Paige to shuffle into the living room, leaning on Lou for support.

“Thanks, Lou. I’ll text you tomorrow,” Paige said as Lou headed out, then turned toward Azzi with a tired smile. "Hey, you made it."

Azzi raised an eyebrow at Paige. “You okay? You look like you just walked through a battle zone.”

Paige gave a tired shrug. “I’ll be alright. Can’t believe I’m still on these crutches.”

“Yeah, but you’re about to be back on your feet in no time,” Azzi reassured, walking over to Paige and gently taking the crutches from her. “You good to get to your room?”

“Yeah, I think I can manage,” Paige said, though it was clear she wasn’t completely sure. With a little help from Azzi, she carefully made her way down the hall, leaning against the wall for balance.

Once in the room, Paige turned to Azzi with a mischievous grin. “So, you want to spend the night? I mean, we could make it a real victory night.”

Azzi couldn’t help but laugh at how casual Paige was. “Sure, why not?”

They both changed into comfy PJs—Azzi opting for oversized sweats and a UConn hoodie, while Paige slipped into a loose T-shirt and shorts. The room felt more relaxed, the energy lighter now that the game was behind them.

“Want to put on Love & Basketball?” Paige asked, tossing a glance at the TV. “It’s tradition.”

Azzi snorted. “Of course, big head,” she said, teasing.

Paige laughed, shooting her a side-eye. “Alright, alright. Look who’s getting a big head after their game tonight. I see how it is.”

Azzi put her hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, you were telling me to brag more, so now I’m taking your advice. And let’s be real, the game was yours too.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but there was a soft smile on her face as she made herself comfortable on the bed. "I know you scored, but you really did carry the team."

Azzi shrugged, settling beside her. “I’d say we carried each other. But I’m glad to finally get to brag a little bit. You should try it sometime.”

“I do brag," Paige teased, punching her lightly in the arm. "I just don't go around talking about it every two seconds."

They bantered back and forth as the movie started, the familiar lines of Love & Basketball filling the room. Paige slowly relaxed into the moment, her head resting on Azzi’s shoulder as they watched.

Before long, the conversation fizzled out. The combination of the movie, the warmth of the room, and Azzi’s gentle presence made Paige’s eyes grow heavy. She let out a quiet sigh, her breathing becoming slow and even.

Azzi noticed that Paige had fallen asleep with her head still resting on her shoulder, her hand lightly curled around Azzi’s arm. A small, affectionate smile tugged at Azzi’s lips as she looked down at Paige, clearly at ease in her arms.

Azzi shifted slightly, just enough to get comfortable, but she didn’t want to wake Paige. She closed her eyes too, letting the exhaustion from the game and the celebration seep in, allowing herself to drift off.

The sunlight streaming through the window was soft, and Azzi’s eyes fluttered open as she stirred, the bed feeling warmer than usual. She realized she had fallen asleep in the same position as Paige, who was now lightly snoring in her arms, curled against her.

A soft knock interrupted the quiet morning.

“Nika?” Azzi mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep.

There was no response, only the door creaking open slightly.

Nika’s head poked around the corner, a mischievous grin on her face. “Well, well, look who’s finally asleep.” She saw the two of them snuggled up and, with a knowing grin, quietly snapped a picture.

Azzi’s eyes snapped open when she heard the click of the camera. “Nika!” she hissed, sitting up quickly.

Nika just chuckled under her breath. “Don’t worry, big heads. I won’t send it to the team... yet.” She shook her head, clearly amused by what she saw, before she stepped back out of the room.

Azzi couldn’t help but smile as she heard Nika’s footsteps fade away. She glanced down at Paige, still asleep in her arms, and her heart softened. Maybe this was exactly what they both needed—time to rest, time to just be.

With a small sigh, Azzi settled back down, carefully pulling the blanket up over them both. It was a peaceful moment, one that felt like it could stretch on forever, but she knew reality would eventually break through.

For now, though, it was just them—Paige, Azzi, and a little piece of quiet.

[paucubarsisimp]

Can you pls make Hector fort imagine

Like him and reader fight and he goes to his mom to complain but reader is already there and his mom is on the readers side (a silly funny fic)

❤️

héctor's mamá

pairing: héctor fort x reader

summary: in which after an argument, you go to héctor's mamá for comfort

warnings: a bit of angst, use of y/n

it started like any other evening. you had planned a quiet night with héctor—maybe dinner, a movie, or just spending some quality time together. you’d been looking forward to it all week.

but somewhere along the way, things went wrong.

he had promised you he’d be home early, excited for your plans. you had picked out a cute outfit, set the table, and ordered your favorite food. but when the time passed and there was no sign of him, your excitement slowly turned to confusion.

you texted him—no reply. then called. still nothing.

hours passed.

when he finally called, it was clear something had gone wrong. “hey, preciosa, sorry i’m running late. we got caught up with practice, and i lost track of time,” he said, his voice a little distracted.

“you lost track of time?” you asked, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “we had plans, héctor. you promised me you’d be home for dinner.”

“i know, i know, i’m sorry,” he said quickly, clearly flustered. “i’ll make it up to you, i promise.”

but it was the way he said it—so casually—that made your heart sink. it wasn’t the first time he had done this. and while you knew his schedule could be unpredictable, this wasn’t the first time he had broken promises.

you felt the frustration building up, but you held it in as best as you could. “okay… just—come home when you can,” you said, trying not to sound upset.

but you were upset. you waited for him, but by the time he walked through the door hours later, you were no longer in the mood for dinner or movies. you were just tired of always being patient, always waiting.

he walked in, looking apologetic, but you could tell he was more concerned about how long the day had been than about your feelings. “hey, amor, i’m sorry i’m late. practice went longer than i thought. i didn’t mean to—”

“you didn’t mean to? héctor, you do this all the time,” you cut him off, the words coming out before you could stop them. “i don’t know how many times i’ve had to make excuses for you with people, or just… deal with being alone when you say you’re going to be here. i get it, your schedule is crazy, but i’m getting tired of being at the bottom of the list.”

his face dropped, and the confusion and hurt you saw on his expression made you feel a little guilty. “you’re not at the bottom of the list,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “i just… sometimes things get overwhelming.”

“but that’s just it, héctor,” you replied, voice shaking. “it feels like i’m just a thing you squeeze in when you have time. we don’t even get to have proper dates anymore, and it’s been so long since we’ve done anything just the two of us.”

you stood up, walking away from him. “i don’t know what you want me to say. i don’t feel like i’m a priority for you, and it sucks. i’m tired of always being patient, always understanding. i need someone who shows up for me.”

there was a long, painful silence, and you could see how badly you had hurt him in his eyes. but you didn’t know how to fix it, not when you felt so unseen.

finally, he spoke up, his voice quiet. “i’m sorry, y/n. i didn’t mean to hurt you. i’ll try to do better.”

you nodded, but the knot in your chest didn’t go away. “i just… need some space right now.”

he hesitated for a moment, then nodded, clearly understanding. “okay. i’ll give you some space.”

he turned to leave, and you tried not to feel like a weight had just dropped in your stomach. this wasn’t what you wanted, but you needed to feel heard.

with that, you found yourself walking to his mom’s house, not really thinking about it. you didn’t even knock, just let yourself in and walked right into the living room.

his mom looked up from the couch, a concerned smile immediately crossing her face. “y/n, querida! what’s wrong?”

you didn’t say anything at first, just sank onto the couch beside her, your face in your hands. “i don’t know what to do, mamá. héctor missed our date again… and i’m just so tired of it.”

she sighed, wrapping her arms around you in a warm, comforting hug. “oh, mi amor. i’m so sorry. it’s tough when you feel like you’re not a priority.”

you nodded, letting her comfort you. “it’s just… i don’t know what to say anymore. i’ve tried talking to him about it, but he always promises it’ll be different, and then this happens again.”

“sometimes héctor gets caught up in his own world,” she said gently, “but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you. he just doesn’t always know how to show it. but he’s a good man, and i know he loves you. this is a bump in the road. but he’ll come to his senses, darling. he’ll realize that you deserve more.”

you looked up at her, trying to hold back the tears. “i just want him to show up, you know? like he says he will.”

“he will,” she said softly. “but in the meantime, let’s distract you. you deserve some fun and relaxation right now.”

you smiled weakly, appreciating her words more than you could express. “i think i’d like that.”

meanwhile, héctor was pacing outside, guilt gnawing at him. he knew he had messed up. again. he had promised you that he would show up, but practice and everything else had gotten in the way. he could feel the weight of your words, and it was tearing him up inside.

finally, after a few minutes of deep breathing, he walked over to his mom’s house. when he opened the door, the first thing he saw was you, sitting on the couch, chatting with his mom, looking so much more relaxed than when he left.

“y/n…” he began, but stopped when his mom winked at him, clearly enjoying your company.

“well, well, look who decided to show up,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “i was just telling y/n how you owe her a big apology.”

he froze, blinking. “mamá, seriously?”

“you owe her an apology, héctor,” his mom said, crossing her arms. “you’ve been neglecting her, and i don’t appreciate that one bit.”

héctor looked at you, then back at his mom. “i… i didn’t mean to. i really didn’t.”

you turned to him with a soft sigh. “i know you didn’t, but i need more than just promises. i need actions, héctor.”

his mom patted the seat next to her. “now, apologize to her. sincerely. and don’t make excuses.”

héctor sat down next to you, the guilt and love in his eyes clear. “y/n, i’m sorry. i messed up. i’ve been so caught up in everything that i forgot to be there for you. i’m going to try harder, i promise.”

you smiled softly, your heart lightening. “thank you, héctor. i know you didn’t mean it. i just want to feel important too, you know?”

he nodded, squeezing your hand. “you are important. more than anything.”

his mom smiled as she watched the two of you. “see? i knew you’d get there.”

you leaned against héctor, feeling lighter than you had all night. “thank you… for understanding.”

he grinned, pulling you closer. “you don’t need to thank me. i’m lucky to have you.”

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted lmk if you want to be added!

[lovelybucky1]

okay what do you think about daddy!matt with a reader that's not very into the whole daddy thing but she's so submissive and wants to please him no matter what and matt is desperate to corrupt her into liking it too

tw: dub!con

"say it, baby."

"matt," you whine, squeezing your eyes shut.

"c'mon, honey. if you want to cum, you gotta say it. tell me what i want to hear."

you turn your head away as you deal with your conflicting feelings. he's making you feel so good, you're so close to your edge, but he won't let you cum unless you indulge his fucked up fantasy. he's been trying to get you into it for so long, but you've always been resistant. now, he's holding your pleasure hostage.

"matt, i don't wanna. you know i don't."

matt forces down the frustration that he can feel growing in his bones. getting mad won't get him his way. he needs to stay calm.

"it's just one little word, sweetheart. you can do it. just one little word and i'll give you everything you want. i promise, okay? when have i ever broken a promise to you?"

your lack of response makes his blood pressure rise. he decides he needs to be more persuasive, so he stills his hips and removes his thumb from your clit, leaving you clenching around his hard cock buried inside you.

your desperation makes your mind foggy, just as matt intended. he's wearing you down, pushing you deeper into submission so you're less likely to fight back; more malleable.

"say it," he says through gritted teeth, letting his walls down just a bit and exposing his fiery desperation.

your hips buck, seeking stimulation before you lose all of the pleasure you've built up. matt stops you, pinning your hips down to the bed with a firm hand. he's not letting you have any more until you say what he wants you to.

you can't take it anymore. you're too desperate, too fuck-drunk to think straight. you know you don't want to, but it'll be the only way to get what you need. and if it makes matt happy, then it can't be so bad, can it?

"please let me cum, dad."

"fuck," matt groans loudly. he's been waiting to hear you say that for so long, and even though he had to fight with you to get you to say it, it's still so sweet.

[johamfated]

Harry sat quietly for a few minutes, kind of regretting what he had said in his frustration. He knew he'd been a little harsh, but he hadn't realised quite how harsh until he was left to sit here in the silence. He looked over at Fawkes, who was sitting watching him in return. "I probably shouldn't have said all that, eh?' He asked softly, not really needing an answer from the Phoenix.

Eventually, Harry stood up, deciding he should probably apologise to the former professor. He brushed down his robes, perhaps stalling as long as he could. He really didn't like upsetting Dumbledore, but Merlin knew how frustrating the older man was being.

Taking a deep breath, Harry walked over to the front door, opened it, and stepped out into the garden. He stood silently for a minute, watching Dumbledore tend to his plants and creatures. Albus Dumbledore had always had this way of making Harry apologise, without actually asking. The older man would chastise him, firm but gentle, and then sit quietly until Harry nearly died from the awkward silence and would apologise. Dumbledore would always be quick to forgive him, though, and would them promptly more on to the next topic.

Before it could become too awkward this time, though, Harry spoke across the small distance, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did. I let my frustration get the better of me. It's just taking some getting used to. Seeing you like this, when I know the potential you have. But I know you're not him. That there are going to be differences. And, I should have been kinder with my words. I hope you can forgive me."

@regretismyconstantcompanion

Albus Dumbledore was sitting on the couch, staring into the fireplace that was across from him. The crackling of the flames was the only sound breaking the silence in the cottage that was nestled in the Scottish Highlands. It was isolated, miles away from even the nearest village. He had chosen it for that very reason, desperate for solitude even if it wasn't something that had been forced upon him. He had lost the duel against Grindelwald. He had known that had always been a possibility. There were equals after all and had known each other painfully well. They had spent that summer duelling, friendly but pushing each others boundaries. They had grown and changed and become more powerful but their tendencies had lingered. The fight had lasted well over an hour but in the end, Gellert had just gotten the better of him and managed to disarm him and send him flying backwards. His only minor consolation was the fight had left them both panting and injured. But it had been clear who the winner was. There was no backing out of the agreement they had made. His time in Nurmengard had been brief. A chance to recover from the duel before Gellert gave him an ultimatum. He could remain free if he agreed to leave Hogwarts and retreat from the Wizarding World. Albus had already known he would leave the school, for certainly he had lost that right when he had failed his students and the Wizarding World as a whole. He had agreed, knowing Gellert wasn't giving him a choice and not agreeing would result in either his death or being imprisoned in Nurmengard forever or the deaths of those he cared about. And so here he was, over a year after the duel. Staring into the fire, sitting beside a cup of tea that had long gone cold. Books had been removed from the overflowing bookshelves, scattered around the room. Some had been read, some he hadn't even yet opened. Plain parchment piled up on the desk. Few knew where he was and so letters came rarely. He had picked some of the fruit and vegetables he grew in a small garden he tended to. Perhaps he would make some jams and chutneys if he could find the strength and motivation. It came sometimes, mixed in with the heavy weight of despair that seemed to fill his waking hours. He had failed. He had let down the wizarding world and now he banished just beyond the world he loved so much. He knew what was happening there, of course. He did his best to learn of Gellerts ongoing plans and rise to power. Without him there, there was nothing to stop him. He knew the few Ministries that still existed moved against him but it wouldn't take much for them to fall. Everything would be lost then and Albus knew he was powerless to stop it. @johamfated

[yanadolls]

ONE OF YOUR GIRLS TONIGHT ✧˖°.

||| FEATURING: REO MIKAGE X FEM READER

||| 18+, MDNI ── .✦ drunk sex, semi-public sex, praising, degrading, petnames, slight obsession, spanking, breeding kink, almost being caught

||| SUMMARY: reo attends yet another boring party with his parents, but when he meets you and learns how uninterested you are in him at first, he immediately yearns for you.

-

reo adjusted his tie in the bathroom as he stood in front of a mirror, head a bit fuzzy from the alcohol he consumed. it was really the only way he could handle these gatherings- they were so lame! he hated that his parents forced him to attend to keep up the mikage image even in his adult life, and he grew pretty exhausted already of the long business conversations. however, he knew he had to go back out there so with a grumble, he pushed the door open and exited. as he was rounding the corner to head towards the ballroom, he felt a body collide with his chest.

"oh, sorry."

"it's okay, i'm sorry as well. i wasn't looking where i was going."

upon hearing the feminine voice, his purple eyes roamed down to see who he bumped into, only to find out it was quite as beautiful girl. from your dress to your makeup, you were breathtaking and even he could admit that. considering reo was tipsy already and not very interested in going back to the party, he decided he might as well flirt a bit. a charming smile came to his lips as he took your smaller hand in his and placed a chaste kiss to the back of it.

"my, my. you're a beauty, dolly. which family are you attending with?"

'she shouldn't be too difficult.' the thought ran through his mind.

although when his eyes trailed back up to you, his smile faltered a bit. he wasn't met with the typical blushing face any other girl would've had- no, instead, you looked at him with a look that screamed how weirded out you were.

"thanks, i guess.. but i don't think i'm gonna give you that information. bye."

the shock was obvious on his face as you yanked your hand out from his and walked off. this was something reo was NOT used to. did this girl seriously just reject his advance? well, screw you anyway! he only wanted a distraction.

that's what he told himself as he grumbled back to the ballroom, getting another glass of champagne.

the more reo drank, the more bothered he was by the fact he actually had gotten rejected. it wasn't long before he was pretty drunk, and found himself eyeing you from across the room way more than he should've. the longer he stared at you, he felt an odd feeling bubble up in his chest. you were really gorgeous, and the tight dress that hugged your pretty curves and showed off your thighs was making the room a bit hotter for him.

the whole night reo continued to try to make moves on you, but they were all brushed off or shut down swiftly. he grew evermore frustrated as time went on, but he refused to give up. it just wasn't in his nature.

after a couple more drinks of your own, you were quite drunk as well, stumbling out of the ballroom to get some air. reo followed you and before you could rush down the hall from him, he grabbed your wrist tightly, spinning you around and bringing you to his chest. he glared down at you.

"am i ugly or something?" he started, "what the hell is wrong with you?"

you were unable to get out of his hold as his other hand moved to grip your waist- not tight enough to hurt, but enough to make you stay put.

"that's not even the problem! i just don't want some rich playboy trying to make me one of his toys!"

reo growled at your words. "that's not what i'm trying to do. is it so hard to believe i'm just interested in you?"

"yeah, it actually is."

"then let me prove it to you! i'll show you it's worth it to take a risk with me."

reo didn't know why he was so desperate to have you, considering the fact he had only just seen your face for the first time two hours ago. maybe it was the fact that you were so different from other potential sweethearts he had in the past, or that you didn't give him what he wanted from the start. whatever it was, reo didn't care. he needed to make you his.

a large hand came up to cup your cheek, tilting your head up to look at him. without any warning, he crashed his lips against yours, alcohol swimming in his mind. to his surprise, you actually reciprocated, moving your hands to hold his face as your tongues pushed against each others. you were giving him a chance, and reo couldn't be happier.

was it inappropriate to be making out in the middle of a hallway in someone else's estate, where both of your families could see you? 100%. although, it didn't seem like either of you cared as reo gently pushed you against the wall, hand hooking under one of your thighs and lifting it to hold against his hip.

"fuck, m'gonna make you mine."

reo grumbled on your lips, his much taller body caging you against the wall. it was a blur how or when you both moved into a nearby closet, but it happened; and now reo was sitting you on a heavy box, spreading your legs open hungrily.

"to think you tried to keep me from this.. gonna fuck you so hard for that."

you felt embarrassment rush to your face at his words, arousal pooling between your thighs at the mere thought. his thumb pressed against your sensitive clit through your damp panties, eliciting a moan from you. reo's cock twitched in his pants as he harshly tugged the lacey panty down to your ankles, revealing your glistening pussy. he couldn't help but groan at the sight, pressing his free hand roughly against his aching and throbbing hard-on.

"sooo fucking pretty. gonna ruin you for anyone else, princess."

"c'mon, reo.. just fuck me already.."

reo hissed at your words, unbuckling his belt in a rush. normally, he would've teased you for hours on end just for doing what you did tonight, but he was too drunk and horny to care. all he wanted right now was to be deep inside your gummy walls. he let out a small sigh as he released his dick from his boxers, only pushing his pants down to his thighs before he grabbed you and held you in his arms. your legs instantly hooked around his waist as you prepared yourself for what was about to happen. reo was big- bigger than anyone you had ever been with.

"oh, fuck!"

your legs trembled as he slowly pushed into your tight hole, the stretch from his large cock making your mind go blank. it hurt like hell at first, but once he was fully in, your pain turned to pleasure. reo pressed your back against the wall as he fucked you with experience, mouth sloppily biting at your neck to scatter dark hickeys across your smooth skin. moans spilled from your pretty lips as you felt your guts being totally rearranged by the handsome rich boy, your hands scratching at the back of his suit.

"pussy feels incredible, baby." he groaned out, "like it was made for me and only me."

his words made you clench around his dick, giving more pleasure for the both of you. reo continued abusing your poor cunt, silencing your whines and moans by kissing you passionately.

however, even in such an intoxicated and heated state, reo faintly picked up on the sounds of footsteps coming down the hallway. his movements halted in you, much to your dismay.

"ugh, asshole! why'd you stop-"

reo quickly covered your mouth, although he didn't pull out of you. he brought your body closer to his, dropping his head down beside your ear so he could whisper.

"don't make a sound."

before you could question why he was requesting such a thing, sudden voices could be heard approaching the closet. your heart fell to your stomach.

"someone said they heard weird noises coming from this direction.. what could it be?"

"darling, it could just be from outside."

the couple who were throwing the party in their own home were one door away from finding THE mikage reo balls deep into a girl he just met. you bit down on your bottom lip harshly, but a part of you couldn't help but feel more aroused at the thought of being caught getting your pussy pounded by the purple haired man. unintentionally, you clenched around reo, who held back a noise at the feeling- but barely.

"the hell are you doing?!" he whisper hissed at you, "you trying to get us caught?"

no, you weren't. honestly, it would be a horrifying situation to be placed in if the two discovered what was happening in their unlocked closet just a few feet from them. maybe it was because of the alcohol you consumed, but you weren't even thinking about that consequence you would face as you clenched down on reo again, eyes rolling to the back of your head. the door handle jiggled as you both held your breaths in horror.

"..excuse me!"

a sudden voice called from further away, and the doorknob was released.

"there's a stray cat in the bathroom down the other hallway! it appears to have snuck in through the window!"

what a lucky coincidence. footsteps backed away from the closet you were both hiding.

"oh..that must be what the noises were. come, honey. we have a cat to catch!"

only did you sigh of relief once the footsteps had totally faded, leaving you in the clear from being caught. however, what you weren't in the clear from was the little stunt you had pulled during the tense situation. reo suddenly pulled out and flipped you around, pushing you to bend over the box as he yanked your dress to your waist, placing a harsh slap on your ass.

"you some kind of slut? the fuck were you trying to do back there, huh? did you want that poor, old couple to see how well i fuck you? how well you take my fat cock?"

he spanked you again, both the action and his dirty words going straight to your core. reo slammed into you again, setting a more brutal pace than before.

"yeah, you'll get what you want. take my dick like a good girl, cause you're not gonna be walking for days once i'm done with you tonight."

his hands roamed everywhere on you, no longer caring about how much noise you two were making. you had only fueled reo's growing obsession with you, and he wasn't planning on letting you go. he wanted to claim you as his, keep you for himself. his heavy balls slapped against your backside with each thrust as he fucked into you like a madman.

"aah! ohmygod, reo!" you cried out, "m'gonna cum, gonna c-cum so hard!"

"f-fuck- me too, princess. gonna fill you up so much till you're leaking with my cum. take it all, ugh- take it!"

with one last cry, you clenched down and came around his thick cock, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. reo hugged your waist tightly as he twitched in you a couple times before painting your walls in white. you rode out your orgasm with him before he pulled out of you slowly, collapsing onto your back. heavy breathing was the only sound that filled the small closet now.

"think i love you already... yeah, you're all mine, now." he pressed a kiss behind your ear, although it was more gentle now. "just wait till i take you home. you're now my girlfriend."

AN: i think this was my longest write yet KEKW, i love reo sm <3 also my requests are open!

[mocchiixxx]

Words in Ruin Series # | 13: Lee Chan (Dino) 🦦

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Emotional Healing

Warnings: Shouting, emotional distress, crying, reconciliation, self-doubt

Summary: Dino, always the youngest, has learned to hide his stress and worries behind his energetic and playful persona. But when he’s pushed to his limit by the pressures of being the youngest member in the group, it takes a toll on him. After an argument, he finds himself regretting his harsh words, realizing that the person he cares for the most is the one who ended up getting hurt.

The silence in the apartment was louder than any music blasting from speakers. It wrapped around you like a cold blanket, sharp and suffocating.

You looked at the untouched plates on the table, steam now long gone, leaving the food lukewarm and forgotten.

You had timed the dinner perfectly, hoping he’d walk in and smile, maybe even chuckle at the heart-shaped rice you’d molded just to see him laugh again. But when the door creaked open and Chan stepped inside, your heart dropped.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t speak. He didn’t even smile.

Just the soft shuffle of his shoes being kicked off, his bag sliding off his shoulder and hitting the couch with a thud. You stood slowly from your seat, hands nervously twisting the hem of your sweater.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice cautious. “You’re home.”

No response. Not even a glance.

“I made dinner… I thought you’d be hungry. You’ve been working nonstop lately.”

“I’m not,” he muttered, barely audible. “Hungry.”

The words were clipped. Tired. Not angry, not cold just… numb. And maybe that was worse.

Still, you tried. “You probably barely had anything for lunch. You should eat something before you—”

“I said I’m not hungry!” he snapped, finally looking at you, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something else you couldn’t quite name, bitterness? Helplessness?

You froze.

A pause.

Then silence.

He sighed heavily, brushing past you as he ran a hand through his already messy hair.

“Why do you always do this?” he muttered under his breath, though loud enough for you to hear.

You swallowed hard, the question like a punch to the gut. “Do what?”

“Push. Ask. Hover. It’s like, like you don’t trust me when I say I’m fine.”

“Because I know you’re not,” you replied, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay calm.

“You’re not okay, Chan. You’ve been zoning out, barely eating, barely talking. That’s not fine.”

“God,” he exhaled sharply, eyes closing in frustration. “Why does everyone expect me to be okay all the time? Why can’t I just have one day where I don’t have to smile or talk or act like I have everything together?”

You took a step toward him, careful. “You can. You can break down with me. You don’t have to pretend—”

“But I do!” he yelled suddenly, his voice breaking as it echoed through the apartment. “I’m the youngest! The one who’s always supposed to bounce back. Be funny. Be bright. Keep the mood up when everyone else is tired. You think that’s easy?”

His chest heaved. You stood still, heart pounding.

“I’m not a kid anymore, but everyone still looks at me like I should be okay with being treated like one,” he said, his voice lower now, shaking. “And when I mess up, it’s like it hits ten times harder. Because I’m not allowed to mess up. I have to prove myself. Every damn day.”

Your voice cracked when you spoke again. “I never asked you to prove anything to me…”

He looked at you and for the first time, you saw it.

Not frustration. Not anger. But pain. Raw and unfiltered.

“I know you didn’t,” he whispered. “But that’s what makes it worse.”

He sank onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, hands covering his face. You approached slowly and sat beside him, unsure whether to reach for him or give him space. The silence hung heavy again, but this time, it wasn’t cold. It was vulnerable.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he murmured through his fingers. “I just… I’ve been trying so hard not to fall apart, and tonight I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

You reached out, gently removing his hands from his face. “Why not?”

“Because you’re the only place I feel normal. Safe. If I fall apart here too… then where do I go?”

Your heart broke at his honesty.

You reached for him, wrapping your arms around his tense frame. He hesitated, then melted into the embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His body shook against yours, quiet sobs breaking free from the dam he'd been holding back for far too long.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered. “So tired of pretending.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” you whispered back. “Not ever.”

His grip on you tightened. He clung to you like a lifeline, the dam fully broken now. You held him like he was something precious and he was.

You rocked him gently, pressing soft kisses to his temple, letting your warmth tell him what words never could: You are not alone. Not in this. Not ever.

After a while, he pulled back, eyes red but clearer than they’d been in weeks.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” he said hoarsely. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“I forgive you,” you said without hesitation. “Because I know you were hurting.”

He smiled faintly. “I just didn’t know how to say it. I’ve been holding it all in for so long. Trying to be okay because… because if I’m not, then who am I, right?”

“You’re still Chan,” you said. “Still the one who works so hard. Still the one who cares so much. But even the strongest need rest. Even the brightest stars need time to breathe.”

He leaned his forehead against yours. “How do you always know what to say?”

“I don’t,” you chuckled softly. “I just love you. And when you love someone, you learn how to hold them through the worst of their storms.”

That night, the apartment didn’t feel so cold. The food stayed untouched, but hearts were healed instead.

And for the first time in a long while, Dino let himself rest, not just physically, but emotionally, in the arms of someone who saw past the cheerful mask and loved every broken, exhausted part of him.

Taglist: @babycaratdeul @viacb97 @christinewithluv

[tateypots]

Body and Soul

18+ MDNI

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x f!reader, Dark!Tommy Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: Part 10 of Collared. Same as before, it's dark so please heed the warnings and skip if it's not for you.

I promised an anon I would put Tommy in a ponytail but I had to split the chapter because it was getting too big. So ponytail Tommy will fall in the next chapter, sorry anon!

Moodboard is for aesthetics only, reader is not described beyond having boobs and a vagina and hair (very brief mention and it is not described). Please refer to this post for more info on the series mooboards.

Summary: You take a step forward in your relationship with Joel.

Warnings: Non-Con, dark Joel, dark Tommy, kidnapping, daddy kink, uncle kink, restraints, stockhom syndrome, praise kink, unprotected piv, manipulation. Let me know if I missed anything.

You heave a massive sigh and bury your head in your hands. What a mess. Your brain is on overdrive following Joel telling you about their bet. And the worst of it is that it’s not outrage at them using you as a pawn in their games. It’s the thought of letting one of them down.

A few hours ago you had been drowning in pride at how well you were doing in your training, how pleased Tommy was with you. How much faith he had in you. The thought of disappointing him makes you sick to your stomach. Because of course it would be him. You had genuinely come to care for Tommy. But you needed Joel. Going 24 hours without him would be an unthinkable torture.

You felt like you should hate yourself for how little thought you actually gave it. Because as soon as the secret slipped from Joel’s mouth, the outcome was inevitable. And to make things worse again, you knew that had been his intention in telling you. A manipulation dressed up in praise and feigned sadness over a loss he knew would never come. And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him, because weren’t you just as bad?

Joel had told you because he couldn’t bear the thought of going without you for that long. And you would risk your relationship with Tommy because you felt the same way about him. That pull you felt towards him was inescapable. It defied all logic. You knew Tommy was objectively the better choice for you. He was younger for a start. More open, fun, where Joel was closed off and manipulative. But Tommy didn’t make your body sing or your heart flutter the way Joel did. So no matter how much you hated letting him down, Tommy never really stood a chance.

Now you just had to figure out a way to do it that would limit the damage. You couldn’t just put no effort in. Tommy would know something was off if you did. And that sent your brain spiralling in another direction. What would happen if Tommy found out that Joel had told you?

You’d often considered what would happen if the brothers turned on you. But it had never crossed your mind to wonder what would happen if they turned on each other. It was clear to you how close they were so it had never really seemed like it would be a problem. But now the secrets between them were starting to mount up. Because of you… You grabbed a pillow off the bed and stuffed it over your face, screaming your frustration into it.

You tried so hard over the next few hours to shut off your brain but it was no good. Your mind ran in circles, searching for a solution that wouldn’t materialise. When Joel and Tommy came in for the day you were amped up, pacing and fidgety.

“Whoa sugar, what’s got you all riled up?” Tommy asks, coming over to still your pacing, grabbing you by each bicep.

You couldn’t look at him, too filled with guilt so instead you leant forward and buried your head in his shoulder.

“Hey now, what’s goin’ on?” He tries to push you back so he can look at you but you resist, wrapping your arms around him and clinging on like your life depends on it. He admits defeat and wraps his arms around you and pulls you in close.

“It’s ok princess, just tell us what’s wrong hmm?”

You turn your head to the side and mumble, “I’m ok Uncle Tommy, just got in my head and couldn’t switch it off.” You lift your head slightly to peer over his shoulder at Joel. He’s looking back at you, studying the scene in front of him, frowning. You see how this must look to him, you diving straight into Tommy’s arms while upset, knowing what it must be about.

The panic wells in your chest. Your breath comes in frantic little pants and you start to feel lightheaded. You reach one arm out to him while keeping one locked around Tommy’s back and whimper out a soft, “Daddy!”

He softens immediately and rushes to you, grabbing your hand and leaning over Tommy’s shoulder to give you a kiss on the crown of your head. His thumb rubs back and forth gently on the back of your hand as tears start to leak from your eyes.

“It’s ok baby, we got you, you’re alright,” Joel murmurs into your hair.

You sniffle and nod into Tommy’s shoulder, feeling so safe, so cared for it almost makes you forget what you were upset about in the first place. Almost.

“M’sorry,” you mumble, finally getting a grip of yourself and stopping the tears.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about princess, some days are just like that. Happens to me and your Daddy too, ‘cept he gets a lot grumpier than I do.”

You huff a laugh and Tommy snickers into the side of your head when Joel gives him a playful clip around the back of the head.

“There she is. Happy to hear you laughin’ sugar,” Tommy tells you as he finally succeeds in peeling you off him so he can look at your face. You take a deep breath and meet his gaze with a little smile, still holding tight to Joel’s hand.

“Right, I know just the thing to properly cheer you up. How bout some of Uncle Tommy’s famous hot chocolate?”

You smile and nod at him. He is achingly sweet and its making you feel terrible for the way you know you’re going to betray him. But it’s somewhat easier to face with Joel by your side, your hand held securely in his.

“Ok, good girl. Why don’ you snuggle up with Daddy while I work my magic,” he winks at you and moves over to the small kitchen to get started.

Joel looks at you for a beat before sweeping you up in his arms and depositing you both on the sofa, you sitting in his lap with both legs off to the side. The raging jealousy he felt when he saw you latch onto Tommy just now is ebbing slowly as he runs his hands over your soft skin. He’d momentarily worried that he’d pushed you too far. That he’d lost you to Tommy completely through his scheming. But as you lift your little hand to cup his face and lean up to give him a kiss on the cheek he knows his worries were baseless. You’re his. You choose him. He kisses your forehead in a soft apology for what he’s putting you through. You just sigh and sink into him. His sweet, tender-hearted girl. He’ll think of a way to make it up to you.

///

By the time you finish your hot chocolate you’re feeling much better. Snuggling with Joel has quieted your mind and reaffirmed your conviction that you cannot spend 24 hours apart from him. And his tenderness has reassured you that, no matter what, he will take care of you. And you know that maybe you’re being naïve. Maybe he’s just playing with your mind to pass the time. But something deep within tells you that’s not it. That he wouldn’t risk his relationship with his brother if he didn’t reciprocate your need for him. And you decide that if you need to have faith in something, it may as well be Joel. After all, you’ve never felt as safe as you do with his arms wrapped around you.

So when Tommy pulls you out of Joel’s lap and guides you towards the bed, you don’t resist. You don’t even think twice. You can give Tommy this at least. Make him feel good as recompense. You lay on your back and spread your legs for him.

For once you don’t fight the uncomfortable feeling that overcomes you every time Tommy touches you like this. You let it wash over you, bathe yourself in it even as he sinks inside you. This is your penance. You’re just grateful he decided to fuck you tonight rather than have you blow him. This feels less intimate somehow. Maybe it’s because there’s no thought involved for you. You can lie back and let your body take over.

He lies on top of you and buries his head in the crook of your neck. He pumps into you steadily, moaning into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. You turn your head and lock eyes with Joel, even as your hands latch onto Tommy, one burying itself in his loose curls and the other grabbing a handful of his butt cheek, encouraging him to beat into you. Tommy groans as he feels you, enjoying you finally reciprocating his advances.

Joel leans forward on the old sofa, leaning his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. His eyes never leave yours, it feels as though they brand you with their intensity. 

You mewl softly as Tommy starts to move faster, the curls at the base of his dick catching on your clit with every thrust. You let out a broken moan when Tommy’s cock brushes over that spongy spot inside of you and you see Joel’s jaw clench and his hands ball tightly into fists. You wrap your legs around Tommy, pulling him even further into you.

“That’s it princess, bein’ so good for Uncle Tommy, lettin’ him make you feel good.”

He continues to aim for that spot, pounding into with determination, making you cry out. You see something flash in Joel’s eyes as he pushes to his feet. Anger, jealousy? It’s gone too quickly for you to fully identify as his jaw clenches again and he scrunches his nose, but seeing him getting worked up while Tommy fucks you is what pushes you over the edge.

You come with a wail, your pussy clamping down on Tommy hard.

“Jesus, fuck!” he curses as he slams into you a final time before pulsing deep inside. He slumps on top of you, sweaty and breathless. You gently caress his back and press a kiss into his shoulder. A silent sorry that he will never understand. 

“Mmmmm, so good f’me princess. Such a good girl.”

He pulls out of you and disappears into the bathroom, returning quickly with a damp cloth. He cleans you up and announces, “I’m off for a shower,” before disappearing into the bathroom, not noticing the prickling tension between you and Joel, who has resumed his position on the sofa like nothing has happened.  

As soon as the door locks you climb off the bed and make your way over to Joel. He reaches for you before you fully get to him, pulling you forward with his hands on your hips, desperate to have you near. The rough callouses feel heavenly against your skin and you moan out a breathy, “oh Daddy,” before straddling his lap.

You lean your forehead against his and whisper, “thank you Daddy.” Because you know what that was. Him letting you see how affected he was by Tommy fucking you. Letting you see how little he liked it. It was an apology. And a promise. Dropping his mask to let you know how much he cares for you. How little he wants to share you.

He clutches you to him tighter, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Say it. Tell me.” There’s no authority in it. He’s not demanding. He’s begging.

“M’yours Daddy. Only yours.”

He lets out a sigh of relief and his eyes slip closed. You smile and gently cup his face in your hands, waiting for his eyes to be on you again. When he opens them you give him a smile and lean in and press your lips gently to his.

He doesn’t react at first so you pull back, afraid you’ve misread this entire thing but you barely manage to get any distance from his face before he’s pulling you back in with a groan, his lips pressing against yours, gentle but insistent. It makes your breath hitch and you gasp. He takes the opportunity to suck your bottom lip between his before releasing it with a small smacking sound.

“My. Perfect. Sweet. Girl,” he tells you, punctuating each word with a kiss, each one getting firmer. Your hands fall to his shoulders to brace yourself against falling completely into him with the way he is tugging at you.

His tongue swipes against your lips and you moan. As soon as your lips part his tongue is shoving its way into your mouth. It slides against yours and you hesitantly try to match his movements, uncoordinated and sloppy. It feels divine. You pull away every now and again to gasp for air but Joel pulls you right back into him, drowning in his desire for you. You never expected kissing to feel this good. Your pussy throbs and drools as you get more and more aroused, soaking Joel’s crotch with your slick and Tommy’s cum.

Joel’s hands come up to cradle your face and he slides his tongue out of your mouth to growl against your lips, “he doesn’t get to have you like this.” His gruff, possessive tone has you about to lose your mind and you simply whimper as you crush your lips against his once more. He meets your kiss gladly but then abruptly pulls away again and you chase his mouth.

“Say it,” he demands, and you open your eyes to find his boring into yours, expression laced with desperation. “Kisses are only for Daddy,” you mewl at him and he crashes his mouth against you once more, pulling away to growl a “good girl,” at you before claiming you once more.

You can’t take it any more, you drop your hands to fumble with his belt, made harder by the fact that you can’t see with the way Joel is invading your mouth. You finally get it loose and somehow manage to get the button and zipper of his jeans open. He lifts his hips to help you push down his jeans and underwear, just enough to allow his cock to spring free, all whilst joined at the mouth.

He moans when you wrap your hand around his cock and the vibrations rumble pleasantly against your tongue and around your mouth. You break from his lips, head falling back as you sink down onto him, the tight stretch of him stealing any remaining breath you had. You choke and gasp as he slides further and further inside of you, you think you may pass out from lack of oxygen.

His lips are now attached to your neck, the thought of them not being on you unbearable to him. His arms are looped under your arm pits with his hands grabbing at your shoulders as he eases you down to his base. He groans as he finally bottoms out, your head is still tipped back, you can’t think, can’t move as you pant and gulp for air.

He gently guides you forward until your head falls to his shoulder, air coming more easily in the more natural position.

“Tha’s it baby, just breath for me, good girl, big deep breaths,” he coos at you while he strokes your back and lets you settle into him. He doesn’t move, just sits and lets you recover, enjoying the way his balls nestle against the soft skin of your ass.

“My good girl got all worked up from Daddy’s kisses, didn’t she?”

You hum out a dreamy “uh huh,” before latching your fingers in his curls and planting your lips against his once more. He chuckles against you, sucking and nipping at your lower lip and starting to rock you back and forth.

You reluctantly pull away as he encourages you to start bouncing on his cock.

“Fuck yeah you did. Been waitin’ so long for those kisses baby, even better than I imagined. Shoulda’ known. Always fuckin’ perfect for me ain’t ya?”

You whine and your pussy clenches at his words. You already feel that tightening in your core, your whole body lighting up with the pleasure he’s giving you. You’re almost certain he could have made you come just with his kisses.

He groans as you tug on his hair and ride him with fury. You’ve never felt so feral. It’s savage in the way it grips you, your whole existence stripped back to one fundamental truth. You are his. Body and soul.

It’s dangerous you know, to be lured by these feelings in the throes of lust. That it could just be your body fooling your mind into believing this is more than just raw, primal attraction. That this could be his greatest manipulation of all. But the way he pulls you back in to place soft kisses against your lips as you pound each other tells you different. You are his. But he is also yours.

He sticks his thumb into your mouth alongside his tongue, startling you slightly before he retracts it, slippery with your mixed saliva and brings it to your clit. You wail as he rubs it fast and hard, in time with your movements on him.

The pressure releases abruptly and you feel a gush of liquid pour out of you as you scream for him, the world around you seems to explode in light. You feel as though it must be bursting through your skin, the power behind your high is so extreme. Far too intense to be contained in your body.

You’re fairly sure you black out because the next thing you know, you’re limp in Joel’s lap, he’s holding you still with a massive hand each grabbing one of your ass cheeks hard as he punches into you from below, babbling in your ear.

“Fuckin’ made for me, best little girl I could ever ask for, always so fuckin’ good f’me. Kissin’ and ridin’ and squirtin’ all over me. Always takin’ my cock and my cum so good. Oh fuck! Here it comes baby, FUCK!”

He explodes, pouring into you in several warm bursts. He continues to buck up into you, milking himself dry and making sure every drop is in you. He slumps beneath you and pulls you in for another kiss, slow and languid and so fucking delicious it makes your pussy pulsate around him, making him whimper with overstimulation.

You pull back and smirk at him, biting your lower lip to stop yourself from giggling. He rolls his eyes and smacks your ass with a grumbled, “watch it,” but you see his eyes crinkle with the smile he’s trying to hold in. You don’t say anything but you make a mental note that you definitely want to hear him make that noise again.

You sneak another quick kiss when you hear the lock to the bathroom click and Joel pulls you into his chest to cover the evidence of your squirting. You go happily, listening to the beat of his heart through his soft flannel. Strong and steady and comforting.

Tommy chuckles at the pair of you as he walks through the living area to his room, still damp from his shower and a towel wrapped round his waist, completely oblivious to the potentially life altering events that just happened.

Everything is laid bare now, you’ve surrendered yourself completely. To Joel. You wonder if you should feel ashamed. You don’t. You feel content. Happy even. You luxuriate in it as you soak in Joel’s scent and heat, snuggling in as close as you can get. To the man that you love.

///

@aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @old-logan-and-old-joels-slut @mani-pedro @axshadows @justajoelsreader @ahintofkiwistrawberry @guelyury @rosebuds-and-moonlight @koshkaj-blog @shivispunk @ivoryandflame @tammythr @magpiepills @deviscave @megjohnston23 @pedrosgrogu @pedge-page @guelyury @lamartell @thejoywillburnoutthepain @xoxabs88xox @teapartydreams @baronessvonglitter @a-loneywolf @staley83 @joelmillerswife9 @bunnnyreads-tlou @mushgloomz @gorygladiators @megangovier @lilac-boo @nala2811 @catnip987

[bfwooin]

hii!! Can I request a sabbath (could be any individual member if you want) x reader who is super feminine and maybe a Lolita and them on a date?

Tyyy!!☀️☀️

but with eyes shut, it's you i'm thinking of.

content. established rs except for joker's (he has a crush on u instead), superfem!reader, petnames, suggestive ending for hyuk's.

a/n. cute request thank u anon! i had fun writing this ><

꩜ wooin.

spoiling you rotten is wooin’s favourite hobby. a princess is what he sees you as. someone who he feels inclined to treat like royalty.

he adores your love for dressing up, and proudly funds your interest as the two of you frequently go on shopping dates. and while you’re all carefree and prancing in front of him, giving your frilled skirt a delicate swish for his eyes, he willingly hauls bags and bags of clothing and plushies you bought under his card.

no amount of cute 'but 's can let the man make you pay for your items, he loves spending his dirty money on you, though you’re unaware of his private dealings.

“should we go into that shop? it has those chunky heels you’ve been wanting for so long.” he catches you eyeing into the shop’s window display as you momentarily stop in front of him.

“but we already bought so much,” you say sweetly, frankly feeling guilty about your spendings. from the corner of your eye, you notice that teasing smirk of his as he walks over to you.

“baby, just buy the whole store for all i care.” he bends down and places a soft kiss on your cheek, making you look away embarrassingly.

“we’re in public!” you remind him, pouting at him with shallow anger.

“so? i can’t kiss my princess now?” he teases, knowing that his words push your buttons.

“come on, think of it this way;” he leans in closer, his lips almost grazing against your cherry-glossed ones.

“you get my card, and i get to kiss your cute face whenever i want.”

just know that the shop assistants are giggling to themselves, watching the both of you make out in the middle of the mall.

꩜ hyuk.

despite being hyuk’s favourite girl, he doesn’t shy away from his competitive nature. you knew you shouldn’t have said the arcade when he asked you where the two of you should go earlier in the day, now he’s trashing you in whack-a-mole!

“you’re too slow,” he dares to utter, peeking at your side as he watches your slow reaction toward the popping moles. you’re so cute and blur, hitting the targets with no force whatsoever, the hammer looking comically large in your fist.

and there he goes, gloating about his fifth win for the night.

“come on darling, are you even trying?” he taunts you, tucking strands of your silky hair behind your ear to reveal your tiny bow earrings pierced on your earlobe.

“i am! can’t you just go easy on me?” you huff, and he chuckles, finding your pouty expression so adorable.

“hmm, let’s do forfeits. the winner gets to decide what the loser has to do. deal?”

“nuh-uh, i’m not listening!”

but you acquiesced anyway after seeing the game the both of you agreed to compete in: mario kart. come on, there’s no way you would lose to him in the game you practically grew up with.

that’s just impossible!

“aww, don’t cry here.” he dares to say as you look away, not wanting to spare a glance at both his smirk and the screen in front of you that displayed second place in large text, further mocking your loss.

“hmm, what should i make my baby do?” he gets off the machine and walks over to you. you're still sitting with your arms folded in endearing frustration.

he laughs at your attitude, patting your head to feign consolation. but you knew that when you’re back home with him, he’ll have that feisty attitude of yours tamed like a prim feline.

꩜ vinny.

he doesn’t want to admit it, but vinny adores watching you get ready.

it takes a hell of a time for you to do so, but he faithfully rests on your bed, observing your deft hands move like clockwork as you doll up in front of your vanity. he’s fascinated, as if you’re a living masterpiece.

the way your face leans closer to the mirror as you put on your mascara, even he finds that adorable. and once you finish your lip combo with that strawberry lip gloss he’s tasted a million times from your lips, he resists the urge to squish your cheeks and lock his lips onto yours.

“how do i look?” you turn to face him, finding that he’s blatantly staring at you. your face feels the familiar warmth, your blush on top of your blush.

“beautiful,” he says with conviction, walking over towards you and standing behind your plush chair. you remove your pink hairband and place it on your vanity, reaching for your curling iron and handing it to him.

you see ever since the two of you started dating, he notices how frequently you visit the hair salon to maintain your loose curls, and it’s definitely a costly expenditure.

so, he decides to dedicate some of his time to do your hair!

he finds it rewarding to see your bright smile whenever he’s done with the last curl, admiring his handiwork silently as you can’t wait to flaunt it on your date later.

sure, he’s no salon-grade hairstylist, but you couldn’t care less about that.

no hairstylist can top the love and affection that goes into your hair each time your boyfriend does it for you.

꩜ joker.

now, this was a sight to see.

today was your first time meeting joker after texting him for a month. the two of you met through wooin; let’s just say joker fell in love at first sight with your pink frills and berry scent.

you’re one of a kind, he’s never seen a girl with such a feminine style before. he finds himself attracted to it, to you.

but now you’re watching him in slight astonishment as he eats a large froyo cup full of each topping the parlour has to offer, as compared to your medium-sized portion with pastel coloured marshmallows and juicy strawberries. his creation is a mountain of confectionery, and you giggle as he struggles to scoop the frozen yoghurt with the toppings he wants to taste.

“do you always eat your froyo like this?” you ask playfully.

“no, but i’ve been wanting to try it like this.” you almost choke on the slice of strawberry in your mouth, finding his answer ridiculous.

the both of you continue eating, enjoying each other’s company in the frozen yoghurt parlor that’s so obviously playing spotify’s top 50 songs worldwide as you hear luther by kendrick lamar stream.

“so, do you have any favourite songs?” you ask, plopping a marshmallow into your mouth.

“i don’t really listen to anything,” he replies with an air of nonchalance around him.

“not even when you’re training?”

“nope, but i listen to wooin’s nagging.” he sighs dramatically, strands of his baby blue hair falling onto his face and poking his eyes.

you notice and dig through your bag, pulling out a fluffy hairpin with a plush bunny attached to it. you sweep his front hair to the side, pinning the strands with the clip and securing it tightly.

he looks at you, surprised by your sudden gesture as his heart fills with even more affection for you.

you and your cheeky smile when you look at his stunned expression, he’s holding back every fibre in his body to confess his feelings for you.

[daxisyzz]

Hey there! Love your work and would love to submit a request if that’s alright. I have an idea for a Bucky x reader one shot inspired by his look in Thunderbolts. I love his longer hair coming back, but imagine Bucky having the reader put in hair extensions in his hair so he can have really long hair again instead of waiting for it to grow out? If this idea inspires you to write then I’m so glad but if not don’t feel pressured to write anything. Hope you’re well! :)

heyyy I love this idea!! Sorry for replying late. Here's your little fic. Hope you have a great day<3

Hair Me Out…

Summary: Bucky didn't think he'd miss his long hair — until he sees you casually ordering hair extensions for yourself. Now he needs them too... and you're the poor soul tasked with making it happen. Along the way, he finds a small part of himself that he'd forgotten he still loved.

Word count: 1.1k+

Setting: pre-thunderbolts*, post-tfatws.

Bucky wasn’t even trying to snoop.

Really, he wasn’t.

He was lying across your bed, big and lazy, arms folded behind his head as he listened to you tap away at your laptop, a content little hum coming from your side of the room. Every so often, you’d mutter to yourself or click your tongue in frustration, but otherwise, you were blissfully unaware of his not-so-subtle staring.

“What’re you doing?” he finally asked, lifting his head to look at you.

“Shopping,” you said, clicking a few more times. “Hair stuff. Some skincare junk. You know essentials.”

He hummed, about to close his eyes again, when something bright and silky caught his eye.

You were browsing a site that sold hair extensions — gorgeous, long, flowing locks in every shade imaginable.

Bucky blinked, sitting up a little straighter.

“Wait. Is that for you?” he asked, sounding more interested than he probably should’ve.

You nodded. “Yeah. I wanna try longer hair without committing to, like, years of growing it out.”

He kept staring. At the screen. At you. At the screen again.

Something deep inside him — something he thought he’d buried — stirred.

His own hand went to the ends of his current hair, brushing it lightly. It had been growing out again after a few trims and missions that had demanded ‘uniform standards.’ It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t short.

But it wasn’t his long hair, either.

He missed it.

Missed the way it used to fall in his face, missed the wildness of it, the way it made him feel a little less... polished. Less fake. More himself. More of someone he'd become after losing everything.

“...Can you get me some, too?” he blurted, before he could think better of it.

You paused, hands frozen over your keyboard. “...What?”

He scooted closer, earnestness written all over his stupidly handsome face. “Extensions. Get some for me.”

You turned to stare at him fully, one eyebrow raised. “Bucky. Babe. Love of my life. You are a literal enhanced super soldier and you’re telling me you can’t wait for your hair to grow?”

He pouted actually pouted and tugged lightly at the ends of his hair. “But you’re gonna have long hair and I’m gonna look like a half-baked chia pet.”

You snorted so hard it startled him.

“A chia pet?” you repeated, wheezing.

“A sad one,” he said gravely. “One that needs love.”

You were half-crying, half-laughing now, clutching your stomach. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m serious,” he said, grabbing your hands in both of his big ones, squeezing them like he was proposing marriage. “Doll. I’ll do anything. Just order some for me, too.”

"You'll do anything?" you teased, still wiping tears from your eyes.

"I'll be your personal assistant for a week. I'll clean the kitchen. I'll even let you pick the next five movies we watch. Even if they suck."

You shook your head, grinning like a fool. "Alright, alright, I'll do it. Only because you look so cute."

Bucky whooped and immediately pulled you into his lap, hugging you tight enough to make you squeak. "You're the best. Seriously. I'm gonna look so good."

"You’re gonna look like a prince," you said dryly.

"Prepare to have Sam roast you into oblivion."

"I don’t even care," Bucky said, burying his face in your shoulder. "I want my hair back."

Few Days Later

Bucky was sitting on the floor in front of you, legs crossed, a towel thrown around his shoulders like a cape. You carefully parted his hair, sectioning it and clipping in the silky extensions you had color-matched for him.

He was so still, so obedient, it made you grin.

"You’re a good client," you teased.

"Yeah, well," he said, glancing at you over his shoulder with a smirk. "I gotta be. My stylist’s got very delicate hands."

You rolled your eyes fondly and snapped another clip into place.

As you worked, you caught him sneaking peeks at himself in the mirror watching the longer pieces blend into his real hair and his smile was so genuine, so open, it almost hurt.

By the time you finished, Bucky looked like he'd stepped straight out of 2014 — but softer, happier.

You admired him from a few steps back, a fond warmth blooming in your chest. "You look perfect, Buck."

He preened a little, flipping a lock of hair over his shoulder. "Damn right."

Just then, the door creaked open.

Sam stuck his head in, mouth already open to say something — and froze.

The look of pure, stunned silence on Sam's face was priceless.

You bit your lip hard to hold back a laugh.

"...No," Sam finally said, deadpan. "No. Absolutely not."

Bucky grinned, pure menace. "Hey, bird boy. You like the new look?"

Sam just shook his head slowly. "You look like a dude who lives in a cave and plays the flute for forest animals."

Bucky tossed his newly long hair dramatically. "Jealousy’s an ugly color on you, Wilson."

"I'm sending this to Torres," Sam said immediately, pulling out his phone.

"Traitor!" Bucky shouted, lunging for him.

You laughed so hard you had to sit down, watching Bucky chase Sam down the hall, towel flying like a cape behind him, hair streaming.

After the chaos died down, you found Bucky sitting in front of the bedroom mirror again, just quietly looking at himself.

Not in the playful way from earlier.

Softer. Sadder.

But not bad.

You walked over slowly and wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He smiled faintly at your reflection.

"You okay, Buck?"

He nodded, his hand coming up to tangle lightly with yours.

"Just... stupid," he said quietly. "Looking at myself like this."

"Not stupid," you murmured.

He shrugged a little. "It reminds me of... when I wasn’t doing so good. Long hair, no plan, no peace. I hated that version of me for a long time."

You pressed a kiss to his temple, squeezing him tighter. "He was doing the best he could. He survived. And he deserved love, too."

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed under your hands, the tension easing out of him slowly.

He met your eyes in the mirror and the look he gave you was pure devotion.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Maybe he did."

You leaned your forehead against his. "Definitely did. Definitely does."

For a moment, you both just stayed there him, you, the soft lamp light, the long, wild hair breathing together, existing without judgment.

And when Bucky finally smiled, really smiled

it was brighter than any version of himself he'd ever worn.

[pascalissmoked]

-Thighriding with Joel-

cw: thighriding, dry humping, hinting at sex, joel being a brooding mess, spicy time with grumpy joel basically

a/n: just a short drabble bc joel makes me feel funny things 😋

Joel had been in his brooding, lonely self for the past few days now. Stiff posture, arms folded, that look in his eye like the world had personally pissed him off. He hadn’t said much all day — barely a grunt during patrol, less than that when you tried to joke around.

You knew that look. He was chewing on something he wouldn’t spit out.

So you decided to make it worse.

You walked right up to him in the quiet of his living room, hands cold from the snow, cheeks flushed from the wind. He didn’t even look at you when you walked in. Just kept staring at the fire like it had offended him somehow. You kicked the door shut behind you, boots thudding on the floor, and leaned against the wall, watching him.

“Long day?” you asked lightly.

No answer.

You moved closer, slow. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t move. Just clenched his jaw tighter. You’d seen him like this before — wound up so tight he could snap steel in half. The only difference was now… he wasn’t pushing you away.

So you pushed first.

You stepped between his legs, palms on his thighs, and leaned down until your mouth brushed his ear. “You gonna keep sulking like a damn ghost, or are you gonna do something about the way you’ve been looking at me all week?”

That got his attention.

Joel’s hand shot up, gripping your hip like it was instinct. Not rough, but final — like now that he had you, he wasn’t letting go.

“You got a mouth on you,” he muttered, voice low and gritty.

You smiled against his jaw. “You’ve been ignoring me for three days. Figured I’d give it something to talk about.”

He finally looked at you — really looked. And the heat in that gaze made your stomach flip. His pupils were blown, breathing shallow, hands twitching like he was holding back something brutal.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he said, more warning than protest.

You straddled his lap in one smooth motion, letting your weight sink into him. You felt the shift in his body — his breath hitch, his thigh tense under you, the sharp exhale against your neck. “Yeah, I do.”

Joel’s hands slid up your thighs, rough palms dragging slow, deliberate. “You come in here, wearin’ that little smirk... sittin’ on me like you fuckin’ own me…”

“Maybe I do,” you whispered, grinding against him. “Maybe you’ve been mine since the first time I caught you starin’ when I bent over that fence.”

He growled — an actual, low growl that rumbled in his chest. His hand tangled in your hair and yanked your head back, just enough to make your breath catch.

“You don’t get to talk like that and walk away.”

“Then stop me,” you dared.

Joel surged up, mouth crashing into yours — all teeth and heat and frustration finally breaking through. He kissed you like a punishment, like a promise, like he’d been starving for it and hated himself for wanting it.

You ground down harder, and he groaned — deep, almost pained.

Your hips moved on instinct now, chasing every ounce of pressure, every twitch of his thigh, every time his grip shifted to hold you down tighter, rougher.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Fuckin’ take it.”

You were so close it hurt. And Joel knew it — knew every breath that caught in your throat, every tremble in your thighs. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper.

“C’mon, baby. Make a fuckin’ mess.”

That was all it took.

You came with a shudder and a whimper, fingers fisting the front of his shirt. Joel held you through it, breathing hard, eyes locked on you like he was watching something sacred — or maybe something sinful.

“You needy little thing,” he muttered, pulling your hips harder against his. “Could’ve had this days ago if you’d just said the word.”

You bit his lip. “Where’s the fun in that?”

His grip on you tightened. “You got five seconds to decide if you want this soft or if you want it the way I’ve been thinkin’ about since you showed up in this town.”

You didn’t hesitate.

“Ruin me.”

Joel’s eyes darkened — like something inside him snapped free. And just before he dragged you down again, before his hands shoved under your shirt like he couldn’t stand another second of distance, he said—

“You fuckin’ asked for it, sweetheart.”

And you were so glad you did.