#and i keep nearly suffocating because of them

[box-dwelling]

I regret to inform the university exam commission that my statement "I'm going to get this God damn chemistry degree or die trying" was intended as hyperbole and as I am in fact dying trying I wish to ask for a deferral to the next exam period presuming I am not on fact dead by then

[bueckets]

Competitive Stamina

Pairing: teammate!Paige x reader

Genre: fuck buddies with unresolved issues, unbearable sexual tension, dom!Paige, strap, degradation, slapping, edging, post-game aggression sex, possessive paige, rough sex that solves nothing, idk just porn w minimal plot (I KNOOOOOW)

WC: 6.3kish?

Bus rides after a loss were a special kind of hell.

The stale air of the charter, the overhead lights too dim to be useful but too bright to let you sink into oblivion, the stiff-backed seats that creaked with every shift—everything grated on your nerves. The taste of failure sat heavy on your tongue, thick and bitter, and no amount of Gatorade could wash it away.

You sat near the back, arms crossed, jaw tight, replaying every goddamn second of the game like a goddamn. masochist. Every blown rotation, every missed shot, every second too slow on defense. It was a fucking disaster.

The low hum of the engine did nothing to drown out the tension hanging in the air. Some of the team sat slumped in their seats, headphones jammed in, pretending like they weren’t reliving the same nightmare. Others were scrolling through their phones, avoiding the inevitable post-game analysis that would come the second you all got back.

And then there was Paige.

Slouched in the seat across the aisle, one long leg stretched out, the other knee bouncing restlessly. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, the muscles in her jaw flexing every time she gritted her teeth. The blue glow of her phone screen flickered across her face, but you could tell she wasn’t actually looking at it. Just brooding.

You tried not to look at her. Tried to keep your glare aimed out the window, at the blur of highway lights cutting through the night.

But the energy rolling off her was impossible to ignore.

Fucking furious. The kind of anger that vibrated beneath the skin, white-hot, impossible to smother. She was pissed in a way that she wouldn’t let go of anytime soon, the kind of loss that would eat at her, keep her up all night, have her in the gym first thing in the morning with her hoodie up and music blasting like she could outwork the ghosts of the game.

Your fingers curled into your palms.

Because yeah, you were mad too. Mad at yourself. Mad at the team. Mad at how fucking avoidable it all had been. But mostly, you were mad at how much you felt it—how the weight of it sat heavy on your chest, suffocating. You knew you wouldn’t sleep tonight. Not because you didn’t want to, but because your brain wouldn’t let you. Wouldn’t stop dissecting every mistake, every misstep.

Paige exhaled sharply, a sound more bite than breath.

You glanced over, barely turning your head.

Her fingers drummed against her bicep, rapid, restless, a nervous tick she only ever had when she was barely keeping her frustration in check. Her knee bounced faster.

Then, she turned her head, and her eyes found yours.

Sharp. Burning.

And just like that, you were both back on the court. Back in the moment she’d called the switch and you hesitated a fraction too long. Back in the second where everything unraveled.

The muscle in her jaw flexed. You could practically hear what she wanted to say. The words sat heavy between you, unspoken but loud.

What the fuck was that?

You swallowed hard, refusing to be the one to break first. You weren’t about to sit here and get chewed out on a moving bus, in front of everyone.

But the fire in her eyes told you that this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

The door barely slammed shut before Paige was on you, shoving you back so hard your shoulder blades smacked the wall. The cheap dorm drywall rattled behind you, a picture frame nearly toppling off its hook.

Her breath was sharp, jagged, her whole body coiled so tight with frustration it looked like it might snap. She was still in her jersey, the fabric clinging to her sweat-slicked skin, strands of blonde hair stuck to her forehead like she hadn’t even thought about peeling them away. But it wasn’t exhaustion in her eyes. It was fury. Blazing. Undiluted.

“What the fuck was that?” she spat, stepping into your space like she wanted to press you through the goddamn wall.

Your own irritation flared, heat crawling up your spine, but she wasn’t done.

“I called it. I fucking called it. You hesitated." Her voice cut like a whip, her breath hot against your face. “You don’t hesitate.”

Your jaw clenched. “I heard you, Paige. It wasn’t just me. We all fucked up.”

“Oh, fuck off with that.” Her laugh was sharp, humorless, nothing but teeth. “I don’t give a shit about them. You were supposed to have my back. You were supposed to listen to me.”

You bristled, hands curling into fists at your sides. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who fucking cares. You think I wanted to lose? You think I don’t feel like shit right now?”

Paige’s glare burned straight through you. Her jaw clenched, her nostrils flaring, like she wanted to say something even sharper, even worse, but she just looked at you. Like she was daring you to take the blame. To admit it. To fold under her fire.

But you weren’t folding. Not tonight.

“You wanna fight me over this?” you snapped, stepping forward, barely an inch between you now. “Fine. Take a fucking swing, Paige.”

Her breathing hitched. For a half-second, something flickered in her eyes—something reckless, something raw. You thought maybe she would hit you, thought maybe you wanted her to.

Instead, she shoved you—hard. Your back hit the wall again, and this time she followed, grabbed your jersey with both hands, yanking you into her.

And then her mouth crashed onto yours, all teeth and heat and fucking rage.

You gasped against her lips, but she didn’t care—didn’t even give you the space to breathe. Her fingers dug into your jersey, nearly lifting you off the ground as she pressed you into the wall, her body flush against yours, hot and furious and unrelenting.

You bit down on her lower lip, hard, just to make her feel how pissed off you were too.

Paige growled, a low, dangerous sound, and then she was yanking you off the wall, turning, dragging you with her, stumbling toward the nearest surface.

Your hands found her hips, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her jersey. She was still in her shorts, her body taut with adrenaline, with the remnants of competition. You could feel her heart pounding beneath your palm as you pressed against her, pushing back just enough to let her know you weren’t going to just take it.

But Paige didn’t give a damn about pushback. She just grabbed the front of your shirt, dragging you with her as she stumbled backward, lips never leaving yours. She was all fire, all pent-up rage, and you were more than willing to be the thing she burned through.

“Fucking—” she muttered against your lips, frustration bleeding into something else as her fingers tangled in your hair, nails scraping against your scalp. “You drive me insane.”

“You’re the one losing your shit,” you bit back, but the words barely made it out before she was kissing you again, harder this time, as if she could shut you up with the force of her mouth alone.

The room spun as she shoved you back, barely making it to the couch before you tumbled onto it together. Her body was already on top of yours, pressing you down, thighs tight around your waist. Every inch of her was tense, electric, and you could feel it—the way she trembled, the way her breath came too fast, the way her fingers flexed against your skin like she didn’t know if she wanted to fight you or fuck you.

Maybe both.

Your hands roamed, slipping beneath her jersey, tracing the heat of her back. She sucked in a sharp breath as your fingers ghosted over her spine, but she didn’t stop you. If anything, she leaned in harder, her hips pressing down, mouth dragging along your jaw, your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shudder.

“I hate you,” she muttered, but her hands were already working at your jersey, pushing it up, fingers skimming the bare skin underneath.

You laughed, breathless. “Yeah? Feels like something else.”

She growled, actually fucking growled, and suddenly she was yanking your jersey over your head, tossing it somewhere behind her. The air was thick, charged, your bodies too close, too desperate, too much.

“Shut up,” she ordered, and then her lips were on your collarbone, her teeth nipping at sensitive skin, her hands gripping your waist like she was trying to anchor herself—like she was afraid if she let go, she’d lose herself completely.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to stop her or let her.

Your laugh died in your throat the second Paige’s fingers dug into your waist, her grip rough, possessive. Her body was hot against yours, muscles tight with lingering adrenaline, her breath ragged as she straddled you. Every inch of her was taut with frustration, with need, with something far more dangerous than simple post-game aggression.

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering, and then your hands were on her hips, squeezing, dragging her closer, feeling the way her thighs flexed beneath your grip.

“Oh, you wanna be a smartass?” Paige growled, her fingers already sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts, snapping the elastic hard against your skin. Her eyes were wild, blown wide with something dark, something hungry.

You grinned, challenging. “What are you gonna do about it?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

A sharp crack rang out as her palm met your thigh, the sting immediate, heat blooming across your skin in its wake. You gasped, your body jerking at the impact, but Paige just smirked, her fingers soothing over the mark she’d left behind.

“That’s what I thought,” she murmured, and then her hands were pushing at your shorts, yanking them down with the same force as her frustration. “You know what your problem is?”

You arched a brow, breath hitching as she ran her fingers down the inside of your thigh, deliberately avoiding where you needed her most. “Enlighten me.”

Paige hummed, slow, teasing, dragging her nails lightly across your skin before she leaned in, her lips brushing your ear. “You don’t listen.”

And then her teeth were on your neck, biting, claiming, distracting you just long enough for her fingers to slip lower, tracing over your already-soaked underwear.

Your hips jerked up, chasing her touch, but she pulled back, clicking her tongue.

“No,” she said, voice sharp, commanding. “You don’t get to be greedy. Not after that bullshit on the court.”

You groaned, frustration curling tight in your stomach. “Paige—”

Another sharp smack against your thigh. You gasped, your body trembling as the sting settled into a dull, aching heat.

“You’ll take what I give you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss over the mark she’d just made. “And you’ll be grateful for it.”

You barely had time to respond before she was moving again, shifting off you just long enough to grab something from her bag. Your breath caught when you saw it—the familiar black strap, the sleek vibrator she loved to tease you with.

Your pulse spiked.

“Color?” she asked, voice low, dangerous.

You exhaled shakily, your body already aching, already desperate. “Green.”

Paige smirked. “Good.”

And then she was on you again, pressing you down, pinning you beneath her as she reached for the harness, her hands sure, practiced.

“Now,” she murmured, buckling it into place, her blue eyes gleaming with something wicked. “Let’s see if you can pay attention this time.”

You barely had a second to breathe before Paige moved—gripping you with both hands, flipping you over like you weighed nothing, shoving you down onto the couch with a force that stole the air from your lungs.

The cushions barely softened the impact.

Your cheek pressed into the rough fabric, your pulse hammering against it, every nerve in your body already on edge, already buzzing with anticipation.

Then—her hands were on you again.

“On your knees,” she ordered, her voice low, firm—no room for negotiation.

A shiver ran through you at the sheer authority in her tone, and you scrambled to obey, pushing yourself up, ass in the air, legs spread just enough to keep your balance. Paige didn’t hesitate. Her hand came down hard against your ass, the sharp crack echoing through the apartment.

You gasped, your whole body jolting at the impact, the sting radiating outward in a hot, delicious burn.

Paige hummed behind you, pleased. “Fuck, I missed this,” she murmured, her fingers smoothing over the mark she’d just left. “You’re so fucking pretty when you take it.”

Another slap. Harder.

Your hands clenched into fists, your breath stuttering as the pain twisted into something dangerously close to pleasure.

“You like that?” Paige taunted, her palm resting on your already burning skin, her fingers digging in. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you gasped, voice unsteady. “Fuck—yes.”

“Good,” she muttered, reaching for something behind you, the couch shifting with her movement. A small click—then the unmistakable slick pop of a cap flipping open. The scent hit first. Sharp, clean, something cool against the heat simmering beneath your skin.

She shifted behind you, knees pressing firm into the cushions, the heat of her body radiating against your back, against the backs of your thighs. Her breath ghosted over your skin—too close, not close enough.

Then—her fingers.

She didn’t give you time to prepare.

A rough fistful of your hair, yanking hard, forcing your spine into an arch so deep your ribs strained, your lips parting in a sharp, unbidden gasp.

The pull was brutal, just shy of painful, the roots of your hair screaming—but the way her grip anchored you, controlled you, owned you—

You swallowed, legs trembling beneath you.

“Stay fucking still,” she warned, pressing the head of the strap between your thighs, teasing, dragging it through your wetness, spreading it around. “I’m gonna ruin this fucking pussy.”

She thrust, pushing in hard, deep, no warning beyond the stretch, the sheer fullness stealing the breath from your lungs.

You whimpered, your arms shaking as you fought to stay upright, your body clenching around the intrusion, the burn sharp, perfect.

Paige groaned behind you, her grip tightening in your hair. “Jesus fuck, you take it so well,” she muttered, rolling her hips, dragging the length in and out, slow at first, teasing, letting you feel every inch.

Then—another crack against your ass. Your moan was shameless, your body jerking forward, only to be pulled back by her grip on your hair.

“Fuck, you sound so good,” Paige rasped, voice thick, wrecked. Her grip on your hip tightened, her fingers digging into your skin like she wanted to brand herself into you. Her thrusts were deep, relentless, knocking the air straight out of your lungs with every snap of her hips. “You like it when I use you like this?”

Like it?

Like it?

You could barely hold yourself up, fingers curling into the couch, your body betraying you in every possible way—hips arching back without thinking, legs shaking, thighs slick with everything she’d already wrung from you.

Your mind was a haze, a mess of static, the sharp sting of her fingers bruising into your hip mixing with the raw aching stretch between your legs. There was no room for thought, for pride, for anything except the unbearable, devastating need to keep her right fucking there.

She pulled back—almost all the way—leaving you empty, your walls clenching around nothing, a sharp, helpless noise slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Then she slammed back in.

A cry tore from your throat, your body jerking forward with the force of it, pleasure spiking so sharp it hurt.

“Yeah?” she breathed, amusement curling at the edges of her voice, sharp and teasing, like she could feel how fucked out you were, like she loved it. “Fucking say it.”

Say it. Admit it. Let the words fall from your lips and cement exactly how pathetic you were for her.

You clenched your teeth, breath ragged, body trembling beneath her. The stubborn part of you—the part that fought—clawed at your ribs, held your tongue, refused to give her the satisfaction.

Her palm cracked across your ass—sharp, punishing, hot—and your whole body jerked. A strangled whimper escaped you, high and wrecked, and before you could so much as breathe, she yanked your head back by your hair, forcing your spine to arch, forcing your mouth open on a choked gasp.

“You wanna fucking test me?” she growled, voice low, dangerous, pressing in—so deep you felt it in your fucking stomach.

Your pulse slammed in your throat. You bit your lip hard enough to taste copper, every muscle locking tight, refusing to give her the satisfaction, refusing—

“I love it,” you gasped, your voice breaking as she spanked you again, making you clench around the strap, making your whole body shake. “Fuck—Paige, please—”

She growled, a low, feral sound, and suddenly her hand left your hip, reaching for the vibrator she’d left on the couch.

“You wanna beg?” she taunted, flicking it on, pressing the toy right against your swollen clit. “Then fucking beg for it.”

Paige yanked your head back by your hair, making your back arch, making your ass push up even higher, exposing everything to her. The stretch in your scalp sent shivers straight down your spine, the sharp pull mixing with the brutal way she was pounding into you. Deep. Hard. No mercy.

“Look at this greedy fucking pussy,” she growled, voice dripping with filth, eyes locked on where she was splitting you open. “You’re dripping all over my cock, fucking yourself on it like a desperate little slut.”

Your moan was ragged, broken, the force of each thrust knocking it right out of your lungs. Your arms trembled, struggling to keep you up, but Paige didn’t give a fuck. She loved seeing you like this—wrecked, used, hers.

She shifted behind you, digging her nails into your hip as she slammed into you harder, deeper, making the couch creak under both of you. Every thrust sent wet, obscene sounds echoing through the apartment, slick, filthy, undeniable.

“Listen to this messy fucking hole,” she hissed, smacking your ass again, fingers digging into the flesh right after. Your skin was burning, tingling, the heat radiating through your whole body. “You love it when I fuck you like this, don’t you? Like a dumb little slut, letting me wreck you.”

You gasped, nodding frantically, not trusting yourself to speak—not when every thrust hit something devastating inside you, making you whimper like you’d lost your mind.

“Use your fucking words,” Paige snapped, yanking your hair harder, forcing you to arch so much you thought you might break in half. “Tell me what you are.”

“Y-Your slut,” you choked out, the words barely making it past your lips before she spanked you again, harder than before, the sting rocketing through you, making your whole body twitch.

“Damn right you are,” she muttered, her breath hot against your ear as she leaned over you, still fucking into you, still ruining you. “So fucking wet. So fucking tight. You were made for me, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice high, needy, desperate.

Paige groaned, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, making you scream. Your arms collapsed, your face pressing into the couch, your body unable to hold itself up anymore—but she didn’t stop.

“Oh, fuck no,” Paige laughed, dark and wicked, reaching for your wrists and yanking them behind your back, pinning them there. “You don’t get to tap out now. I’m not done with you yet.”

You sobbed against the cushions, pleasure and overstimulation crashing over you in waves. The way she had you—spine arched, arms pinned, completely fucking helpless—made your head spin. And then—fuck—she reached for the vibrator again, pressing it right against your clit.

You howled, your whole body jerking at the sudden intensity, at the way she wouldn’t fucking let up.

“Oh, you’re squirting for me, huh?” Paige teased, her voice full of pure fucking ego as she felt the mess dripping down her thighs. “Can’t even handle my cock without making a mess, can you?”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out—just a sharp, shuddering breath, a wrecked sound that barely made it past your lips. Your throat felt raw, your body trembling, pushed beyond its limits but still, still chasing more.

Paige’s smirk deepened, her amusement curling at the edges of your desperation. She leaned in close, her breath rolling hot against the sweat-damp skin of your neck. The tip of her nose ghosted over your jaw, her lips brushing the shell of your ear—not a kiss, just enough to taunt, to tease.

“Pathetic little thing,” she murmured, her voice all velvet and cruelty, her words sinking deep into the mess she’d made of you.

Her hips rolled, the strap dragging slow, deliberate, pressing deeper just as the vibrator ground into your swollen, aching clit. The sensation sent a violent tremor through you, your fingers clenching into useless fists, every nerve frayed and screaming.

Paige hummed, pleased.

“What if I just kept you like this?” Her tone was almost thoughtful, but there was something darker beneath it, something that made your stomach flip, made the heat between your legs flare so violently it nearly hurt.

She rocked her hips again, slower this time, grinding the strap deep, her other hand pressing the vibrator harder, no mercy, no relief.

Your back arched, legs twitching, your body caught between pain and unbearable pleasure. Your mouth opened again, but the sound that tore from your throat was nothing human—a choked, broken whimper, your breath catching on the sheer force of it.

Paige’s grip tightened at your hip, steadying you, owning you.

“Kept you bent over,” she murmured, almost absentminded, like she was imagining it, like she was picturing every second of it. “Stuffed full, dripping all over me, shaking so fucking hard you can’t even hold yourself up.”

Your muscles seized, heat crashing through you like a live wire. Your nails scratched at the couch, desperate, useless, but Paige just laughed, feeling the way your body convulsed, the way you clenched down tight around the strap, your walls fluttering, trembling, breaking.

“Go ahead, baby,” she groaned, biting down on your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. “Cum on my cock. Fucking scream for me.”

Paige laughed as she felt your body convulse beneath her, as she felt your cunt squeeze down around the strap, milking it like it was real, like you couldn’t help yourself. The moment your orgasm tore through you, she didn’t stop—kept fucking into you through it, kept the vibrator locked tight against your clit, holding you down as you twitched and shook, your body betraying you.

You screamed, legs kicking, but Paige just grinned, watching you break.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” she muttered, dragging her lips over your spine, biting down hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to own you. “Look at this greedy little hole—still clenching, still soaking my cock.”

Your brain was fried, barely able to process the overstimulation, your whole body shaking, but Paige didn’t care.

She pulled out slowly, dragging the strap through your swollen, ruined folds, making you feel every inch as she left you empty, used, gaping. Your thighs were soaked, your pussy wrecked, your skin hot and buzzing from the spankings.

Then—another slap, this time right over your dripping folds, her palm catching the mess you’d made.

You jerked, gasping, pleasure and pain crackling through you at once.

Paige chuckled, sliding her fingers through your wetness, gathering it up before shoving them into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself.

“Suck,” she ordered, and you obeyed, wrapping your lips around her fingers, your tongue swirling over them, licking up every drop.

She groaned, watching you, eyes burning.

Paige dragged her fingers from your mouth, slow, deliberate, her touch lingering just long enough to make you chase it—your lips parting instinctively, tongue flicking out as if to pull her back in.

Wet pop.

The slick, obscene sound echoed in the space between you, and Paige exhaled, something dark, something satisfied curling at the edges of her breath.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” she murmured, her voice thick, heavy, sinking straight into your bones. Her fingers brushed over your cheek, smearing the mess she’d just pulled from your mouth, her thumb pressing against your lip, teasing, taunting.

Then—she moved.

Fast. Unyielding.

Hands at your hips, gripping tight, flipping you like you weighed nothing, like you were just another thing for her to use. The cushions barely had time to register your weight before she was spreading you open, her fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thighs, pushing until there was nothing hidden from her.

You barely processed the shift before cool air hit your soaked, swollen skin, the contrast so sharp it sent a full-body tremor through you.

Your thighs were quivering, slick shining under the dim lights of the apartment, your pussy swollen, throbbing. Paige ran her fingers over it, barely touching, watching the way you twitched, still overstimulated.

“God, you look fucking ruined,” she smirked, gripping the base of the strap, tapping the tip against your still-sensitive clit, making you jump. “Think you can take more?”

Your breath was ragged, your body wrecked, but fuck—fuck, you needed it.

“Yes,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Please.”

Paige’s eyes darkened.

“Then spread those fucking legs wider,” she commanded.

And you did.

Paige smirked as you obeyed, spreading your legs wider, exposing yourself completely—flushed, dripping, needy despite how wrecked you already were. But she didn’t give you anything. Not yet. Instead, she pressed the tip of the strap just against your entrance, teasing, not pushing in, just barely letting you feel the pressure.

Her fingers traced lazy circles over your trembling thighs, pressing down on the spots she’d spanked raw, making you flinch, making you feel every mark she’d left on you.

“You really think you deserve more?” she taunted, dragging the tip of the strap through your soaked folds, never giving you enough. “After that fucking disaster on the court?”

You whimpered, your body twitching, desperate for more friction, but Paige just smirked, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“You cost us that game,” she murmured, her voice low, dangerous. “Didn’t you?”

You swallowed, cheeks burning.

“I—”

Slap.

Paige’s palm met your inner thigh, hard, making you jolt, making you yelp.

“Try again,” she said, her grip on your chin tightening, nails digging in. “Say it.”

You shuddered, your body betraying you, thrumming under her control, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“I—I lost us the game,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Paige hummed, pleased, dragging the strap down again, teasing, but still not giving you what you wanted. “Louder.”

You whimpered, your face burning hotter.

“I lost us the game,” you gasped, the words tasting like shame, like submission.

Paige grinned. “Yeah, you fucking did.”

And then she thrust in, hard, no warning, splitting you open in one smooth, devastating motion.

You screamed, your back arching, your whole body shaking at the sudden stretch, the sudden fullness.

Paige groaned, rolling her hips, making you feel every inch of it. “That’s what a fucking loser like you deserves, huh?” she muttered, one hand gripping your throat, the other pressing the vibrator right against your clit. “Getting fucked like a brainless little toy.”

You sobbed, your body already teetering on the edge, too much, too fast, but Paige just grinned, watching you struggle, watching you break.

Then—she stopped.

Everything.

No movement. No friction. The vibrator still humming against you, but not pushing enough to get you there.

You whined, your hips bucking, trying to chase it, but Paige held you down, her grip on your throat tightening.

“Oh, no,” she mocked, tilting her head. “You think you’re getting off that easy? After you fucked up my game?”

You gasped, your body shaking, the pleasure so close, so unbearable—

But Paige just smirked, lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “You’re not cumming until I say you can.”

Your breath hitched, your entire body screaming for release, your skin hot, your muscles tight, that unbearable edge turning into something sharp, almost painful. Paige was still inside you, thick and unyielding, the vibrator right there, your clit swollen, throbbing—but she wasn’t moving. Just watching. Waiting.

Fuck. Fuck.

You needed it, needed her to just move, just do something, but the moment your hips jerked forward, chasing friction, Paige’s hand tightened around your throat, pressing down just enough to steal the air from your lungs. Your back arched, your body helpless, caught between pain and pleasure, oxygen slipping from your grasp.

“You don’t listen,” Paige murmured, shaking her head, like she was disappointed in you. “I told you—you don’t get to cum yet.”

Her grip eased up just enough to let you breathe, let you speak.

Your jaw clenched. Your pride flared—some stubborn, defiant part of you that hated being told what to do, even if your body was betraying you, even if you were dripping around her, desperate for more.

Fuck that.

Your hands snapped up, grabbing at her wrist, trying to pry her fingers away from your throat.

Paige’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin.

“Oh, you wanna fight now?” she taunted, laughing at you, mocking you, like you weren’t even a threat, like you were nothing more than her plaything.

Rage flared in your chest, heat curling in your gut, fueled by humiliation, by desperation. Your nails dug into her wrist, and you bucked your hips hard, trying to throw her off, trying to gain some kind of control.

Bad fucking idea.

Paige growled, low and dangerous, and before you could blink, she had your wrists pinned above your head, her weight pressing you down, her breath hot against your ear.

“That was fucking stupid,” she muttered, her voice dark with something dangerous, something predatory. “Now I’m gonna make you beg for it.”

You struggled, tried to fight back, but she was stronger, her grip iron, her body unshakable.

“You love this,” she whispered, grinding her hips down, making the strap press deeper, making you whimper. “You love being under me. Love getting used. Love being my little fucking toy.”

You clenched your teeth, shaking your head, your breath ragged.

“N-No—”

Slap.

Paige’s hand cracked across your face, your head snapping to the side, heat blooming across your cheek.

Your gasp was sharp, shocked, but the second she grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at her, forcing your eyes to lock with hers, your stomach dropped.

Because she knew.

She saw it. Felt it.

The way your pussy clenched around the strap. The way your thighs trembled. The way your lips parted, breath hitching, body betraying you entirely.

Paige smirked.

“Oh, you liked that,” she mocked, pressing the vibrator harder against your clit, making you jolt, making you whimper. “Fucking filthy.”

You hated how right she was.

Hated that you were fucking soaked, your body burning, your pride cracking under the.

She leaned in, her lips brushing your ear, her voice slow, teasing, cruel.

“Say it,” she whispered, rolling her hips, dragging the strap out of you, just enough to make you ache, to make you chase it.

You clenched your teeth, fighting it, fighting her.

She laughed, mocking, pressing the strap just against your entrance, right there, but not inside, not giving you what you needed.

“Say it,” Paige murmured again, her voice slow, dragging over the syllables, rolling them over her tongue like she relished the sound. Like she knew she had you. Like she owned you. “Say you love it.”

Her tone was laced with something dark, something dangerous, but it was her eyes that truly wrecked you—those piercing blue irises locked onto yours, drinking in your desperation, your humiliation, your surrender.

You shook, your entire body trembling, every nerve burning with the unbearable edge she had you dangling over. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, aching, needing her to just move, to just fucking fuck you, but she wouldn’t. Wouldn’t give it to you until you admitted it. Until you broke completely.

Your fists clenched above your head where she still had them pinned, nails biting into your own skin as you tried to fight it, tried to hold on to the last shreds of your pride.

But it was slipping.

You could feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece, your body betraying you, betraying everything, and fuck—fuck, she knew. She could see it.

Her smirk deepened, her fingers tightening around your wrists, pressing them harder into the cushions, her body looming over you, suffocating in the best fucking way.

She waited.

She didn’t repeat herself. Didn’t need to.

Your breath hitched, caught in your throat, your thighs quivering where they were still spread wide open for her, still needy, still so fucking wrecked.

And then—

“… I love it.”

The words were barely a whisper, barely more than shame slipping from your lips, and the moment they left your mouth, Paige fucking grinned.

Her fingers released your wrists, only to slide down, wrapping around your throat again, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur, to make your breath stutter.

“Good fucking girl,” she purred, her voice thick with pride, with ownership, with pure fucking satisfaction.

And then she slammed back in.

Hard.

No warning. No buildup. Just a brutal, unrelenting thrust that forced a wrecked cry from your lips, your back arching, your body convulsing under her.

She didn’t ease you into it. Didn’t fucking care that you were still trembling, still shaking, still so fucking sensitive. She just used you, fucking into you with brutal, merciless strokes, making your breath punch out of you with every thrust.

Her hand tightened around your throat, her other hand grabbing your hip, holding you still, forcing you to take it, to accept it, to submit completely.

“Say it again,” she growled, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice dripping with sin, with dominance, with something feral.

You whimpered, your whole body wrecked, already tipping toward that unbearable edge again, already so fucking close.

Her hips snapped harder, her cock splitting you open, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, ruining you.

“Say it again,” she snarled, her grip on your throat tightening, the vibrator pressing harder against your clit, sending a white-hot shock through you.

Your entire body twitched, fire spreading through your veins, through every nerve—

And then—

“I love it—fuck, I fucking love it.”

Paige moaned, deep and guttural, her hand sliding up, gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at her, forcing you to see how much she was enjoying this. How much she loved seeing you like this—ruined, helpless, hers.

“That’s fucking right,” she spat, pounding into you harder, her fingers digging into your cheeks, her nails biting into your skin. “You fucking love it. Love getting used. Love being my little fucking slut.”

You sobbed, pleasure crashing through you, your whole body convulsing as she fucked you through it, as she held you down and forced you to take every second of it.

And fuck—fuck—she wasn’t stopping.

She had you right where she wanted you—under her, wrecked, body trembling, clenching around the strap, soaking both of you. She was fucking you through another orgasm, grip tight on your jaw, vibrator still pressed to your swollen, abused clit, your body unable to do anything but take it.

Her breath hitched, a smirk curling at the corner of her lips as she watched you fall apart.

“God damn,” Paige grunted, her gaze locked on the way your thighs shook, the way your fingers clawed at her forearms, the couch cushions, fucking air—like there was anywhere to go, like she wasn’t going to hold you right there until you had nothing left.

“You’re so fucking pathetic like this.”

You sobbed, every nerve fried, pleasure tipping past unbearable, white-hot static frying your goddamn brain—

BANG BANG BANG.

Your whole body seized. Paige froze.

For a second, the only sound in the room was the both of you panting—loud, breathless, soaked—

Then—

“HEY!”

A voice from the other side of the door. KK. Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whispered, mortified, pure horror crawling up your spine.

Paige, though? She fucking laughed.

“Yeah, we’re serious,” she called out, still breathless, still inside you, still fucking smug. “What do you wan?”

A groan. Another thud of a fist against the door.

“It’s two in the fucking morning! Some of us don’t wanna listen to your freaky-ass sex life all fucking night!”

You covered your face with your hands. Paige grinned, completely unbothered, shifting her hips just enough to make your breath hitch, like this was funny, like this wasn’t the worst moment of your entire fucking life.

“Maybe you should get some fucking earplugs,” she shot back, smirking.

“Or maybe you should go fuck in a soundproof basement like a normal goddamn person!”

Paige snorted, her body shaking from how hard she was holding back laughter.

“Not my fault this bitch is loud as fuck.”

You kicked her.

Hard.

Paige cackled, her whole body shaking on top of you.

“Jesus Christ!” KK groaned, slamming the door one last time before stomping away, voice trailing off as she disappeared down the hall. “Fucking lesbians, man…”

Silence.

Then, Paige propped herself up on her elbows, grinning down at you, still breathless, still flushed, still inside you.

“Well,” she smirked.

She rocked her hips—slow, teasing, devastating.

“Where were we?”

A beat.

Then, from the depths of your absolute humiliation, you mustered the last bit of strength in your body—

“KK! YOU’RE GAY TOO, BITCH!”

Silence. 

A door slammed down the hall.

Paige lost her shit, laughing so hard she actually collapsed on top of you, her whole body shaking, still breathless, still inside you.

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. “I hate you.”

Paige propped herself up, still grinning like an absolute psycho, eyes gleaming.

“No, you don’t.”

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

i should’ve known - rafe cameron x pregnant!pogue!reader

series masterlist

warnings: suggestive language, talk of drugs and alcohol, pregnancy, fluff

au: i wrote this on a separate post from the request i got but ill put a photo of it😭

word count: 1.01k

The early afternoon sun bore down on the country club, the heat rising off the pavement in lazy waves. It was busy today—too busy. The sounds of clinking glasses, low conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter blended together into a dull hum. Rafe hadn’t even wanted to come.

The whole thing—the social scene, the rich kids wasting their parents’ money on overpriced drinks, the fake smiles—it used to be his playground. Now, it felt suffocating. But he was here because Ward had asked him to be, trying to keep up the image that he was doing better. That he had his life together. That he wasn’t just barely keeping himself from unraveling at the seams.

His fingers itched for something—anything. A smoke, a drink, a line, something to keep him occupied. But he didn’t let himself. Not anymore. Not when he was trying. Not when you were the sole positive aspect of his life. He was halfway through draining a glass of water, mindlessly staring out at the golf course, when something caught his attention.

Your name.

It wasn’t spoken to him, but it was enough to make his ears tune in like a radio locking onto a signal. “I swear, I still have her ultrasound,” a girl’s voice giggled from the next table over. “She showed it to me when she first found out, and I took a picture ‘cause I couldn’t believe it. She’s due in the summer.” Rafe’s body went rigid. He felt his heartbeat pound in his ears, a deep thud echoing through his chest. His grip on the glass tightened. You. Pregnant? It had to be a mistake. There was no way. If you were pregnant, you would have told him. Right? His stomach twisted, the water in his mouth suddenly tasting like acid. He barely registered the rest of the girls’ conversation, his mind racing, running through every possible scenario. There only one.

That night, weeks ago—no, months ago—when neither of you had thought twice about being reckless. When his hands had gripped your hips, when your lips had ghosted over his ear, when he had lost himself in you in a way that made him forget everything else. Neither of you had brought it up after. He shoved his chair back with a screech, standing so abruptly that a few heads turned. He ignored them, ignored everything, as he strode out of the club with only one thought in his mind. He had to find you.

—

The front door of your house nearly came off the hinges when Rafe shoved it open, his heart still hammering against his ribs.

“y/n!”

Silence.

His chest heaved as he scanned the living room, the faint sound of music drifting from down the hall. The bathroom. Rafe moved before he could think, following the sound. The door was cracked open, steam curling from the gap, and inside—You stood in front of the mirror, wrapped in only a towel, your damp skin still dewy from the shower. Your hands were resting on your stomach.

Not flat. Not the way he remembered.

His breath caught in his throat. You saw him in the mirror before you turned. Your eyes widened, your body tensing. “Rafe—” “When were you gonna tell me?” His voice came out rough, uneven. His hands curled into fists at his sides, not out of anger but because he didn’t know what else to do. You swallowed, your throat bobbing. “I—I was going to.”

“When?” Your silence was enough of an answer. Rafe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as he stepped further into the bathroom. “So it’s true,” he muttered. “You’re—you’re pregnant?” Your arms instinctively wrapped around your stomach, like you were trying to shield yourself from whatever reaction was coming. “Yes.” His pulse roared in his ears. He should’ve sat down. He should’ve done something other than stand there like an idiot, staring at you like he didn’t recognize you. But he did. God, he did. And his baby was carrying his baby.

Rafe swallowed, his voice quieter now. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your lip trembled slightly, but you lifted your chin. “I didn’t know how you’d handle it.” Something in his chest cracked. “You think I wouldn’t handle it?” You looked away, biting your lip. “I thought it would stress you out too much,” you admitted. “I was scared it would make you… relapse.” Rafe flinched. You weren’t wrong. The old him would’ve spiraled. He would’ve drowned himself in whatever Barry could give him—coke, weed, alcohol—until he felt nothing.

But he wasn’t the old him.

At least, he was trying not to be.

A shaky breath left him as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather the storm inside of him. “Do you even want this?” His voice was quiet, his throat tight. Your brows furrowed. “What?” “This.” He gestured toward your stomach. “Do you even want this?” You hesitated. But when you spoke, your voice was firm. “Yes.” Rafe exhaled slowly.

Then, before you could stop him, he was in front of you. His hands were tentative as they settled on your waist, warm and solid, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. His fingers brushed against your stomach, barely touching, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. Your breath hitched. “I should’ve been here,” he murmured, voice raw. “I should’ve known.” Tears pricked your eyes. “I didn’t mean to shut you out,” you whispered. “I was just scared.” His jaw clenched, his fingers tightening slightly on your skin. “You don’t have to be.”

You searched his face, and for the first time in weeks—maybe longer—you let yourself believe him. His lips ghosted over your forehead, lingering. Then, without a word, he sank to his knees in front of you, his hands still holding you like you might slip away. And when his lips pressed softly, reverently, against your stomach, you broke. Because for all his flaws, for all the mistakes, you knew one thing for sure.

Rafe Cameron would never let you face this alone.

[jamiewrites-stuff]

Hypnotic

[001] [002]

I know the movie literally just came out, but I'm desperate for more fics about these Beauties, so I made my own💅

This is an X reader fanfic, I'll try to keep her appearance vague but please note that Y/n is her own character in this. She just has your name, and yes it is a Fem reader (Sorry Fellas and Non binary pals).

WARNING: This Fic is kinda spicy, I tried to keep the characters as accurate as possible, but I mainly base the rest of the Saja boys on headcannon (They deserved more Scenes fr😞)

so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, SCROLL AWAY🤺🤺

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A thick, endless fog curled low across the dead earth like a suffocating breath that refused to exhale. The air was cold, not biting like winter

But hollow.

Empty.

Even the damned didn’t dare walk this path.

The trees stood like petrified skeletons in a graveyard of gods. blackened trunks stripped of bark, their branches crooked like the outstretched claws of something long-dead and still begging.

No leaves rustled.

No wind whispered. The soil was dry and cracked beneath rotting roots, yet slick with something ancient and black, clinging to boots like tarred memory.

Each step echoed louder than it should’ve in the nothingness.

The figure moved through the fog with measured caution.

A man, tall, composed, cloaked in silence but threaded with purpose.

His hair was the color of shadows soaked in moonlight. deep, pitch-black, yet strangely reflective.

Beneath the wide brim of his Gat, a pair of piercing yellow eyes gleamed like twin embers.

Purple demonic sigils crawled up the side of his throat, across his neck, arms, and beneath the folds of his robe like ancient tattoos.

He wore a pristine black Jeogori, its sleeves trailing just past his wrists, paired with traditional Baji that ghosted around his ankles with every step.

The silence here was thick, wrong. It pressed against the eardrums like a warning

Leave.

Turn back.

Don’t wake her.

Yet he pressed on.

Every demon in Hell knew this place.

They whispered of it.

Feared it.

Avoided it like the plague.

A dead forest at the edge of damnation, a realm untouched even by the Ten Kings. No souls were punished here. No screams echoed from the trees.

Because this place didn’t punish.

It waited.

The fog curled tighter the deeper he walked, brushing against his clothes like fingers made of smoke.

The light -what little there was- seemed to bend unnaturally around the trees, filtering in a colorless gray that made it hard to tell how far the forest stretched.

He felt shivers go down his spine as he continued to walk, only hearing his footsteps.

He felt something bump into his leg, he looked down, seeing the purple Tiger that had been following him around.

It's yellow eyes looking up at him curiously, a familiar crow landed on top of his shoulder, eyes looking at him from the side.

As if it was silently judging its master.

"Don't look at me like that"

Jinu muttered, looking straight ahead.

"If this plan is going to work, we need her help"

He said, talking silently, as if afraid he'll wake up whatever creature that was hidden in this fog.

He had already made it this far, recruiting demons like him that he thinks fits the job. They weren't perfect, none of them were.

But that's why he was here, he needed all the help that he could get.

The memories

The voices

He couldn't take it anymore, he needed them gone.

He reached deeper into the dead forest, not being more aware of his surroundings as he accidentally stepped on a twig.

He winced, hearing the sound echo through the fog.

The air grew heavier, colder, and eerie.

He felt it, the presence.

He couldn't see them, but he knew that she was here, he had woken her.

"Tell me the name..of the one who dares..step into my domain.."

A voice rang through the forest, it was silent, soothing, nearly sweet. But he knew it was just a facade, a Trap set for anyone foolish enough to fall for it.

"It's Jinu, My lady"

He introduced, staying strong despite the fear that was crawling up inside him, he forced himself to bow. As a sign of respect for the Forgotten entity.

"Jinu."

The voice repeated, testing the name for herself before letting out a hum of disapproval.

"And what is the purpose for your visit, Jinu?"

She questioned, her voice soft like a Lullaby.

He lets out a shaky breath, before standing up straight, face blank yet eyes fiercely determined.

"It's the Hunters, they only grow stronger after each day."

He explained, looking up at the sky. Even in an isolated area, anyone could still see the lines of blue strings, decorating across the sky.

"It's only a matter of time before the Honmoon turns gold"

He said, feeling the Fog growing thicker as it surrounds him, The crown on his shoulder Tensed up, sensing that something was wrong, but Jinu didn't notice.

"I have a plan in order to stop them, but I need your help"

He said, eyes looking up as he scanned around him.

He couldn't see anything, the Fog was keeping everything hidden as it seemingly grew.

A sudden chill ran down his spine at the silence.

"Why should I help you?"

She questioned, her voice no longer holding the soft and eerily sweet tone as before.

He took a step back, a drop of sweat trialing down his cheek as he refused to get intimidated by her.

"If the Hanmoon turns gold, it'll be the end for all of us"

He reasoned yet that only made the voice scoff in displeasure.

"Perhaps, but I don't see it as a bad thing. Not entirely"

He clenched his hand into a fist, running out of ideas on how he could convince her, as the Tiger looked up at him with concern.

"The Demon king, once powerful and feared by all. Now being beaten by a group of mortal hunters"

She said in a mocking tone, holding hidden disgust in her voice when she referred to the ruler of this realm.

"It's amusing isn't it?"

She muttered, sounding deep in thought, he couldn't see her, he couldn't feel her presence but she was close enough that it felt like she was whispering in his ear.

He needed to say something.

Anything in order to convince her.

He had come this far, he couldn't simply give up now.

Not when an eternity of hearing those voices were awaiting him.

After a moment of silence.

The fog retracted, giving him some room to finally breathe.

"Very well."

His eyes widened, head snapping up at the empty space in front of him.

"What?"

He muttered, not knowing if she was playing a trick on him.

"I will help you, Jinu. You seem quite useful"

She whispered, as more parts of the forest slowly but surely started to reveal itself.

He didn't let his guard down, not when he was around her.

He heard rumors about her

The Lonely maiden forgotten and cast away by her followers.

Now forever trapped here, like the rest of the fallen souls.

He shouldn't trust her, but he was a desperate man, seeking for some ounce of freedom from Gwi-ma's clutches.

"But in return.."

The Fog that surrounded him suddenly stirred, not by the wind, but with intention. As if it were alive.

He took a step back, breath caught up in his throat, the Tiger moving in front of his Master, growling slightly at the empty space.

A column of fog pulled itself upward, slow and elegant.

Tendrils unfurled, stretching like fingers flexing after a long slumber.

The air grew colder.

Heavier. And though no eyes could be seen, he felt her watching.

The shifting mist twisted delicately, almost lazily, shaping the vague outline of legs, then hips, the gentle curve of a waist.

Each movement was smooth, practiced, like the fog had done this before.

The upper half began to form a torso, arms, long hair that flowed and drifted as though underwater, trailing behind the forming silhouette.

Then her face began to take shape. Not all at once but in fragments.

A hollow curve of cheek. The graceful slope of a jaw. Lips sculpted from mist.

And finally

her eyes opened.

Two faintly glowing embers, pale and cold, not meant for mortal gaze.

The fog hissed and fell away from her form like veils being peeled back, revealing smooth skin like marble caught in moonlight.

Her limbs moved slowly, elegantly, with the weightless grace of something half-forgotten by time.

She stood there now. Silent. Serene. Real.

No footsteps. No sound.

Just her presence terrifying, and beautiful.

A soft smile appeared on her lips, her head tilting slightly to the side, as she could finally look at him closely.

"Your soul will belong to me."

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That's it for now! Hope it peaked your interest at least, I don't have a schedule set, but I'm hoping I'll be updating more frequently.

I already have so much planned for this story, so please wait for it!

[mejaemin]

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bday girl - lee donghyuck

18+ mdni !!! wc: 1.5k summary: it’s your birthday, and caramel!hyuck makes sure you feel nothing but loved warnings: somno, oral (f rec), cumming in pants ><, fluff !!! an: happy 400 guys !!! here’s a little gift <3 i haven’t written smut in sooo long… sorry if this is kinda trash or a lil rushed :/ im still getting back into it !!! (caramel masterlist here!! ʕ ᵔⰙᵔ⠕ʔ)

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it’s around noon when your eyes flutter open, squirming gently at the tingling feeling between your legs. you reach your arm out to hyuck’s spot next to you in your bed, ready to request his help, when he speaks up.

“good morning, baby.” his fingers are resting inside of you, pausing once he saw you wake up. staring in a half asleep daze at him laying between your legs, his curly hair pushed out of the way with a hair band, cheeks glistening with arousal, he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your clit. “happy birthday.”

you whine, and he dives right back in, free hand gripping your hip to drag you into his face. he’s quick, almost desperate with it. he’s moaning, nearly whining as he pulls his fingers out in favor of suffocating himself with your wetness. you’re not concerned in the least because he’s expressed multiple times how hot he finds the inability to breathe, so you encourage it, gripping his hair a little harder to keep him close.

he pulls his fingers out, replacing them with his tongue. he thrusts the muscle in and out, almost getting distracted with his own pleasure in the way he’s so desperate to glide it over every inch of you and drink in every drop of you that slips out. the way his nose bums against your clit has you snapping the hair band in his hair, using your hands instead with a near deathly grip as you begin rolling your hips into him. he whines, incredibly high pitched, and your entire body tingles in response. opening your eyes a little wider, you can see his hips rutting into the mattress, moaning into your pussy as the bed shakes.

you moan, feeling a familiar heat rolling from your toes to your stomach, white and scorching. his name spills from your lips a million times like a mantra, his tongue and fingers gliding over your most sensitive areas in ways that make your head spin, worse than it already was at the way you had been woken up. your head is a little foggy, and you honestly haven’t even fully adjusted to your surroundings, only focusing on the wavy mop of hair between your legs, making you feel so, so good, to the point where the baby pink tinsel hanging from your doorway with ‘happy birthday’ letters above it is nothing but twinkling lights you haven’t even taken note of.

the vibrations of his voice, moaning and groaning into your heat, paired with his fingers and tongue taking care of you with the most attention feels heavenly, and you can feel the coils in your lower stomach getting tighter and tighter as he pleases you. he’s embracing you fully, your arousal covering nearly the entire lower half of his face, and if you weren’t the one in this situation, you’d be worried about how long he’s been down there. however you’re not, and you couldn’t care less as you grind against his face in a way that’s almost concerning.

you’re right there, and your neighbors probably hate you, but you just can’t find it in you to care when hyuck’s tongue dips in and out of your hole, fingers rubbing your clit so sweetly that it makes the muscles in your legs tense. you’re so, so close, feet and stomach burning when he pulls away.

neither of his hands are clean at this point, so when he crawls up to your face he has no choice but to accept the strands of hair sticking to his lips when he kisses your forehead. he gives you a few more, trailing down your temple until he finally leaves one on your lips.

“i’m so sorry baby,” he starts, kissing the corner of your mouth where a pout starts to form. “i just wanted to check on my baby, okay?” his smile is soft when he sees you nod, still upset, but he pays no mind. with another kiss, he asks, “good?”

you nod, wrapping an arm around his neck to kiss him a little deeper, “so good, hyuckie..” you gently push him away, using a finger to push him back down the bed. “wanna cum, please..” your voice is a little croaky, whining in a way that would be quite embarrassing in any other situation. regardless, he complies, moving back down between your legs to finish his job.

“‘course baby,” his puckered lips press against your clit once again, thumb replacing it to begin rubbing gentle circles. “it’s your birthday, after all.”

it doesn’t take much for you to get right back to where you were, squirming against your sheets and gripping at donghyuck’s hair while he eats you like he’s been starved. the bed is shaking from the way his hips thrust into the mattress, his voice unashamedly sending the most eye rolling vibrations through your body. his fingers curl into you, pressing on your sweet spot with an ease that makes everything feel tingly, getting more and more intense until you finally break.

your back arches off the bed, your mouth opening yet not making any noise as your orgasm finally comes. hyuck is cooing, guiding you through it with sweet words and gentle touches as you come down. he sits up on his heels, a hand gently rubbing up and down your side while you (and him, but he’s being discreet) catch your breath.

finally, you’ve fully woken up and have adjusted to your surroundings, so you sit up against the headboard and actually take in your surroundings.

the curtains are still closed, the sun shining through the pink fabric, leaving the entire room in a pink glow. hanging above the door is the pink tinsel and “happy birthday” lettering you saw before, with hello kitty standing next to it. on your vanity, there’s a sanrio themed gift bag sitting on top. you look back at hyuck with a smile, and he’s already returning it, moving to sit next to you.

“are you finally awake? ready to have your day?” he pulls you into his side, kissing your forehead.

you hum, nodding your head, and he gets out of bed, helping you out and leading you to the bathroom. “but don’t you want to-“

he shakes his head, cutting you off with a clear of his throat. “don’t worry about me.”

with furrowed eyebrows, you look down and it’s then that you finally see the wet spot in his sweatpants. it takes everything in you to not start giggling, hiding your face in your hands as he goes to turn on the shower. you hear him grumbling, complaining about your teasing. he’s still as sweet as ever though, helping you undress before getting in the shower to clean you off. his hands are soft against your skin, cleaning your body with your favorite soap before rinsing it off and leaving kisses behind.

getting you in a towel, he sits you down at your vanity to open your first gift. he’s on his knees next to you, rubbing lotion into your skin while you open everything. pulling the tissue paper out, there’s three different jewelry boxes inside. the smallest one has a dainty ring in it, covered in tiny little diamonds with your favorite stone in the middle. the next one had a bracelet, quite simple but so fitting to you and your style. the last one, the biggest in size, had two necklaces inside. when opening it, he briefly mentions how he remembered your enjoyment of stacking them, so he picked a pair that represented the both of you. the longer one had a sun charm hanging from it while the shorter had a heart. without a second thought you have him put them on for you, excited to keep something so similar to you and him close.

he stays by your side the entire time you get yourself ready, rushing to do the same for himself once you’re done. he picks an outfit matching yours, and the lighter colors aren’t really his thing, but seeing your excitement when he shows you what he’s wearing makes it worth it. finally, he leads you out into your living room. it’s decorated even more, along with almost every other room in your home. there’s flowers, and gift upon gift laying out, and almost every decoration relating to something you like is hung up somewhere.

he ordered breakfast for you both as well, avoiding the idea of getting in the kitchen to save you from that stress on your special day. it’s your favorite, and he feeds it to you between many kisses, sharing with you his plans for you. once done, you’re finally ready for the main event, where he takes you shopping and, despite your protests, buys nearly everything you touch. no matter how many times you try to scold him for it, he just keeps going, partially because he enjoys getting yelled at by you, but also because he genuinely can’t help but spend so much on you when you’re his entire world, as he’s told you many times.

once home, he invites your closest friends over, which includes some of his own, to sing to you and celebrate another year of your life with a cake decorated in frilly piping and drawings of your favorite sanrio characters. it’s so sweet, seeing all the lengths he’s gone to for your special day, taking care of you and running his pockets dry, even losing sleep just to make sure you feel the most loved.

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perm taglist: @chenlezip @coquettejunnie

[bbokicidal]

First Times The Charm? | OT8 [SKZ]

Notes : This was a Drabble request someone sent in, so it's short, to the point, and simple. Hope you enjoy! Genre : Smut Warnings : 18+ Content Req : Giving SKZ head for the first time. <- But I altered it so it's not just 'you giving skz head for the first time' and rather, it's 'you giving skz their first head experience EVER.'

Chris :

He's so... so vocal. Constantly groaning, his voice low in his throat and gravely as if he'd just woken up. He's in Heaven, his head tipped back on the office chair he sat in. He's death gripping the poor arms of the chair, knuckles bright red from the flush that had covered his entire body. He, politely, refuses to touch you - partially because he's a little scared to and partially because he doesn't think he can move.

Minho :

In shambles. His body has a habit of trembling each time you take him in your throat and he swears he's never felt anything so good in his life. He's laid back in his bed, one arm draped over his eyes while the other sticks by his side, fingers splayed in your hair; gently pushing your head down each time he needs a little more. You learn very quickly he's a bit of a head pusher.

Changbin :

Stiff as a rock, but also a little tense and unsure. He's so shy seeing you between his fucking thick ass thighs already, his ears bright red and his cheeks warm with excitement. He loves it, he really does, he's just - He's got a bad habit of being a bit jumpy when people touch him. So when you go all the way down on his dick and deep throat him? His thighs snap shut around your head and he nearly suffocates you, not realizing it had happened until you have to slap his stomach and make him let you go. Not that it was that bad of an experience. You'd die happy there.

Hyunjin :

All vocals. Moaning, whining - even chuckling as you slurp on his cock. He's a bit arrogant when it comes to you giving him head. Even though it's his first time getting head from anyone, he's cocky about his size as it bulges in your throat and makes you choke. When he gets closer to release though, he's all breathy and sucking in air, biting his bottom lip as his hand rests atop your head.

Jisung :

So wiggly, so squirmy. Full of the jitter bugs as you go down on him. He's whiney. Very very vocal, very loud - so loud in fact that Minho has to tell him to shut up from the next room over. He gets all embarrassed, sliding his sweater sleeve over his hand and pressing it to his mouth to muffle his whimpers that escape. Also Lowkey fucking up into your mouth because he just can't keep still. Will ask you to eat his ass afterwards.

Felix :

Extremely laid back. The master of acting like he's had it before but you can tell by the blush dusting over his freckles that he's never had it done to him before. (He also told you that, but.) He's lounging back in his gaming chair and he's adoring the sight of you sucking on him like a lollipop. He loves the sounds you make, the soft moans and the wet noises from your tongue dragging on his cock. And he's a bit vocal too - all low moans and huffs of breath escaping his lips. He's very chill about it, but by the time he's coming down your throat his hands are on the back of your neck and he's humping your face.

Seungmin :

Refuses to touch you because he's shaking so much. He's near silent most of the time but he can tell that when you pause to look up at him for a reaction, he'll nod as quick as he can so you know it's perfect. He's falling apart under your touch, lying in his bed and subtly rocking his hips up into your mouth because of how much he loves it.

Jeongin :

Tou.chy. Touchy!! He's all over you, can't keep his hands to himself. At first he's cupping your face, but then he feels like he's in the way of your work so he's just resting them on your shoulders then. But then he feels like he's pushing you, so instead he busies himself with gathering your hair and pulling it back - and he's got big enough hands so it's easy for him. And when he blows, he places a hand around your throat to gently push you away so he can paint your pretty face with his cum.

Perm Taglist: @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

[pucksandpower]

Leave My Mark

Day 4 → Bruise Marking 💋 Lando Norris

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

Lando’s eyes flicker with something that’s not quite anger, not quite fear, but somewhere in the middle — a dark, consuming tension that sends a shiver down your spine. The hotel room is dimly lit, just a sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains. He’s pacing now, his movements sharp, precise, a contrast to the chaotic mess of emotions wrestling within him.

“You know what it looked like, right?” His voice is low, almost too calm, like the quiet before a storm. He stops and looks at you, eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to read something off your face, something he doesn’t want to find. “The way you were laughing with him … the way you touched his arm.”

You fold your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “Lando, it was nothing. Oscar needed someone to talk to, and I was just being there for him. As a friend.”

“A friend?” The words leave his mouth like they’re poisoned, like they burn his tongue. “Friends don’t look at each other like that. They don’t touch each other like that.”

You blink, surprised at the venom in his tone. “Like what?”

His jaw clenches, and he takes a step closer, the space between you evaporating. “Like you’re more than just friends. Like he could be something more to you.”

You shake your head, exhaling slowly. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He’s closer now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body, can see the way his chest rises and falls in a rhythm that’s too fast, too irregular. “Because all I see is you smiling at him, touching him, and I can’t stand it.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. You swallow hard, trying to push back the rising tide of frustration and disbelief. “Lando, this is crazy. I’m with you. Only you.”

He stares at you, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark and stormy. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something — something sharp, something cruel — but instead, he reaches out, his hand brushing your neck. His touch is firm, almost possessive, and your breath catches as his fingers wrap around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to make you aware of how easily he could.

“You’re mine,” he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “You know that, right? You’re mine, and I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”

You meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, a mix of fear and something else, something you can’t quite name. “Lando …”

His grip tightens just slightly, and your pulse quickens. “Say it.”

“What?”

“Say you’re mine.” His voice is low, almost dangerous, like a predator cornering its prey. “Say it, and mean it.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his hand, the intensity of his stare. “I’m yours, Lando. Only yours.”

Something flickers in his eyes — satisfaction, maybe, or relief — and his grip loosens, just a fraction. “Good.” He’s breathing hard, his forehead nearly touching yours. “Because I won’t share you. Not with him, not with anyone.”

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart under your fingertips. “Lando, I love you. I wouldn’t … I couldn’t … Oscar’s just a friend. I was only trying to help him.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly, as if he’s trying to calm himself down. When he opens them again, there’s something softer there, something more vulnerable. “I know. I know that, deep down. But when I see you with him, it drives me crazy. I can’t help it.”

You lean into him, resting your head against his chest. “You don’t have to be jealous. I’m here with you. I chose you.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. “I just … I hate the thought of you being close to someone else. I can’t stand it.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes searching his. “Then don’t think about it. Think about us, right now. I’m here, with you. That’s all that matters.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares at you like he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face. Then, slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s both tender and desperate, like he’s trying to prove something to himself, to you.

You kiss him back, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, pulling him closer. The tension between you dissolves into something else, something warm and intense and consuming. His hands move to your waist, pulling you even closer, until there’s no space left between you.

When he pulls back, his breathing is ragged, his eyes dark with something you can’t quite name. “You drive me insane, you know that?”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Likewise.”

He laughs softly, but there’s still that edge in his voice, that undercurrent of possessiveness that hasn’t quite gone away. “But you’re mine, right? Only mine?”

You nod, your heart swelling with something warm and fierce. “Only yours.”

He presses his forehead against yours, his hands sliding up to cup your face. “I love you. God, I love you so much it scares me.”

You smile, leaning into his touch. “I love you too, Lando. More than anything.”

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing, the warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart. Then he pulls you into another kiss, this one deeper, more urgent, like he’s trying to claim you, to make sure you understand just how much you mean to him.

His hands move to your throat again, fingers wrapping around your neck, and this time, there’s no mistaking the intent behind his touch. He’s claiming you, marking you as his, and you don’t resist, don’t pull away, because you want it, need it just as much as he does.

“You’re mine,” he whispers against your lips, his grip tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “Say it.”

Your voice is barely a whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m yours.”

His grip tightens further, and for a moment, you can’t breathe, can’t think, can only feel the intensity of his gaze, the heat of his body pressed against yours. Then he releases you, just enough to let you breathe again, and you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“You’re mine,” he says again, his voice rough, desperate. “And I’m yours.”

You nod, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “Yes.”

His lips crash against yours, and this time, the kiss is hungry, almost savage, as if he’s trying to devour you, to consume every part of you. You kiss him back with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together, your bodies entwined. He looks at you, his eyes burning with something primal, something fierce. “I won’t let anyone take you away from me,” he murmurs, his voice raw, broken.

You shake your head, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. “No one could.”

He closes his eyes, his breath shuddering as he pulls you into his arms, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. “Stay with me. Always.”

You press a kiss to his shoulder, your heart swelling with love, with something deeper, something unbreakable. “Always.”

For a while, you just hold each other, the storm that raged between you slowly calming into something quieter, more peaceful. But there’s still that undercurrent of tension, that edge that hasn’t quite faded, and you know it’s going to take time — time for him to fully trust, to fully believe that you’re his and only his.

But for now, this is enough. The two of you, together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten, irrelevant. And in this moment, you know that no matter what happens, no matter what obstacles you face, you’ll face them together, as long as you both hold on, as long as you both remember that this, right here, is what matters most.

And with Lando’s arms around you, his breath warm against your skin, you know that you will.

***

Morning light filters through the hotel curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. Lando wakes first, his eyes slowly adjusting to the light as he shifts under the covers.

The first thing he notices is the warmth of your body curled up beside him, your hair splayed across the pillow, your breathing steady and calm. For a moment, he just watches you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he remembers the night before, the intensity of it, the way you gave yourself to him so completely.

But then, as his eyes trail down your neck, his smile fades. There, on the pale skin of your throat, are faint bruises, the marks of his hands, a reminder of how fiercely he held you, how desperately he wanted to claim you as his. A pang of guilt twists in his chest, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing gently over the bruises, as if he can erase them with a touch.

You stir at the contact, blinking sleepily as you wake up, your eyes meeting his. “Morning,” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Morning,” he replies, but his voice is quieter, more subdued, as his fingers continue to trace the marks on your neck. “Did I … did I hurt you?”

You frown slightly, still half-asleep, not quite understanding. “What do you mean?”

He swallows, his gaze fixed on the bruises. “Your neck … I didn’t mean to leave these.”

You reach up, your fingers grazing the marks, and then you understand. “Oh.” Your voice is soft, a little uncertain, as you glance at him. “It’s okay, Lando. They don’t hurt.”

But he’s already moving, sitting up and reaching for something on the nightstand. “I should’ve been more careful. Let me … let me put something on them.” He finds a small tube of ointment in his bag and unscrews the cap, squeezing a bit onto his fingers before turning back to you.

“Lando, you don’t have to-”

“I want to,” he interrupts, his voice firm but gentle. “Please.”

You nod, sitting up and letting the blanket fall away from your shoulders, exposing the marks on your neck fully. He leans in closer, his expression concentrated, almost tender, as he carefully dabs the ointment onto the bruises, his fingers warm against your skin. His touch is so gentle, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid of hurting you further.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough with guilt. He presses a soft kiss to one of the bruises, his lips lingering there for a moment. “I didn’t mean to …”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, your fingers brushing against his cheek, trying to soothe him. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

He moves to another bruise, rubbing the ointment in slowly, methodically, before kissing the spot again. “I got carried away.”

You bite your lip, hesitating for a moment before you finally speak. “I … I liked it.”

He stops, his hand frozen against your skin as he looks up at you, his eyes searching yours. “You did?”

You nod, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. “Yeah. I liked how … how you took control. How you made me feel like I was completely yours.”

Something in his eyes softens, the guilt slowly ebbing away, replaced by something else — something darker, more intense. “You liked it?” he repeats, his voice quieter, almost disbelieving.

“Yes,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “It … it turned me on, Lando.”

His eyes darken, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “You liked how I made you mine?”

A shiver runs down your spine, and you nod, your breath catching in your throat. “Yes.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes locked onto yours, his hand moving to cup your face. “Say it again.”

You swallow, your heart pounding as you meet his gaze. “I liked it. I liked how you took control.”

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, and he watches you intently, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “Tell me what you liked.”

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you can’t find the words, too overwhelmed by the intensity in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world. But then, slowly, you find your voice. “I liked how you held me … how you made me feel like I was completely yours. I liked how … how strong you were, how you didn’t let go.”

His eyes darken further, and he leans in, capturing your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss. His hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the heat radiating off his body, the way his muscles tense under your touch. When he pulls back, his breathing is ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“God, you drive me crazy,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you whisper back, your hands sliding up to his shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kisses you again, softer this time, but no less intense, and when he pulls back, his hands move to your throat, his fingers tracing the bruises with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “You liked how I took control,” he says quietly, more to himself than to you, as if he’s trying to wrap his head around it.

“Yes,” you reply, your voice trembling with anticipation, with the need to feel that control again, to lose yourself in him.

He looks at you, his gaze piercing, and then, slowly, deliberately, he pushes you back onto the bed, his body hovering over yours. His hands find your wrists, pinning them above your head, and you gasp, your pulse quickening as you feel the weight of him against you, the way his body presses you into the mattress.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his voice low, rough.

“Of course,” you breathe, your eyes wide, your heart pounding.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your neck, against the bruises he left, and you feel a thrill of excitement, of anticipation, as he kisses each one, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “I want to make you feel good,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “I want to make you fall apart.”

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat as his words sink in, as his hands move down your body, trailing fire in their wake. “Lando …”

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, with something deeper, something more intense than you’ve ever seen before. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, making you shiver.

“I want you,” you reply, your voice trembling with need, with the overwhelming desire that’s building inside you. “I want you to take control.”

He smiles, a slow, wicked smile that makes your heart skip a beat, and then he’s kissing you again, hard and demanding, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you against him. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, the way he’s trying to keep himself in check, and it only makes you want him more.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, your voice barely audible, but you know he hears it, because he groans softly, his hands tightening on your hips.

“You don’t have to ask,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost dangerous. “I’m going to give you everything you want.”

And he does. His hands are everywhere, touching, caressing, claiming, as he makes you feel things you didn’t know you could feel, as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, until you’re gasping, trembling, completely at his mercy.

He’s relentless, his mouth on your skin, his hands on your body, as he takes you apart piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the feel of him, the sound of his voice, the overwhelming need that consumes you.

“Lando,” you gasp, your hands clutching at the sheets, your body arching against his, desperate for more, for everything.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice rough, raw, as he pushes you closer, closer, until you can’t take it anymore, until you’re falling, shattering, completely undone.

When it’s over, when you’re lying there in his arms, your heart still racing, your breath still coming in uneven gasps, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek, your eyes meeting his. “You didn’t hurt me, Lando. You made me feel … amazing. I’ve never felt like that before.”

He smiles, a small, relieved smile, and he leans down to kiss you, soft and slow, his lips lingering on yours. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice full of emotion, full of something deep and unbreakable. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you reply, your heart swelling with love, with something even deeper, something that goes beyond words. “So much.”

For a while, you just lie there together, your bodies entwined, breathing slowly coming back to normal. Lando’s hand absentmindedly caresses your side, his fingers tracing soft circles on your skin. The quiet in the room feels like a protective cocoon, safe and warm, where nothing exists but the two of you.

Then, after a long silence, Lando shifts slightly, his hand moving up to your neck again, his fingers brushing lightly over the bruises he left. You feel him smile against your hair, and his voice is low, almost a purr as he murmurs, “You bruise so prettily, you know that?”

You shiver at his words, a thrill of something dark and thrilling running through you. He doesn’t stop, his fingers trailing over each mark with an almost possessive reverence. “I love seeing these on you,” he continues, his voice a soft, dangerous whisper. “Knowing that I put them there. That you’re mine.”

You can feel the intensity in his words, the way they’re weighted with a fierce, undeniable possessiveness, and it sends a pulse of heat through you, a mix of fear and excitement that makes your heart race. “Lando …” you breathe, your voice trembling, your body already responding to the way he’s touching you, the way he’s talking to you.

He shifts, hovering over you, his gaze dark and hungry as he takes in your flushed cheeks, your parted lips. “I want to mark you up even more,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire. “I want everyone to see these bruises and know exactly who you belong to.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening at the thought of it, at the idea of wearing his marks, of being claimed by him in such a visible, undeniable way. “You want that?” You ask, your voice shaky, filled with anticipation.

His eyes meet yours, and there’s something fierce and possessive in his gaze as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “I want to leave my mark on you,” he murmurs, his voice low, dangerous. “I want to bruise every inch of your skin until there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that you’re mine.”

You shiver at his words, a thrill of excitement running through you, and you nod, unable to form words as the intensity of his desire, of his need, crashes over you. “Please,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling, your body already responding to the promise in his words.

He smiles, a slow, wicked smile that makes your heart race, and then his hands are on you again, his fingers tracing your skin, finding every bruise he left, pressing down just enough to make you gasp, to remind you of the intensity of the night before. “You like this, don’t you?” He asks, his voice a dark, teasing whisper. “You like knowing that I’ve marked you, that everyone can see how much I want you.”

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice barely audible, your body arching under his touch, desperate for more.

He leans down, pressing soft kisses to your neck, to the bruises he left, his lips warm against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice filled with a dark, possessive hunger. “So perfect. I can’t wait to mark you up even more.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel your breath quicken, your body already responding to the promise in his voice, to the way he’s touching you, the way he’s claiming you. “Lando …”

He smirks against your skin, his teeth grazing your neck, just enough to make you gasp, to send a sharp thrill of pleasure-pain through you. “You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice rough, dangerous. “And I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.”

Before you can respond, his hands move lower, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other trailing down your body, teasing, exploring. His touch is slow, deliberate, as if he’s savoring the moment, as if he’s taking his time to appreciate every reaction, every shiver, every gasp that escapes your lips.

Then, without warning, his hand slides between your legs, finding your clit, and he pinches down, cruel and relentless. You cry out, your body arching against him, the sudden intensity of it sending a shockwave of pleasure-pain through you, unraveling you completely.

“Lando!” You gasp, your voice trembling, your body quaking under his touch.

He doesn’t relent, his fingers moving with a ruthless precision, his other hand still holding your wrists tightly above your head, keeping you pinned, keeping you at his mercy. “You like this, don’t you?” He whispers, his voice dark and teasing, as he continues to torment you, to push you further and further over the edge.

“Yes!” You cry out, unable to control the sounds escaping you, the intensity of it too much, too overwhelming.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and heavy as he whispers, “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours!” You gasp, your voice breaking, your body shaking with the force of the pleasure coursing through you.

His fingers pinch down harder, and you cry out again, your body completely out of control, completely at his mercy. “Say it again,” he demands, his voice rough, filled with a dark, possessive hunger.

“I’m yours, Lando!” You cry, your voice trembling, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you fall apart completely, your body shattering under his touch.

He watches you, his eyes dark and hungry, his hand relentless as he pushes you over the edge again and again, until you’re nothing but a trembling, gasping mess beneath him. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, as he watches you unravel. “You’re mine. All mine.”

Finally, when you think you can’t take it anymore, when your body is trembling and shaking with the force of the pleasure-pain, he slows, his touch becoming gentler, more tender. He releases your wrists, his hand moving to cup your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that have escaped down your cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice filled with awe, with something deep and unbreakable. “So perfect.”

You’re still gasping for breath, your body still trembling from the intensity of it all, but you manage to meet his gaze, your eyes filled with a mix of love, desire, and something deeper, something that goes beyond words. “Lando …” you breathe, your voice shaky, your heart pounding in your chest.

He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, his hand still cupping your face, his touch gentle, tender. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back, your voice filled with all the emotion, all the love, all the desire you feel for him.

He pulls you into his arms, holding you close, his body warm and comforting against yours. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his voice soft, filled with regret. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, the warmth of his skin. “You didn’t hurt me, Lando,” you whisper back, your voice soft, filled with love. “You made me feel … everything.”

He smiles, a small, relieved smile, and he presses another kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. “You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice a soft, possessive murmur. “And I’m never letting you go.”

You smile, your heart swelling with love, with something deeper, something that goes beyond words, and you snuggle closer to him, feeling the warmth, the safety of his embrace. “I’m yours,” you whisper back, your voice filled with all the emotion, all the love you feel for him. “Always.”

[nakaira]

nsfw. i will one day extend my thoughts on these. trust. till then we survive with scraps.

'i love osamu <3'.

rockstar boyfriend!dazai who in the middle of a concert, leaned down from the stage to sign on the shirts, phone cases, books or whatever the fans standing in the front row handed him until he stopped infront of you, his girlfriend.

he raised his eyebrows as to ask where you want his signature and you thought it would be really funny to point at your breasts. he thought so too as he grinned and rolled his eyes playfully, moving towards the other fans.

he thought it was funny because he was on stage. now that he isn't on stage and is sitting in his dressing room, he has you knelt between his spread legs, leaning nearer you as you hold your breasts up with both hands, bra and your top discarded on the floor.

"be careful with that." you mumble softly as you eye your red lipstick in his hand but he hums, dismissing you easily in favour of writing his name on your tits, "i love osamu <3".

he groans at the sight, moving back as he rubs his free hand over his face, whining, "fuck, this is hot."

"this is so hot." he moans out when he has his face buried between your tits, the lipstick writing has smeared all over your chest and on his face as he keeps on pushing himself inside despite the stickiness between your thighs and his own from previous orgasms.

if he looks down, he will be able to see somewhat cum dripping on the floor but he tells himself mentally he will clean it later. his hands are holding your wrists over your head as you moan against his ears when he pushes in more, then pulls out till nothing but barely his tip is inside and then slams in again, making your breath hitch.

you look at him, his bottom lip is being crushed by his teeth sinking into them, a pale blush coats his cheeks while he lets out small whines and loud groans and moans. you readjust your legs which are nearly hanging off his hips now, locking your ankle against the other one to maintain this grip on him, pulling him closer and immediately his eyes roll back as dazai swears he is in heaven.

he can feel the head of his dick hitting against your gummy walls and he can feel said walls suffocating his dick as you tense up, nearing another orgasm.

'nakahara chuuya's <3'.

racer!chuuya who is the hottest sensation during this season's races not only because he keeps on maintaining his winning streak or because of how hot he is when he steps out of his car all sweaty in the uniform of the team he represents, taking his helmet off to smirk arrogantly at the cameras but because of attractive his actions are without him knowing.

like that one time where he was getting interviewed by a female reporter and kept on staring at her intensely with his head tilted (later revealed that when he is talking to someone, he gives them his entire attention) or that time when during one of his first races, he had came second and when he stepped out, he was pushing his tongue against his inner cheek, clenching his jaw and everything. the frustration was evident. it was hot.

but to you, chuuya, your boyfriend, is hot for a different reason!

he had won the race and is supposed to give an interview in a few minutes but got stopped by you near the empty lot where only staff and racers are permitted to enter. around you two there is no other person except many trailers and cars, one of which is his, infront of which you are standing.

"congratulations chuuya, won't you give me an autograph — ah?" you gasp in between your words as your busy boyfriend grabs your forearm to turn you around and bend you over the hood of his car. using his hand he pushes your skirt up while fishing for a marker with the other one and on your ass, he sighs, 'nakahara chuuya's <3.'

"later, angel." he pats your butt, quickly leaving as you release a shuddering breath, hiding your face against the hood of the car.

later as he is kneeling on the bed with you on all fours, thrusting in and out slowly, all he can focus on is the way your butt which has his name scribbled on, jiggles and move due to his movement.

your knees are digging in the mattress while your hands are held in one of his hands behind your back, leaving you barely with anything to support yourself and so, with your face buried inside the pillows and upper body resting on the mattress, you are left pliant in chuuya's hands, leaving him with the liberty to move you however he wants to.

"come on." he drawls on as he uses his other hand to trace his fingers up and down your spine, leaving you shivering, "congratulate me."

"you were s-so good out there. the best!" you scream out the last part as he leans his chest on your back, putting half of his body weight on you. you want to sob and moan at the same time and you just want him inside you until you both physically can't carry on anymore.

"please fuck me." you cry out, feeling as if you are gushing more as you hear him chuckle near your ear. he moves away to continue tracing his fingers up and down your spine to elicit shivers from you.

then, he grabs the back of your thighs to pull your thighs apart more and thrusts meanly, the kind which makes your vision go all blank for a moment and your stomach to tighten in pleasure.

"only for fyodor dostoyevsky <3".

older brother's best friend!fyodor who is the hottest bastard you have ever met because he is so irritating with his smug smirk and quietly mischievous eyes.

he is soooo frustrating!! he will see you going to the kitchen and follow after you, claiming he needs a drink. he will stand behind you with his hands on your hips and have a casual conversation as if whatever he's doing is normal. he will kiss your cheek and forehead, call you cute names and then pat your cheek and leave as if he doesn't leave your heart aching for more.

you had enough. so, when you called him over to help tutor you, you made sure to do it on a night like tonight when you are all alone.

he's here, in your room as he sits next to you on the bed with hus thighs touching your's, trying to explain something you don't care about hearing. he looks so delicately dangerous, you muse to yourself.

"you won't understand the concept if you keep on oggling me." he teases, looking at you with half lidded eyes, mischief dancing in his eyes.

you smile, "i wanna show you something,"

he hums, completely invested as you sit infront of him and pull your skirt up.

his breath hitches at the sight of your underwear before it falls on the inside of your thigh where you had written the words, 'only for fyodor dostoyevsky <3.'

"ah, is that so?" he chuckles breathlessly, feeling his throat dry up and his hands suddenly grow sweaty.

and in a few minutes, you are laying on your bed with your legs spread. your skirt is still on and so is your underwear because this usually patient man doesn't have any patience to remove either of them off right now, even your books are still at the side of the bed where you originally abandoned them.

your legs are spread and trembling every now and then as he has his three of his fingers inside your greedy, wet cunt and is plunging them in and out.

"naughty girl —" he pulls his fingers out halfway, "thought you wanted to study —" he pushes them in again making you loudly moan out his name and he is so thankful for this otherwise empty house because fuck, you are loud.

"but no —" he places his thumb on your clit, moving it in circles as he pulls his fingers out entirely, rubbing them on your thigh where you had his name written causing the wetness from his fingers to smear against the ink and cause a big mess on your skin.

"you wanted to tease me, no?" he snickers as he uses one hand to keep your panties pushed to the side and leans down to angle his face against your cunt, moving even his thumb away now which nearly makes you pull your hair out at the loss of all the friction which was until now making you nearly high on pleasure, "now you will write that cute confession everyday, okay?"

when you don't reply, he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and leans down to flick his tongue against your clit, making you yelp.

"i asked something." he mumbles against your clit, sending waves of shock up your spine to the nape of your neck before he leans in, kissing all the way from your clit to your inner labia.

"i do — yes, okay — sure." you stutter as your mind is a jumble of different words which remain there for a few short seconds as ultimately your attention goes back to the feeling of his tongue and lips moving against your slit and clit.

[pedroscowgirl]

I know places

Professor!Joel miller x fem!college student (legal)reader

This is part 2 of this story. So pls read that one first if you haven't yet :))/ Main masterlist | part 3

Warnings!! smutt so minors DNI Big age gap(it's legal and reader is in college), power imbalence (professor x student), no!outbreak, possesive joel, jealousy, size kink, p in v (wrap it up), breeding, risk of getting caught, Joel is able to pick reader up, reader is able bodied, lmk if i forgot something! wc: 2,2k A/n: I kinda hurried this one cuz I'm so excited for the next chapter but i hope you still like this. And excuse my Spanish if it's not right and lmk if you want me to tag you for the next chapter! Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated cuz i love ti know what y'all think of it :)) Also I've given up on moodboards cuz it took me longer to find a good one than to write this fic

Weeks passed, and in that time, you found yourself gravitating toward another presence on campus. Professor Ramirez was charismatic, sharp-witted, and effortlessly charming in a way that made it easy to talk to him. His warmth contrasted with Joel’s brooding intensity, and you soon found yourself spending more time in his office, seeking him out between lectures, sharing inside jokes, and slipping into easy conversations in Spanish—something that only made your connection feel even more intimate.

One afternoon, after yet another of your engaging discussions, you stepped out of Professor Ramirez’s office, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder when his voice followed you into the hallway.

“¿Nos vemos mañana?” (See you tomorrow?) he asked, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

You turned back, flashing him a playful smile. “Sí, claro, hasta mañana.” (Yes, of course, until tomorrow.)

There was something undeniably flirtatious about the way you said it, the way you lingered for just a moment too long, biting your lip before finally waving goodbye. The moment felt lighthearted, harmless even—until you turned around and locked eyes with Joel.

He had just stepped out of his office, standing a few feet away, watching the exchange unfold in real time. His expression was unreadable, his brows slightly furrowed as his gaze flickered between you and Professor Ramirez before settling on you, filled with something dangerous, something possessive.

Your breath hitched, but you schooled your features into indifference, forcing yourself to turn away and walk rapidly toward the elevator at the end of the hall. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of guilt, and something else you refused to name making your steps quicker.

The elevator doors were nearly closed when suddenly, a foot shot between them, forcing them open. Joel stepped in, his broad frame taking up space, his presence immediately suffocating. The doors slid shut with a soft ding, sealing you both inside.

A smirk played at the corner of his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How do we always end up in the elevator togheter?” he mused, his tone light, almost teasing, though there was a tension in his voice that betrayed him.

You crossed your arms, keeping your gaze locked on the metallic doors in front of you. “Because I’m too fucking lazy to take the stairs,” you shot back, your voice laced with irritation.

Joel chuckled softly, but the sound didn’t hold any real amusement. His hands found their way into his pockets, and for a moment, silence filled the confined space, the air thick with unspoken words.

Then, his voice dropped into something quieter, more serious. “I saw you with him.”

You stiffened, but still refused to look at him. “And?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You know student-professor relationships are illegal, right?” His voice was firm, but there was something else there—something almost vulnerable beneath the authoritative tone.

You scoffed, finally turning to face him with a sharp glare. “You made that very clear last time.”

The weight of your words settled between you like a thick fog. His jaw tensed, his fingers twitching at his sides as if he wanted to reach for you but knew he couldn’t.

The elevator doors slid open, and without giving him another second of your time, you stepped out, leaving him behind. You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your skin, as you walked away, your pulse racing with the thrill of knowing exactly what you had just done.

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

The following days, your frustration lingered like a stubborn storm cloud. Joel had no right to say what he did. No right to act like he was the moral compass in your life when he had been the one to cross that line first. The thought of it gnawed at you, filling you with a mix of anger and something dangerously close to heartbreak.

It all came to a head late one evening when you found yourself alone in the library, lost in thought as you absently flipped through the pages of a book. The air shifted before you even saw him—you felt it. That unmistakable presence.

Joel.

You didn’t look up. Instead, you turned another page, feigning indifference. But he wasn’t buying it. He pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, his eyes scanning your face carefully.

“You’ve been avoidin’ me,” he finally said, voice lower than usual.

You let out a sharp exhale through your nose. “Maybe I just don’t feel like being lectured again.”

Joel sighed, leaning forward on the table, hands clasped together. “That’s not what I was doin’.”

You snapped the book shut, finally meeting his gaze. “Really? Because that’s exactly what it felt like.” Your voice was sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care. “You’re worried about me having something with another professor now? Are you scared he’ll fuck me before you get to?”

His jaw clenched so tight you thought he might crack a tooth. His fingers twitched where they rested on the table, his entire body wound up like a spring about to snap.

“You don’t know what you’re sayin’,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You leaned forward, challenging him. “Oh, I think I do.”

His nostrils flared, and for a moment, you thought he might get up and leave. But he didn’t. He just sat there, watching you, a storm brewing in those dark eyes. The weight of his stare sent a thrill through your spine, but you refused to look away first.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, darlin’.”

You smirked, leaning back in your chair. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have engaged in it.”

The tension was thick enough to suffocate, but before either of you could say another word, a group of students entered the library, breaking the spell. Joel exhaled sharply, standing up without another glance your way.

But as he walked past you, he muttered low enough for only you to hear, “This ain’t over.”

And you knew, without a doubt, that it wasn’t.

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

Joel’s jealousy had been growing more and more for days. Every time your hand lingered on Professor Ramirez’s arm, every flirtatious smile you threw his way, every time you spoke to him in soft, teasing Spanish—it all drove Joel insane. And you knew it. You loved pushing him, making him watch, making him burn with something he refused to name.

Tonight, you decided to take it even further. You slipped into a miniskirt again, pairing it with knee-high socks—the same kind that had once left Joel speechless. The halls were quiet, most students and staff already gone for the night, leaving just you and Ramirez standing outside his office, finishing up your conversation before parting ways.

Then his hand landed on your waist. Light, casual, but lingering. His face was close, his breath warm as he murmured something lowly to you. It didn’t even matter what he said—you knew what it looked like. And just as you expected, Joel saw.

He stepped forward, his presence impossible to ignore, his voice cutting through the moment like a blade.

“Young lady, can I talk to you?”

His tone left no room for argument. Ramirez stiffened at the interruption, hesitating before nodding and stepping away, leaving in a hurry—so fast he even forgot to lock his office door.

Silence hung heavy between you and Joel, the air thick with tension. Then suddenly, his lips crashed onto yours.

You gasped into the kiss, caught completely off guard by the force of it, by the way his hands gripped you like he was claiming you, like he was staking his territory. It was rough, desperate, fueled by weeks of frustration and jealousy. He barely gave you a second to process before lifting you off the ground with ease, pushing the door open and stepping inside Ramirez’s office, kicking it shut behind him.

Your back hit the desk, your fingers tangling into his hair as he kissed you deeper, hungrier. His hands slid up your thighs, squeezing, gripping, possessive in a way that made you whimper. The wetness between your legs grew unbearable—you had wanted this, craved this, and now it was finally happening.

Joel pulled away just enough to look at you, his pupils blown, his breathing heavy.

“You really think I was gonna let him have you before I did?” he rasped, voice dark with something dangerously close to obsession.

He slid your panties down, leaving your skirt bunched around your waist, his rough hands spreading warmth across your bare skin. The cool air sent a shiver through you, but it was nothing compared to the way he looked at you—like he owned you, like he was about to ruin you.

His belt clinked as he unfastened it, the sound making your stomach tighten in anticipation. Then his pants hit the floor, and without warning, he thrust into you. A sharp scream tore from your throat, the sudden fullness overwhelming.

Joel chuckled darkly, his breath warm against your ear. "Baby, I’m not even half in."

Your wide eyes darted downward, taking in the sight of him stretching you, so much more than you had expected. A flicker of fear flashed across your face—fear that he wouldn’t fit, that he might break you in half. He caught the look and laughed, his fingers gripping your waist tighter.

"Don’t worry, darling," he murmured, dragging his lips along your jaw. "I’ll make it fit."

His hands found the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head in one swift motion. He paused, his dark eyes gleaming as he took in the sight of your bare chest.

"No bra?" he mused, amusement curling at the edge of his lips. "You’re such a little whore… not even wearing one for your other professor."

A sharp smack landed against your breast, making you gasp, your back arching into his touch.

"No," you moaned, breathless. "It was for you, Joel."

He smirked, his grip tightening as he brought his mouth down to your nipple, sucking harshly before biting just enough to make you cry out. His other hand roamed over your waist, down between your thighs, fingers teasing where you were already dripping for him.

"Call me professor, baby," he muttered against your skin.

Your breath hitched as he lifted you effortlessly, guiding you down onto him inch by inch until he was buried deep inside you. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, overwhelmed by the stretch, the fullness. Before you could adjust, he carried you across the room, pressing you against the bookcase with a possessive growl.

Then he moved.

Each thrust sent books tumbling to the floor, the sound barely registering over your moans. He fucked you like he meant to leave his mark, like he needed to remind you exactly who you belonged to. His grip on your hips was bruising, his pace relentless, each snap of his hips sending shockwaves through your body.

"So fuckin’ tight," he groaned, biting at your throat, marking you in ways that wouldn’t fade overnight. "Bet he couldn’t make you feel like this."

Your moans turned to cries, your fingers scrambling for purchase against the shelves as he took you harder, deeper. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the office, mingling with the creak of the bookcase and the ragged breaths you both shared.

A wicked smirk curled on his lips as a thought crossed his mind. He leaned in, his voice a husky whisper against your ear. "Do you find it hot? Knowing I’m fucking you in his office? Knowing he could return anytime?"

The thought alone sent you spiraling. Your walls clenched around him so tight he groaned, his grip tightening as he fucked you even harder, his chuckle dark and knowing. "I’ll take that as a yes." A whimper escaped your throat, your body trembling as the heat coiled tighter inside you.

He pulled back slightly, his dark gaze locking onto yours. "Imagine it, baby. Imagine him walking in right now, seeing you like this, pinned up against his bookcase, dripping for me, coming all over my cock. You think he’d be jealous? “The bookcase rattled with every snap of his hips, books tumbling, papers scattering.

"Joel—" your voice was a broken plea, and he knew exactly what you needed.

"Come for me, baby," he ordered, his fingers pressing harder against your clit, his pace relentless. "Be a good girl and let me feel you."

The pressure inside you shattered, and you came with a sharp cry, your body trembling violently as pleasure crashed over you. Your nails raked down his back, your legs tightening around him as waves of ecstasy wracked your frame.

Joel groaned deep in his chest, his thrusts turning erratic before he buried himself to the hilt, spilling inside you with a possessive growl. He stayed there for a moment, both of you panting, bodies slick with sweat.

Slowly, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips curving into that damn smirk. "Told you I’d make it fit."

And you knew, without a doubt, that this wouldn’t be the last time.

Not even close.

Taglist: @morganlolitta lmk if u wanna be added

[ghostyuri]

surrender to the sound 

happy yellowjackets renewal day lesbians!

pairing…post-rescue!natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

in which…your ex picks you up from the bar—when you get too drunk thinking of her.

before you read…angst. misty is here too.

“she said she wouldn’t leave, ya know? and then—she’s fucking gone—just like that? what fucking sense does that make, misty?”

the blonde sits beside you, her fingers tapping nervously on the edge of the coca cola she ordered. all she offers is a hum, and the shaking of her head, her curls bouncing lightly.

she’s been trying to get you out of this place for nearly an hour now, but you won’t give up moping over natalie—it’s impossible.

misty should’ve known better, you didn’t ever invite her to shit. apparently just when you wanted someone to validate the bitter words you spewed about the girl that had taken your heart, then crushed it in her pale palms.

“fuckin’ liar she is…” you mutter, grabbing the glass of amber liquid as soon as the bartender places it before your face with a failed smile. he was probably tired of you, just like misty, but you’re suffering more than the both them combined, so you don’t care. 

everything felt like a blur to you.

like you were just punched in the gut and can’t steady yourself and the world is crumbling beneath your toes. the alcohol dulls it enough to where you have no desire to cry, you’re only angry every time her face crosses your mind. 

you want to scream. 

each day had felt more suffocating, four weeks that had felt blended together, an inescapable nightmare that you could hardly process as a reality.

it wasn’t simple. you two were bonded the mere moment that fucking plane crashed—and every single day afterward. an intense trust in one another because you two had something so crucial in common; the desire to keep your humanity. she had felt safe with you, you had felt protected by her. 

because natalie would never hurt you. 

you can only laugh at yourself for believing that, and misty turns her body completely on the stool she occupies. 

“it’s getting prettyyyy late,” she sing songs, looking at her watch then back to you with a smile too sweet, “i can bring you home…even stop for ice cream?” 

“i don’t—” “i know a place open all night—their root beer float is out of this world.”

“i can have a normal fucking beer,” your voice raises with a crack, exhaling deeply when you notice the subtle flinch in her reaction. she expects a sorry, but you don’t bother, swallowing your briefly lived pity with another gulp of your drink. 

misty abruptly stands up, a tight-lipped smile before she excuses herself to the bathroom. your head hangs low listening to her steps fade further in the distance, propping your elbow on the counter and massaging your forehead. 

it’s surely past midnight, and you’re not sure how much longer misty will put up with your natalie-centered rants—but the idea of returning to your cold and empty bed only cemented you more in place.

you finish the glass in front of your face, just for a freshly opened beer to be placed in front of you by the bartender. something you didn’t order. you don’t think you did, at least. 

“guy in the sunglasses,” the man informs you, tilting his head over his shoulder to the counter across from you. your lips are parted with nothing to say, looking at the apparent guy with a slight squint. 

who the fuck wears sunglasses in the bar? you scoff but accept the drink regardless. 

unfortunately, he takes that as an invitation, sliding out of his chair and approaching you, watching while you keep your gaze straight. 

“i see your, uh, friend, took off.”

“clearly don’t see shit cause’ she’s in the bathroom.”

you have yet to spare him a glance, and he begins to shift in place, upset he’s not getting the attention he wants. boo, fucking hoo. you sip on the beer more, taking satisfaction in the small huff that leaves his lips, then the silence that follows. 

he dares to try again.

“i got more of those back at my place,” he motions to the tall dark glass in your hand, even having the audacity to lean in closer to the point you can smell his rancid breath. he adds, “and this shithole is about to close, so…”

“so get the fuck out,” you say lowly, oddly polite despite the words and the charge behind them. dealing with some prick was not what you needed right now. if nat was here he wouldn’t have even had the courage to send you a cheap beer. he’d stay still in his stool and let the chewed-up tobacco rot in his gums. you’d prefer it that way instead of right beside you. 

where the hell is misty?

not a question you ask yourself often, but you’re now peering at the bathroom door waiting for it to open. not that you needed assistance with the man, he’ll surely connect the dots and walk away.

but seconds pass, and he’s whistling obnoxiously while tapping his drink on the counter. you squeeze your red eyes shut, losing the little patience you have and abruptly get up.

fresh air sounds nice.

except, there’s a large hand tugging at your wrist the moment you stand. 

with a hardened face, you stare, picturing how fucked up natalie would have him looking right now. a busted lip, bruised eye, broken nose. you’ve bailed her out for less than being touched by a stranger. sometimes, you thought she was overbearing. a downside to her protective nature that you’ve appeared to take for granted…no…no. you don’t need her.

“sweetheart—”

fuck this.

with force, you pull your hand away, just before balling your fist and throwing it at him. not as effective as nat, her silver rings left violent marks that you’d clean the blood from with loving hands. but, his head swings to the side and he’s clutching the edge of the counter for support; a crowd already forming and pulling you away. 

“don’t fucking call me that,” you spit at the man, trying to squirm out of the hold another older woman had you in. you disregard her attempts to calm you down because she had no right—a wide-eyed misty rushing over and trying to take control of the situation. 

“don’t fucking…” you trail off with a hushed voice, allowing misty to guide you away. you’re shaking now, and you’re not sure if it’s from the adrenaline, or outrage, or something entirely different. your cheeks are on fire and you’re not thinking about what you just did. 

you’re thinking about her. all you fucking do is think about her. it’s a curse.

your legs feel unsteady, but misty has her hand on your back and is gently pushing you out the door, preventing you from stumbling. the cool night air hits your face, shocking the warm alcohol-induced haze you’ve been in, still not as cold as your bed without her. but god is your mattress so freezing.

you stop for a moment, leaning against the brick wall outside, your chest heaving while the tears begin to fall. you hate this—misty watching you like a scared puppy and the incapability you had to just blink them away, show a reassuring smile that you’re alright. 

you’re not, you haven’t been, and this night has been so fucking long, it’s hitting you at once. 

the pain of everything weighs on your shoulders like it’s the world itself. the abandonment. the thought of how easy it was to just leave you behind, along with every sacred moment you’ve shared with her. 

memories that cannot be replicated even in the slightest, there’s only one natalie scatorccio and she’s the only person that kept you sane—kept you alive when you wanted the winter to take you.

you slide down the wall, otherwise you swear you’d just collapse. it’s too much. you bend your knees and bring them to your chest, burying your face into your palms and sobbing. you couldn’t help it and you really tried. the night was meant to be a vacation for your mind, from her, and you feel stupid when she’s probably out there with another girl in her lap already.

moving on from you while you’re stuck in place; you keep crying.

even when the neon lights in the windows shut off and the leftover patrons exit and fade into the distance.

“hey,” you hear misty’s voice, the girl bending down and tapping your knee. with a blurry vision, you peek at her, a proud smile on her face as she points to the left of you.

you turn your head, catching a silhouette of a figure on the sidewalk. even with glossy eyes, it’s not hard to make out the long messily chopped brown hair and leather jacket clinging to her arms. 

fucking hell.

“called her when i went potty—well—i went potty to call her,” misty laughs awkwardly, assuming this was some sort of favor, inserting herself in your broken relationship and trying to fix it.

“why would you do that, misty? a-are you stupid?” 

she blinks dumbly at you, then at natalie. the brunette is already kneeling before you, using her eyes to tell the blonde to leave. misty does, without a word, because she only seemed to say the wrong things to you. even a ‘bye,’ might piss you off even more than she already has. 

you don’t want natalie to see you in this way. weeping over her outside a fucking bar she’s probably banned from. you sniffle, averting your gaze as you dabbed the tears with the sleeve of your shirt.

natalie allows you to catch a breath, glancing down at your trembling hand in the meantime, noticing the swelling and discoloration.

she frowns, reaching out and holding it delicately, afraid to apply any pressure. she is treating you like porcelain that’s already cracked.

“what happened?” 

natalie’s tone is gentle, with a familiarity to it that you’ve missed; genuine worry, and almost prying. or more so, subtly asking if you wanted her to take care of whatever or whoever had bothered you. she’s a bit too late here. 

“none of your business,” you mutter, retreating and placing your palm in your lap. this isn’t something nat is used to, and obviously so by the way she shudders at your demeanor. 

she’s not alone, though, even with the alcohol tainting your system, it’s agonizing to push her away right now. you spent the whole night, no, whole fucking month, wishing for her presence again. even thought up the first words you’d say to her…but now they slip from your brain.

“you don’t have to be like this.”

“like what, natalie? tell me.”

she’s eyeing you like she doesn’t know what to do with you. maybe she doesn’t, you were usually the one cleaning up her messes and tolerating her liquor driven attitude. 

the other part of her that isn’t focused on getting you home, is filled with a quiet rage that you had let yourself get so fucked up. especially with misty out of all people. 

natalie clears her throat, ignoring your question—it’s not serious anyways, you only want to argue. 

“just…let's go, okay?”

“fuck off.”

she takes a deep breath. natalie does not take joy in being mad at you—she fucking hates it. and yeah, you’re not in your right state of mind, but she cannot convince herself that your words are meaningless. 

that your newfound resentment isn’t a product of the alcohol, it’s just…you. how you feel about her now that she had done the worst to you. she wants to bash her head into the same brick wall your back rested upon.

she opens her mouth to plead with you but you’re faster.

“you can go, natalie—i actually fucking want you to.”

you had said the opposite the day she did leave you. you’re unsure if the words were coherent through your bawling, but it was something desperate along those lines, just begging her to stay. 

she hadn’t listened then. 

and still, natalie refuses to listen to you now.

“i’m not doing that,” she informs you, keeping her voice calm though she is on the verge of both snapping and having a similar breakdown. 

none of this was easy for her either, not the way you had assumed. hell, it was just a week ago she too was outside a shady place with tears streaming down her face. all because someone fucking smelt like you. 

it was the shampoo; a flashback of holding you in your shared bed while her body pressed into your back. she would cling to you and breath you in, peppering kisses on the tender spots of your neck down to the tip of your shoulder and the side of your arm. the last time she felt peace.

she had shaken her thoughts of you away and carried on. something that had become a routine, wishing that eventually, it would just stop—but that was like wishing on a shooting star. only having false hope but it would never become a reality. 

you don’t choose your next words carefully. 

“i’d rather leave with s-someone—anyone else—instead of y—”

“don’t you fucking say that to me,” natalie cuts you off, jaw clenching in fury while her mossy eyes welled up. you never made natalie cry, and your expression noticeably softens when she turns her head away from you, wiping her face hurriedly like a child. 

all natalie did was come here to take you home, now she’s sinking deeper into the hole she dug herself in weeks ago. she rejects her vulnerability and with a flash, her emotions are concealed.

she clasps her hands together and blinks at you in exasperation.

“then i’ll have misty come back and pick your ass up. even spend the night to make sure you don’t choke on your damn vomit.”

with that, nat gets up, but doesn’t leave. she stands there with her hands on her hips, waiting for you to pick yourself off the sidewalk and follow her to her rusting car. your bottom lip is quivering, forcing yourself to accept defeat because natalie always won. 

your wobbly legs straighten, and she’s already placing an arm around your torso to help. part of you wants to refuse, the other part melts into her. 

both of you don’t say anything. not on the way to the poorly parked vehicle around the corner, and not on the ride to your apartment. she plays her cd with the volume on low, the tension incredibly painful each time a song you associate with each other taunts you through the speakers. 

she occasionally steals glances at red lights, but it’s when she parks on your street that she looks again and notices the lonely tear trailing down your cheek. you’ve unbuckled your seatbelt and gripped the door handle, but you were frozen.

natalie says your name softly, and you feel her right hand softly reach for your left one. you don’t react, not even when she gingerly brings it to her lips, kissing the flesh fondly. 

you have no desire to speak anymore. your anger had died a few stop signs ago and now you just feel numb. you’re inhaling the scent of the apple car freshener and the cigarette smoke that tainted the fabric, while natalie is studying your desolated yet so fucking beautiful features.

natalie pushes the lump in her throat.

“…i love you…”

when she finally catches your glistening glare, her eyebrows knit in heartache, and she’s the one who may throw up. there’s not an ounce of uncertainty behind the three words, never has been. it’s the very reason she had to hurt you anyway—it was necessary.

nat knows you’re both fucked up, there’s no denying that. but, she will always view herself in a different light than you. a very dim one with a bulb flickering near its death—compared to the halo she envisioned over your pretty head because you still had the warmth of the sun, despite what you two had gone through.

she’s so cold, and she hopes one day you’d acknowledge that and understand her.

“i can’t just…stop that.”

natalie’s thumb is tracing slow circles over your hand, the small repetitive motion keeping her grounded and stopping her from shaking. the words are hard to say, and difficult to hear—because this isn’t natalie regretting what she had done. it’s the total opposite, it’s a bittersweet goodbye. and she keeps going.

“i mean—fuck,” natalie laughs to herself, though it’s hollow and she glances at her lap, “the way i feel about you…that’s a one-time thing for me.”

you’re physically unable to smile; but there is a very slight twitch to your lips, the corners pricking upwards hardly. she’s honest, and she’s holding you so tightly. despite it all, there is a sense of comfort. not at all a sudden rush of freedom from the agony, but it’s something. 

and for some odd reason, the rest of the unspoken words you wish to say, no longer matter at all. natalie made a decision and she’s sticking by it.

and you have to be okay with that.

[juliettejwnewinesa]

Title: "Stay With Me"

Baek Jin x Reader (Weak Hero Class 2)

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

The last fight nearly pushed him over the edge.

Baek Jin was reckless — always had been — but tonight, he had taken it too far. You had heard the whispers at school, seen the bruises on his face, the blood staining his knuckles. He'd told you he had it under control. That he'd walk away this time.

But Baek Jin never walked away.

When you found him outside your apartment, leaning against the wall like his body couldn’t hold itself up anymore, something inside you snapped.

“You said you were done,” you hissed, dragging him inside, slamming the door shut behind you.

He didn’t answer. He just stood there, breathing hard, eyes glazed with exhaustion and something else — something darker.

“You promised me, Baek Jin.”

Finally, he looked at you. “I couldn’t let them talk about you like that.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“They said you were just another weakness. I couldn’t let them—” His voice cracked, but he bit it down, fists clenched. “No one gets to say your name like that.”

You hated him for it. Hated how he always chose violence over everything else. But you also hated how your heart fluttered when he said your name like it belonged to him.

“Idiot,” you whispered.

He took a step forward, and suddenly the space between you was suffocating.

“Are you going to scold me all night?” he muttered, his voice rough, eyes dark and heavy.

“You deserve it.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, his hand cupped your face, fingers trembling from exhaustion, from holding back. You hated how soft he became with you, how his walls crumbled when you touched him.

But tonight, something was different.

He held you too tight.

His lips brushed yours like he couldn’t help himself, like he needed you more than air. And you let him, because you knew — tonight he was holding himself together with scraps.

And then... you felt it.

You froze as his body pressed closer, hard and desperate against you, tangled in the oversized hoodie you made him wear after cleaning him up. You heard his breath catch, saw the flicker of embarrassment in his eyes.

“Jin…” you whispered, flustered.

His jaw clenched. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you teased softly, even though your face was burning.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck, voice hoarse and broken. “Like I’m some horny loser who can’t control himself because it’s you.”

You felt him twitch against you, and you bit your lip, fighting back a smile. “Maybe you are.”

“You’re evil,” he muttered, but his hands gripped your waist tighter, like he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to.

You leaned close to his ear, voice dangerously soft. “Then stop holding back.”

Baek Jin’s breath stuttered. “You’re the worst.”

You smiled against his skin. “You love it.”

And maybe he did.

Because that night, tangled up in your sheets, bruises still fresh on his body, Baek Jin held you like you were the only thing keeping him from breaking.

And neither of you said a word about it the next morning — but the way he wrapped his arms around you tighter when you tried to leave told you everything you needed to know.

He was yours. And you? You were his weakness — the only one he’d never give up.

[corkinavoid]

For @ladydoptera, to 'Pomegranate Lips' by Derivakat,

DPxDC Get a Taste

"Password?"

Tim swallows. The eyes in the narrow window of the metal door are plenty familiar, dark violet with black makeup. But knowing who is on the other side doesn't help him in the slightest.

"Going ghost," he says, keeping his voice low. The window slides back shut with a snap - metal over metal, Tim's ears hurt - and then, there's a click, a snap, and the door opens.

A girl in a creatively ruined but still somehow stylish gothic lolita dress is standing in front of him. She looks taller than usual, and when Tim looks down, he knows why - those platforms must be at least four inches, how does she even walk in those?

"Welcome, McFly," Sam's dark red lips curve in a smirk that looks just a bit too smug on her. Also, to this day, Tim has no idea why she picked that nickname for him.

He steps inside, and the heavy door slams shut behind him, leaving them both in complete darkness. Or, Tim thought so until he looks a little closer and notices how Sam's violet eyes are faintly glowing - not enough to light the way, but enough to raise a few questions.

Questions that Tim is not going to ask.

Yet.

"Follow me," the girl says, her voice on the brink between annoyed and amused, and starts walking away through the narrow hall. Tim does his best to follow; his eyes are adjusting to the darkness, albeit slowly.

However, the walk doesn't last long - ten or so steps later Sam pushes another door, and-

The closest thing Tim can describe it as is a rave, of all things. Loud, rhythmic music that thrums through his whole body, strobes and bright green lights everywhere, and people, hundreds of them, dressed in all kinds of things. Tim freezes in the doorway, struggling to take in the sight.

A woman in a Victorian dress is dancing with what looks to be a werewolf in prison robes. A child just threw a one-eyed parrot at a man in a black tie suit. A knight of plated armor is waving a sword around, seemingly arguing with-

"Keep your mouth closed," Sam's finger taps his chin from below, and Tim shuts it back closed with a snap. Right, he's got no time to gawk, he is here on a mission. But, when he looks back to Sam, his mind comes to a screeching halt yet again.

"How'd you-" he starts, looking at how the girl's skin, usually pale and almost white, is glittering with small lines of blood red runes. They are not tattoos, or at least Tim doesn't think so because they move, like tiny snakes or vines over her skin.

"Nope, not answering," Sam clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, her perfectly sharp eyeliner getting a deep, dark red hint as well, "I don't owe you shit."

With that, she turns around and starts weaving through the crowd, leaving Tim no choice but to follow.

The music is nearly crushing his eardrums. The crowd should feel suffocating - Tim knows it usually does in places like these - but somehow it doesn't. What's more, it feels cold. So cold, in fact, that goosebumps run over Tim's skin.

However, just as he feels like they are completely lost in this freezing, neverending sea of faces and figures, Sam stops. Tim almost runs into her back, actually, but, just as he is about to ask her why, she steps to the side and gestures for Tim to go ahead.

And Tim... Tim can't move a muscle.

There's a corner booth in front of him, with red velvet seats and more than a few dozen drinks, empty and full, on the table in the middle. Some of the liquids are glowing toxic, unnatural colors, and in the back corner of his mind, Tim still remembers why he's here. He is investigating, right. Which includes meeting the owner of 'Afterlife' face to face, yeah. Something about a new drug on the streets of Gotham, probably.

Tim can't concentrate.

The guy lazily sitting at the table, with hair so white that it's nearly glowing and his pale skin shimmering with highlighter on his cheekbones, causes Tim's mind to completely bluescreen. Because the unbuttoned black suit with embroidered stars and an open white shirt underneath, the neon blue, faintly glowing cold eyes, and blood red lips stretched in a dangerous smile - that's thankfully is not directed at him - are all... Too much.

Not blood red, actually. It's a different color, but Tim can't remember the name.

He can barely remember his own name, to be honest.

"Oi, Danny," Sam snaps her fingers in the air, and the ethereal being blinks, tearing his unblinking gaze away from the man in a white suit sitting across from him to look at her. Then, his eyes slide to Tim, and, okay, he thought he was well past the gay panic stage of his life, but apparently not.

The guy - the god? because only divine fucking things have the right to look so otherworldly pretty, in Tim's opinion - tilts his head to the side slightly, a curious edge to him. And then he smiles, nice and a little sly, but Tim can't shake off the feeling of sharp danger that runs through his spine.

Pomegranate, that's the color.

Bite it once, and you will never leave the Underworld.

"Can I help you, little bird of crimson color?" The ethereal owner of the most mysterious place in Gotham asks without raising his voice, and yet Tim can hear him despite the loud music around.

...Maybe he doesn't mind never leaving, if he can get a taste.

~•~•~•~

When I put that song on for the first time, I was like, that's Sam. That's so Sam. But then I started writing, and things got weird, so it's both Sam and Danny now.

Tim is so gone, I'm sorry, RIP Tim. Funny thing is, he barely said a single word throughout the whole piece.

[finelinevogue]

here with me

summary - you convince Azriel to join you at a celebration, only for him to get overwhelmed by the noise and crowd

word count - >1k

pairing - azriel x mate!reader

It was your friend’s birthday and you’d been invited to a her celebration.

It was the kind celebration where friends of friends of friends were invited, so it was quite a large event. This wouldn’t have mattered so much if it wasn’t for the fact the event was being held in her loft apartment in the city.

The loft was open air and spacious, but not when there were fifty-plus people here.

What was worse was that you could tell Azriel hated every minute of being here and he was only here for you.

Az had never been too great with enclosed spaces that felt suffocating or meeting a large group of people he’d never met before. Yet, he had come to keep you company and because he didn’t want you walking back home at night by yourself.

“Are you still with Azriel?” Jasmine, one of your friend’s friends, asked.

“Yeah. We’re mates now.” You said smiling, feeling warm in your chest as you thought about Az.

You took a sip of your drink as liquid courage to keep this conversation going with this stranger.

“Oh amazing! How’s that?”

“What? Being mates?”

“Yeah.”

“Umm…” You never knew how to answer this question when people asked, because how do you explain to someone that being mates and bonded to someone was everything. It had become your entire being.

There was no right word or phrase to explain how it felt. There was no telling someone how it felt when they hadn’t experienced it themselves. The bond was utterly consuming and explosive in a way that a common male would never begin to conceptualise.

“It’s really great.” You answered simply instead, keeping all the real treasures of it to yourself. The real meaning and feeling behind the bond was only for you and Azriel to understand.

“Good.” Jasmine sipped her drink, “So where is he?”

You looked around the room towards the bathroom, seeing as that was where he last mentioned he was going.

In a place like this Azriel wouldn’t leave you willingly unless it was to relieve himself or fetch you another drink. Your heart tightened as you wondered where he had gotten to. Was he okay?

“I… I’m actually going to go and find him.”

You stood up, leaving your drink behind.

The room suddenly felt smaller and tighter without Azriel next to you.

The music too loud and the voices too chaotic.

Your hand subconsciously rubbed over your chest, feeling his absence there more than physically.

You bumped into people as you made your way through the throws of people. The bathroom was in the corner, but when you made your way over there was no one in it.

You gave the bond a tug to make sure everything was still okay. He tugged back instantly, proving that he was okay. Well then, where the Mother was he?

Starting to panic now, you turned around and headed back towards the main throws of people.

“Sorry.” You mumbled to passing people you bumped into.

Then you saw him.

Sat outside on the balcony, tucked in the corner between the glass balcony and the wall of the building. His knees were up to his chest and his arms rested on them, head hung low.

You made a more determined push to get through the masses and to your mate.

You tugged on the bond to make sure Azriel knew you were still there and he tugged back instantly again - now you realised it was out of longing for you to find him rather than call-and-response.

Outside you quickly made your way to him, throwing yourself on the floor in front of him.

“Hey. Hey, i’m here.”

You brought his head up with your hands, forcing him to look at you.

It nearly broke your heart when you saw the tears of relief in his eyes. He gave you a broken smile.

“I’m right here.” You said again, resting your forehead on his.

There was no way to feel close to him right now when you were in this awkward place. You wanted to bundle you both in blankets so tight that you could never figure out how to escape. Being trapped against him forever would be pretty okay.

You kept on affirming to him that you were right there next to him, sending flurries of warmth and affection down the bond to prove it over and over.

“It was too loud.” He said quietly, but enough for you to hear.

“I know.” You said.

Your thumbs rubbed over the soft skin of his cheeks as you stayed close to him. Your presence physically calmed him down, but also emotionally. His anxiety almost halved the moment you slid down beside him and now he was growing stronger by the minute.

“Sorry.”

You shook your head against his. You pulled back slightly to catch his eyes, less teary now.

“No. I’m sorry, for dragging us both here.” You laughed, “Can’t believe we didn’t even get a slice of cake.”

Azriel laughed too and that told you that he was feeling better. That was good.

Hopefully he would feel okay enough in the next few minutes to winnow you out of here. It was too loud and overstimulating for the pleasure of not even being entertained or happy.

“It is a rubbish party.” Azriel admitted. “Only came because I wanted to be with you.”

“I know.” You gave him a sad smile.

How lucky were you to have a mate like him.

“Sorry I’m ruining your friend’s party.” Azriel said.

“Don’t be silly. She hasn’t even noticed we’ve turned up yet. She’s more interested in how many people attended than the actual people.” You scoffed, reminding yourself to lose contact with your friend after tonight.

“That’s pathetic.” Azriel scoffed.

“I think she only invited me because she wanted to claim that the Shadowsinger of the Night Court was in attendance.”

“Using you to get to me? How dare she. That’s a punishable offence.” He frowned.

“Okay, okay.” You laughed. “How about we go back home before we torture anyone? Yeah?”

Azriel shook his head at you, trying to cover his smile with a straight face. You knew him better though. You were starting to know him better or as well as he did himself.

“And what will we do at home?” He asked.

“I bought chocolate frozen ice today.” You said as if that explained everything - but it actually did. Azriel knew you more than well enough to understand.

“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s go home.”

[eccentricallygothic]

| Denial |

Description: Jack pretends to be an old fashioned vanilla. Jack swears he only does the ‘adventurous’ for you. Jack is a natural in denial. 

Pairing: Jack Reacher | You. 

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own Jack Reacher. This story contains mature content so browse at your own discretion, please. Minors do not interact. 

Warning(s): Size kink, age gap, Daddy kink, m!Dom, f!sub, handcuffing, doggy style, extreme p-in-v, smut without plot, hair pulling, minor dacryphilia.  

Word Count: 600.

Note: Based off of the show because I haven't had the pleasure of reading the books yet. Feedback is always appreciated <3  

.

“Mmnng!” Your eyes are clenched shut as you whimper into the pillow that you're facing. The handcuffs feel clammy and restrictive against your sweaty skin. You're so hot. He is so warm, his huge body draped over your back and the hard dents and bumps of his muscles digging into your tender skin. “Daddy!” A vein in your nether regions twitches and you cannot help but arch your back. 

Jack -yes, you are the only exception to the rule- groans at the name and a vein of his humongous cock thumps against your slithery velvet walls that tightly clasp the organ within them. It's a signal. He liked it.

Not that he would ever admit it.

You feel one of his calloused hands reach for your breasts before your lover manhandles your chest, the combination of the bittersweet pain of your nipples twirling around his rough fingertips along with the relentless snapping of his strong hips that can do this all night causing you to suffocate his girth with the band of your opening. 

“Just like that, pretty girl” his voice is low and gentle yet a tinge of danger lines its edges. His fingers release your nubs to wrap around the locks of your hair before he jerks your head back and closer to his mouth, other hand firmly curled around the handle that the curve of your hip and thigh has created as a result of your primal position. “You're doing so good for Daddy” the sound of your skins colliding against one another's is vile and loud in its bouncing off the walls. “Keep at it and he will give you what you need” he is so far up your pussy you can nearly feel him in your stomach. 

You bite back a curse when his cock glides past your pelvic bone in that one particular way and invades your tight walls that stubbornly retreat each time he thrusts outwards, pushing the stiff apex of his cock all the way up to the confine of your cervix, the collision of his thick, leaking tip with that of the opening of your womb causing your vision to fill with neon shapes. 

“Who does this dirty little needy pussy belong to?” Your curved out form trembles and rocks back and forth from the rough fucking. The state of your boobs is not much different and his hold on you is so dominant and yet comforting. 

“You, Daddy!” You cry out from the overwhelming pleasure. He's everywhere and you feel yourself drowning in the ocean of his being. “Only you!”

His hand leaves your hair and his face is resting on one of your shoulders within the next second. “That's right, honey” the way he pants is so hot. The manner in which you can feel him struggle with his strength against you causes for more hot arousal to go leaking down his already lubed up dick. Because he knows you won't be able to handle his complete strength without utterly destroying yourself. It's dangerous. And yet enticing. “You're all mine” your eyes close once more as your mouth falls open. His fingers have slipped between your legs and above where your sexes meet. “Daddy’s needy little cockslut.” Fuck.

He could pretend that he was an old fashioned guy who only indulged in the more adventurous domains of intimacy for you, his hot-blooded young lover, all he wanted. Because it was moments like these that proved that he was a natural regardless. 

A natural in denial. 

[loveesiren]

What about jj saving rafes gf instead of Sarah when she falls off the boat? Even though jj and Rafe hate each other

of course babes! sorry this took a while, i hope you enjoy! :)

𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕓𝕠𝕒𝕣𝕕

warnings: not proofread, language, slight angst

wc: 2.4k+

Before you were Rafe Cameron’s girl, you were a Pogue through and through. You grew up with JJ and John B, learning to boat, fish, and work hard for the things you wanted. Life was simple but full, with endless summer days spent on the water and nights filled with laughter. When Pope and Kiara joined your crew, it felt like your family was complete—especially since having Kiara around meant you finally had someone who understood what it was like to be a girl surrounded by all that chaotic, masculine energy.

But things changed when you caught the attention of Rafe Cameron. At first, it seemed impossible. A Kook and a Pogue? The idea alone was laughable. Yet, against all odds, there was something magnetic about Rafe—a spark you couldn’t ignore. And to your surprise, he felt it too. It wasn’t long before stolen glances turned into secret meetings, and those meetings turned into something deeper. But every step closer to Rafe felt like a step away from your childhood friends.

Sure, it was fine when John B started dating Sarah Cameron. But when you got with the older Cameron sibling, it was a problem. Rafe’s constant harassment didn’t help your case. Sarah was much kinder than her brother, and the Pogues saw her as someone who genuinely cared for John B. Rafe, on the other hand, had a reputation that preceded him—a volatile temper and a knack for trouble that made him nearly impossible to trust. Except when it came to you. Your presence seemed to calm the storm in his mind.

Choosing Rafe wasn’t easy. It wasn’t that you stopped caring for the Pogues. In fact, you still loved them fiercely, even if your paths had diverged. Being with Rafe meant walking a tightrope. While he harbored a burning hatred for your old crew, he knew better than to act on it—because hurting them meant risking you. And losing you was unthinkable for Rafe, who had grown to see you as the one thing anchoring him in his stormy world. But even his restraint couldn’t erase the tension. The Pogues saw your relationship as a betrayal, and you feared they’d never forgive you. 

Now, you sat alone on the edge of a boat, staring out at the vast expanse of the Atlantic as it stretched endlessly before you. The journey to Morocco wasn’t one you’d ever imagined taking. But here you were, caught between two worlds, trying desperately to keep the peace. It was your idea to bring Rafe and the Pogues together for this mission. You’d convinced Rafe to help them track down Groff, who had made off with his money, knowing it could also give JJ and Pope a chance to evade capture. Even if you weren’t close anymore, you couldn’t bear to see the people you once called family thrown behind bars.

But, as expected, not everything had gone to plan.

The Pogues didn’t trust Rafe—and for good reason. His track record spoke for itself. As soon as they got him on the boat, they tied him up in the tiny bathroom, keeping him under lock and key. You understood their logic, but that didn’t make it any easier to see your boyfriend treated like a prisoner. Worse still, they’d forbidden you from seeing him until you reached Morocco. You didn’t fight them on it. Confrontation had never been your strong suit, and besides, you knew better than to argue with JJ when his mind was made up.

So, you sat in silence, listening to the rhythmic crash of waves against the hull, the salty breeze brushing against your face. The solitude of the sea was both comforting and suffocating. It gave you time to think—about the choices you’d made, the people you’d hurt, and the fragile balance you were struggling to maintain. You wanted to believe this trip could be a turning point, a chance to bridge the gap between Rafe and the Pogues. But deep down, you knew the odds were slim. Trust was hard to rebuild, and the wounds on both sides ran deep.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you let out a weary sigh. All you could do now was wait—for land, for answers, for the moment when everything would inevitably come to a head. Until then, the sea was your only companion, its endless expanse reflecting the tangled mess of your heart.

-

Sarah was kind. She always had been. Even after all her brother had put her through, she still cared for him enough to make sure he was fed and hydrated. She did the same for you.

“Brought you some dinner,” she said, plopping down beside you.

“Thanks,” you responded softly. You took a few bites of the sandwich she brought you before putting it aside. Your appetite had been wearing thin the entire trip.

“I think it’s stupid too,” she said, looking out at the horizon while the late sun cast bright ripples on the calm water.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “The whole Kook versus Pogue thing. Rafe’s done his fair share of bad shit, but haven’t we all? I really think he wants to help this time.”

“He does,” you said. “All he wants is to get his money back from Groff. He doesn’t care about the crown. Honest.”

“I know,” she said, offering you a soft smile. “We’ll be there soon. Try to rest.”

You pondered her words as she walked off. You weren’t overly close with Sarah. It was almost as if you and she had swapped lives. You started seeing Rafe around the same time Sarah and John B got together, and for the last three years, she’d been getting a taste of life’s adventures while you enjoyed the finer things. You loved Rafe. You were in love with him. You couldn’t imagine being without him. But you often found yourself missing the life you once lived with the Pogues.

You cringed as you swallowed one final shot of whiskey, a vice that did close to nothing to take the stress away. You tossed the bottle to the side and rolled over, closing your eyes and trying your best to relax to the soothing sounds of the ocean. Eventually, you were lulled to sleep, dreaming of Rafe. He smiled as he took you into his large arms, and you felt secure in his warm embrace.

The dream was short-lived, though, as you were thrown roughly against the hard wall of the boat. Disoriented, you struggled to find something to grip. Rain lashed against your face as the boat pitched violently from side to side.

You made your way to your feet and took in your surroundings. The storm had hit fast. You could see movement inside the helm as the Pogues scrambled to navigate the chaos and secure the boat.

“Rafe,” you whispered, your breath hitching. “Rafe!” your voice rose into a frantic scream as you stumbled toward the helm. You knew you had to find him—if he was left unsecured, he’d drown.

“Y/N, get inside!” JJ’s voice cut through the storm. You turned to see him and John B holding the door open, JJ’s hand extended toward you. You reached for him, but another violent wave threw you to the deck.

“Where’s Rafe?!” you yelled, coughing as salty seawater stung your throat.

“Kiara’s getting him!” John B shouted back.

Moments later, Rafe appeared in the doorway, drenched but alive. “Y/N!”

Relief flooded through you at the sight of him, but your joy was short-lived. A massive wave loomed on the horizon, crashing into the boat with terrifying force. You screamed as the water dragged you off the stern, the world disappearing into a churning abyss.

“Y/N!” JJ and Rafe shouted in unison.

“Rafe!” you screamed, fighting to keep your head above water. The sea clawed at you, threatening to pull you under. “Rafe! Help!”

“I’m coming, Y/N!” JJ’s voice rang out as he dove into the water after you.

“JJ, what are you doing?!” John B yelled, trying to hold Rafe back from following. “JJ, no, no, no!”

But it was too late. JJ had already disappeared beneath the waves.

“Y/N!” Rafe’s scream was raw with desperation, tears streaming down his face. John B had never seen him so unhinged, so consumed by fear.

John B pressed his hand firmly against Rafe’s chest, forcing him back inside. “Come on, man! We can’t help them if we drown too!” he yelled over the howling wind. He shoved Rafe into the cabin and slammed the door shut.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Rafe sobbed, pounding his fists against the wall. “I have to go help her! I have to find her, man!”

“Rafe!” Sarah’s voice cut through the chaos as she wrapped her arms around him. “Rafe, it’s okay! Let’s just get to land. I’m sure they’ll find their way back!” She rubbed his back as he crumpled, his sobs echoing through the small cabin.

-

The water finally calmed as you and JJ struggled onto the sand, every muscle in your body screaming with exhaustion. The cold night air bit at your skin, but the relief of solid ground beneath you was overwhelming. Collapsing onto the beach, you coughed violently, lungs burning as you fought to catch your breath.

“Are you okay?” JJ asked, his voice ragged between gasps for air.

You nodded weakly, words feeling like too much effort. After a moment, you managed to rasp, “A-Are you?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Minutes passed as you both sat in silence, trying to steady your breathing. The ocean stretched out before you, dark and infinite, illuminated only by a pale sliver of moonlight. A single tear slid down your cheek as your thoughts turned to Rafe—his face, his voice, and the uncertainty of whether you’d ever see him again.

“They’ll be okay, Y/N,” JJ said softly, his tone more reassuring than he probably felt. “At first light, we’ll head down the beach. We’ll find them.”

You nodded, swallowing back another wave of emotion. “Hey, Jayj?” Your voice was barely audible.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you murmured, gratitude lacing every syllable.

He turned to you with a tired but genuine smile. “Can’t kill a Pogue, right?”

The next thing you knew, the sun was warming your skin, its gentle rays coaxing you back to consciousness. The once-violent sea was calm now, its rhythmic waves bringing an unexpected peace. You stretched, muscles stiff and aching, before glancing toward the shore.

JJ was standing near the water, absentmindedly dragging his foot through the sand. You rose to your feet, brushing off grains of sand stuck to your damp clothes, and made your way over to him.

“Hey,” you greeted softly.

He turned, offering you a small smile. “Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Guess so,” you chuckled. “Didn’t even realize I passed out.”

“Not surprising,” JJ said with a shrug. “You were pretty wrecked.” His tone was light, but concern lingered in his eyes. “I was thinking we head up the beach toward where the boat was headed. If they made it to land, that’s where we’ll find them.”

You winced at the word if, the uncertainty slicing through your chest like a blade. “Okay,” you replied firmly. “Let’s go.”

For the next 45 minutes, the two of you trudged along the beach in silence, your shared determination a quiet bond. Every step brought a mix of hope and dread as you scanned the horizon for any sign of your loved ones.

“You know,” JJ said suddenly, breaking the silence, “they’re probably feeling the same as us—like they might never see us again.”

You shook your head, gripping tightly onto hope. “We’ll find them, Jayj. We have to.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “We will.”

A few more minutes passed before you gathered the courage to speak again. “JJ?”

He glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Do… Do you hate me?” The question felt heavy on your tongue, dredging up years of unspoken tension.

JJ’s expression shifted, a flicker of pain crossing his features. He sighed, raking a hand through his damp hair. “No, Y/N. I don’t hate you. I don’t think I could hate you even if I wanted to.”

His words caught you off guard, and you looked down, fiddling with your hands. “It just… it felt like you did.”

JJ’s voice softened as he continued. “I was hurt. You were my best friend, and when you and Rafe got together, it felt like he stole you away. From me. From all of us.”

A tear slid down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away. “I’m sorry, Jayj. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said firmly. “All you’ve ever done was try to keep the peace. I should’ve seen that sooner. And last night, when you fell off the boat…” His voice wavered, and he looked away. “All I could think about was how I couldn’t let you die thinking I hated you. You’re my sister, Y/N. You always will be.”

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. JJ hugged you back tightly, resting his chin on your head.

“I love you, Jayj. I’ve missed you so much,” you whispered.

He pulled back, his hands on your shoulders. “We’re gonna fix this. All of it. I’ll even make an effort with Rafe if it means getting you back.”

An hour later, the sun was high in the sky when you spotted movement in the distance.

“J, is that them?” you asked breathlessly, shielding your eyes with your hand.

JJ squinted at the figures. “Let’s find out,” he said, quickening his pace.

As you got closer, the shapes grew clearer: Sarah’s golden hair, Kiara’s familiar stance, and Rafe’s unmistakable silhouette towering above the group.

“Rafe!” you cried, breaking into a run.

He turned at the sound of your voice, his eyes widening before he sprinted toward you. The moment he reached you, his arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground.

“Oh my God,” he murmured, his voice breaking as he buried his face in your neck. “I thought I lost you. I thought I’d never see you again!” He cried.

“I’m here,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I’m safe. JJ saved me.”

When Rafe finally pulled back, his gaze shifted to JJ, who stood a few feet away, watching the reunion. Without hesitation, Rafe approached him and pulled him into a hug.

“Thank you,” Rafe said, his voice thick with emotion.

JJ stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, clapping Rafe on the back. “Yeah, well… couldn’t let her die on my watch,” he said with a crooked smile.

As you stood there, watching the two men who meant so much to you, hope swelled in your chest. For the first time in years, you felt like things might finally be okay.

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

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[neonbonded]

If You Leave, I’ll Shatter

♡ ft. Love and Deepspace men x reader ♡ cw: angst, emotional breakdowns, fighting, hurt/comfort, possessiveness, late-night visits, desperate confessions, soft touches, and some really unhinged men trying to apologize with their whole chests ♡ a/n: six different ways they fall apart when you walk away—and six very different ways they beg you not to. some soft, some rough, some a little dangerous. but all of them? absolutely ruined over you.

XAVIER – The Gentle Rage

It started right after the mission.

Xavier had taken the hit. Again.

You were seconds away from closing the gap on the Wanderer when he stepped between you and its claws—no warning, just his body blocking yours, blade flashing, light Evol bursting like a flare.

The fight ended fast. He was bleeding. You were shaking.

And when you got back to base, you snapped.

“You can’t keep doing this!”

You shoved his chest, hard. He didn’t budge.

“Do you think I’m weak? That I can’t handle it? I had it under control, Xavier—”

“You would’ve gotten hurt.”

His voice was calm. Flat. That same infuriating stillness he always wore like armor.

“And what about you?” You were yelling now, pacing. “You nearly passed out from blood loss last time! You don’t get to decide what I can handle. You don’t get to throw yourself in front of me like—like you don’t matter!”

He didn’t look angry. Just tired.

“I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“No, you’re trying to die for me.”

Silence.

It hung between you like smoke, suffocating and thick.

You left before you started crying.

You didn’t mean to go far—just needed air. Noise. Distance. But the longer you walked, the more everything blurred. Your head was spinning, vision tight at the edges. The adrenaline crash hit hard, and with it came the flood of everything you’d been holding back for weeks: exhaustion, fear, and the growing ache in your chest you didn’t know how to name.

You ended up at your apartment, barely able to breathe.

And then—

The door opened.

No knock. No warning. Just the low creak of your lock and the soft sound of rain behind him.

Xavier stood in the doorway, silver hair soaked, sweater clinging to his frame.

“You didn’t answer your comm.”

His voice was quiet. Almost gentle. But his jaw was clenched, his eyes too sharp.

You didn’t speak. Just stared at him, sitting there with your knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped tight like you were trying to keep yourself from falling apart.

“Why’d you run?”

You laughed, bitter. “Because you don’t listen. Because you’re always so damn calm. Because I hate how you—”

Your voice cracked. You turned away.

He walked to you without a word, kneeling beside the couch, close but not touching.

“You were scared,” he said softly. “So was I.”

That made your throat close.

“You don’t act like it,” you whispered.

“Because I can’t. If I let myself feel it, I won’t be able to fight.”

Finally—finally—his voice broke.

“But you don’t see how scared I am when you go quiet. When you bleed. When you don’t get up.”

You looked at him—and his expression wasn’t neutral now.

It was wrecked.

“Let me take care of you,” he said. “Not as a soldier. Not as a shield. Just… me.”

He reached for you slowly, like you might vanish.

And when your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him down, he let you.

He kissed you like he didn’t think he deserved to. Like he needed you to say it without saying it. His hands stayed careful on your hips, his lips moving over yours in soft, aching pulses.

“I’m here,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours. “Even if you don’t want me to be… I’m here.”

ZAYNE – The Controlled Burn

It happened after another long shift.

You’d waited for him—again.

Sat in the hospital café for nearly four hours while he scrubbed in for a surprise emergency surgery. He didn’t text. Didn’t call. And when he finally walked in, late and exhausted, the first thing he did was ask if you’d eaten without him.

Like nothing was wrong.

“You said you’d be done by eight.”

“The patient was hemorrhaging. I stayed.”

“You always stay.”

He didn’t answer. Just started pulling off his gloves, tossing them into the bin like this was just another routine.

“Zayne. I waited for you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

That broke something in you.

“I’m not one of your interns. You don’t get to dismiss me when I inconvenience you.”

His expression didn’t change.

“You’re being dramatic.”

You stared at him like he’d slapped you.

“I’m being dramatic?” you echoed, voice shaking. “You stood me up. Again. You shut me out. Again. You act like I don’t matter unless I’m bleeding in front of you.”

He finally looked up then—really looked.

But he didn’t apologize.

“I can’t afford to get distracted.”

“I’m not a distraction, Zayne. I’m—”

“You’re what makes it harder to breathe when I already spend my days holding hearts in my hands.”

It came out before he could stop it.

And you… couldn’t stay.

You turned and walked out—jaw clenched, heart pounding, trying not to cry in the middle of a sterile white hallway.

You didn’t answer your phone.

Didn’t text him back.

Just went home, climbed into bed, and stared at the ceiling for hours.

The fight played on a loop in your head.

Not because of what he said—but because of what he meant. Because maybe you really were too much for him. Maybe loving you was one complication he didn’t want on his operating table.

Your body ached. Your throat burned.

So when your door clicked open around 2:00 AM—your lock overridden, silently—you already knew who it was.

You didn’t move.

Zayne stood in the doorway in scrubs, coat still on, blood on the collar from a patient—not his.

He set something on your nightstand. It was a paper bag. Warm.

Your favorite soup.

“I should’ve called,” he said quietly.

You said nothing.

“I get scared,” he continued. “Not of failure. Not of surgery. But of you walking away from me and never looking back.”

You finally turned your head. His eyes were unreadable, but his hands were shaking.

“You treat me like I’m a scalpel,” you said. “Precise. Replaceable.”

“That’s not what you are,” he replied instantly. “You’re the reason my hands shake when you’re not around. And I don’t know how to handle that.”

He stepped closer.

“Let me fix this.”

“You can’t stitch this shut like one of your patients.”

“No,” he said. “But I can hold you until it stops hurting.”

And he did.

His hands were cold. His movements were careful. He didn’t kiss you right away. Just slid into bed behind you, pulled you against his chest, and held you like a man trying not to break apart.

RAFAYEL – The Meltdown in Paint and Flesh

It started in his studio.

He'd gone quiet for two days.

Paints left open. Brushes stiff. The canvas untouched since the last time you sat for him—when he told you to hold still and you laughed, and then kissed him with pigment on your fingers.

But this time, when you asked what was wrong, he wouldn’t look at you.

“Nothing, sweetheart. Go home. I’m busy.”

You didn't go home.

You followed him outside, to the dock near Whitesand Bay where the sky was bleeding into dusk, and you asked him again.

“Rafayel. Just tell me what’s going on.”

He exhaled a laugh. But it wasn’t funny. It was bitter.

“You want the truth? The truth is I can’t paint without you. I can't sleep without you. I can’t even fucking think unless I know you're coming back.”

That should’ve felt like a confession.

It felt like a blame.

You stepped back.

“I'm not your cure, Rafayel.”

“No,” he snapped. “You're the thing making me sick.”

You flinched.

“Then I guess I’ll give you some space.”

And you left.

You didn’t get far.

The second the door to your apartment shut behind you, it all started to unravel—anger giving way to something worse: the ache that bloomed beneath your ribs, tight and restless, like your body hadn’t caught up to the fact that you were alone now.

You tried to ignore it.

Changed your clothes. Splashed cold water on your face. Lit a candle, even though you never do.

But Rafayel was everywhere.

In the scent of ocean salt that clung to your jacket. In the flecks of dried paint on your wrist. In the echo of his voice still lodged in your skull, saying things he didn’t mean—saying them like they were the only way he knew how to bleed.

You curled up on the couch, arms around your knees, telling yourself he wouldn’t come after you.

He never chased.

Until—

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Your front door shook with the force of it.

You opened it mid-breath.

And there he was.

Wind-tossed, soaked from the sea air, shirt unbuttoned like he’d torn it open on the run. His hair was wild, his pupils blown wide, and his chest was rising too fast—like he hadn’t stopped running since you left.

“You left me,” he said, voice low and shredded.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Every nerve in your body was on fire.

He stepped forward. No hesitation. Just heat and momentum and desperation.

“I know what I said,” he murmured. “I know how I said it. But I didn’t mean a single fucking word, and I can’t fix it if you’re not here—”

He stopped.

Hands reached for your face like a starving man reaching for light.

“You think I know how to be gentle with love? I don’t. I only know how to need.”

Your throat clenched. Your hands curled into his shirt without thinking.

“Then say it,” you whispered.

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever made that mattered,” he breathed. “The only color I ever see anymore. If you leave—I’ll forget how to breathe, not just paint.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It was teeth. Tongue. Desperation.

His fingers dug into your waist, like he needed to feel you to know you were real. You gasped into his mouth, and he chased the sound—growled into it, even—like it cracked something loose inside him.

You weren’t thinking anymore.

You were burning.

And he was already unmaking you with every second you let him touch you.

SYLUS – The Controlled Collapse

The fight didn’t explode.

It simmered.

You’d been watching him for weeks—staying out late, coming back with blood on his cuffs, whispering orders into encrypted comms like you wouldn’t hear.

You knew what Onychinus did. What he did.

You just didn’t think he’d start shutting you out.

“You told me there were no more secrets,” you said, arms crossed. Voice low. Calm. Deadly.

He didn’t look up from the data pad.

“I said no more secrets that would hurt you.”

“You don’t get to decide what hurts me, Sylus.”

That got his attention.

His red eyes lifted, slow. Calculating. Cold.

“You’re angry.”

“I’m furious.”

“Good,” he murmured, setting the pad down. “I’d rather have your fury than your silence.”

You stepped back. He took a step forward. You held your ground.

“You can’t keep shutting me out.”

“And you can’t keep pretending you’re untouched by the world I built.”

That stung more than it should have.

“So that’s what I am to you now?” you whispered. “A liability? An attachment?”

He said nothing.

Which was worse.

So you left. Jaw clenched. Hands shaking. You didn’t slam the door, didn’t scream—because you knew that silence would drive him mad.

You thought he wouldn’t follow.

He always acted like he didn’t need to.

But two hours later, you’re pacing in your apartment, heart hammering, brain spiraling. You can still feel the heat of his gaze, still hear the unspoken stay beneath the silence.

And then—

The lights go out.

Power. Gone.

You freeze.

A soft knock echoes from the door.

Not pounding. Not frantic.

A warning.

And then his voice. Calm. Dangerous.

“Unlock the door.”

Your fingers hesitate.

“Sylus—”

“Now.”

You obey.

When the door opens, he’s there. Shirt half undone. Rain clinging to him. Eyes glowing.

“You walked out,” he says.

“Because you didn’t stop me.”

“No,” he corrects. “Because I needed you to walk. So you’d understand what it feels like when someone takes control away from you.”

He steps inside, shuts the door behind him.

“You want honesty? Here it is.”

He gets closer. You don’t step back.

“I’ve killed for less than what you make me feel.”

Your breath catches.

“So if you’re going to leave,” he whispers, “do it now. Before I ruin you for anyone else.”

You don’t move.

And that’s all he needs.

His mouth crashes into yours—bruising, possessive, hot. One hand in your hair, the other grabbing your waist like he owns every part of you.

Because he does.

Because he always has.

CALEB – The Soft Obsession Cracks

You didn’t mean to fight.

It started with a joke.

One too many playful jabs about how distant he’d been—how the mission came first, how he always walked out before sunrise now, like he didn’t want to be there when you woke up.

You didn’t expect his expression to drop like that.

Didn’t expect him to say:

“You don’t know what I’m dealing with. What I’ve done.”

“Then let me in,” you said, softer now. “Caleb, you don’t have to keep carrying it alone—”

“I do.”

He backed away from you like he was afraid of what would happen if he stayed close.

“I lost you once,” he said. “And I came back wrong. I don’t get to want things anymore.”

That’s what undid you.

Because how could he stand there, staring at you like you were already gone?

“You’re not broken,” you said, barely holding it together. “But if you keep pushing me away like this—I will leave. And not because I want to. Because you’re forcing me to.”

You waited.

He didn’t move.

So you left.

The silence in your apartment was unbearable.

Too quiet. Too heavy.

Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, the tears hit harder than expected, and no matter how many times you told yourself you did the right thing, all you could think about was the way he looked at you. Like he already thought he’d lost you. Like this was inevitable.

You’d just started to calm down when the knock came.

Not pounding. Not rushed.

Just... deliberate.

You opened the door.

And Caleb was standing there, drenched from the rain, still wearing his Farspace coat, soaked through at the collar, eyes wild—like he’d run the whole way.

“Don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I needed space.”

“No, you needed me.” He stepped inside without asking, voice ragged. “I felt it. That spiral. The second you left, it was like someone tore the gravity out of me.”

You shook your head. “You said you didn’t get to want things anymore.”

“I lied.”

He was in front of you before you could breathe—hands on your face, trembling.

“I want you,” he whispered. “Every damn version of you. Even when you’re mad. Even when you hate me. Even when you run.”

“Then prove it.”

And he did.

He kissed you like it was a confession. Like he was begging you not to leave again. Like he needed to memorize the shape of your mouth before it disappeared.