#and i think i maybe do want my friends to know

[alchemistc]

"Hey, so, if you could tell your roommate to stop sending me incomprehensible Millennial memes every time I ask him a question, I'd appreciate it," Ravi says, and Buck stares at the prongs of his fork to prevent himself from jamming them into Ravi's hand just long enough for Ravi to notice the way the table has gone silent. There's no way they didn't notice the emphasis, right?

"I'll, uh... make a note," Buck says, and dives back in to his spaghetti. It's been a long day. He's reheated his lunch-dinner three times already. And now he sort of desperately wants the klaxons to go because...

Because it's weird that he never told them where he was living now.

Weird that they never asked.

"You have a roommate?"

Buck is 34 years old. Buck broke his own lease to help a friend only to be ceremoniously kicked out just months later, no notice, more interaction with Chris than Eddie as he furiously repacked boxes and stuffed them in his Jeep like a madman. Buck has terrible credit and a desire to set down roots that no one seems to give a shit about, except -

Roommates lasted for a month and a half at best. If he doesn't count the lingering glances, or the lingering touches, or the lingering feelings that blew up in their faces the harder they tried to tamp them down.

Ravi just thinks it's funny to keep calling them roommates.

("Like the Vine, you know?"

"Doesn't know a single 3OH3 song but he knows Vine," Tommy had said, three and a half beers deep and kicking at Ravi's leg from his lounger on the patio of their backyard.

"Oh, my cousin sends me TikTok compilations of them."

"I don't understand half the words you two are saying," Buck had chimed in, and gotten Tommy's lazy half-smile, a hand curled around his ear, and Ravi's "If you guys are gonna do more of that I'm calling an Uber.")

"Not exactly," Buck says, and tries to send Ravi a death glare. Ravi's too busy staring at the ceiling with his chair tipped back like he's daring Buck to kick his foot out enough to catch on a leg.

They're all surprised by the news, like they've done a damn thing to find out anything about his life in the months since they shut down any attempt he'd made to reach out.

He's glad he's found a way to let himself be mad at them for that.

He's glad his entire life no longer hinges on making sure they know every intimate detail of that life.

Still. The longer they stare at him, waiting for more, the more he realizes this was...maybe an oversight.

Probably should have told them before he and Tommy stuck a For Sale sign on his bedframe at the curb and been rewarded for their manipulation when someone stole the thing within like, three hours. They'd been too lazy to take it to the dump. Too lazy to sell it on Marketplace. Too caught up in the bubble of 'stay as long as you need' turning into 'do you want to be on the mortgage I need to know by Friday'.

Ravi's slept in the guest room more than Buck ever stayed at Tommy's, before.

He's made friends with Goose, too, which Buck thinks is a little unfair because Tommy's half blind cat still sticks her tail in the air to walk away any time Buck enters a room.

"Whoops," Ravi says like this was anything but intentional.

("Are you hiding the fact that you're in a happy relationship with a dude who loves you like, a weird amount for any particular reason?"

"It's not weird. It's a normal amount!"

"If I called him right now with a Buck related emergency how long until he had a bird in the air for you?"

"...he's at work right now so like, seven minutes tops.")

When the silence just keeps stretching, he barely manages to dodge the garlic bread Buck tosses at his face before the table erupts into chaos.

[rafesangelita]

♡ bsf!rafe finds sheep!reader’s diary..

warnings: cnc (you’ve been warned), dirty talk, fingering, orgasm denial, suggestive ending

a/n: read more sheep!reader + cnc here !

as your best friend, rafe knew you all too well. he knew when you were sad, and he knew when you were holding something back from him, but lately he couldn’t figure you out and it was frustrating the living hell out of him. you hadn’t answered any of his calls or messages, you kept a safe distance from him whenever you two were together, he couldn’t help but feel like he had done something wrong to make you less comfortable with him around, and he was determined to find out what it was.

waiting until you left for your regular visit to the thrift store, rafe used the spare key under the welcome mat to open the front door and slip inside your house. he knew that if you weren’t telling him what was wrong, you were indeed telling the little diary you had hidden in your nightstand. grabbing the floral notebook out of the wooden drawer, rafe briefly flipped through its contents before settling on an entry from a couple of weeks ago.

04/26/25 — oh, i just don’t know what do!! today rafe carried me over his shoulder and slammed me down on my bed like i was one of those old rag dolls my grandmother used to make me. he’s just so strong, i started thinking about other things he could do. i shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts, but i can’t help it. we spend so much time alone together, it just makes me wonder about the manpower he has over me. he can do whatever he wants to me at any point in time, and while that idea should scare me, it makes me get butterflies just thinking about the possibilities.

rafe was rendered speechless, his curiosity getting the best of him as he flipped a few pages over.

4/30/25 — i can’t look at rafe without being reminded of everything i’ve been daydreaming about over the past few days. i feel so ashamed when he gets near me and i have to move away from him out of guilt. he’s looking at me like he did something wrong and i feel so bad. how can i tell him that i’m imagining things a ‘friend’ shouldn’t? maybe i just need to stop seeing him for a while…

now it all made sense. the sitting far away from each other on the couch when usually he’s spooning you, the way you look more embarrassed than usual when he’ll say something suggestive to tease you; it was because you were already fighting off dirty thoughts about him. rafe swallowed thickly as he tossed your journal to the side, his jaw ticking as he reflected over your words. ‘he can do whatever he wants to me at any point in time.’ — to know that both of you wanted this was all the encouragement rafe needed to hide away in your closet once he heard the lock of the front door click open.

you had forgotten your coin pouch, a sigh leaving your lips as you hastily made your way to your room to look for the little thing. upon entering, you immediately knew something was off. there was a dip print in your sheets as if someone was sitting there when you knew for a fact you left your room pristine. just as you caught a small whiff of rafe’s cologne, you screamed when you were suddenly yanked back with a heavy hand over your mouth. dragging you in front of your vanity mirror, rafe wanted you to see that it was him and not a stranger.

you stopped thrashing against him when you saw that it was rafe’s figure towering over your own. now you stood confused as he slowly removed his hand from your mouth and wrapped his fingers around your neck. “w-what are you doing?” you let out a shaky breath, your mouth falling open in a silent moan as rafe’s arm snaked around your waist, your backside flushed against him. “you’ve been ignoring me..” he started, your eyes widening as his hand slipped underneath your dress, “so i had to come over here and find out why.” you gasped when he cupped you through your underwear, his lips finding the underside of your jaw.

moving your gaze over to the notebook on your bed, you felt your heart drop to your stomach when you realized he must’ve read it. “with how innocent you are i would’ve never guessed that you were thinking such things,” he said through gritted teeth, the gruffness of his voice sending a chill down your spine. “now i’m going to do exactly that and there isn’t shit you could do about it, doll.” rafe dipped his fingers between your folds, your knees giving out on you as he held you up by your hips. “saying’ how you want me to overpower you and do whatever i want to you.. just know that you asked for this.”

you didn’t get a chance to take in what he meant when you felt his digits plunge into you, a squeal sounding out from your lips as you reveled in the delicious stretch of his fingers. dragging you over to your bed, rafe forced your thighs open as you gripped his hand, attempting to push him away with a cry. pinning your wrist above your head, you writhed underneath him as you felt an unfamilar tension beginning to build in your core. your bottom lip trembled, the mixture of both pleasure and pain wracking through your body as rafe thumbed your sensitive bundle of nerves.

your pastel nails clawed at the soft cotton of your comforter, your eyes screwing shut as the words ‘please stop..’ softly fell from your mouth. rafe forced your eyes open so you could confirm if you really wanted him to stop his ministrations, but once he caught that mischievous glint in your gaze, he chuckled, wrapping a fist in your hair and tugging so that you could watch his fingers curl inside of you and hit your sweet spot. your back arched up from the mattress, your chest caving in as rafe brought you to the edge and held you there.

“i’m not letting the first time you cum be around my fingers,” he slipped his digits out of you before popping them in his mouth, his hips slotting between your thighs, “i wanna feel this pussy clenching around my cock when i get you crying for it.”

thank you for celebrating with me ૮��� ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[luvergirl-535]

meet cute, but, like, wayyy worse

part - 2

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 8.3k

c/w - smut (iktr), paige is a loser in the streets and a freak in the sheets (lol), horrifically unedited to the point where idek if it’s legible so bear w me 🥀

a/n - writing this made me realize i’ve literally forgotten how to write smut 😔 bc why’d i keep trying to make it funny. i’m actually a little concerned that ive been doing too much unserious stuff i won’t be able to go back to normal writing anymore lmao maybe i’m the problem…

paige has had an absolute shitshow of a night. actually, scratch that—the entire year has been a shitshow. maybe even the past two years. she doesn’t like to dwell on it.

she hates the way her friends look at her these days, with cautious smiles and sympathetic eyes, like all they ever do anymore is feel bad for her. she hates the way they speak to her when she starts drinking, like she’s an unpredictable, wild thing. like they’re afraid of what she’s doing to herself.

honestly, she’s fine. they just don’t get it. the fame, the work, it’s a lot. she’s in shape. her basketball has never been better. she’s bringing girls home every night.

it’s not like she’s addicted to coke or anything. since when is it a crime to need a few beers every now and then?

(it’s every night. and some mornings, too.)

(she finds herself forgetting—birthdays, anniversaries, names—more than ever.)

(she used to fucking hate alcohol.)

(she is a little afraid of herself, too.)

anyway.

the cruise has been fun. a team-bonding experience, meant to build their chemistry off the court, to take their minds off the upcoming season for a little while. a week of relaxation. a week to destress. for paige, it’s been hard. she cannot justify sneaking off to day drink to her teammates, and they’ve been steering clear of alcohol like their lives depend on it. she only gets to drink at night, after the rest of the girls have gotten too drunk to care about what she does. the rest of the time, she’s forced to be painfully sober.

it all goes from ‘difficult’ to ‘burning gates of hell’ when she throws up on the love of her life—who does not know she’s the love of paige’s life—azzi fudd. an angel on earth, the most beautiful girl paige has ever seen. like, better than zendaya. for real.

after that, she wants nothing more than to jump off ship and be lost at sea forever. when kk offers to take azzi back to paige’s room, she swears she could kill her.

and then, almost consecutively: her stupid little crush is exposed, she’s forced to cut a dress off azzi’s body, and then—this.

her first thought, after the phone call, is mental image of her fist pumping, because, duh. and then comes the, oh my god, i get to fuck azzi fudd, followed by a brief moment of panic, followed then by the realization that of course she is not going to fuck azzi tonight. or ever.

she is both relieved and disappointed by this knowledge.

“i’m…” azzi says, staring at her phone as if she could magically make chad call her back again. paige expects something, like maybe an explanation on why the fuck she’s telling her ex-boyfriend they are going to fuck tonight, but instead, azzi just tosses the phone onto the bed as if she’s been burned and says, “i’m going to change.”

paige has half a mind to leap in front of the door and barricade azzi in the room with her until she gets an explanation. she doesn’t, because she can barely act like a normal person around azzi, let alone confront her like that.

azzi disappears into the restroom. paige sits. and waits—not so patiently.

she pulls at a fray in the comforter until it comes loose. taps her foot against the bedframe. thinks about how azzi’s voice changed on the call—quieter, but not exactly embarrassed. maybe satisfied? there was something in it that didn’t sound like regret. that’s the part that’s screwing with her the most.

she gets up from the bed to pace, the back-and-forth a feeble attempt at wrapping her mind around what just happened. when that doesn’t work, she drops to the floor and does some sit-ups, because when she was a kid her dad told her if she let the anxiety build in her body she’d explode and that the only way to get rid of it was to do sit-ups. he’s a bitch for that, but she’s also spent a lifetime with nice abs, so she can’t really be too mad. but not even the magical sit-ups really work, so she does the last thing she can think of:

she pounds on the bathroom door.

“jesus!” azzi’s voice is high-pitched, nervous. “you tryna knock the door down?”

“uh, no,” paige says, a little unsure of what she’s going to say now that she’s here. “you’ve just been in there for awhile so…”

“don’t worry about it.”

oh, she’s worried. though not particularly about azzi. “can you just come out?”

“why?”

at this point, azzi is just playing in her face. because what does she mean, ‘why?’. is it not a normal thing to come out of the bathroom once you’re done?

the most alarming thing about all this is that paige has yet to question her undying crush, even as azzi is turning out to be a possible psycho. actually, even worse—it might be turning paige on?

now she is doubly worried. perhaps she should focus on one thing at a time.

paige’s silence must have stretched long enough to spark concern, because azzi speaks again, a hesitant, “paige?”

paige sighs, a hand on her hip and the other pinching the bridge of her nose, a pose she might have adopted from her coach. “you know you owe me an explanation, azzi.”

another sigh, as equally annoyed as paige’s, from the other side of the door. and then, its opening, and azzi’s standing there in paige’s clothes, looking altogether too soft and sweet for the diabolical things she did ten minutes prior. “i know, i just…i don’t really have one.”

paige’s eyes flick down azzi’s body without permission. the loose uconn t-shirt hangs too long on her—paige knows that shirt, it’s the one she used to let her ex borrow. something about azzi in it makes her stomach twist. not in a bad way. in the worst possible way.

paige steps back, allowing azzi back into the bedroom. “you mean you don’t have an explanation for telling your boyfriend we’d…” paige isn’t usually shy about sex, she’s a grown adult, for god’s sake, but this is azzi fudd and she can’t really find her words in normal conversation, and certainly not this one, “you know…” she trails off awkwardly.

azzi bites her lip, half-sheepish, half-trying to charm her way out of it. and, yeah, maybe it’s working a little.

paige realizes with a little bit of a start that she’s staring at azzi’s lips. she glances up and away quickly, turning around to give herself something to do before motioning to the phone on the bed. “you should…call him back.”

“hell no,” azzi sneers.

“well it’s either that or we fuck,” paige retorts before she can think. she’s glad she’s faced away so azzi can’t see the way blood flushes her cheeks.

azzi’s silent for a moment. almost long enough that paige turns around, but then she speaks. “maybe there’s another option,” she says.

paige senses trouble.

❀❀❀

kk’s jaw is on the floor.

she looks between a guilty-looking azzi and a tomato-red paige before letting out a shocked laugh. “now why would you tell him that?”

kk asking all the most important questions.

“it was the first thing that came to mind!” azzi says, voice high and defensive. paige can’t help but think it’s adorable.

“why, though?” kk asks, a small, suspect grin spreading over her face.

azzi gives her a look, something that clearly says cut it out, and paige doesn’t doubt that kk spilled all the beans about her crush to azzi earlier.

“uh-huh,” kk responds, making a small ‘mcht’ sound.

azzi gives that warning look again. “shut up, kk.”

“that isn’t even the main thing,” paige points out, jumping between their tense interaction. “what we came to tell you is azzi had an idea.” an outlandish, admittedly odd one, but an idea nonetheless.

“an idea,” kk repeats.

azzi nods. she’s hesitant, clearly, but paige has already assured her kk will be on board. she’ll laugh in their faces first, sure, but then she will help them go through with azzi’s little…plan.

“okay,” she says doubtfully. “tell me this lil’ idea.”

azzi glances nervously at paige. “well, i can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s right,” she explains.

kk nods. “obviously.”

“and i can’t go back to my room tonight.”

“okay…”

“so i’m going to stay here,” she continues, taking a deep breath as in gathering courage for the teasing about to come. “and i’m going to take…suggestive pictures with paige, in paige’s bed. and we’re just hoping you can help.”

before azzi’s finished, kk’s eyebrows have already raised to her hairline. she lets out a half-shocked, half-ifuckingknewit scoff. it’s enough to have paige jumping in to try and make it look better. “her boyfriend’s really an ass, kk, like, she needs to get him back.”

azzi nods. “paige heard him on the phone. she knows.”

“i know,” paige agrees.

kk looks between the two of them, both so earnest and oh-so oblivious, and just laughs. “i believe you. oh, i believe you.”

“so are you going to help us?” azzi asks.

“help with what, exactly? do i need to ref? do i need to make sure it stays pg in there?”

paige immediately blushes, squeaking an awkward “what? no!” before azzi can even react. when she does, it’s a much more nonchalant, normal person answer: “don’t be weird, kk. answer the question.”

kk gives paige a pointed look. “for the record, this is stupud. y’all are stupid. and i don’t condone such behavior.”

“oh, shut up, kk,” paige says.

“but i will help,” kk finishes, getting up from her kitchen stool. “i’ll make sure y’all look as, what’d you say? suggestive, as possible,” she grins.

azzi, bravely, doesn’t so much as redden. “cool. thanks.”

“what friends are for,” kk replies easily. she walks toward them, slinging an arm around both their shoulders and pulling their heads close. “and after tonight, we are definitely friends,” she tells azzi.

“except on the court,” azzi points out.

“unless you come to uconn.”

“you tryna recruit me? to a team that always loses against us?” azzi laughs, pushing away. “you’re funny.”

“trust, we wouldn’t lose with you on our team,” kk says.

paige rolls her eyes. “can we just get this over with?”

“aight, cranky pants. let’s get it.” kk motions toward the bedroom. “go start taking y’all’s clothes off. i’ll get the camera ready.”

“oh, brother,” azzi sighs, at the same time paige mutters, “worst fuckin’ idea,” under her breath.

❀❀❀

azzi looks—fucked out, to be perfectly honest. more specifically, like a scene straight from one of paige’s many azzi-centered wet dreams. not that she has azzi-centered wet dreams or anything. but if she did, like hypothetically, azzi would look exactly like this.

lips plumped with oil. braids pulled back messily. mascara re-applied and then carefully smeared. she studies herself in the mirror as she adds the final touch: a dark bruise above her collarbone, created with deft fingers and dark blush courtesy of kk. paige sits on the toilet seat, watching azzi work. she’s been staring for the past thirty minutes. azzi has yet to notice. kk, on the other hand, has spent the entire time sending her not-so-subtle signals, such as disguising a ‘talktoher’ with a cough, and whispering ‘go offer to do that for her,’ when azzi started applying the hickeys.

paige has not taken this advice. she’s still a little tipsy and azzi looks too enticing and she’s awkward enough that she’d much rather observe than try to interact at the moment.

before azzi finishes applying the final fake hickey, kk is fiddling with angles, mumbling about “golden hour lighting” even though they’re inside and it’s past midnight. paige’s gaze is caught in the mirror—not on herself, but the reflection of azzi in front of her. she imagines reaching over. just touching azzi’s wrist. she doesn’t. she clenches her hands together in her lap instead.

“you know,” azzi says idly, still dabbing at her collarbone, “you’re not nervous enough.”

paige blinks. “about what?”

“pretending to fuck me. in pictures. that we’re going to send to a real person.” azzi’s voice is light, teasing, but there’s something layered beneath it.

“what, you want me to panic?”

“a little. would make me feel better.”

paige laughs—quiet and dry. “i’m panicking plenty. just…internally.”

“uh-huh.” azzi licks her thumb before dabbing at her neck, turning her chin this way and that in the mirror. “do i look good?”

“you look bad,” kk says, nodding appreciatively. “as hell.”

azzi smiles a little shyly. “thanks.”

she knows it’s stupid, but a pang of jealously hits paige. she wishes she had kk’s natural instinct to flirt with girls. and it’s true paige has this instinct sometimes, but with a girl she really likes? with azzi fucking fudd? it’s best for everyone if she just keeps quiet and lets kk charm her instead. after this whole thing, she’ll go back to her indulgent bedtime fantasies of she and azzi in domestic situations and wet dreams.

“okay,” azzi says, pulling her phone out of her pocket and snapping a quick selfie in the mirror before turning to the two of them. “we ready?”

“i been practicing my photography skills,” kk says (she got a new camera app last week and has been taking candid, objectively bad photos of the team ever since). “never been readier.”

“don’t think that’s a word,” azzi points out, then looks at paige. “paige?”

“yup,” paige says, slapping her thighs before standing up in an attempt to get rid of the chalant written all over her face right now. “super ready.”

“now why you sound all excited to cozy up in bed with fudd?” kk quips. paige gets warm all over, glancing furtively at azzi to see her reaction—seriously, kk’s going to make azzi think paige is weird or something—but she just gives a little laugh before leading the way into the bedroom. “okay, let’s do this then.”

paige is maybe beginning to reconsider the this in question—their great plan. nothing’s even been done yet, for god’s sakes, with phase one—making azzi look as fucked out as possible—barely being finished. yet still paige is already uncomfortably damp between her legs: hence, the reconsidering. but, lord save her, azzi is already crawling into paige’s bed much too seductively, and it would look downright suspicious of her to pussy out now. no, she’s going to go through with this faux-sex photoshoot like a man, goddamit.

“get in there, twin,” kk says, pulling her phone out from her back pocket.

paige gingerly sits on the edge of the bed while azzi lays back, propped up on her elbows as they watch kk navigate around the device. “you know,” azzi says, “i wasn’t thinking you’d actually take the pictures for us. i thought you’d just, like, tell us what looks good.”

paige is a little surprised to hear this, and at the offended expression on kk’s face, she panics—her friend has a liking for dramatic storm-outs, and paige cannot have her leaving right now. “but this works too,” she jumps in, shooting azzi a warning look. “right?”

azzi places her palms upright, surrendering. “i mean, yeah, i guess. i was just sayin’.”

“well i ain’t here to be a third opinion or nothing,” kk says haughtily.

“you’re not,” paige says quickly. “you’re our creative director.”

“yeah,” azzi adds, already settling deeper into the pillows like this is just another thursday night. “we trust your vision.”

kk narrows her eyes at them like she’s sniffing out sarcasm, but apparently decides she accepts it. “creative director,” she repeats, pleased. “i like that. okay. azzi, scoot a little more to the left. paige, behind her. lean in like you just got done doing something y’all shouldn’t have been doing.”

“we haven’t even started yet,” paige mutters.

“don’t kill the vibe,” kk says. she gestures wildly. “go on. get close. more. closer.”

paige shifts behind azzi on the bed, legs folding automatically. azzi leans back slightly to rest against her, and the contact sends a shock through her skin like she’s short-circuiting. this is fine. totally fine. normal behavior for two near-strangers in a definitely-not-suggestive photoshoot.

“hand on her waist,” kk calls, adjusting her phone. “and azzi, tilt your head back, like you’re worn out.”

paige’s hand finds azzi’s hip, fingers splaying across the soft cotton of her borrowed t-shirt. azzi does as told, and for a second paige’s vision blurs. the curve of her neck, the flushed heat of her skin from alcohol or earlier makeup efforts—it’s all a little too real.

“jesus,” kk mutters, half to herself. “this looks…kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

paige groans. “can we not—comment on that?”

“okay, okay,” kk says, still snapping. “let’s switch it up. azzi, crawl into her lap. yeah, like that. lean back a little, like you’re laughing at something she said. paige, smile. not like you’re being tortured.”

“so, you are taking the pictures for us, then?”

“i’m close enough he won’t be able to tell it was taken by someone else,” kk huffs. “now, go. c’mon.”

“i’m not a model,” paige mutters, but she does her best to grin.

azzi wiggles into place, her thigh slotting between paige’s legs. “sorry,” she whispers.

“don’t apologize,” paige says automatically, which is a mistake, because then azzi looks at her, and they’re way too close for that.

“aaaand pause,” kk says, not looking up from the phone. “i think i need y’all to look a little messier. paige, mess up your hair. azzi, can you tug the shirt off your shoulder a little? you look too put together.”

paige drags a hand through her hair, trying not to stare as azzi obliges, the shirt slipping just enough to expose the faux-hickey she’d applied earlier. kk catches it in the next snap and lets out a sharp whistle.

“he’s gonna cry when he sees these,” she says gleefully.

azzi’s lips twitch. “that’s the goal.”

more posing. more directions. at some point paige gets bolder, draping an arm around azzi’s stomach. azzi leans back into her without hesitation, as if it’s natural, like they do this every day.

kk crouches to get a shot from below and then pauses, frowning at her screen. “hold up,” she says. “jana’s calling. gimme a sec.”

she stands and walks out, phone already at her ear, voice lowering as she steps into the other room.

the silence she leaves behind is heavy.

paige shifts slightly. azzi doesn’t move off her lap.

“so…” paige starts, voice low. “this is probably the weirdest way i’ve ever spent a night.”

azzi chuckles softly. “same. but kind of… weirdly fun?”

“yeah,” paige admits. “yeah, it kinda is.”

they lapse into another pause. paige thinks she should move, but azzi hasn’t, and she’s scared that if she does, she’ll mess up whatever weird little truce they’re holding onto.

“hey,” azzi says suddenly, voice softer now. “can i ask you something?”

“sure.”

“do you hang out with your team very often?” she asks. “because, i mean, i see y’all on tv and at social events and stuff but—i dunno. you’re never in any of their tiktoks or anything.” azzi winces. “not that i’ve been paying attention.”

paige stiffens slightly. “uh. i dunno. just—trying to focus. this year’s important.”

“yeah,” azzi says quietly. “it is.”

azzi looks down, to gather her thoughts, maybe, and seems to realize that she’s still on top of paige because her breath hitches and then she moves, rolling off so she’s sitting beside her. “sorry,” she murmurs.

“you’re good.”

the quiet stretches again, heavier this time.

“truth?” paige says suddenly.

azzi turns toward her a little more, her thigh still between paige’s, their knees brushing. “truth.”

“i’ve been drinking too much,” paige blurts. “i’m not like an alcoholic or anything,” she’s quick to defend, because alcoholism is for deadbeat dads and stuff, right? not for celebrity college athletes. “it just, lately, it got kind of bad, and people started noticing, and it’s hard to be around them now. they all look at me like they think i’m gonna…i dunno. fall apart or something.”

azzi’s eyes soften. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay. i mean—it’s not,” paige shrugs. “but it’s…i had this breakup a few months ago. really bad. i thought it was going to be forever, you know? and when it wasn’t, i guess, and it was kinda my fault, and i—the team took me to parties, to get my mind off it. i learned pretty quick that drinking helped me forget. and now, i mean, i’m mostly over it, i guess, but it helps with other things, too. like when i’m stressed about an exam, or worried for a game, or something. it helps.”

she stares off into space, then catches herself, glancing over at azzi, who’s staring her with an imperceptible look on her face. “damn, my bad. didn’t mean to overshare with a stranger like that.”

“you’re not a stranger,” azzi says, her voice quiet. “not to me.”

paige blinks. “i didn’t think you knew anything about me.”

“i do,” azzi says. “we’re not close, but…i’ve kept up with you, since usa. i’m a people-watcher. very perceptive.” she elbows paige, raising a smug, teasing eyebrow. “and i think i’ve got you all figured out.”

paige exhales, glad for the mood lightener. “oh yeah? and who am i?”

“you’re…a twenty-two year old college student,” azzi starts.

paige laughs. “wow, super perceptive. how’d you figure that one out?”

“shut up, smart-ass, i’m not finished,” azzi snips, and paige is almost surprised at the sass, at the teasing that she herself loves so much. “lemme continue. i think you’re someone who likes to think you’ve got your life together. you walk around like you’re so sure of everything, like your whole future is planned out, and you know it’s all gonna end well for you. so you act like you don’t worry, like you don’t…care.”

paige raises an eyebrow. “but…?”

“but,” azzi says, “you’re a twenty-two year old college student. of course you don’t have your life figured out. you get stressed out trying to decide what you’re gonna eat for your next meal. your shoulders are constantly tense. you’re always wringing your hands before games, did you know that? during time-outs, too.”

paige looks over, startled, to find azzi looking just as surprised. “you watch me play?”

azzi fumbles for something. “i’m a basketball player. you didn’t expect me to watch basketball?”

“i didn’t expect you to watch me,” paige says.

azzi opens her mouth. closes it. looks away, at the wall ahead. “i guess i didn’t realize i was doing it.”

paige doesn’t know what to say to that. she feels seen and it’s terrifying.

“truth?” azzi says after a moment.

“truth.”

“chad’s been cheating on me,” she says. “i haven’t caught him, but i know. it’s been obvious for weeks.”

paige looks at her, waiting.

“and he’s mean,” azzi continues. “not, like…evil. just sharp. cold. the kind of mean that makes you feel stupid for crying or asking to be treated better. tonight was just—my last straw, i think. i didn’t want to go back to that room and feel like shit again. so i came here.”

“you didn’t have to come with us,” paige says. “i would’ve just, like, venmoed you for the shoes.”

azzi meets her eyes. “i think…i think i wanted to come here.”

paige’s breath catches.

before she can figure out what that means—what to say—kk’s voice cuts in from the hall. “yo! i gotta bounce for a sec, emergency meeting. jana’s constipated for real, imma bring over some laxatives. i’ll be back in like twenty.”

they hear the cabin door open and then click shut.

“you think we should keep going?” azzi asks after a beat.

paige nods, voice suddenly thick. “yeah. okay.”

wordlessly, they rearrange, moving closer. azzi sits with her knees up now, leaning into paige’s shoulder, one hand splayed across her thigh.

they take a few selfies this time. azzi guides her hand behind the camera, adjusting the angle to catch just enough skin, just enough closeness. their shoulders press. their cheeks touch. at some point, paige’s hand finds azzi’s knee, and azzi doesn’t move it.

by the time kk returns, azzi is in paige’s lap again, one hand hooked around the back of her neck.

kk pauses in the doorway. “well damn.”

“we figured we’d keep going,” paige says, eyes wide.

“uh-huh,” kk says knowingly. “y’all definitely got the shots now.”

she walks around, checking a few pictures. “these are good. like…y’all could win a grammy for best fake situationship or something.”

paige laughs, a little too loudly. “we just wanted to sell it.”

“mission accomplished.” kk pockets her phone. “i’ll edit mine and get them to you, azzi.”

“thanks,” azzi says. “seriously. for everything.”

kk just grins. “get some sleep, y’all. and don’t do anything i wouldn’t do.”

when she’s gone, paige and azzi look at each other.

“that was—” paige starts.

“insane,” azzi finishes.

they laugh, even though nothing’s really funny.

❀❀❀

the clock on the stove reads 4:36 a.m. the suite is dark and quiet except for the low hum of the fridge. paige is sitting at the counter, a half-empty glass of water in her hand, the condensation dripping slowly down to form a ring beneath it.

she can’t sleep. her skin’s still buzzing, brain too full. not from alcohol—for once—but from azzi. from the way her voice had gone soft. from the weight of her in paige’s lap. from the echo of that not-quite-confession: i think i wanted to come here.

the room creaks. faint footsteps pad across the floor.

paige looks up.

azzi appears in the doorway, her braids wrapped in kk’s spare bonnet, bundled in one of paige’s old huskies sweatshirts that’s big enough to swallow her whole. she looks warm. sleepy. somehow both tentative and certain.

“couldn’t sleep,” azzi says, voice scratchy.

paige offers a quiet smile. “same.”

azzi shuffles forward, hugging her arms around herself. “can i hang with you?”

“uh-huh.”

azzi climbs onto the stool next to her. their knees knock under the counter and neither moves to pull away. azzi steals a sip from paige’s water without asking, and something about that—something about the easy familiarity of it—sends a warm, unsteady ache through paige’s chest.

they sit in silence for a while. the kind of silence that settles between people who are too tired to lie but too uncertain to speak first.

finally, azzi says, “i didn’t think today would end like this.”

paige snorts quietly. “me either.”

“i thought i’d be crying to some emo playlist and wondering why i ever trusted him.”

“and i thought i’d be drinking alone in my room, again,” paige admits. “so…silver linings, i guess?”

azzi turns slightly to look at her, and the light from the fridge reflects in her eyes, soft and shimmering. “i meant what i said earlier. about wanting to come here.”

paige looks at her. “yeah?”

azzi nods, then smiles softly to herself. “it’s been a lot of fun, despite…everything.” she gestures at their surroundings. “i don’t think i’ve laughed like that in months, to be honest.”

“i don’t think i’ve felt…wanted like that in months,” paige says, quieter now, fully aware that what she’s saying is pathetic and induced by the last dregs of alcohol in her system. “even if it was fake.”

azzi’s voice is even softer. “it didn’t feel fake.”

that—that does it.

paige’s breath catches, heart thudding loud in her chest. she glances at azzi, who’s already looking at her, mouth parted, gaze open in a way that makes something deep inside paige tremble.

“can i—?” paige starts, voice hoarse.

“yes,” azzi breathes.

paige leans in slowly, giving azzi every chance to pull away. but she doesn’t. she leans in too, and when their lips meet, it’s soft. hesitant. careful, like they’re both afraid of shattering something delicate.

azzi’s hand finds paige’s hoodie, clutching at the fabric. paige cups her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye. the kiss deepens in quiet pulses, not rushed, but heavy with the weight of something new.

when they finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, paige whispers, “sorry. i didn’t—i wasn’t trying to make this weird.”

“it’s not weird,” azzi says, eyes still closed. “it’s…good. i think it’s really good.”

they sit like that for a long beat, breathing the same air.

then azzi whispers, “can i stay with you? i just…don’t want to be alone tonight.”

paige nods immediately. “yeah. of course.”

azzi takes her hand. her fingers are cold, but her grip is sure.

they walk quietly through the dark apartment. it’s a short walk, but it feels like it takes years. the lights are all off, but paige’s room glows faintly with the soft blue light of the tv she’d left on, a 2000s sitcom playing on mute.

paige opens the door and lets azzi step inside first. she watches her for a second, silhouetted against the light—still in the oversized hoodie, bare legs, face bare and soft. she’s never looked more unreal.

paige swallows hard, her pulse thudding in her ears.

azzi turns to face her. “you coming?”

paige steps in and closes the door behind her. something buzzes under her skin, in both a turned-on way and a bug-crawly way.

it’s dawning on her, now, with azzi standing there giving her bedroom eyes in her bedroom—she just kissed azzi fudd. she threw up on her then proceeded to be incredibly awkward for the entire tonight before trauma-dumping and has now pulled her.

azzi fudd. the fucking—love of her life. the celebrity crush of her goddamn dreams. is standing before her like some kind of bisexual goddess waiting to receive the best head of her life. and oh, will paige make sure it actually is the best head of her life. much better than chad’s, that’s for certain. if he even gave her head. he seems the type of guy to say it’s ’too gross’.

“paige?”

oh god. she’s been staring.

“hey,” azzi frowns, stepping towards her. “you okay? i can leave, or…”

“no,” paige says vehemently, also stepping forward, closing the gap between them. she wants to reach out, to pull azzi in, but she’s not sure if that’s what azzi really wants. maybe she just wants to sleep? not that paige isn’t down for snuggling, but she’s already hyped herself up for that whole head thing, and she’s not super willing to back down now. “i just…”

azzi looks at her, eyes searching her face before she looks down. her lips quirk up, and when she looks back at paige, she’s clearly amused. “i clocked you so hard earlier.”

“i…what?” paige asks.

azzi points. “your hands.”

paige looks down, and sure enough—she’s wringing her hands. like a nervous little wimp. she scoffs, pulling them apart and wiping them on her sweats before making a split-second decision, pulling azzi in by the waist. “you didn’t clock shit.”

“no?” azzi asks, smile growing a little. her hands are soft as they roam up paige’s arms before circling around the back of her neck. “so you’re not super nervous right now?”

“i’m not nervous,” paige is quick to correct. “just wondering what you want.”

azzi’s eyebrows rise, just a little. “oh?”

paige hadn’t really meant to say it, but what the hell. “uh-huh. you wanna tell me?”

“hm.” azzi looks up at her like she’s deliberating something, then smiles, coy and dimply, before stepping back slowly, taking paige with her. “i think…” she whispers, walking them back as if the room were her’s, until her thighs hit the edge of the bed. “i think i want you to give me some real pictures.”

paige quirks an eyebrow, sitting azzi down before kneeling in front of her, playing into the game. “for chad?” she wrinkles her nose as she says it. even his name is a turn-off. paige has no clue how azzi managed to have sex with that man. she imagines azzi saying something like, “oh, chad, yes!” and it turns her teasing smirk into something more like a barely-contained laugh.

azzi’s expression breaks, and it looks a little like she’s fighting a smile of her own. “ew, don’t say his name.”

unable to help it, paige chuckles, leaning her forehead against azzi’s thigh. “what do we call him, then?”

“nothing,” azzi says firmly, lifting paige’s chin and bending down so their nose-to-nose, biting her lip slightly as she studies her face. “i want you to give me those pictures,” she mutters, “let me prove him wrong. and then i want you to make me forget him.”

oh, paige can definitely do that.

without another word, paige surges forward and kisses her. it’s surer this time, steadier, now with the knowledge of what’s to come, not just tonight but tomorrow, and maybe—if paige lets herself dream—maybe even longer than that. based off the way azzi presses her tongue against the seam of her lips, paige thinks she might feel it, too.

paige opens up for her, pliant and willing, ready to do whatever azzi asks of her. azzi’s tongue is warm, wet, slippery against paige’s own and she groans at the feel of it, at the minty freshness of her own toothpaste that azzi had used.

“paige,” azzi breathes against her lips. paige hums, leaning forward again to close the small amount of distance. but azzi pulls back, just slightly, and when paige blinks her eyes open azzi’s looking at her urgently, pulling her up by the shoulders. “paige,” she repeats.

paige swears, she usually has so much more finesse in the bedroom. she once made a girl come in under sixty seconds. she convinced her ex to call her daddy, for god’s sakes. but this—this is azzi. and thus, she just stares blankly at her, mind trying desperately to figure out what azzi’s saying while her cunt pulses desperately in her boxers. “…huh?” she says after a moment.

azzi sighs, but there’s something in her eyes, and when paige looks hard enough she thinks maybe it’s fondness? but she doesn’t have time to discern that properly because then azzi is hooking her arms under paige’s armpits and all but hoisting her up into her lap, and that’s just…really fucking hot. paige doesn’t think she’s ever been hoisted before.

hands finding their ways to azzi’s shoulders, paige exhales, blinking rapidly in a desperate attempt to regain some of her rizz. “you’re really strong,” she says instead.

azzi presses her lips to the hinge of paige’s jaw, mumbling against her skin, “good observation.” her arms are steady around paige’s waist, holding her close, allowing for the best access, and paige shifts, hips moving subtly against azzi’s thighs.

azzi’s lips trail higher until she’s nipping at paige’s earlobe, and paige can so clearly hear the little noises coming from her now; soft pants and exhales like she’s trying hard to contain herself. and that just—that does it.

wordlessly, paige presses against azzi’s shoulders, urging her to lay down. azzi looks at her quizzically but goes willingly, getting comfortable against the pillows as paige crawls on top of her. she leans down for another kiss but azzi presses a hand to her chest, stopping her.

“want this off, first,” she says, tugging at the hem of paige’s shirt. “wanna feel you.”

paige is quick to oblige, reaching behind her head to pull the neckline, azzi helping her until the shirt’s off, discarded somewhere to the side. azzi’s eyes roam shamelessly, but not as shamelessly as her hands, which trail over her abs, her ribs, the taut muscles in her back.

“you’re—” she swallows hard, “you’re pretty strong too.”

paige mentally fist-pumps. “good observation, baby.”

shivering against the cool air of the room, paige presses one last kiss to azzi’s lips, lingering there and thinking she could stay like that forever before remembering her job. photos. head. make azzi forget chad.

she shifts down, dipping her head into azzi’s neck to kiss the warm skin there. she smells good, like hair products and perfume. her hands wander of their own accord, lifting azzi’s shirt just enough to reveal a small sliver of skin, a glinting belly piercing. god, she doesn’t think she’ll get enough of this girl.

“want this off you, too,” paige instructs quietly, searching azzi’s eyes for any hesitation, but there’s only heat as she pulls her shirt off in one swift motion. it take’s paige’s brain a few seconds to catch up with what her eyes are seeing—azzi, topless, skin dark against the white bedding, nipples pebbled from the temperature change.

paige makes a strangled noise at the back of her throat, completely aware she’s staring but unable to do anything about it, because she’s surely not going to look away. not when azzi is staring up at her like—like that, with hooded eyes and a small, teasing smile. she knows exactly what she’s doing, exactly what it’d do to paige by letting her find out for herself she isn’t wearing a bra, and it’s going to drive her fucking insane.

“paige,” azzi says.

paige’s eyes snap up from azzi’s chest, somewhat guiltily. “yeah?”

“you have me really fucking worked up right now,” azzi says bluntly. “and as much as i love watching you stare at me, i need you to actually come here and do something about it.”

that gets paige moving.

it’s instinctual, the way she dips her head down, nuzzles into the valley between azzi’s breasts. the way her tongue darts out to taste her skin, the way her palms cup the underside of azzi’s tits and push them up before she takes the stiff peak of one into her mouth.

azzi sighs, this small, satisfied sound which only serves to encourage paige further. she relaxes a little, allowing herself to get out of her own head because she knows this. she’s good at it. she knows without a doubt she can make azzi feel good and if she dies tomorrow, then she’ll die happy knowing she at least got to have this first. got to flick her tongue over azzi’s nipple and revel in the soft moan it elicits from her.

the sound sends a jolt of heat through paige’s stomach, straight to the apex of her thighs. she’s acutely aware of the way she and azzi’s legs are slotted together, the sinewy muscle of azzi’s bare thigh between her own, hovering just beneath her. paige has to make a conscious effort not to bear down onto her, not to search for any of the friction she so desperately needs.

paige pulls off azzi��s tit with a slight pop, admiring the way it looks now, glistening with her saliva. she had planned on making her way down the length of azzi’s body, but now she’s stuck here, watching intently as she rolls azzi’s nipples between her fingertips, loving the way azzi arches up into her. she glances up to catch her expression, and what she finds—mouth slightly ajar, eyes fluttered shut—has her leaning back up to capture her lips in another searing kiss. azzi groans, surprised at the contact, and when paige licks confidently into her mouth, she groans again, this time sounding a little strangled.

paige chuckles against her lips, trailing away to nose against her cheekbone. “what, you need sum’?”

azzi huffs, arms around paige’s neck pulling her insistently closer. “you’re teasing me.”

“well, i’on know what you want,” paige says, pressing soft kisses against azzi’s jaw.

azzi’s nails scratch a little punishingly into paige’s back. “i told you what i want.”

paige shudders at the pain, the starkness of it, the shivers it sends down her back. “yeah,” paige agrees, leaning up on her elbows to look into azzi’s eyes, “but you ain’t told me how you want it.”

azzi’s eyebrows furrow, a slight pout forming on her lips, and the expression is so cute compared to the compromising situation they’re in that paige almost gives in then and there. but she’s a spent the entire night making an absolute fool of herself in front of azzi, and this feels like her only opportunity to show her just what she can do, what she can be, when she wants to.

and, shit, does she want to.

“gotta use your words, mami,” paige tells her, looking down at her with something like sympathy even as her tone is commanding, and it has the desired effect: azzi’s breath hitches, cheeks flushing, eyes squeezing shut like she’s collecting herself before she meets paige’s again.

“want your mouth, paige,” she whispers, almost like she’s embarrassed to be saying it out loud. “your tongue.”

somewhere in her aroused haze, paige registers that this must mean they’re soulmates or something, that they both want the same thing. she tucks that little thought away for later (she knows kk will agree when she tells her about it) and then nods, pressing a kiss to azzi’s forehead, just below her bonnet. “good girl,” she murmurs, testing the waters, and based off the way azzi exhales this shaky little whimper, she figures she’s probably into it. also good to know.

paige takes azzi’s forearms in her hands and withdraws them from around her neck, sitting back on her knees in between azzi’s legs. she hooks her fingers around her own basketball shorts, which sit tantalizingly on azzi’s hips—she doesn’t think she’s ever described basketball shorts as tantalizing before—and raises her eyebrows at azzi. azzi nods, lifting her hips off the bed, just enough that paige is able to easily pull them over the swell of her ass. azzi lifts her feet up, allowing paige to pull the fabric completely off and toss them away before she presses a kiss to each of her ankles. azzi watches her closely, hands fondling her own breasts in a way that makes paige want to put her mouth back on them, but then she’s glancing down at the exposed core between azzi’s thighs and there is nothing else that could possibly be more important than that, ever.

she sets azzi’s legs on the bed before shifting, laying herself flat on her stomach with her arms propped up beneath her until she’s hovering over azzi’s pelvis, admiring the smooth skin there and the belly ring that sits a few inches higher. she bends down, nuzzling her nose against the soft, curly hair she finds there, pressing a kiss and then many more along the expanse of skin until she reaches a hipbone. she bites, just roughly enough to make a mark, and azzi hisses above her.

paige’s eyes flick up, double-checking, but azzi looks more than okay—in fact, she looks downright impatient. when their eyes meet, she nods urgently at her. “get on with it.”

paige raises an eyebrow at the attitude but doesn’t comment on it just yet, instead pressing a kiss to the other hipbone before saying, “oh, you want more?”

azzi sighs at the coy tone in paige’s voice. “paige.”

“mm,” paige hums. “you sound frustrated, baby.”

“yeah, well,” azzi shifts uncomfortably, “it’s frustrating when you tease me like this.”

“yeah?” paige asks. she rests her cheek against azzi’s thigh, allowing her fingers to trail up and down the inside of her other one, getting close to where she needs her but never close enough. “you’re used to getting what you want, aren’t you?” she muses.

“fuck you,” azzi says, no real venom there as annoyance mixes with amusement in her eyes.

“i will,” paige promises, kissing her thigh, “princess.”

azzi opens her mouth to speak again. paige cuts her off with a harsh bite to the place she just kissed, turning her almost-sentence into a high-pitched whine instead.

“fuck,” azzi mutters.

paige inspects the bite—that will definitely be a mark tomorrow—and then shushes her gently, brushing her lips over the spot. “if you catch an attitude with me again,” she murmurs, almost sweet, “you’ll find how much worse i can be.”

azzi’s hips lift, surprise etching itself slowly into the lines of her face as she registers the words, but paige doesn’t take the time to look too close. azzi is spread before her, enticing, dripping, caramel brown giving way to soft pink, and she finally lets herself do what she’s dreamed of doing since she was in high school—she buries her fucking face in it.

azzi’s reaction is immediate and more intense than paige expected it would be, her back and hips arching off the bed as she groans, loud. paige doesn’t even care that arousal has just been smeared all over her forehead. she’s far too busy committing the way azzi tastes, sweet and salty, to memory.

the build-up paid off, as it always does, and azzi’s soaked. paige’s tongue laves wet heat from her entrance to her clit, building her up to a slow rhythm. she lingers a little each time at her entrance, where the taste is the strongest, unable to conceal her own choked sounds as azzi grinds against her face. she glances up to where azzi is playing with her nipples, propped up on her elbows to get a better look at what paige is doing, and the knowledge that she’s being watched so intently has her doubling down on her efforts.

when paige’s movements speed up, azzi’s head tips back, rolling against her shoulders. “oh, paige,” she breathes, sensual and dirty, “oh, baby. feels…”

paige presses her own thighs together at the pet name before flicking her tongue back and forth against azzi’s clit, applying pressure until azzi falls back completely, head thumping against the pillows as she whines. distantly, paige thinks kk could almost definitely hear them if she were to listen for it. she finds she doesn’t really care at the moment.

“feels good?” paige asks, pressing a few soft kisses to azzi’s cunt.

“mm-hmm,” azzi hums, eyes closed as she focuses on the feeling. her hands travel south until they’re gripping the back of paige’s head, and then she’s tugging her closer, back into her heat. “keep going, baby. please.”

“since you asked so nice,” paige teases, letting azzi’s hands guide her forward. she opens her mouth a little wider, sucking hard against azzi’s hole as if trying to draw more precum out of her before she kisses sloppily against it. azzi’s legs fall further open at the feeling, but paige quickly misses the feeling of thighs pressed against her head and loops her arm under the brunette’s legs, surrounding herself with soft brown skin.

the new angle brings her impossibly closer to azzi’s center, and paige sticks her tongue out, seeking azzi’s entrance before pressing inside as far as she can.

“oh my fuck,” azzi groans, gripping paige’s head tighter, almost possessive. “keep doing that, right—“ she chokes on her own words as paige begins a slow thrust, “right there.”

paige nods, unsure whether azzi can feel the acknowledgment, but it has her nose bumping up against azzi’s swollen clit and azzi cries out. she moves her tongue, feeling around the spongy inner walls of azzi’s cunt, a new wave of arousal pumping out until it’s dripping down paige’s chin onto the bedsheets below.

the room isn’t quiet, but it sounds like sex, azzi’s breathy moans and the filthy wet sounds of her cunt filling the room. she sounds so good, tastes so good, smells so good—paige is only vaguely aware that she has her own pelvis pressed into the mattress, absentmindedly searching for friction as she gets off on pleasing azzi.

she’s so focused on tonguing her that she doesn’t notice the way azzi’s breathing changes, becomes more rapid, or the way her fingers fist up paige’s hair in a way that’s almost painful. in fact, it’s not until she presses her thumb to azzi’s swollen clit while she tongue-fucks her that azzi manages a broken, “oh my god, i’m fucking—!“ that paige realizes she’s going to come.

azzi’s orgasm hits her in waves, it seems, with her hips pressing into paige’s mouth so intensely she can’t breathe for a solid thirty seconds before she’s abruptly pulling away, thighs shaking with the effort. paige watches in something like amazement as her stomach tenses, her cunt pulsing and clenching around nothing, clit twitching almost imperceptibly. it is—fucking beautiful, actually. a work of goddamn art. an image that belongs in the louvre right next to the mona lisa and the venus de milo.

she’s about to dive back in and get another taste of it when azzi uses her grip on her hair to urge her up. reluctantly, paige lets herself be pulled, kissing a gentle path up azzi’s stomach before coming face-to-face with her, thumbs brushing her cheeks as she comes down. eyes still closed, azzi pulls her closer, bumping their foreheads together.

“so pretty,” paige can’t help but mutter, watching azzi’s lashes flutter against her cheeks, lips plump and shiny and parted. “so good for me, baby. did so good.”

after another few moments, azzi opens her eyes, looking at paige like she hung the stars in the sky or something.

“i think i just fell in love with you,” she croaks, and paige laughs, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. “heard that one before.”

azzi smacks her lightly, then pulls her head down, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips before urging her to lay on her chest. paige presses her cheek to azzi’s heartbeat, their breathing gradually syncing up as they lay together. azzi’s nails scratch light patterns against paige’s back, nearly lulling her to sleep, before she abruptly stops and says, “oh, shit.”

“what?” paige asks sleepily.

“we forgot to get pictures.”

paige swears her ears perk up, and she thinks she might be just a little insatiable because she doesn’t feel so tired anymore as she lifts her head with a wicked grin. “damn,” she says. “guess we’ll have to go again.”

the next day, kk gives them hell for keeping her up all night, and gives azzi many earfuls about how she ‘told her so.’ paige offers up their room for the rest of the trip, even though they ultimately proved chad wrong with some certain photos, and azzi is all too quick to take her up on it.

and when, a year later, azzi transfers to uconn? let’s just say kk will swear up and down that she’s the reason they never lose another game to ucla.

[wherewisteriaends]

And this is where I feel very conflicted. Because yes I agree with this statement. But also it is an argument that is used against other people. Yes, I personally believe characters can have a very deep platonic bond involving no romantic feeling. For example I don't ship Sherlock and John in any adaption. But that is my opinion. My interpretation. And because of my interpretation I'm not going to have a fight with someone else, out there, online that sees things differently than me and ship them. I'll let this person be. If you want to discuss the over saturation of romance in today's media, you can, but as long as it's to discuss this topic and not in fact to target a certain ship you personally dislike. You don't know who you have in front of you. For some people Johnlock (I kept my example, sorry) was the ship that made stay online until 3 p.m and write a tone of comments. And because they did that they may have gained friends or connected with people or even found a way to bring a simple joy into their life while they're struggling every day. I simply don't understand why if you don't like a character or a ship you feel the need to express. Instead you could take about the ships you like and participate in creating small joys for others. When you go on Tik Tok and comment under anyone's edit "Oh god I don't understand why people like them" it is disrespectful to the editor but also other people that intended to see that edit. You're taking away small joys from them and tainting it. And while I said my piece because of this post, I have mostly all the ship wars in mind. Think of the person, the actual human that is behind the screen before you spread hate. And maybe that is why there is an oversaturion of love in media consumption, actually. To balance all the hate we create through our interactions everyday. It isn't only facists that play into the rise of hate. It is also us, even if we don't realize we do.

I haven’t platonicposted in a while

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 3, Part 3

masterposts. no editing pls. be kind. am sick *cough cough*

“Daniel Horatio Fenton!”

“Horatio?” Danny repeated, a small smile on his face and phone head away from his face due to the shouting.

Dick leaned over and pressed the speaker button, which got him a bemused look, but Danny set the phone down on the coffee table.

“Well, I don’t actually know your middle name,” the voice on the phone admitted with a huff. “It was just the first thing that came to mind! I can’t full name you without a full name and I need to full name you because I just came to the hospital to visit you only to find out that you checked yourself out against doctor’s orders!!”

Danny scratched at the side of his face. The medical bracelet was bright on his wrist. “Mina—”

“Danny!”

“Look, Mina. I promise you that I’m safe. I’m actually in the in the safest building in San Fran, I’m pretty sure.” Danny glanced at Dick, and at Dick’s nod continued. “I’m actually at Titan’s Tower.”

The silence was heavy. Then, “Danny Horatio Fenton!”

“Still not my middle name.”

“Why the f are you at Titan’s Tower?!” Min shouted. Another pause, then, “Oh gods, the reading! The Tower! I knew that reading didn’t go right. Your ghost is a superhero? They messed with my reading?!?”

“The Flash, and I’m sure he thought he was helping, Mina,” Danny said.

“Helping?!” Mina screeched. “Maybe if he had let me do the reading properly we could have figured this out before you had a heart attack! Which was also his fault! And your seizures!”

“Mina, none of us could have know my heart would stop like that,” Danny said. “And Flash was very worried about me. I’m sure he’s sorry.”

“I’m sure that he’s blaming himself too,” Dick said.

“And who are you?”

“Nightwing, Miss Mina, and Flash is my best friend. He’d hate that he’s caused any sort of harm to Danny,” Dick said. “I’m sure that he’s blaming himself more than anyone else. But don't worry, the Titans are determined to help both Flash and Danny. In fact, Raven wants to talk to you about that tea and anything else that you might have gotten a sense of.”

“Yes, of course. Anything I can do to help out. Oh, and make sure Danny eats, he's bad at that sometimes,” Mina said.

Danny groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “Mina.”

“And sleep! He's really bad at that one.”

“Mina.”

“Really bad. Okay, pass me to Raven so we can talk shop. Danny, behave or I'm coming for you!”

“Love you too Mina,” Danny grumbled.

Dick waited until Raven had taken the phone and turned it off speaker to talk magic to look over at Danny. “So, when was the last time you ate?”

Danny sighed. “I can't believe I'm being mother henned by Nightwing.”

“Oh. He's the worst mother hen,” Gar said. He hopped up from the couch and transformed into a chicken midair.

They watched him cluck around on the coffee table.

“So, last time you ate?”

“Breakfast at the hospital, what I could manage of it,” Danny said with another sigh.

Dick smacked his hand against his legs before he stood too. “Right! Lunch time then. I'm thinking chicken nuggets.”

Gar squawked loudly.

[lov3lycosmos]

𝑅𝑜𝑜𝑚 0406 — H.H

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut MDNI

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: non idol!hyunjin x fem!reader

𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: while hanging out at the hotel bar, you notice a man that catches your eye~

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: one-night stand, dom!Hyunjin, mirror play, degradation + praise, hair pulling, spanking, cumplay, aftercare, light choking, fingering, oral (f and m rec), rough sex, just pure filth...

𝑤.𝑐: 1.6k

𝐶𝑜𝑠𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒: just had to write something for his new photoshoot cause holy FUCK he looks so good ughhhhhhhh, it's not super long but it's something!

𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑦! (part 2 here)

You spotted him the second you walked into the bar—leaned against the counter, black silk shirt unbuttoned halfway, collarbones glinting under the moody golden lights. He looked like a fucking dream: tall, effortless, with wet hair swept back like he’d just stepped out of a shower and decided to ruin someone’s life.

And for the last twenty minutes, he hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

You tried to play it cool. Ordered a drink. Laughed at your friend’s comment. Pretended not to notice the way he was watching you like a cat with its paw already on the mouse’s tail.

But the second he stood, drink in hand, and started walking your way, your heart kicked into overdrive.

"Alone?" he asked, voice smooth and low. The kind that hummed under your skin.

You raised an eyebrow. “Maybe.”

He smirked. “Maybe I’ll fix that.”

You let your eyes trail down his body—deliberately slow. The silk shirt clung to his skin in places, hinting at a toned chest, abs, muscle just beneath softness. Rings glinted on his fingers where they curled around his glass. And his scent—warm and clean, just a little spicy—wrapped around you the second he leaned in.

“You're not from around here,” he said knowingly.

“Nope. Just in town for the weekend.”

Hyunjin tilted his head, gaze flicking to your lips. “Then we should make it count.”

You huffed a soft laugh, amused. “You always this direct?”

“Only when I see something I want.”

The air between you tensed like a pulled string. His hand ghosted over your hip, not quite touching—just enough to let you feel the heat. And when he leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear, his breath sent shivers down your spine.

“Let me take you upstairs,” he whispered. “Just once. No strings, no pressure. Just you, me, and one night you’ll think about every time you touch yourself after this.”

You should have walked away. Should’ve rolled your eyes and finished your drink.

Instead, you met his gaze head-on and asked, “Are you always this cocky?”

His grin deepened. “Only when I know I’ll be right.”

And the worst part?

So did you.

You let him lead you out of the bar, his hand pressed warm and firm to the small of your back. The walk through the lobby was silent but heavy with tension—his thumb occasionally brushing skin, his gaze never leaving your face, your body, your mouth.

By the time the elevator doors closed behind you, your pulse was a drumbeat in your throat.

Hyunjin leaned against the mirrored wall and looked you up and down with the kind of hunger that made your thighs clench. “Still time to change your mind,” he offered softly, though his eyes betrayed how much he hoped you wouldn’t.

You stepped in closer, tilting your head. “Still time to disappoint me,” you teased back.

He laughed, and the sound was deep, amused, dangerous. Then he pushed off the wall and cornered you gently, one hand braced beside your head, the other brushing your jaw.

“Don’t worry, angel,” he whispered, mouth barely a breath from yours. “Disappointment isn’t in my vocabulary.”

And the second the elevator dinged at his floor, he took your hand and tugged you down the hallway.

You didn’t even know his full name. But the second his hotel door clicked shut behind you, you knew you’d let him do whatever he wanted.

The first kiss wasn’t sweet. It was filthy. Tongue, teeth, hands everywhere—Hyunjin kissed like he wanted to consume you, like he was starving and you were the first meal he’d had in days. His hands roamed instantly—fingertips dragging down your spine, palming your ass, gripping harshly enough to bruise.

You whimpered into his mouth when he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged your head back. His lips ghosted over your jawline before latching onto your throat, sucking hard. “Mine for tonight,” he growled, teeth scraping against your pulse point. “Don’t even think about covering these.”

Then you were walking—no, stumbling—backward as he pushed you toward the giant mirror across from the bed. His hands didn’t leave your body for a second. When your knees hit the edge of the mattress, he spun you to face the mirror.

"Look," he ordered, standing behind you.

And god—you did. Your lips were already red and kiss-swollen, hair tangled, pupils blown wide. But it was Hyunjin that made your knees wobble. Standing behind you, his chest rising and falling steadily, his eyes were locked on your reflection. His black silk shirt clung to his damp skin, half-buttoned but completely open at the chest, and his pants hung low enough to make your mouth water.

He leaned in to whisper in your ear, eyes still locked on yours in the mirror. “Do you see how fucking pretty you look like this? Ruined and I haven’t even started.”

His hand slid between your legs, fingers teasing over the slick mess soaking your underwear. “This for me?” he teased, rubbing slow circles. “Fuck, you’re dripping.”

You gasped as his fingers pushed your panties aside. Two slipped in with ease, curling just right. Your knees buckled, but he caught you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other still thrusting and curling deep inside. His rings were cold against your skin, his voice hot in your ear.

“Such a slutty little hole,” he growled. “You’d let me fuck you in front of this mirror, wouldn’t you? Let me bend you over and watch while I make you beg for it.”

You moaned—loud and shameless—and he laughed. “That’s what I thought.”

He pulled his fingers out and dragged them to your lips. “Open.”

You obeyed, tongue wrapping around his fingers as he pushed them in. “Good girl,” he praised, watching your reflection intently. “Keep that mouth open while I ruin the rest of you.”

You barely had time to process before he was bending you over the bed, cheek pressed to the cool sheets. His hands gripped your hips, nails digging in as he aligned himself behind you.

The stretch of him was devastating. He didn’t ease in—he filled you in one deep, hard thrust that made your vision blur.

"Fuck," he hissed. "You're tight. Made for me. Just fucking made for me."

He fucked you mercilessly. Hard, deep thrusts that had you gasping and crying out his name. His hand wrapped around your throat, just tight enough to make your thoughts haze.

“That’s it,” he growled, leaning over you, chest pressed to your back, pace relentless. “Let them hear you. Let the whole fucking hotel know how good I fuck this cunt.”

He spanked you—once, twice—hand cracking across your ass as he slammed into you harder. “Say it,” he barked. “Say who this pussy belongs to.”

“You!” you cried out, broken. “You, Hyunjin—fuck, it’s yours!”

“Damn right it is.”

He pulled out and flipped you over effortlessly, dragging you to the edge of the bed. He dropped to his knees, fingers spreading you open before his mouth latched onto your clit.

You screamed.

Tongue fast and merciless, he licked and sucked like he was trying to devour your soul. One hand held your hips down while the other plunged two fingers back inside you, curling perfectly. Your thighs shook, eyes rolled back, back arching clean off the bed.

“You gonna cum?” he growled against you. “Then cum all over my fucking face.”

You did.

It hit you like a shockwave—white-hot and explosive. Your thighs clenched around his head but he didn’t stop, didn’t let up, dragging the orgasm out until you were sobbing from overstimulation.

He rose from his knees slowly, mouth and chin glistening. “Told you I’d ruin you,” he murmured, crawling over you. “Now be a good girl and take it one more time.”

He slammed back into you and this time—he didn’t stop until he came with a low, guttural groan, hips stuttering as he filled you, whispering filth in your ear even as he pulsed inside.

You didn’t know how long you laid there—naked, sore, dazed—on the rumpled hotel bed. Your body buzzed from aftershocks, your thighs sticky with his release, your breathing still uneven.

Hyunjin brushed the hair from your forehead with surprising tenderness. His touch, once rough and possessive, was now soft. “You okay?” he asked, voice low and genuine.

You nodded weakly. “Yeah.”

“Too much?”

“No,” you said with a shaky laugh. “Perfect.”

He smiled then—something real, something soft. “Good.”

He stood, walked into the bathroom, and returned with a warm towel. He knelt between your thighs again, this time just to clean you up. His fingers were delicate now, his eyes focused only on making sure you were comfortable.

Once he was done, he gently pulled you into his arms and laid back on the bed, keeping you close against his chest. The scent of his cologne clung to your skin—deep and warm.

“You were…” he started, then kissed your temple. “So fucking good.”

You chuckled into his neck. “You too.”

For a long moment, there was only silence. His fingers traced lazy circles into your back.

“You know,” he said, almost shyly, “I don’t usually… do this.”

“What? One-night stands?”

“No,” he murmured, brushing his nose against your cheek. “Have them stay after.”

Your heart stuttered.

You looked up at him. His eyes were calm again, but there was something soft there. Something unsure.

You smiled.

“Then maybe this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing.”

He blinked, and then the corner of his mouth lifted in a grin that made your stomach flip.

“Yeah?” he asked. “You’d come back?”

“Only if you keep the silk on.”

He laughed—loud and real this time—and pulled you even closer. “Deal.”

𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡: @vampzity @sooniedoongiedori25 @mhluvie @yaorzu-blog @lze325 @felixleftchickennugget @lezleeferguson-120 @m-325 @psychicyouthfox @pixie-felix @angel-writes-here @heechwe @galaxy4489 @minniesverse @gncbnahc

[neigepomme]

given his risky occupation as one of the farspace fleet's colonels, one thing caleb cannot give you is a proper wedding with celebration.

it's not that he doesn't want to, far from it. he'd do anything to organize an event, as gorgeous as you are, with the people who matter the most to the two of you. loving you is something he never wanted to keep secret — he is yours, always yours — ring on your finger or not.

however, it's because caleb loves you that he has to keep everything secret. you swear up and down that he's enough for you, that your elopement is the greatest thing that happened to you, and that the intimacy of it all was representative of your relationship.

"i'm okay with it being secret, caleb. i understand why, and i'm happy just having you by my side."

he knows you wouldn't lie about your love. he sees it in your eyes, in the hushed laughter, and excited whispers of "we're married!" in your soft voice. he can tell by the way you squeeze his hand and brush your thumb over the silver band on his ring finger.

caleb knows that you wish you could tell your friends, though. when you're talking to tara on the phone, and there's a beat of hesitation before you call caleb your boyfriend — although the ring you wear on your left hand proves that he's way more than that.

in the dead of night, he thinks about it. he watches your sleeping form, curled up next to him, and caleb can't help spiraling into negative thoughts. he brushes your cheek softly, careful as to not wake you up, and he thinks.

is your love forever going to be hidden?

will he ever get the chance to see you walk down a proper aisle, surrounded by flowers and those who mattered most?

he thinks, thinks again and again, and before he can even realize it, he starts sniffling a bit. his love consumes his entire being, his very existence dictated by the adoration he holds for you, and yet — he feels that it's not enough. caleb feels that you deserve more, and he's helpless in the face of that revelation.

he'll just have to hold that distorted truth in his heart for more time, despite all of your reassurances.

in the meantime, he'll find solace in the thought that maybe in another world or dimension — a kinder one where you two never had to suffer to the hands of EVER — he'd be able to shout his love for you from the rooftops.

caleb will keep holding you and find glimpses of happiness in the subtle intricacies of your hidden love.

maybe one day. maybe in this world and dimension.

🍎 pomme's notes — sorry.. back to back angst :9 let me twist the knife a little more tho i recommend listening to aston by jiwoo for enhanced reading experience!!!

[unrequi]

I don't know what, but something about her made me feel interest I have never felt before, a fascination of what was drawing me in. Something about her made me want to bare my soul, to explain, to tell her of how I feel, not in a seeking ownership kind of way but so that she could know of her effect on me. I desired to find out the thing that drew me to her, what was it about her, what quality did she have that made me like a moth to a flame. I think of her and I have to take a deep breathe and compose myself knowing that we may never speak the same, we may never exist the same. I wanted to know her, to find out what, to find out why, to know and to know, not as a partner but as a comrade, as a friend, as a confidante, but you can't tell people these things or they will think you insane. What makes it worse is I will never know if there was any mutuality of interest, and there probably wasn't. How torturous is it to be drawn towards someone who thinks not of you and feels not the same in friendship and in interest. My love for her means I must keep this contained, she must not know, she must live her life in peace doing what she does best, being great, and magnetic, and quiet, and wise. She will always be fascinating to me, she will always make me have to take a deep breath, and maybe the ache will decrease, the longing will decrease, the sadness will go away one day. My love will not trouble her, and I hope she is granted such love from another however form it takes.

"I Loved You", Alexander Pushkin (translated by Antony Wood)

[lazysoulwriter]

bad manners. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you. ♡ content: NSFW — fingering, thigh riding, praise kink, dom!reader & switch!Pedro, age gap, slight daddy kink (light and optional), lots of teasing/tension, reader is father’s best friend’s daughter (consensual adults), power play, dirty talk, talk-through-it.

---

The door swings open, and Pedro’s smile fades just a little when he sees you alone.

“No dad?” he asks, leaning on the doorframe in a soft gray t-shirt and jeans that should be illegal on a man his age.

“He bailed,” you shrug. “Said you’d understand?”

Pedro huffs, steps aside to let you in. “Typical.”

He’s always like this — easygoing, warm, magnetic. You’ve known him half your life, and yet, in the last year, something’s shifted. Or maybe it was you who shifted, seeing him differently. Feeling his gaze on your bare legs at the pool. Catching the way he licked his lips when you laughed too loud at his jokes.

You aren’t stupid. You know what this is.

Lunch is casual. You both laugh too much. His eyes keep dropping to your mouth, your thighs. Yours keep locking on the way his fingers flex around his wine glass.

By the time you’re on his couch, sharing a blanket, a movie playing low in the background — you're not even pretending to pay attention.

Your knee brushes his thigh.

He stiffens.

“Pedro,” you say softly, testing.

His head turns. “Yeah?”

You lean in, letting your lips hover near his cheek. “You’re staring again.”

“I wasn’t—” he starts, but you cut him off by swinging a leg over his lap, straddling him fully. His breath catches.

“Say you don’t want this,” you murmur, fingers tracing his jaw. “Say the word and I’ll stop.”

His hands land hard on your hips. “Don’t you dare stop.”

It starts with your mouth — needy, insistent — kissing him like you’ve waited years.

Because you have.

Pedro groans when you grind your hips down, the pressure of your clothed pussy dragging along his thigh. His head falls back, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck, baby. Look at you,” he whispers, one hand sliding up your back, the other grabbing your ass. “So needy. Been thinking about this every night—”

“You should’ve said something,” you pant, rocking against his thigh. “I would’ve taken care of you sooner.”

His fingers slide under your skirt, tugging your panties to the side. “You’re so wet.”

You bite your lip, riding his thigh in slow, grinding circles.

“Pedro,” you whimper. “Touch me.”

“Bossy,” he mutters, but he listens — fingers sliding through your slick folds, pressing inside you slow and deep. “Fuck, baby girl. You feel so good around my fingers.”

You tremble, forehead pressed to his. “More.”

He curls them, thumb brushing your clit in lazy strokes. “You’re takin’ it so well. Such a good girl.”

You roll your hips down harder, your moans turning shameless as his thigh flexes beneath you, cock hard beneath your ass, his fingers fucking into you so perfectly it’s criminal.

“Pedro—fuck—I’m—”

“That’s it, baby,” he growls, kissing you through it. “Let go. Make a mess for me.”

You come with a cry, legs shaking, mouth open against his.

You slump against his chest, breathless. His fingers still inside you, slowly easing out.

“I’ve wanted this forever,” you whisper, cheek pressed to his shoulder.

Pedro wraps his arms around you, kisses your hair. “I didn’t know if I could have you.”

You smirk, nipping his jaw. “You do now.”

He chuckles, then murmurs, “You’re trouble.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[kingdomvel]

New season boring af pt2

Steddie | modern au | famous actor Steve Harrington | 4.9k | ao3

part one

“Are you talking with that guy again?” The sound of Robin’s voice startles Steve, who can only lock his phone and slip it into his pocket to hide it from her. He wasn’t even talking with Eddie, that’s the embarrassing part. He was looking at the pictures that he had shared with him over the months they have been talking.

“No,” Steve says, but he must not sound very convincing.

“Steve! I’ve told you he could be a weirdo, or a stalker!”

“And I’ve told you he is not a stalker, he was not that interested in me before we started texting. And he works in a record store all the way in Chicago. I’ve seen it.”

“Do you understand the concept of catfishes? He could still be a stalker.”

“Well that stalker has seen my dick, so” Steve shrugs.

“WHAT? You whore!” Robin shouts, Steve is very thankful that they are alone in the makeup trailer now. “When did this happen?”

Steve crosses his arms and grumbles, knowing what is coming. “A month ago?”

“A MONTH?”

“Yeah.” And what a fucking month it has been. Steve can still remember that first time in perfect detail. Steve had not expected Eddie’s picture. At all. He had been hoping for a reaction, that’s why he had chosen that movie, but Eddie had given him something much better. The sight of his tented pyjamas was only surpassed by the sight of his actual dick on the video call later.

Steve will admit – only to himself – that it was reckless and dangerous, but it was also the culmination of weeks of studying Eddie’s picture, of watching time and time again the little videos he posted in his close friends stories (the day Steve had been added to the list was another peak for him, as embarrassing as that is) playing guitar and dicking around with his friends (maybe he was the stalker of the two). It was Steve seeing how he affected the guy he had the hots for after months of being sexually frustrated with barely enough time to jack off between filming. Because of course Eddie wasn’t only funny and nice to talk to, he also had to be the hot friend of his group.

He had not been planning for that reaction, but he was not going to pass up that opportunity. Seeing the hand he had seen wrapped around guitar necks for so long wrapped around Eddie’s cock… Steve was never going to forget that sight.

“This is crazy, like, do you even know his name?” Robin interrupts his thoughts.

“Of course I do, he’s Eddie.” He’s always known his name, it’s in his profile.

“Surname?”

Steve pauses. “You don’t know the surname of all your friends.”

“I think in this case you should have asked, Steve.”

“Why can’t you trust me with this?”

“I just worry about you, and maybe I’m a bit sad that you didn’t tell me sooner.”

“I knew you would just nag me about it.”

“Hah! So you know what you did was wrong!”

“If you didn’t want this to happen then you shouldn’t have made me watch Notting Hill.”

“That’s different!”

“How.”

“Well, for one it’s a movie,” she says, putting up a finger. Steve rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips. That’s pretty obvious. “Two!” Robin puts up another finger. “They met in real life, not the internet.”

“It was the 90s, of course they met in person. Are you saying that it would be fine if I went to Chicago and met him casually in his record store?”

“No, maybe, don’t try to distract me.”

“Keep your points coming, come on.”

“Three!” Another finger comes up. “Hugh Grant is... hot?”

Steve snorts. “Eddie is hot too.” They wouldn’t be having this conversation if he wasn’t. “And anyways, you are a lesbian, you have no opinion on this.” He waves it off with a hand.

“I still have eyes, and that’s what everyone says.”

“Not valid. Your arguments are not accepted, I know you don’t think Hugh Grant is hot.”

“But that’s not the point! Ugh, okay.” Robin pauses for a few seconds, but Steve knows she’s not finished talking. “So, he saw your dick, did you see his? Wait, no, don’t tell me details. A month ago? I still can’t believe it. Have you done that again?”

And there she is. Steve laughs. “Yes, we’ve done it again.”

****

Steve.hrrgtn: hey, just a quick question

Steve.hrrgtn: what’s your surname?

Batking: why? trying to steal it for yourself?

Steve’s heart should not skip like that from that line.

Steve.hrrgtn: just so I know who I should address the restraining order to when you finally try to murder me

Batking: fuck youve been talking with robin again?

Batking: its munson

Batking: edward munson

Batking: you need anything else? my social security number or something? Ill send you a picture of my drivers license

Steve.hrrgtn: I think I only need that for now, thank you for your cooperation

Batking: you better not be lying about the reason

Batking: if I catch you writing one mr and mr munson in your diary you will need the restraining order for real

Steve’s heart should NOT skip like that from that line.

****

Steve takes a picture on the mirror of the dressing room, stylists still all around him. Nobody pays attention to him, they are all too busy for that, packing up and chatting. Steve should be taking the graduation gown off so it can be packed up with everything else, just so they can go home earlier, but he had to take the picture first. He had taken pictures with the rest of the cast, sure, but this is different.

He is smiling, cap held in his hand.

Steve.hrrgtn: *picture attached*

Steve.hrrgtn: just graduated

He sends the message and moves to take the costume off and his own clothes back on. When he takes his phone back, there is a message already waiting for him. A smile makes its way to his face in a second.

Batking: at the grown age of 25, took you even longer than me and I did my senior year three times

Batking: congratu fucking lations

Steve.hrrgtn: you are an asshole

Steve.hrrgtn: but do you know what this means??

Steve moves around the room, thanking everyone. It takes him a while, so he is confused when an answer is not waiting for him when he looks back at his phone.

Steve.hrrgtn: Eddie?

Batking: *Screenshot of the I’M FREEEE!!!!!! WORST EXPERIENCE OF MY FUCKING LIFE meme*

Batking: this?

Batking: sorry sweetheart I was looking for the meme

Steve.hrrgtn: EXACTLY THAT

Steve.hrrgtn: not like the WORST because I met Robin here and all but FUCK YEAH it’s over

Batking: these four months of waiting for the torture to finish must have felt so long

Steve smiles, typing as he walks outside. They are having a wrap party later, so he needs to find Robin so they can get ready together.

Steve.hrrgtn: hmm not really

Steve.hrrgtn: I had someone sending me memes to entertain me that made the time fly

Batking: must be one hell of a lucky guy

Steve.hrrgtn: assuming genders now?

Batking: oh sorry, are you cheating on me with another meme provider? Am I not enough for you now? You looked for someone else to keep you company?

Steve knows this is just teasing, that Eddie doesn’t believe that. Still.

Steve.hrrgtn: nah

Steve.hrrgtn: just you

****

Batking: okay were you going to tell me your mother is a fucking coppola

Steve.hrrgtn: she is a very respected lady

Steve.hrrgtn: also barely a coppola

Batking: still a coppola

Batking: you are a nepo baby

Steve.hrrgtn: every day it amazes me how little you know about me

Batking: I like keeping you humble

Batking: my brain doesn’t understand that the steve from my phone is really the Steve Harrington on tv sometimes

Batking: so I try not to see stuff about you on the internet

Batking: feels weird

Batking: MY ROOMMATE ON THE OTHER HAND

Batking: he was reading your wikipedia page and your mothers name was in blue so he started following the lead

Eddie had told him once that he hadn’t told his friends about what they had going on, that they just wouldn’t believe him. That must have changed. It makes Steve feel giddy.

Steve.hrrgtn: aw you finally told your friends about me?

Batking: they said they are happy to feed my delusions

Steve.hrrgtn: lmao

Batking: anyway that’s not the point here

Steve.hrrgtn: whats the point?

Steve.hrrgtn: you already knew I was rich and famous

Batking: yeah but this feels different

Batking: you are a nepo baby its like I should hate you

Batking: but you are such a good guy

Batking: from a rich family, hot, nice, funny…

Batking: you cant have everything its unfair

The rich family part doesn’t really do anything for Steve. It’s just a fact. But Eddie complimenting his personality and appearance? That always works on Steve.

Steve.hrrgtn: is this a way to get me to call you?

Steve.hrrgtn: because in the words of a metalhead I know

Steve.hrrgtn: flattery works on me

Batking: it wasnt at first

Batking: but I wont say no to a call with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen

Steve lets out a huff. Eddie and him both know what he did there.

He taps the call icon.

****

Steve stands frozen in the middle of his living room, the smile that had been on his face now completely wiped off. For the first time since he started talking to Eddie, his heart has dropped to his gut at one of his messages.

He keeps his gaze on his phone, the screen staring back at him.

There is a screenshot of a picture of him and Nancy coming out of a restaurant at night. He has his arm wrapped around her shoulders. That was just last night, Nancy had been upset and he had been trying to shield her from the flashes. The picture is accompanied by the headline ‘Caught in the act! Steve Harrington back with ex?’. Eddie’s message is under it.

Batking: glad you are having fun now that filming has finished

It’s- not right. Steve knows Eddie’s snarky comments, knows the feel his teasing. This is not it.

Steve.hrrgtn: I thought you didn’t look for stuff about my private life on the internet?

It comes out as defensive, and Steve instantly regrets it, but it had been one of the things he liked about Eddie, how he learned about Steve from him and not from rumours and the internet.

Batking: turns out that talking to you makes it unavoidable

Of fucking course it does. Who was Steve kidding? He knew this was bound to happen, that the media was going to be a problem at some point. He tries not to blame it on Eddie.

Steve.hrrgtn: it’s not like that

Steve.hrrgtn: she’s just a friend

Steve.hrrgtn: she had a fight with her boyfriend and needed a bit of a pick me up

Batking: you don’t need to explain yourself to me

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? At the end of the day, they have not even met each other in person. That doesn’t make this feel right.

Steve tries to imagine how he would feel if he saw Eddie having dinner with an ex. He doesn’t like the feeling at all.

Steve.hrrgtn: I still want you to know

He needs him to know.

Batking: really steve it’s okay

Batking: I shouldnt have sent that

Batking: Im not sure why I did

Steve has an idea why he did, but he is not going to say it, too afraid of fucking everything up if he does.

Steve.hrrgtn: its okay

Steve.hrrgtn: you are giving me an excuse to bitch about the lack of privacy and how much I hate paps

Steve is sure Eddie is going to recognize it as what this is. A weak attempt at diffusing the tension. Steve hopes it works.

Batking: you know im always open to listen to you bitching about your lavish life

It’s still a bitchy comment, but Steve lets out a sigh of relief. He recognizes that heat.

****

Batking: holy shit steve

That’s the only message on Steve’s phone, it’s the only message from Eddie for a couple of hours. Steve very patiently (or not) waits for him to elaborate, growing more and more nervous when he doesn’t.

Steve.hrrgtn: Eddie? Did you get murdered?

Batking: sorry I texted you as soon as I got the call and then the guys came over and I got swept way

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s okay

Steve.hrrgtn: but what happened? Something good?

Steve really hopes it’s something good.

Batking: we got a gig

Batking: like an actual gig

Steve.hrrgtn: holy shit eddie!

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s amazing

Batking: can I call you?

He doesn’t need to ask, he knows that. They are way past the point of internet acquaintances or friends who sometimes jerk off together on the phone.

Steve hits the video call button, and Eddie answers almost immediately. He is walking away from the cacophony of his friends, a blush high on his cheeks and his hair a mess even as he tries to brush it down. He looks stupidly good.

“Jesus, you look great,” are the first words out of Eddie’s mouth.

Steve snorts, he had been lying on the couch thirty seconds ago. His hair is a mess, he hasn’t shaved in two days. He never lets anyone see him like this. Eddie is different.

“Shut up. You got a gig!”

“We got a gig!”

“How did it happen?”

“You know my friend Chrissy?” Eddie asks. He closes a door behind himself and the noise is now gone, they are alone. Steve nods. “She got a job at a venue that doubles as concert hall and club and they are doing a metal week or something like that. They are bringing some very cool groups from all around the country- I’m so excited to see some of them- but that’s not the point. They wanted to give an opportunity to a local band and that’s where we come in!”

“They gave it to you?”

“They said they really like our vibe.”

“Of course they do,” Steve says with a snort. If Steve didn’t know better, he would say that Eddie just came out of a movie set set in the 80s. Perfect vibe for a metal week.

“Don’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing! You do have the vibe. Tell me more about it, when’s this happening?”

“It’s very short notice but-“

Steve listens as Eddie tells him all about it, with his excited gestures and the wide smile that splits his face. They talk until Eddie’s friends come to get him to go for celebratory drinks.

As soon as the call ends, Steve calls Robin.

“How do you feel about going to Chicago in two weeks?”

****

The venue is loud. It’s already full when Steve and Robin arrive, just a few minutes before the concert starts. It’s not big, Eddie had told Steve so, but it still has a proper stage, and actual, stablished groups have concerts here. It’s a big step from the bar where Eddie and his friends usually play to an audience more interested on their drinks and conversations than in listening to them. People had to pay for this, even if it was a ticket that included a drink or if it was included into the week pass.

Batking: we are about to come out and I’m nervous as fuck

Steve.hrrgtn: I thought everyone already knew you were gay?

Batking: shut up

Steve.hrrgtn: don’t be nervous

Steve.hrrgtn: I know you are going to be amazing

Batking: I wish you were here

Batking: its going to be the gig of the century

Okay so Steve has not told Eddie that he was coming to see him, so what? He really wanted to see him in his natural environment, just him, not influenced by the knowledge that Steve would be in the audience.

Steve.hrrgtn: I’m always with you

Batking: you know what I mean

Steve.hrrgtn: don’t worry about that

Steve.hrrgtn: you go give the best performance all these people have ever seen

They stay out of the dancefloor slash pit, up in the balcony next to the cloakroom. They have a great view of the stage and the only reason Steve can think for them being the only ones here is that it may not be allowed, but an employee starts walking towards them and just turns around when he takes a good look at them.

Batking: okay we are coming out now

Batking: ttyl <3

Steve.hrrgtn: <3

“It’s starting,” Steve tells Robin. Just a couple of seconds later the lights dim and four figures take up their positions at the stage.

When the music starts, it is loud.

Steve feels so fucking proud. He had seen videos of Eddie’s band performing at bars or jamming in the studio they rent, but they are not like this, they are nothing like this. It’s like they had been living in a cage and were now released in the wild. Steve was  fully prepared to lie to Eddie about what he thought of the concert. He has seen a lot of groups more experienced than Eddie’s that were not as good, that didn’t know how to hype up the audience like them, that weren’t so natural with it. Now, seeing Eddie on stage, he knows that he won’t have to lie about them being incredible.

Steve’s eyes can’t stray from Eddie. It’s like a magnet. Better than any video, better than any call. He can see the whole him, the way he moves, the way he smiles and his hair flows. The way his fingers move on the guitar. He can’t wait to be closer to him.

“Try not to ruin your underwear before you even meet him,” Robin yells into his ear. Steve pushes her away from him, but they are both laughing.

Steve has been wondering for days about how will Eddie react when he sees him for the first time. If it will be after the concert, when Steve inevitably makes his way to the green room, or if Eddie will be able to spot him in the audience. If maybe Steve will miss the moment Eddie’s eyes land on him.

The moment ends up being impossible to miss.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says into the microphone.

His eyes are focused on Steve, his mouth gaping. Steve laughs and waves to him and Eddie gives him a small wave in answer from the stage before his eyes jump back down to the audience.

“Holy shit you guys are great,” he tries to brush it off. “Keep the energy up for the next song!”

The concert continues, but now Steve catches Eddie’s eyes every few minutes, a smile coming to both their faces every time.

It’s not long before Eddie is speaking again.

“It is with great sadness that I must inform you that the next song is our last. Yes, yes, I know, very sad,” he says in response to the oohs from the audience. “I just wanted to take a minute to thank the organization for putting their trust on us and giving us this opportunity. Also to all of you good humans that decided to use your money to come see us, I expect your follows by tomorrow.” He starts playing, the others matching the rhythm. A repeating single note. “To all the metalheads and non-metalheads here,” he adds, louder, his gaze fixing on Steve. “I’m taking groupie applications. The requisites are: One! Be a male, sorry ladies. Two! Be 25 years old. Three! Have great hair. And four, have at least one teen choice award for best shirtless scene.” There are confused sounds from the audience, but Eddie is grinning and Steve is laughing. “Very easy to meet, the backstage door is impossible to miss.” He flicks his gaze to the side, and Steve follows it to see a door at the side of the balcony. He sends him a thumbs up. “Okay, lets rock this shit!”

The concert ends with a bang, and Steve and Robin scurry off to the backstage door before people start coming up to go out for a smoke, because not many people seem to be going home yet, the venue staying open as a bar. They don’t run into any problem because again, an employee takes one good look at their face and opens the staff only door for them. Steve has to admit that sometimes being  so famous has its perks.

The sound of the music gets muted the moment the door closes behind them. The corridor is long, but they only have to follow the shouts of exited boys.

Eddie is the first person Steve sees when they get to the green room. He is jumping up and down while hugging his friends and they all scream. Steve crosses his arms and leans on the doorframe with a grin, Robin next to him. Eddie must catch the movement with his side eye because he stops and turns to them with a grin.

“I told you you were going to do great,” Steve says as a greeting.

The other boys finally stop too, and Steve sees the confusion and disbelief down on their faces when they take them in.

“Eddie, tell me I’m not seeing your imaginary boyfriend,” one of them says.

“You are Gareth, aren’t you? The roommate,” Steve says, pointing at him while he walks over. “Eddie has told me about you.”

Gareth takes his hand with his mouth wide open and barely a coherent thought behind his eyes. Steve sees Eddie’s eyes land with a laser focus on their clasped hands.

“Can’t believe I owe Chrissy twenty,” another boy says with a groan. Jeff, Steve is pretty sure.

“You bet I was making it up?” Eddie asks, offended.

“I bet you were too deep into a parasocial relationship.”

“And I bet you were getting scammed by a catfish,” the other boy says.

Robin lets out a cackle.

“I told Steve the same thing!”

They start talking around them, but Steve doesn’t care. He is two steps away from Eddie, he can see the sweat from the concert glistening on his skin, the deep brown of his eyes staring into him. He needs to close that distance. Before he can take a step forward, Eddie speaks.

“Do you want to come out for some fresh air? There’s a fenced back area for deliveries, should be empty.”

Does Steve want to go with Eddie to a spot with just the two of them? Fuck yeah.

“Yes! The air is so stuffy here, I might die if I don’t come out for a few minutes,” Robin says.

Eddie moves his eyes from Steve to her, his smile turning awkward.

“Right, yeah. Guys, we are stepping out for a couple minutes, okay?” Eddie calls out, taking a leather jacket from the back of a chair. “Follow me.”

Steve’s gaze drops to Eddie’s ass when he walks past them and back into the corridor. Fuck. He needs to close that distance.

Eddie holds the door to the outside for them, gesturing for them to come out with his other hand. His fingers are twitching, his whole body is, for that matter. He’s nervous, Steve can tell.

The door closes with bang after them, and they stand in the dimly lit outside. Robin is talking, and Steve feels just a bit bad about how Eddie and him are very obviously not listening to her.

Eddie is fiddling with the zippers of his jacket, his eyes roaming Steve’s body and flicking to Robin for a second from time to time.

They stay like that for a couple of minutes before Eddie takes a pack of cigarettes from a pocket of his jacket.

“You smoke?” he asks Steve.

“I’m an actor,” Steve says as answer.

Eddie smiles and, before Steve can reach out to grab a cigarette, Eddie has grabbed two and put both in his mouth. He moves to put the pack back in his pocket before he seems to remember that they are not alone and offers it to Robin, but she declines and starts talking about how tobacco is bad for your lungs and teeth, actually.

Steve can only look as Eddie lights both of the cigarettes at the same time and offers one to him. He takes it, their fingers brushing and sending electricity all through Steve’s body, their eyes fixed on each other.

“Okay, this is too much, I’m going inside.” Robin says, both boys turn to her. There is a beat of silence, and Steve realises she was waiting for one of them to say something, but they are both too late. “Your friend Chrissy was at the bar, right? I’ll tell her to get me a drink, you boys just… do whatever, no rush. Just- be careful or whatever.”

They stare at the door until it closes, the bang the one thing that makes Steve snap back towards Eddie. The boy is taking a drag of his cigarette and Steve mirrors him.

“Sorry, I just-“ Eddie starts. He is flicking the barely there ash. Steve can guess he needed something to do with his hands more than a real smoke. “Part of my brain is still trying to keep up with the fact that you are actually here and real and not a creation of my imagination.”

“Why? You fantasize about me that much?”

“Oh, you have no idea sweetheart,” Eddie answers with a sly smile.

Fuck. Hearing that directly from Eddie, looking at his face while he says it with no phone screen separating them is making the metre between them feel unbearable.

“You know what they say, sometimes you need to touch to believe.”

Eddie chuckles. “I’m not sure that’s right.”

But he still takes a step forward and the next thing Steve knows is that Eddie has a hand cupping his face and their lips are squeezed together in a messy kiss. Steve barely has time to answer to the kiss, drop the cigarette and grab Eddie back before the guy is pushing away and putting a hand up between them.

“Sorry, I should have- very real by the way.” Eddie says, punctuating the last part with a wave of his hand. “Great advice there, I-“

He can’t say more, because now it’s Steve pulling him closer into a kiss. There is no interruption now so the kiss goes on, and on, and Steve makes Eddie open his mouth to kiss him deeper, pulls him closer to him. This is everything he had hoped for and more. Eddie matches him beat to beat.

They get lost into it, until some voices come from their side, and Eddie pushes him away against Steve’s protests. He doesn’t allow him to go too far, one of his hands holding Eddie’s face and the other his hip close to his.

“You want to wake up to some scandalous headlines?” Eddie asks with a smile.

“Maybe they will get the memo if they find me on my knees for a guy.”

“Getting ahead of ourselves here, Steve,” Eddie says, but Steve sees how his eyes darken.

“Sorry, did you have better plans for tonight?”

Eddie shakes his head, “nothing that could beat corrupting the golden boy.”

“You think our friends will forgive us if we just leave?”

“Jesus, I really hope they do, I’m not stepping back inside and getting distracted.”

Steve laughs and kisses Eddie again, just a short press of lips. “Lead the way then.”

****

Steve.hrrgtn

New instagram story

Image id: a group playing on a stage, the lights surround them, a sea of hands holding drinks and heads below. There is a caption on it

“The gig of the century”

@/corrodedcoffin

ClubHarrington: Steve Harrington just shared an Instagram story from a metal concert in Chicago.

        MrsHarrington: since when does steve like metal??

        Stevenation: omg!!! He’s in my city Whats he doing here!!!

        Stebitch: guys a friend of mine went to the concert and told me that the guitarist said he was taking groupie applications and started describing Steve when he listed the requirements

               + What???? That’s just creepy, I hope Steve gets away from that fast

               + omg!! Did anyone record it?? I need the video! I need to see Steve’s reaction to that!!

Stebitch: they are a very small band so no one was recording but I swear he did

               + do you guys think they are…. You know….

                       - Your mind

****

Steve walks back into the room with two glasses of water and kicks the door closed behind him. Eddie is still naked on the bed -Steve hasn’t put any clothes back on himself- and he is lying on his side, snickering while he looks at his phone. Steve stops, takes a second to admire Eddie’s naked back.

Steve’s phone pings on the nightstand. There’s only one person he has his sound on for.

“Did you seriously just send a meme to me?”

Eddie turns his face to look at him, “sorry, force of habit.”

Steve lets out a sigh and puts the glasses down on the nightstand. He gets on the bed and hugs Eddie from behind, hooking his chin on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Come on, show me what’s so funny you had to send me now.”

Eddie scrolls back up.

tag list (sorry if I missed someone): @steddiefication @tailsfromthecrypt @orionchildofhades @coralineinwonderland @theohohmoment @what-if-a-dragon @juiceicicles @margaglitterdeath @sofadofax @estrellami-1 @dreamercec @bisexual-chaos-demon99 @queenie-ofthe-void @scoops-aboy86 @me-ig7 @efratfangirl @what-if-a-dragon @juiceicicles @margaglitterdeath @sofadofax  @estrellami-1 @dreamercec @bisexual-chaos-demon99  @queenie-ofthe-void @scoops-aboy86 @me-ig7 @efratfangirl @live-laugh-love-dietrich @yesdangerpls @nerdyglassescheeseychick @agree2disagre-kicks @fuzzyduxk @saramelaniemoon @disrespectedgoatman @aol19 @yikes-a-bee @adealwithher @coralineinwonderland @sanctumdemunson @comedictragedy @marklee-blackmore @karakro @yusukesmomjeans @lumoschildextra @pondypip @xtraordinarally @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale @child-of-cthulhu @shrimply-a-menace @ravenfrog

[leashybebes]

fuck it friday

tagged by @bidisasterevankinard (😘)

full disclosure, i have no idea what this is, or if it'll become anything, but i wrote it on my lunch break, so let's call this a vague maybe wip, i guess. add it to the ever growing list of hiatus tasks

They've been doing this - being friends, getting dinner a couple times a week, talking, texting a carefully normal amount - for a couple months when Buck takes a deep breath and says,

"Hey. I'm sorry."

Tommy looks at him over the takeout containers, looking honestly, simply, confused.

"You're - why?"

"I don't…I feel like I maybe didn't appreciate you the way you deserve when we were dating. Like I didn't see you, you know?"

"You didn't," Tommy agrees and it stings more than Buck was expecting. "But that's not all on you. I didn't let you."

"Why is that? Was I - " Don't make it all about yourself, Buck tells himself, but he can't help finishing the thought. "Did you just…know I wouldn't be enough?"

"What? Evan. No. God, no. It's - it's me. I disappear into relationships. Lose myself in them. If anything I'm just grateful it was someone like you this time."

"What does that mean?"

"You're a good guy. People use this word as an insult, or to mean boring, but I don't mean it that way, okay? You're really nice."

"I - put a pin in that," Buck says, thinking about a specific time he was not nice to Tommy. "What does you disappear into relationships mean?"

"Oh. Um." Tommy does his little awkward fist tap. "I mean I just…want to be whatever they want me to be. I lose sight of what I want. What I need, I guess."

God, Buck wishes they could have had these conversations when they were together.

"Why?"

Tommy shrugs. "Spend your whole life wanting to disappear and eventually it sticks, I guess."

i feel like i have no idea who's working on stuff, who's taking a hiatus break, etc etc so call it an open tag and show me what you got, gang

[unrequi]

For the first time, and it was bliss, something had changed and expanded. I didn't enjoy solitude as much, I wanted solitude with her, I wanted her presence, I wanted to do things with her and learn more about her. I wanted to hear her laugh at the things I said, and sometimes she did. No one has ever made me feel this way, I yearned for her presence, I yearned for her texts, not because I wanted anything from her but I liked the way she made me feel. I imagined a future of us being companions, not partners, just existing in each others lives. I say this knowing that if she were to read this, she would think me insane, and maybe I am a fool for feeling so strongly and indulging my feelings in writing, yet there was something about her, there will always be something about her that pulls me in yet i will stay away, I will not come closer, I will admire from afar and hope for the best for her, cheering her on silently. In the world of my imagining, we might have been friends, I would watch her graduate, I would watch her get her medical degree after college, I would watch her get married and have children and cheer her on, know of her life, be a part of it, and relish in this kind of love, a distant respectful and slow love. We would take walks and talk about our lives, we would reflect on the days of the past, we would laugh about the moment of how I told her I had a crush on her, we would laugh on my youthful lack of smoothness, we would laugh about how I showed up, we would reflect on what she thought and how it was for me, we would grow old and I would take up a periphery part of her life, yet we would still be connected. I would send her letters and she would send letters back. I would get her a gift on her birthday, maybe A Raisin in the Sun as she likes plays, and she would accept my gift knowing I want nothing in return but to see her happy no matter what path she takes. I would make her a playlist of her astrological sign of being a Virgo, I would go through her playlists with her and create her a mixtape. I would feel happy knowing that my gift made her happy. I have never felt this way for anyone outside of my family, and I don't know what to call it, I struggle with how to conceptualize it, but I have to move past it knowing it will never be and that is a tragedy.

[kjhbsies]

Heyy! Can I have a James Potter x reader "Because less than twenty feet away was Y/n. My Y/n. She's laughing. What was she laughing about? How could she sit there and laugh and look so beautiful?"

Either Bali or Morocco with a bit of Santorini pls? U can choose<3 Tysm

Bad Habit

navigation | main masterlist | rules

join my 500 celebration!

James Potter x photojournalist!reader

synopsis: She was just supposed to take the football games— not fall in love with a jock during a drunk game of 7 Minutes of Heaven. Now he’s questioning everything, including why he ever thought playing matchmaker with Sirius was a good idea.

wordcount: 3, 029

note: Prompt: "Because less than twenty feet away was Y/n. My Y/n. She's laughing. What was she laughing about? How could she sit there and laugh and look so beautiful?" + Morocco: the almost-kiss. fluff again! thanks for the request, i appreciated it (though, i must admit, i found it hard to think of a particular scene that would go well with the prompt) this is modern football player!james REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

It started like a lot of college friendship does— accidentally, inconveniently, and with far too much sweat involved.

You were one of the photojournalists of your university's student publication, and he was the James Potter— star athlete, Gryffindor's varsity football captain, and walking ray of sunshine. You were usually behind the lens, trying to capture the perfect shot of their games— the intensity, the movement, the dedication of every player in the field. But no matter how hard you tried, your shots always seemed to be hijacked by him, James, with his boyish grin, striking some ridiculous pose mid-game like he was in a photoshoot for Vogue.

At first, you didn't get it. Why the hell was he flirting with your camera?

And it's actually when Lily Evans, one of the newswriters, had come to join you at the Gryffindor's game— that you realized that he was just using you to get close to her.

Naturally, you gave him the cold shoulder. Sure, you and Lily were friends, but not to the extent that you knew everything about her. Hell, you didn't even know that he was her crush for years. So, it'd be creepy if you gave him any details about her life. And besides, you don't have time to play messenger for another desperate jock crushing on your friend.

But James, being James, took it as a challenge. Every game? Wink. Smile. Kissy face. Every water break? 'Hey, camera girl, getting my good side?' You tried ignoring him. Really did. But then he started bringing you snacks to your post-game editing sessions. He started sitting beside you on every bus ride. He always caught you in one of the cafes you frequented and treated you to an iced Spanish latte because he said, 'Photographers are always fueled by caffeine.'

The worst part? It worked.

Little by little, the annoyingly loud and arrogant jock turned out to be just... loud. And goofy. And surprisingly genuine. You caught glimpses of his big heart: the way he comforted his teammates after a lost game, the way he checked in on everyone after practice, and how he always made sure his friends were happy. You saw past the bravado and found something lovable in James Potter. And it sucked.

Because, of course, he was still madly in love with Lily. Even if he'd toned down the dramatic serenades and public declarations, he still got that look in his eyes when she walked by. So you buried your feelings, deep, deep down where they couldn't hurt you— or worse, embarrass you.

To make things worse, James got it in his head that you were into Sirius Black. You don't know how it started, maybe you and Sirius bantered a little too naturally after a bus ride home, or maybe James just wanted to believe it so badly. Whatever the reason, he took it as gospel.

"Oh, come on, Y/n. You and Sirius? Absolute perfection." He said with a stupid grin.

You rolled your eyes. "We don't have anything in common, James."

"Oh, you do! You both like... leather and sarcasm."

"Leather?" You repeated.

"Don't question the method, just trust the Cupid."

Sirius, of course, found it hilarious. The guy knew about your feelings accidentally when he found you staring too deeply while watching James and Lily interact. And when you told him about James's assumption, he grinned, shrugged, and just said, 'Well, I am devastatingly handsome,' and he also planned to just play it along just to shut James up.

Which brings us tonight.

Frank's house was packed— an absolute zoo of sweaty students celebrating Gryffindor's third win in a row. Tables were full of beer pong, someone was passed out on the stairs, and the air was thick with cigarettes and weed (thanks to Remus's magic stash). And James— James was distracted.

His friends were talking in the living room. Peter was gesturing animatedly at the couch, but James kept drifting his attention to the nearby kitchen, where you and Sirius were situated.

You were standing by the stereo with Sirius, laughing at something he'd said, one of his rings glinting under the lights as he casually draped an arm around your shoulders. You laughed again, head tilting back, and James choked on his beer.

"What are you looking at?" Remus asked, sipping from a red cup beside him.

"Nothing."

"You look constipated."

"I am not." James glared at him. "Do you reckon they're already together and they're not telling me?" He asked, eyes trained on you and Sirius again.

"Ah, I see." Remus hummed. "Wouldn't be surprised if they already are."

"She's laughing at his jokes."

"So?"

"I tell funny jokes, too."

"Mhm. Do you also tell them with your hands on her hips?"

James flushed. "We're friends."

"So are you and Wormy. But you don't let him cuddle you at parties."

Peter suddenly appeared beside the two of them with snacks. "Would if you asked."

James groaned.

A soft creeakk echoed through the room, despite the music blaring. And everyone turned to look at the random, ancient-looking broom closet emerging from seemingly nowhere.

Frank stood beside it proudly, eyes wide with mischief. "This is the momentum killer of the night!"

Marlene, already tipsy with a red solo cup in hand, a backwards hat on, and a pair of sunglasses, let out a cheer. "Seven Minutes in Heaven!" She screamed.

A chorus of gasps and drunken giggles escaped across the room.

"We spin the bottle, whoever lands it on goes in the closet for seven minutes! You can talk, kiss, declare your love, or hell— even shag, we don't care! We won't judge— well, maybe a little. Just be entertaining!"

Everyone clapped like seals, even Remus, who had already fallen sideways onto a bean bag.

Now, a giant circle was formed, where everyone wanted to participate. You and Sirius were curled up on one of the couches, situated directly across from James. You had been sipping someone's leftover whiskey cola— definitely not yours, but you had lost yours an hour ago. No one was sober. Not even Remus, who had been munching a suspicious brownie earlier.

You were already tipsy, cheeks warm, head dizzy, when the first spin landed on Remus and Mary. Everyone howled.

The two shuffled awkwardly into the tiny broom closet. Seven minutes later, they emerged looking disheveled— Mary's necklace was backwards, and Remus's neatly ironed clothes were wrinkled.

Second spin: Peter and Marlene.

You don't know what happened in there, but there was yelling, loud banging, and when they came out, Peter had no socks on, and Marlene was holding one of Peter's shoes like a weapon. No one asked what happened.

Third spin.

The bottle slowed.

It ticked past Frank.

Past Dorcas.

Past Sirius.

And then it stopped. Right between you and James.

"OOOHH!" Sirius hollered. "This is gonna be so good!"

James blinked. You blinked. The room? Roared.

"Go on, camera girl!" One of James's teammates clapped.

"Use protection!" Remus yelled before falling asleep on Sirius's shoulder.

Marlene shoved both of you inside the broom closet. "Try not to destroy the shelf in there. Or do. Your seven minutes start now." She winked before slamming the door shut.

You two were way too close. James took up more than half the tiny closet— he was tall, broad, and definitely not designed for this cramped space.

Both of you sat down after a few minutes, your knees touching, breath mingling in the closed air. The small bulb did its job on lighting up the space, though still dim, you could still make up the shape of his jaw, the wild hairs curling around his ears, and—

"You're staring," James said with a smirk.

"Really?" You tried playing it cool. "Surprised you could see me with those things." You shot back, pointing at James's foggy eyeglasses.

James chuckled, removing them and shoving them into his pockets. "Fair point. What are we even supposed to do here?"

"Try not to suffocate?" You smiled. "And not sit on each other's laps accidentally?"

"Too late for that," He mumbled, shifting slightly as his knees brushed against yours. "Okay, how about a game? Try to get each other more?"

"Classic stalling tactic." You teased, but smiled anyway. "Alright. What's your favorite color?"

"Red and gold."

"Called it. You're waaayy predictable, Potter."

James snickered. "Your turn. How about... what was your worst experience as a photojournalist?"

You groaned. "Took the best shots in my whole life. Chef's kiss. Only to realize later that my SD card was corrupted."

James winced. "Ouch. That's brutal."

"Tell me about it." You shrugged. "Okay— your favorite coach among everyone that has handled your team?"

He hummed, placing a hand on his chin. "That's a tough one. But... probably Coach Jason."

"Oh, really? The guy who made you run 30 laps at 6 AM?"

"He's tough, yeah. But I can tell he was genuine among everyone else. Made us better."

You nodded, impressed. "Alright, fair."

"How about... who's your favorite football player?"

"Number 3. Sirius Orion Black."

James let out a loud gasp, clutching his chest dramatically as if in mock betrayal. "Y/n! I was hurt! I was your first friend. I was the award-winning captain! I always bring you coffee and snacks when you're hungry!"

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth. "Okay, okay, relax! Fine, I was kidding. Of course, you're my number one favorite!"

"Promise?"

You nodded, sincere. "Yes, James. I promise."

A beat of silence.

James cleared his throat, "Okay... here's one: did you ever have a crush on any of the football players?"

You froze.

Your brain screamed at you to lie. Say no. Say someone else.

But maybe it was the alcohol consuming your veins. Or maybe it was this tight, hot space. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you. Those damn hazel eyes.

So, you nodded. "Yeah... #7. James Fleamont Potter."

Silence.

Dead, awful silence.

James stared at you like you just smacked him with a ball. "You what—? Since... when?"

You tried to keep your voice light. "A couple of months ago. But it's fine. It's just a silly, happy crush."

James blinked. "Happy—?"

"You know, soft, small, not too serious." You replied quickly, trying to lie your way out of this awkward situation. "It's whatever. It's done." It isn't.

"Done?"

You nodded, smiling bitterly. "Yeah, I just saw how you were so deeply enamored by Lily, so I kind of... stopped. But, I really liked you before."

Done.

Liked.

Stopped.

The words rattled in James's brain like an echo.

He sat there, stunned, lips parted to say something, but didn't know how.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face. "Hello? Earth to Potter?"

Still nothing.

You shifted, trying to get comfortable. Your foot had gone numb from the cramped position. But as you adjusted, James also moved— just a fraction, really— and suddenly, you lost balance.

With a yelp, you tumbled forward. Right onto James.

Both of you froze.

Your faces were inches apart. Lips practically brushing. You could smell the faint beer on it, and see his stupidly handsome face up close.

He gulped.

His hands instinctively landed on your waist, holding you firmly. His eyes darted to your lips.

"Uh," You smiled awkwardly. "Hi?"

Then—

SLAM.

The closet door swung open.

"Time's up, lovers— WOAH!" Marlene shrieked.

Everyone turned to see... you... practically on top of James, his hands on your waist, faces a few centimeters apart from each other.

Someone wolf-whistled.

Remus clapped.

Peter yelled, “Knew it!"

You scrambled off James, flustered beyond reason, brushing your hair back as if it would erase the last seven minutes. James looked equally stunned, blinking like he’d forgotten how to function.

Sirius was grinning ear to ear. “So... was it hot in there, or was it just you two?”

You glared at him.

James looked at you.

You looked at James.

And for the first time since the night began, neither of you was pretending anymore.

"Did they kiss?"

"Was that a... straddle?"

"Why did Captain Potter look like he got hit by a football?"

You sighed, trying to ignore the whispers going around. But none of that mattered, though, because as soon as you sat beside Sirius, he nudged you while wiggling his eyebrows.

"Sooo... what happened in there, closet goblin?"

You sighed dramatically and leaned into him, head resting on his shoulder. "I confessed."

Sirius choked on his drink. "You what?!"

"But not like a cute confession," You stared at him, eyes widening. "Like... I-don't-know-why-I-said-that-I-blamed-the-alcohol-and-my-soul type of confession. I said I liked him. Past tense. And then I panicked and told him it was just a silly crush."

Sirius blinked. "Oh."

You nodded slowly. "...Yeah."

Then he blinked again. "...Oh?"

"Please say something coherent."

He grinned, "So you're telling me that you," He pointed at you. "Y/n Y/l/n, keeper of secrets, and hater of feelings, went inside a tiny closet, then came out confessing a crush... and then lied about moving on? A bit bold move, actually. Though I might say that was great."

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. "My heart is still pounding like I ran a bloody marathon. I literally fell on top of him. Our lips almost touched. And I'm pretty sure I saw God for 0.3 seconds when he looked at me like that."

"Like what?"

You looked at him and imitated James's face— doe eyes and a pout, to which Sirius snorted.

"Oh, yeah, that's the Potter's dumbstruck in love face, alright."

You smacked his arm, and both of you started laughing.

Meanwhile, across the room, James Potter, star athlete, certified himbo, and former emotionally stable individual, was leaning against the wall while clutching a red solo cup filled with cold water.

Remus, red-faced from him and Mary's 7 Minutes of Heaven and from drunkenness, stood beside him. "You looked like you just walked out of a Greek tragedy."

James gulped his water. "She confessed."

Remus looked at him, dumbfounded. It's as if the alcohol went out of his body completely.

"...Like confessed confessed?"

James nodded dumbly, eyes still glued on you and Sirius laughing together.

Reemus peered in your direction. "And? What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong is— I'm confused!" James whispered-yelled, gesturing to himself and sloshing water on his shirt. "I thought I liked Lily!"

"Thought?" Remus raised an eyebrow.

James ignored him. "And now— now, she was laughing with Sirius like they're starring at a romcom, and I feel like someone should just punch me back to reality."

"I'll volunteer, but go on." Remus patted his shoulder.

"She said she liked me. Liked, Moony! Past bloody tense. And I'm just— why didn't she say anything earlier? I would've done something!"

"Would you?"

James stopped. He paused, pondering everything.

"...Yeah." He admitted sincerely. "Yeah, I would've. Because how couldn't you fall for her? During those times, we were just playing hide and seek in our own little world and calling it friendship. But it was her. It was always her. And now I feel like a bloody idiot because I told Pads to flirt with her just so I wouldn't fall harder!"

Remus gaped at him. "You told Padfoot to— oh, my, Merlin, you created your own love triangle. You're dumb as hell."

"I know!" James whispered-yelled again. "And now I am so, so mad!"

Remus's brow shot up. "And why is that?"

"Because less than ten feet away is Y/n. My Y/n. She's laughing. What was she laughing about? How could she sit there and laugh and look so beautiful?"

Remus's lips parted. "That was oddly poetic."

"I've evolved."

Remus sighed. "Now, listen. If you're just confused, then let it go. But if you actually want something, then ask her to start over. Do it properly. No closets. No Sirius interference. Just you and her."

James nodded, taking everything that Remus had said.

And then, without hesitation, he downed the rest of his water like vodka and muttered "showtime" under his breath before making a beeline to where you were.

"Can I steal you for a sec?"

You looked up, blinking rapidly. "What?"

"You know, just the two of us. T-to talk..." James scratched the back of his neck.

Sirius wiggled his eyebrows. "Oops. Say less." He gave James a playful salute before standing up from the couch.

You stared at James, absolutely embarrassed. "Is this about what I've said in the closet? Because I swear I was drunk and probably malfunctioning like my SD card—"

He shook his head, then offered you his hand again, like earlier. "Let's start over."

"What?"

"Let's start over," He repeated, kneeling in front of you so you two were at eye level. "Hi, I'm James Fleamont Potter. I'm an Aries, I like football, and I'm currently suffering from an existential crisis brought by a pretty photojournalist who just confessed that she used to like me. And I was wondering if she'd give me a shot to get to know her without pretending I'm into someone else."

You blinked. "You're not into Lily?"

"I thought I was. Turns out, I was just scared. Because you? You terrify the living shit out of me. And not in a bad way. You terrify me in a way that makes me want to be better, funnier, maybe even take those stupid foggy eyeglasses and stare at you properly. So. Start over?"

You smiled. "Alright. I'm Y/n. I like breaking the rules of every party game. I almost once committed arson trying to get a good shot. And I'm trying not to kiss the boy kneeling in front of me."

James's ears went beet red. "Then don't try."

You both stared at each other— heart pounding, breath uneven— and as your faces leaned in just an inch closer—

Marlene’s voice boomed across the room.

“IF YOU’RE GONNA KISS, DO IT IN THE CLOSET LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!!”

Everyone cackled.

James flipped her off, and you just giggled, cheeks burning, heart fluttering.

And then, finally, he kissed you. Right there on the couch.

And you were 100% sure it was better than any seven minutes in any stupid cabinet.

©kjhbsies

[darkbluekies]

How would the guys react if there kids and darling did the shut the fuck up mom trend ???( sorry for my English)

Warnings: Edmund is not a very good father

A/N: Jerry’s not included because she doesn't want or have kids. Oh and im not sure if I'm thinking if the wrong trend but I've written something

Silas:

Sierra would be the one to suggest it, and the one wanting to test it out. Emelie would watch in amusement with the comfort of it not being her and Darla would find it interesting. Silas, however, would not. He knows how bad mouthy his daughters can be and he lets them, mostly, but not when it comes to you. He'd enter the room quick, too quick, eyes dark.

"What the fuck did you just say? Sierra, you better apologize immediately and buy your mother something she likes if you don't want your allowance to be pulled in for a year."

And when he gets to know that it's just a joke and you're in on it? He'd glance at the three daughters laughing.

"All of you? Really? I'm so close to giving your inheritance to charity."

Dr Kry:

Lydia would tell Nadia to do it, not wanting to join in her sister’s dumb ideas. Dr Kry would react immediately. He'd enter the bedroom, face in utter disbelief.

"Who has taught you to use such nasty words towards your mother? Is it those friends of yours? I knew that they were a bad influence. Apologize. Now."

When you softly tell him that it's just a joke, that you gave them permission, his face wouldn't change.

"Joke or not, we don't say such things in this house. I'll let it slide this time because of your little joke, but do not make it a habit. We have a basement that would love to be cleaned."

King Edmund:

Edmund does not take the treatment of you lightly. Especially when it comes to Ludwig. It'd be a rare occurrence when you and Ludwig get along and he'd be down for a joke, but he'd be cautious, knowing how fas5 his father gets angry. So when be does, he's quick to hide behind you. Edmudn would hear him a mile away and would arrive a second later.

"What the fuck did you say? Who do you think you are, speaking to your mother like that? You should be grateful your mother loves you as much as she does or I'd show you what ungrateful brats get when they think they’re cool."

Ludwig would tug your shirt, signaling for you to tell the truth. You thought it'd calm Edmund, maybe maje him laugh. It doesn't.

"Ludwig, you're too old for these childish games. I'd expect it from Victoria, not you. Go do something useful. I don't want to see you for the rest of the day."

Hedwig:

It'd be expected from Violet, with her temper, but from sweet, shy Astor? That's just why he suggests him doing it. Violet would laugh, nodding. She'd come running the second Astor says it, shocked beyond belief.

"Astor! No! What's gotten into you? I don't want to hear such filth coming from you. My sweet boy, come here. Don't say that to papa, that's not nice."

Violet would tell her that it's just a joke and that you're in on it. Hedwig would sigh.

"Don't do that, that's not nice! But I'm thankful you're not mean, that'd break my heart. Oh well, that's enough heart attacks for one day, can we get some ice cream or something?"

[rafessecret]

girlie i have a requesttt 🥰 so , maybe rafe and reader are bestfriends, reader is like a sweetheart and all, and shes so oblivious she cant see rafe feels more and wants more so one night when they hangout at her place he confesses and maybe some smut? LOVE YOUR WRITING BTW ANGEEL

⋆˚࿔ oblivious¡ reader && bsf¡rafe cameron

I'VE LOVED YOU FOREVER

You and Rafe have always been inseparable. Like gravity—you orbit each other naturally, wordlessly, like the universe arranged it that way and forgot to tell anyone else. He’s always there. Waiting by your locker, stealing your food with a grin, and tugging on your sleeves when he wants your attention. And you, with your big eyes and soft voice, never see the way he looks at you.

Because you’re too kind. Too sweet. Too busy giggling at dumb movies and offering him the last bite of your ice cream. You fall asleep on his shoulder during car rides, wear his hoodies without asking, hold his hand like it means nothing—and it drives him insane. Because to him, it means everything.

You don’t know it, but he memorises you. The way you chew your lip when you’re nervous. The soft rise and fall of your chest when you sleep. How your laugh curls in the air like something holy. He thinks you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen, all sunshine and sugar and so effortlessly good it hurts.

He keeps all his feelings locked up tight, sealed behind smiles and teasing nicknames. But sometimes—just sometimes—he wonders what it would be like if you knew. If you really knew how much he loves you. How your voice steadies him. How your trust makes him feel like he’s worth something. How just being around you makes the world bearable.

You think he’s just your best friend. But he’s quietly, desperately, hopelessly in love with you. And he would never risk losing you. Even if it kills him a little more each day. You don’t know what makes today feel different. It’s been sweet, like always. You and Rafe spent the whole afternoon wrapped up in each other—driving around nowhere, laughing too loud, stealing fries off each other’s plates like you’ve done a thousand times before. He knows all your favourite songs. You know all his soft spots. It’s always been like that.

Now it’s nighttime, and you’re in your bed, side by side, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The lights are off. The sheets smell like lavender and the lotion you put on before bed. Everything is warm and quiet and close. You’re whispering secrets, giggling between yawns, brushing your toes against his under the blanket. It’s innocent, familiar. Safe. You’re talking about some guy who asked you out earlier in the week, but you laugh it off—like it was strange or silly. Like you didn’t get it. You never really do. ❝It always surprises me when people say that. That I’m pretty, I mean.❞

Rafe goes quiet. Too quiet. And you feel it. The way the air shifts. Then his voice, low, soft, aching: ❝I get it. You’re beautiful. Of course he asked.❞ You giggle, nudging him gently. ❝Rafe, stop. You’re just saying that.❞ But that’s what breaks him. He sits up suddenly, like the words are forcing themselves out. His hands are trembling. His breath’s gone all uneven.

❝I’m not. I’m not just saying anything. I love you. I’ve loved you since before I even knew what it meant.❞ You freeze, blinking up at him, wide-eyed and stunned. ❝Shit—I didn’t mean—I mean I did—but I shouldn’t’ve said it like that—fuck. Don’t hate me, please. I didn’t mean to ruin this.❞ He looks wrecked. So scared. So soft.

You reach up, gently, and take his hand in both of yours. Press your lips to his knuckles. ❝You didn’t ruin anything. You’re my favourite person. You always have been.❞ And then you kiss him—just once, soft and slow. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He kisses you back like he’s been holding his breath for years. At first, he’s hesitant. Nervous. His lips brush yours, soft and unsure, like he’s scared you might pull away. Like he doesn’t quite believe this is real—that you kissed him first. That you want him back.

His hands tremble where they press into the mattress on either side of you, caging you in without ever touching you. You feel how hard he’s trying not to shake, how tightly he’s holding himself together.

❝It’s okay,❞ you whisper into his mouth between kisses. ❝You’re okay.❞ He exhales like he’s breaking apart. And then he kisses you again, deeper this time. Still nervous. Still careful. But he lets himself taste you, lets himself lean into it. His lips slot over yours perfectly, and he’s breathless, desperate in a way that’s all bottled up.

Rafe groans into your mouth like he’s starving—like the taste of you is the first thing he’s ever truly wanted. He kisses with this aching kind of hunger, tongue pushing past your lips like he’s been dreaming about this exact moment forever.

His tongue licks into you slow at first, savouring it, then deeper—wet and hot and messy. He fucks your mouth with it, gentle but desperate, like he can’t help it. Like he wants to crawl inside your body and live there. You moan softly, lips parting wider, letting him take and take and take. Your fingers brush against his jaw, soothing, anchoring. You feel the way his breath catches, how he leans into your touch like he needs it. Like he needs you.

You tug at the hem of his shirt between kisses, breathless. He pulls back just long enough to tug it over his head, and your eyes go soft—your breath catching. He’s all nervous smiles and flushed cheeks, but your gaze is warm and adoring, and it makes him feel like maybe he’s not so scared. ❝You’re beautiful,❞ you whisper. He swallows hard. ❝You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.❞

You kiss again, and this time there’s no hesitation. Just want. Just heat. Your hands roam his chest, his shoulders. His hands finally touch your waist, hesitant but hungry. He fumbles with your shirt, asking, ❝Can I?❞ You nod. He undresses you like you’re something sacred. Like he’s scared he might break you. And when you’re bare beneath him, he just looks. Drinks you in. Breathing heavily. Awestruck. ❝Are you sure?❞ he whispers. ❝I’m sure. I want you, Rafe.❞ It nearly undoes him.

His breath catches, jaw tight, the weight of your words wrecking something deep inside him. You’re laid out beneath him—eyes soft, chest heaving, skin flushed with anticipation—and he looks at you like you hung the damn stars.

He lines himself up between your thighs, and you feel him—hard, thick, and big. The tip of his cock brushes against your entrance, and your breath stutters, hips twitching. He strokes his hand up your thigh, spreading you wider, fingers trailing dangerously close to where you're dripping for him. ❝Fuck,❞ he breathes, eyes dark and ravenous. ❝You sure, sweetheart?❞ You nod, voice breathy. ❝I’m sure. Please, Rafe. I need you.❞

He groans, low and hungry, and starts to push in—slow, almost teasing. The thick head of his cock parts your folds, dragging through your slick as he eases in inch by inch. Your mouth falls open, gasping at the stretch. It burns in the most delicious way. ❝Oh my god—Rafe—❞

❝I got you,❞ he grits out, forehead against yours, watching every twitch of your face. ❝Fuck, you’re so tight. You’re taking me so well, angel.❞ He bottoms out with a trembling moan, buried to the hilt, cock pulsing inside you. Your pussy clenches around him, fluttering, greedy, and wet. His arms are shaking, holding himself up as he breathes through the urge to fuck you into the mattress right then.

You’re wrapped around him, thighs trembling, nails clawing at his shoulders. He starts to move—deep, slow strokes that drag every inch of him along your walls. You whimper, head falling back as he rocks into you, hips rolling, hitting that sweet spot over and over.

❝So fucking good,❞ he murmurs against your neck, tongue licking a stripe up your throat. ❝Been thinking about this for so long. How perfect you’d feel.❞ His hand trails down, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, wet circles as he keeps fucking into you. You jolt, crying out as pleasure coils sharp and fast in your stomach.

❝You feel that, sweetheart? How wet are you? How you’re squeezing me like that?❞ he groans, voice filthy. ❝God, you were made for me.❞ And then he loses control. His rhythm turns rough—desperate and fast, hips slamming into yours with wet, echoing sounds. The room is filled with your moans, his panting, and the sound of skin on skin. He’s fucking you hard now, raw and deep, your slick coating him, dripping down your thighs. ❝So messy,❞ he pants, watching where you're joined. ❝Look at that, sweetheart. You’re soaking me.❞

You’re crying out, back arching off the bed, overwhelmed by how good it feels. He’s hitting that spot again and again, making you dizzy and incoherent. ❝Cum for me,❞ he growls, fingers tightening on your hips. ❝Cum all over my cock.❞ You shatter, legs shaking, cunt clenching down on him so tight he chokes on a moan. You cry out his name, loud and shameless.

Rafe follows, hips stuttering as he thrusts deep and stays there, groaning against your throat as he cums—thick and hot—filling you up. He keeps thrusting shallowly, riding it out, fucking his release deeper inside. Then he collapses on top of you, breathing hard, face buried in your neck. His hands stroke your sides, your thighs, gentle now.

❝You’re everything,❞ he whispers, kissing your face, your lips. ❝Mine. All mine.❞ He stays inside you, warm and full, bodies tangled, and for the first time—it feels like the beginning of something real. He holds you after. Kisses your face. Whispers your name like a prayer. It’s passionate. It’s real.

And it’s the beginning of everything.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : ahh! I love the best friend concept probably more than anything, so thank you so much anon for giving me an excuse to dive back into it. this was sooo fun to write, I hope you guys love it too!

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[dior-luxury]

Can we get some headcanons for Deuce when he gets a girlfriend for the first time?

New Boyfriend Deuce HC'S

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] deuce spade

- [𝐩:𝐬] deuce being the best boyfriend ever. Fluff-heavy romance . Mild secondhand embarrassment . Emotional vulnerability .

Note: Guys... I got a LITTLE too carried away with these headcanons (ღ˘⌣˘ღ) Anyways these headcanons are so cute like- ahahsiken. Let me know if you guys would want more characters!

Deuce never thought he’d have a girlfriend in Night Raven College — he was too busy trying to be an honor student, avoid trouble, and stay on Crowley's good side. But when he meets you, something shifts. You're kind, but not a pushover. You encourage him to study but also tease him when he gets too serious. You’re not loud, but somehow, when you're in a room, he feels it. His heart jumps a little whenever you laugh. At first, he writes it off as admiration. Just friends. That’s all. But then he finds himself lingering in the hallway, hoping to catch a glimpse of you between classes. He starts sitting in spots where you’ll pass by. His cheeks flush whenever you smile at him for no reason. He realizes it when Ace smirks one day and goes, “You’re seriously down bad for her, huh?”

Confessing is a nightmare and a half. He doesn’t want to mess it up. Deuce goes full-on prep mode like he’s cramming for a Spelldrive match and a pop quiz at the same time. He practices what to say in front of the mirror, muttering lines like: "Would you maybe want to—uh—do the thing—no, wait, not like that—"

He’s red as a tomato by the end of it.

He writes you a letter. Handwritten. Old-fashioned. Filled with crossed-out words and nervous little doodles in the margins. It ends with: “I think you’re amazing and I want to be someone you can count on. If you want… would you go out with me?” When he hands it to you, he bolts. Just. Takes off. Won’t even look you in the eye until the next day.

When you say yes, he’s stunned into silence. Then his face lights up like fireworks and he gives you the most genuine, pure smile you’ve ever seen. "R-Really?! I mean, I’m really happy. I’ll do my best—I mean, I’ll be the best boyfriend I can!”

Deuce is so earnest it hurts. He Googles “how to be a good boyfriend” and takes notes. He shows up to your hangouts with little things you mentioned once in passing. If you said your favorite color was lilac? Expect him to wear a tie in that color next week. You mentioned you liked strawberry tarts once? He’ll try to bake them (and ends up covered in flour, calling his mom mid-way for help).

He’s not very smooth, and it shows. One time, he tried to do the whole "cool guy leaning against the locker" thing and misjudged the angle, falling sideways into the wall. He laughed it off awkwardly, ears pink. “Nailed it,” he said. You giggled, and he practically melted.

He tries to play it cool around others, but Ace teases the hell out of him. “There’s your girlfriend, Deuce! Go get her a flower or something!” “I-I was going to anyway! Shut up, Ace!”

He loves walking you back to your dorm. It becomes a quiet, meaningful routine. He listens intently when you talk about your day, and he’ll offer to carry your books even if you insist he doesn’t have to. He’s not touchy at first — not because he doesn’t want to be, but because he’s terrified of doing something you’re uncomfortable with. The first time you held his hand, he short-circuited. Just blinked down at your interlocked fingers and looked like he was trying not to pass out from happiness.

Being with you pushes him to grow. He starts reflecting on how he communicates, how he reacts when he’s upset, how he can show love without overwhelming you. You catch glimpses of the rougher Deuce sometimes — the one who’s a little hot-headed, a little impulsive. But he’s learning. With you, he wants to be the version of himself that he's proud of.

One time, he got into an argument with another student who disrespected you, and he was this close to throwing a punch. But then he remembered what you’d say. He breathed. He walked away. Later, he apologized to you, looking like a kicked puppy. “I just… I don’t want you to be disappointed in me.”

You tell him you’re proud of how far he’s come. His voice catches when he answers. “That means a lot. I… I used to think I had to fight to prove myself. But now, I want to grow for real. Not just for me. For us.”

He takes you on a “date” to the botanical gardens on campus, and it’s surprisingly lovely. He’s not great at planning fancy things, but he puts in so much heart. He brings a picnic lunch he made (not bad, actually!) and sets it all up under a tree blooming with pastel flowers. “I wanted you to have something peaceful. You always make me feel calm, you know?” he admits.

On your birthday, Deuce panics about what gift to get you. In the end, he hand-crafts a small charm — something simple, with your initials and a lucky star bead from his hometown. “It’s not perfect, but I wanted you to have something that’d protect you.”

Rainy days are his favorite because you’ll let him lend you his jacket — which is oversized, warm, and smells like the citrus soap he uses. You wear it and tease him: “Boyfriend privileges.” He blushes but beams. “I’ll give you all the privileges you want.”

Deuce might act tough sometimes, but he’s soft when it comes to you. He’s the type to text you “Did you eat today?” or bring you your favorite snack after a long class. If you’re ever sad, he listens. Doesn’t always know what to say, but he sits beside you, lets you vent, and quietly offers his hand to hold.

He’s so gentle when he’s with you. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Smiling nervously before pressing a kiss to your forehead. His affection is shy but real.

One night, you two stayed up late talking — about dreams, the future, things that scare you, things you hope for. Deuce looked at you and whispered: “I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have someone like you. I don’t wanna take it for granted.”