#and to me I don’t think he was trying to be a creep about it

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (12)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player!Rafe & Supermodel!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 7k words

Aliyah's Notes: me when i come back to life after a month of inactivity ☝️😈 say goodbye to the good times guys we're slowly falling into hell

You stood in front of the full-length mirror, surrounded by a chaotic pile of clothes scattered across the floor. Dresses, skirts, jeans, and even your old sweatpants were strewn about like the aftermath of a fashion war.

Living with Rafe for the past two days had been an adjustment—his penthouse was sleek, modern, and always spotless… a stark contrast to your current state of disarray. It made you self-conscious sometimes, like when you’d spilled coffee on the pristine marble countertop and panicked while scrubbing it clean before he noticed.

Your brows furrowed as you held up a pair of ripped jeans and a plain white crop top. “Too casual,” you muttered, tossing them aside. Next came a flowy sundress. “Too try-hard.”

A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as you sank onto the edge of your bed, arms crossed. Why were you putting so much thought into this? It wasn’t like this basketball game was your debut as his fiancée. Well, technically it was, but it’s not like anyone expected you to look the part. 

Or maybe they did? 

Rafe hadn’t given you any details, just a cocky grin and a, ‘Don’t embarrass me.’ The memory of his smirk made you groan.

You picked up a sweater, holding it against your chest before throwing it onto the growing pile. Why does it even matter? It’s just his stupid game. You’re going because… You paused, biting your lip. Because you lived with him now. Because you were his fiancée. Because showing up wasn’t optional.

Your gaze drifted to the jersey draped over the back of your chair. His number, 13, stood out in bold print. Would wearing his jersey to the game feel too... personal? No, that was ridiculous. People wore jerseys all the time. It wasn’t special. It didn’t mean anything. 

Right?

Right.

You hesitated before picking it up, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric. It smelled faintly of his cologne, and something about that made you pause. You shook the thought away and slipped it on, the material loose and comfortable against your skin. It paired surprisingly well with the black mini skirt you’d put on earlier—a little sporty, a little casual. Perfect. You turned to the mirror, adjusting the hem and smoothing out the fabric.

For a split second, you wondered what he’d think when he saw you. Would he tease you? Would he flash that grin that somehow made your stomach flip? The thought made your chest tighten, and you scolded yourself immediately because you didn't care about his opinion.

Your cheeks warmed despite your internal protest. Grabbing your bag, you made your way to the door, slipping on your shoes with determined efficiency. Your phone buzzed just as you were about to leave. Unlocking it, you found a series of messages from Rafe.

Rafe: You better not be late. Superstition or not, you’re about to be my good luck charm.

Rafe: BTW, try not to drool too much when you see me on the court.

Your lips twitched despite yourself, a reluctant smile creeping onto your face. You quickly typed back:

You: Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just going there for the snacks.

His reply came almost immediately.

Rafe: Liar. You’re obsessed with me.

Rafe: BTW, that jersey on the chair? My idea. You’re welcome.

You blinked at the screen, heat prickling at your neck. How does he know? The man must’ve had a sixth sense for reading your mind. Or he’d guessed—he did that a lot too. Before you could think of a retort, another message popped up.

Rafe: Also, don’t leave without turning off the kitchen lights again. Unless you want me to write you a manual for living here.

Your lips twitched despite yourself, a reluctant smile breaking free. He was insufferable, and yet the thought of him noticing the smallest things—like your mistakes or your outfit—made your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready to admit.

You: Good luck, Rafe. You’ll need it.

Rafe: The only luck I need is you in that jersey.

You rolled your eyes, locking your phone and shoving it into your bag with a shake of your head. His ego was unmatched, but as you stepped out the door, a tiny flicker of anticipation stirred in your chest—a feeling you couldn’t quite name but weren’t ready to let go of either.

The leather seats of the car felt cool beneath you as you shifted in place, fingers tapping restlessly against your bag. Gregory, your driver, glanced at you through the rearview mirror, offering a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry about the delay, Miss. It’s the construction on 5th Avenue—completely backed up. I’ll do my best to get you there on time.”

“It’s fine, Gregory. Not your fault,” you replied with a sympathetic smile.

Outside, the glow of brake lights illuminated the street, a reminder of how hopelessly stuck you were. The distant sound of car horns blended into the hum of the city, making the minutes feel like hours. You glanced at the time on your phone. Rafe’s game had probably started, or was about to.

With a sigh, you opened your messages, typing quickly.

You: Traffic’s insane. Running late.

The reply came almost immediately.

Rafe: Typical. My fiancée can’t even show up on time.

You rolled your eyes, already expecting the teasing.

You: Not my fault NYC doesn’t know how to manage its roads.

Rafe: I’ll pass the message along to the mayor. Very helpful.

You could practically hear the smirk in his words.

You: Be serious for once.

Rafe: I am serious. If you miss me scoring, it’s grounds for annulment.

Your lips twitched despite yourself, fingers hovering over the screen before typing back.

You: Don’t tempt me.

Rafe: Tempting you is, like, my full-time job.

You leaned back against the seat, biting back a grin. The nerve of this man. The audacity. Still, his ability to lighten the mood—even when he was being insufferable—was irritatingly effective.

You: Just play well. I’ll be there soon.

Rafe: Don’t worry, pretty girl. I’m saving all my best moves for when you’re watching.

You locked your phone with a shake of your head, stuffing it into your bag. Gregory, ever the professional, glanced at you again.

“Almost there, Miss. Just a few more blocks.”

“Thanks, Greg,” you murmured, tugging at the hem of Rafe’s jersey. The fabric felt oddly comforting against your skin, a reminder of the strange new reality you were navigating. Living with him, wearing his number, showing up to his games like a dutiful fiancée—it was all so... surreal.

By the time the car pulled up to the arena, the faint roar of the crowd was already audible. You stepped out, adjusting the strap of your bag and smoothing down your skirt. Gregory gave you a small wave before driving off, leaving you standing at the entrance with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

As you made your way through the bustling hallway, you couldn’t help but notice the lingering stares. Heads turned, whispers followed, and you caught snippets of conversations that made your stomach twist.

“Oh, my God! That’s her, isn’t it? YN YLN?”

“She’s gorgeous. I saw her in that Vogue spread last month.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think it’s a weird match? She doesn’t seem like his type.”

“I heard their engagement was super sudden. Like, out of nowhere.”

You kept your head high, forcing yourself to focus on the sound of your heels clicking against the floor. The familiar pressure of public scrutiny was something you’d grown used to as a model, but this was different. This wasn’t about your career. This was about you—your personal life, your choices, your supposed love story with Rafe.

The tension only grew as you climbed the stairs to the seating area. You found your seat with your name on a piece of paper, sliding into the seat and exhaling slowly. The crowd around you was buzzing with excitement, their cheers and chatter filling the air. You adjusted the jersey again, pulling it down slightly as your eyes scanned the court below.

Players were warming up, their movements fluid and confident. Your gaze lingered on Rafe almost instinctively. He was standing near the bench, laughing at something one of his teammates said. Even from a distance, his presence was magnetic—broad shoulders, easy swagger, and that stupid grin.

You were so focused on him that you almost didn’t notice the glances directed your way. A group of women a few rows ahead whispered behind cupped hands, casting subtle looks in your direction. Two men seated nearby exchanged knowing smirks, as if they’d just shared some private joke at your expense.

Your phone buzzed in your lap, pulling you from your thoughts.

Rafe: You better be watching. Game’s about to start.

You glanced down at the message, your lips curving into a faint smile.

You: I’m here. Stop texting me and focus.

Rafe: Can’t help it. You’re too pretty. I can’t look away.

You stared at his reply, the words making your chest tighten. He had a way of saying things that left you questioning whether he was teasing or if there was something deeper hidden beneath the surface. Shaking your head, you locked your phone, determined not to let him get to you.

But as you tucked your phone back into your bag, you couldn’t resist the pull to look up. Your eyes scanned the court, weaving through the blur of players warming up and the steady hum of the crowd. Then, you found him.

Rafe stood near the bench line, towel slung casually over his shoulder, his stance relaxed but commanding. He wasn’t talking to his teammates anymore or listening to the coach’s instructions.

His attention was fixed on you.

The moment your eyes met, it felt like the air shifted. The noise of the arena—the cheers, the clapping, the announcer’s voice—all seemed to fade into the background. It was just him, standing there, looking at you like the game didn’t matter. Like you were the only thing that did.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile, one that was entirely too confident for its own good. Slowly, he tilted his head, his blue eyes holding yours with a softness that contrasted the cocky energy he carried on the court.

Then, he mouthed the words, “You’re so pretty.”

You felt your breath catch, the heat rising to your cheeks as his gaze lingered. It wasn’t just the words that made your chest flutter; it was the way he looked at you, like he was seeing something no one else could.

Heart pounding, you mouthed back, “Focus on the game.”

His smile deepened, transforming into a grin that made your stomach flip. He shook his head lightly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Can’t.”

The unspoken word hung between you, and for a moment, it felt like the space between the court and the stands wasn’t so far after all. There was a vulnerability in his expression, a quiet intensity that made you wonder if he meant more than he was letting on.

He lifted his hand, brushing his thumb across his chin in a subtle motion, but the meaning was unmistakable: he was thinking about you.

The referee’s whistle blew sharply, breaking the spell. Rafe turned back toward the court, tossing the towel to a teammate with a practiced ease, but not before glancing at you one last time. His gaze softened, and for a fleeting second, you could have sworn there was something unspoken in his eyes—something that felt dangerously close to longing.

You exhaled shakily, your hands tightening around the strap of your bag. Around you, the crowd erupted as the game began, but your focus was still on him. The way he moved, so sure of himself, every step purposeful, every pass calculated—it was mesmerizing.

The arena buzzed with energy as the game commenced. The rhythmic dribble of the basketball and the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished court filled the air, blending with the cheers of the crowd. You found yourself transfixed, your gaze locked on Rafe as he moved across the court with the ease of someone born to dominate the game.

He was commanding a force of nature. Every movement was deliberate, powerful and precise. He wove through the opposing team effortlessly, his presence undeniable as he directed his teammates with sharp gestures and focused intensity. The scorebag flashed: 2-0. Rafe’s team was already pulling ahead, and it was clear who the driving force was.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Every time he scored, the arena erupted, but your heart thudded for a different reason. There was something magnetic about the way he played—a mixture of skill, confidence, and an edge that made it impossible to look away. Even from a distance, you could see the determination etched on his face, the slight smirk when his shot landed perfectly in the net, the way he winked at you.

This was Rafe Cameron at his peak, untouchable and undeniably captivating.

Suddenly, the seat next to you shifted. You felt the slight weight of someone standing next to you, but you didn’t glance over. Your attention remained locked on Rafe as he leapt to intercept a pass, the sheer athleticism in his jump drawing another cheer from the crowd.

But then, a familiar voice cut through the noise, low and dripping with condescension.

“Well, this is unexpected.”

Your stomach dropped, and for a fleeting moment, the lively arena seemed to tilt and blur around you. Reluctantly, you tore your gaze away from the court, where Rafe had been dominating with his usual confidence, and turned to the source of the interruption.

There she was, Chiara Romano, lounging in the seat beside you like she owned the place. She looked as impeccable as ever, her designer coat draped artfully over her shoulders, not a single strand out of place. Her lips curved into a smug smile that made your stomach churn, her perfectly manicured nails tapping lightly against the armrest.

“Chiara,” you greeted flatly, forcing a polite smile that didn’t come close to reaching your eyes. “Didn’t expect to see you here... sitting next to me,” you added under your breath, your tone laced with barely concealed irritation.

“Of course I’d be here,” she said breezily, flipping her hair over one shoulder in a gesture so practiced it felt rehearsed. “Rafe and I go way back, you know. I’ve been to more of his games than I can count.”

You clenched your jaw but refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you turned back toward the court, your eyes automatically searching for Rafe. “That’s nice,” you replied tersely, hoping to end the conversation there.

But Chiara wasn’t one to take a hint.

“You know, basketball games can be overwhelming if you’re not used to them,” she continued, her tone dripping with faux sympathy. “The noise, the energy, the spotlight—it’s not for everyone.”

“I’m managing just fine,” you replied evenly, your voice steady despite the simmering annoyance beneath the surface.

“I’m sure you are,” she said with a patronizing little laugh. She leaned back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other as if settling in for a long chat. “So,” she said with an air of faux curiosity, “how’s life been since we last saw each other? It’s been, what, almost a month?”

You resisted the urge to groan. The last thing you wanted was to engage in small talk with her. “Not much,” you replied curtly. “You?”

Chiara’s eyes sparkled with amusement, as if she relished the power dynamic of the exchange. “Oh, nothing too exciting,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Then, with a calculated tilt of her head, she added, “But ‘nothing much’ seems like a strange way to describe getting engaged. That’s pretty big, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Chiara’s smile widened, and she leaned in just a fraction, as though to share some intimate secret. You instinctively recoiled, unnerved by her sudden proximity. Whether it was meant to intimidate you or to ensure you heard every word of her next comment, you weren’t sure.

Either way, you didn’t like it.

“I have to admit something,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was surprised to hear about the engagement—” Womp womp, you thought. “—I mean, Rafe never struck me as the settling-down type.”

You exhaled sharply, turning to face her with a calmness you didn’t quite feel. Your voice was smooth, but the edge was unmistakable. “Maybe he wasn’t with the right person to give you that impression.”

Chiara’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressing together in a thin line. The sudden shift in her posture told you everything—you’d struck a nerve. “And you think you’re the… right person?”

You leaned in just slightly, your gaze sharp and unyielding, your lips curling into a smug smile that didn't reach your eyes. “Well, I mean, I’m the one he plans to marry, aren’t I?”

The words landed like a slap, and for a brief moment, her face flickered with a blend of jealousy and frustration, a brief vulnerability that she quickly tried to mask.

“Right,” she nodded, the sound forced. “But you do realize, Rafe isn’t usually into girls like you. He has... a type. Or at least, he used to.”

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused by her attempt at a jab. “Okay?” you said, a little too casual.

She laughed bitterly, flapping her hands in the air, clearly trying to backpedal. “I didn’t mean anything bad by that. You’re beautiful, sure, but you’re just not the type Rafe typically goes for.”

Was she serious right now?

What’s so surprising about a white guy only being interested in white girls? Did she think I was born yesterday?

You scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with that info, Chiara? Am I supposed to fall apart? ‘Oh no, another white guy who doesn’t like brown girls like me. My life is over. I wish I was white.’ Is that the reaction you were hoping for?”

Chiara blinked, clearly thrown off by the intensity in your voice. The color drained slightly from her face as you held your ground, watching her squirm just a little.

“You think you're clever, don’t you?” she said, her voice now tinged with frustration, but you could see the crack in her facade.

“Not really,” you said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Just tired of people thinking they can throw their insecurities at me and watch me flinch. But I don’t play that game.”

Her jaw tightened as she glanced around, searching for a way to regain control. “You know, you’re not exactly what he needs. You’re all—” She gestured to you, eyes sweeping over your appearance, “—flashy, a model, all glitz and glamour. But Rafe needs someone real. Someone who actually gets him.”

You leaned forward just a bit, a challenge flickering in your eyes. “I’m pretty sure I get him just fine. What you’re really trying to say is that you can’t stand the fact that he’s chosen me. And it’s not because I’m not ‘his type.’ It’s because I’m the one who got him. And that’s something you can’t wrap your fucking head around.”

The words landed heavy, and you saw the small twitch in her eye. For a brief moment, she looked almost... vulnerable. Then, just as quickly, the facade slipped back on.

Chiara scoffed, her lips curling into a tight smile. “You’re just a placeholder. He’s going to get bored of you eventually.”

"Listen," you began, stepping closer to Chiara, your voice steady and sharp. "I’m here to watch my fiancé win his match, not waste my time arguing with someone who clearly peaked in high school. So why don’t you take your insecurities and your cheap, high-school jabs and shove them so far up your—"

"Hey, baby," a familiar voice interrupted, smooth and warm like honey.

Your head snapped to the side, and there he was—Rafe, running to you, with that signature cocky grin. His hair was damp with sweat, strands clinging to his forehead, and his jersey clung to every ridge of his chest, leaving very little to the imagination. The gleam of sweat gliding down his forearms and neck made your mouth dry, and for a moment, you completely forgot where you were.

"Did you see that dunk I just pulled off?" he asked, his tone a mix of pride and boyish excitement.

You barely registered the words because all you could think about was how ridiculously good he looked. His muscles practically strained against his jersey, his shoulders broad and commanding. Even the sweat dripping from his jawline seemed unfairly attractive.

Damn it, why did he have to look like that right now?

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus as Rafe jogged up the steps toward you, his eyes lighting up when they met yours.

"Did you see it?" he pressed, still grinning.

"Yeah," you lied, your lips curving into a soft smile as you reached up to adjust the collar of his jersey. "Don’t let it go to your head, though."

“Too late,” Rafe chuckled, leaning in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne. “That dunk? It was for you. Thought you might like it since, you know, you’re my good luck charm and all.”

You raised a brow, fighting to keep your expression indifferent, though the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you. “Really? Do I look impressed?”

He inched closer, the grin on his face softening into something that felt almost intimate, his voice dropping lower. “You look hot, actually.” His eyes flickered to your lips for a heartbeat before meeting yours again. “Seeing you out there with my number on your back? It’s driving me insane.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat when his gaze lingered just a little too long, sending your heart racing.

“Cameron! Get your pussy-whipped ass back on the court!” JJ Maybank, his teammate, shouted echoed from across the gym.

Rafe groaned, the spell broken, before dropping his head dramatically onto your lap with a low chuckle. He turned his face to press a quick, feather-light kiss to your cheek, the touch leaving you both flustered and breathless, before he jogged back to the court.

For the next 30 minutes, everything was perfect. The energy was electric, Rafe’s team seemed to win and every time he did so he’d send a wink in your direction. You felt good, peaceful. You felt comfortable, almost like you were meant to be here cheering for him. It was too good that you almost forgot Chiara’s presence next to you… until she spoke.

“You know, Rafe and I used to have this little tradition after his games,” she said casually, as though the memory had just occurred to her. “We’d go to this rooftop downtown—he always said it was his favorite view of the city. We’d stay up there for hours, just talking about everything and nothing. It was… special.”

Your grip on your drink tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your eyes on the court. Rafe had just stolen the ball, and the crowd roared as he raced toward the basket.

“You know,” she began, almost lazily, “Rafe and I used to have this little post-game ritual. He’d always say I was his good luck charm—”

Your heart clenched painfully. The phrase echoed in your mind, sharp and cutting like broken glass. Good luck charm. That was what Rafe had called you just today, his lips brushing your ear as he teased you in the stands. It had felt personal, intimate, like a secret between you and him. But now it seemed cheap, rehearsed—just another line he used, a meaningless phrase recycled from his past with others.

You kept your face neutral, though your pulse thundered in your ears.

“He always said he couldn’t play his best unless I was watching,” Chiara continued, her voice tinged with amusement. “It was sweet, really. Afterward, he’d grab my hand, pull me into his car, and we’d drive down to this diner he loved. He insisted the milkshakes there were the best in town.”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from finding Rafe on the court. He was electric, his movements precise and powerful, his confidence unmistakable. But as you stared at him, anger and hurt churned in your chest. You felt foolish, betrayed, for letting yourself believe you were special to him.

“And when he scored that game-winning shot last season,” Chiara added, leaning slightly closer as if to deliver the final blow, “he said it was because I was there. He made me feel like I was part of it, you know? Like we were a team.”

The game’s final whistle blew, and the crowd erupted in cheers, but you couldn’t bring yourself to clap. Your hands stayed clenched in your lap, your eyes locked on Rafe as he turned toward the stands.

His gaze swept across the crowd until it landed on you.

You weren’t smiling. You weren’t even standing. You just sat there, staring at him, your emotions too tangled to mask. Hurt, anger, and disappointment simmered beneath the surface, your expression giving away enough for him to know something was wrong.

Rafe’s brow furrowed, his grin disappearing entirely as he took a step closer, clearly intending to come over. But you didn’t wait. You pushed yourself up from the seat and turned on your heel, weaving your way through the crowd toward the exit.

“YN!” His voice carried over the noise, confusion laced in his tone. You didn’t stop.

He called your name again, louder this time, his footsteps heavy behind you as he tried to catch up. “Hey, wait—what’s going on?”

But you couldn’t face him. Not now. Not with your chest tightening and your mind replaying Chiara’s words like a broken record. Good luck charm. The phrase rattled in your head, mocking you for ever thinking you were something new to him.

Just as you reached the corridor leading out of the stadium, Rafe’s hand grabbed your wrist, halting you in your tracks.

“YN, stop,” he said, his voice firmer now, though there was still a trace of confusion in it. He turned you around gently, his blue eyes searching yours. “What the hell is wrong?”

You yanked your wrist free, your emotions bubbling too close to the surface. “You're such a fucking asshole,” you snapped in your native language.

“I don’t know what you're saying!” he said, confused. “What is this? Why are you walking away from me?”

“Hey!” His tone was sharper now, frustration evident as he jogged after you. You were halfway down the empty corridor when his voice rose again, louder this time. “What the hell is going on?”

Still, you didn’t look back.

Rafe finally caught up, his footsteps heavy as he moved in front of you, blocking your path. “YN, stop!” he barked, his chest rising and falling with exertion. His blue eyes searched your face, desperate for answers. “What is wrong with you?”

You gave him nothing, your expression unreadable as you stared past him, silent and unyielding.

“Seriously? You’re just going to ignore me?” Rafe demanded, his voice rising with irritation.

You crossed your arms, your jaw tightening as you stepped around him and continued walking. He let out a low curse behind you but followed, his confusion giving way to simmering anger.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured as he touched his hair before going back to shower quickly and change.

Rafe stepped into the dimly lit private parking lot, his thoughts tangled in knots as he tried to make sense of your behavior. The tension from earlier lingered, gnawing at him with every step he took. What could he have done to make you this angry? He replayed the events in his mind, searching for answers but coming up empty-handed.

Then, he spotted you.

You were leaning against his car, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as though shielding yourself from more than just the cold. Your gaze was fixed on the ground, a deep frown etched on your face. Rafe froze for a moment, his confusion momentarily replaced by something softer.

Even now, angry and upset, you looked stunning.

He noticed the way your bottom lip jutted out slightly in an unconscious pout, a habit he’d come to associate with your frustration. It was endearing, almost enough to make him smile if the circumstances weren’t so tense. His eyes softened as he watched you, taking in the delicate lines of your profile and the way your hair shifted slightly with the cold breeze.

But then his phone buzzed in his pocket, the sudden noise shattering the stillness. The sound caught your attention, and your head snapped up to meet his gaze.

The moment your eyes locked, Rafe felt like he’d been struck.

Your glare was fiery, your anger radiating in waves that he could feel even from a distance. It was a look that could melt steel, and for a fleeting second, Rafe thought you might actually set him alight with sheer willpower.

In stark contrast, his own gaze held nothing but intensity, a raw, unguarded passion that made him forget to breathe. He knew you were furious, but he couldn’t stop the way his heart ached for you—or the way you made it race despite everything.

The phone in his pocket buzzed again, but he didn’t bother checking who it was. He pulled it out, pressed ‘decline’ without even glancing at the screen, and slipped it back into his pocket. His focus never wavered from you.

“Can I walk over,” he called out, his voice a mix of humor and hesitation, “or are you going to eat me alive?”

You didn’t respond. Your piercing stare didn’t falter, and the silence felt deafening.

If Rafe was honest, he was a little scared.

Drawing in a deep breath, he willed himself forward. Each step he took felt heavier, weighed down by the intensity of your gaze. When he reached the car, he pulled out his keys, unlocking the doors with a soft beep.

The sound seemed to jolt you, and without a word, you slipped past him and climbed into the passenger seat. He noticed the way you folded into yourself, shrinking away from him as you hugged your arms tighter against the biting New York City air.

Rafe stood outside for a moment, his hand gripping the door handle as he stared at you through the window. You wouldn’t even look at him, your face turned resolutely toward the dashboard. The cold breeze tugged at his jacket, but he barely felt it.

With a quiet sigh, he got into the driver’s seat, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. The tension was suffocating, and as he started the car, he couldn’t help but glance at you again, his chest tightening at the sight of your distant expression.

The car ride was agonizingly silent.

Rafe’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as he stole quick glances at you, each one more anxious than the last. The occasional flicker of streetlights illuminated your face, but you kept your gaze locked on the window, your expression unreadable.

"YN," he started, his voice quieter this time, almost cautious. "Are you going to tell me what’s going on?"

You didn’t even blink.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. "Come on," he said more firmly. "I’m not a mind reader. Just talk to me."

Still, nothing.

He sighed heavily, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “I don’t know what I did to make you this mad, but—”

“Then stop talking,” you interrupted, your voice sharp and cold.

That shut him up. The rest of the drive was thick with tension, the kind that settled in your chest and made it hard to breathe.

By the time he pulled into the parking garage, Rafe’s patience was stretched thin. He parked the car, cutting the engine, and turned to you.

“Are we really going to keep doing this?” he asked, his tone edged with irritation. “You’re acting like I killed your dog or something. Just tell me what’s wrong!”

You ignored him, pulling open the door and stepping out into the cold. The slam of the door echoed through the garage.

“Great,” Rafe muttered under his breath, getting out and slamming his own door harder than necessary. “This is just perfect.”

He followed you into the building, his longer strides catching up to you easily. “YN, stop,” he said, his voice growing more urgent. “Will you please just stop for a second?”

You didn’t.

The moment you stepped into the apartment, you made a beeline for your bedroom. But Rafe was right behind you, his frustration boiling over as he grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low and firm. “What the hell is going on?”

You yanked your arm free, glaring at him with such ferocity that he actually stepped back. “Don’t,” you snapped, your voice cutting like a blade.

Without waiting for a response, you stormed into your room and slammed the door shut so hard the walls seemed to vibrate.

Rafe stood there for a moment, stunned. His hands rested on his hips as he exhaled a shaky breath. “Seriously?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Are you for real right now?”

From the other side of the door, you could hear him pacing. His voice grew louder, tinged with disbelief and frustration.

“YN, come on! What the hell is your problem? Why are you acting like this?”

You pressed your back against the door, your arms wrapping around yourself as your emotions warred inside you. Chiara’s words played on a relentless loop in your mind—good luck charm—and your chest ached with a confusing mix of anger and betrayal.

When Rafe’s voice came again, it was louder, more exasperated. “I don’t get why you’re so mad!”

That was it.

You flung the door open, your eyes blazing as you stepped out to face him.

“You don’t get why I’m mad?” you snapped, your voice trembling with raw emotion. “Are you serious, Rafe? You really have no idea?”

Rafe blinked, caught off guard by your sudden outburst. “No! I don’t!” he shot back. “One second we’re fine, and the next you’re acting like I did something unforgivable!”

“Your good luck charm!” you practically yelled, the nickname tasting bitter on your tongue. “Every time I think you’re finally getting better, that I can finally get along with you, something comes along and ruins everything. It’s like I can’t trust a single thing you say, Rafe!”

Rafe’s brows furrowed deeply, his confusion palpable. “What are you even talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” you snapped, your voice breaking as emotion overwhelmed you. “Chiara. She said it—she said you used to call her your good luck charm. That you couldn’t play without her watching. And then you—you turn around and call me the same thing. Do you have a script you use with women, or am I just another recycled chapter in your pathetic little book of tricks?”

Rafe’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He stared at you, stunned, as if trying to process what you were saying. “I—I never said that to her,” he finally managed, his voice quieter than before. “I don’t even know why she’d say that. I’ve never called her my good luck charm.”

“Oh, so now she’s the liar?” you shot back bitterly, crossing your arms. “Convenient, isn’t it? Blame her, act like you didn’t do anything wrong. But why would she make that up, Rafe? Why would she lie about something so specific?”

“I don’t know!” he said, his voice rising in frustration. “But I swear, YN, I never said that to her. That nickname—it’s yours. I called you that because I meant it. Because that’s what you are to me. I don’t just throw that around like it’s nothing.”

His words were raw, almost pleading, but they didn’t soothe the ache in your chest. You shook your head, stepping back. “How am I supposed to believe you? After everything—after all the lies, the games, the constant reminders that I’m just another person in your long, messy history—you expect me to just take your word for it?”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in his every movement. “I’m not lying to you, YN,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I know I’ve screwed up in the past, and I know I’ve given you a million reasons not to trust me. But this—this isn’t one of those times. Chiara’s lying, or twisting things, or—I don’t know. But I do know that I’ve never felt about her the way I feel about you.”

Your breath caught at his words, but you forced yourself to stay guarded. “And what way is that, exactly? Because it feels like I’m constantly walking a tightrope with you, Cameron. One wrong step, and it all falls apart.”

Rafe took a hesitant step closer, his expression pained. “I don’t want it to fall apart,” he said softly. “I’m trying, YN. I’m trying to be better—for you. I know I’m not perfect, and I know I don’t always get it right, but I care about you."

“If you care about me as much as you say you do,” you said, your voice trembling but steady, “then tell me what happened between you and her.”

Rafe froze, his jaw tightening as the weight of your words hit him. He took a small step back, almost as if putting physical distance between you could lessen the pressure. His eyes darted away, avoiding yours, and you could see the conflict etched into his face.

“Why?” he asked, his voice low and hesitant.

“Why?” you repeated, your voice rising as the flood of emotions inside you threatened to break free. “Why?!” Your chest heaved as you tried to contain the frustration boiling over. “Because if we’re going to have something real, something fresh and healthy, I need to know what happened between you two. I need to understand, Rafe.”

His brows furrowed deeply, and you could see the panic in his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t think I can,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

The words hit you like a physical blow, and your breath caught in your throat. You felt your heart tighten, the ache in your chest spreading as tears stung your eyes. You blinked rapidly, trying to keep them from falling, but it was no use.

“Okay,” you said softly, your voice cracking. It wasn’t angry or accusatory—it was resigned, heavy with disappointment.

“YN, wait,” Rafe pleaded, stepping toward you, his voice desperate. “I—”

“No.” You cut him off sharply, your voice suddenly firm despite the tears streaming down your face. You held up a hand, keeping him at bay. “I don’t want to hear it, Rafe. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

Rafe stared at you, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the right words. But for the first time, you didn’t want to hear them.

Before he could say anything else, you turned on your heel and walked back into your room, slamming the door shut once more, leaving him standing there in silence.

The silence between you was deafening.

Rafe’s hand hung loosely by his side as he stood outside your door, staring at the wood like it would somehow provide answers. His chest rose and fell unevenly, the weight of your words still pressing on him like a heavy stone. The anger in your eyes, the way you looked at him—he could still feel it burning into him. But more than than, there was something else, something far deeper that gnawed at him, something that felt like it was tearing him apart.

With a frustrated groan, he let himself slide down the door, his back hitting it with a thud. He bent his knees, resting his head in his hands for a moment as he exhaled deeply, his mind racing with confusion. Why did this feel so goddamn difficult?

He had always been good at avoiding things, at keeping his distance from complications, at never allowing anyone to get too close romantically. But with you, it was different. Every touch, every look, every moment felt like something that mattered. More than that, it felt like it was changing him in ways he wasn’t sure he could handle.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up inside him like a storm waiting to break.

What the hell is wrong with me? he thought. Why am I so messed up about her?

The sound of movement behind him made him glance up. You had shifted as well, and now you were sitting on the floor with your back against the door. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, your face buried in your hands. It wasn’t a sobbing kind of silence, but more like two people utterly drained from the weight of everything that had happened.

He wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension. But words felt useless right now.

Ten minutes passed. Neither of you moved, both of you stuck in your own swirling thoughts. Rafe could hear his heart thundering in his chest, the confusion churning inside him. He wanted you. Badly. He could feel it—every inch of him aching for you, wanting to close the distance between you, but something held him back.

It wasn’t just the anger. It wasn’t just the words that had been said. It was the fear.

The fear of losing you, of fucking everything up, of showing you the side of him he’d spent so long burying deep inside.

Chiara. The past. His mistakes.

He had told himself that he could protect you from all that. That you didn’t need to know. But sitting here, staring at the door like it held all the answers, he realized how much he needed to open up. He needed you to understand.

“YN,” he muttered, his voice strained, “I… I can’t do this anymore. I’m so fucking lost.”

He hesitated for a second, feeling his throat tighten. “I don’t know how to do this,” he confessed, his voice breaking just a little. “I don’t know how to make it right between us. I just… I need you to understand. I need you to know what happened.”

Behind the door, you still didn’t look up, your face hidden in the shadows of the room, your eyes closed as though bracing yourself for the storm that was coming.

Rafe’s hands shook as he finally opened up, his emotions raw and unguarded in a way he had never allowed himself to be.

“Chiara,” he started, his voice low and rough. “She wasn’t just some ex. She was part of my life when I was at my lowest. When I was 19, I was… I was a fucking mess. I was lost. I was drowning in everything—drugs, alcohol, all that shit. I didn’t know who I was, and I didn’t care. I was just… numb. I needed something to keep me afloat, and Chiara, she was there. She was a part of that world. I don’t know why I thought she was the one who could help me, but she was. And I used her, just as much as she used me. We were a fucking disaster.”

He stopped there, the words tasting bitter in his mouth, but they were true. They were the only truth he had been hiding.

“I went to rehab, and when I came back, everything was different. But Chiara, she was still there, still holding on, and I didn’t know how to cut her off. I didn’t know how to let go. She was struggling, and I felt guilty—so I kept her around. I thought if I just… if I just stayed close, maybe I could make up for all the shit I did. I don’t know. But I wasn’t being honest. Not with her, not with mys I saidelf.”

His breath hitched, the weight of the past crashing into him like a wave. “And when I’ve never called her that. My good luck charm. I don’t know how she knows about it but I promise you, on everything precious in my life, I’ve never called her that… But when I say it to you, it’s different. It means something. You’re not some… replacement for her. You’re not some fucking substitute. You’re real. And that scares the hell out of me.”

He exhaled sharply, his voice barely above a whisper.Rafe leaned back against the door again, his head pressed to the cool surface, his eyes closing as a wave of exhaustion hit him. He was exposed now, more vulnerable than he had ever been, his heart in pieces. He had said everything that had been suffocating him, and yet, the silence still felt like it was swallowing him whole.

He waited, his breath shaky, his thoughts a whirl of regret and hope and fear. All he could do now was wait for you to respond, to open the door—or for you to walk away, to decide that he wasn’t worth the risk.

The waiting was unbearable.

chapter thirteen

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[kirbmey]

　 ྀི︶˚̣̣̣⠀⠀⠀vacations w bigbrother!caleb⠀⠀⠀˚̣̣̣︶ ྀི

synopsis: you’re having a summer dinner with your family and friends, but caleb gets angry at an old gossipy lady ( ｡ •` ⤙´• ｡)

tw: reader is implied to be smaller than caleb, reader is very feminine, dumbification, slurs like ‘whore’, possessive!caleb, stepcest, manipulation, dark romance, usage of ‘gege’ and ‘big brother’, slightly inspired by the movie ‘call me by your name’, caleb is kinda aggressive not towards reader tho, etc.

there was this tradition running in your family where you would move to your summer villa for the whole summer season, inviting some of your parents' friends over as well; needless to say, your step brother was also included in the plan.

you were always excited about these, being able to wear your a little too short summer dresses in front of your big brother without question to every dinner, adoring giving yourself a cute look for caleb to see, only wanting to be pretty for your big brother ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

this night was nothing different, you wore this pale pink sundress that left little to the imagination along with some other pink accessories, wearing the necklace he gifted you; you never took it off.

every night your housemaid would set up the long and old wooden table in the patio with refreshing food, all the people in the villa gathering to spend time together after their tiring activities in the beach. you sat in front of caleb as usual, feeling his warm palm rest in the fat of your thigh and caressing it with his thumb in circular motions.

he loved to stare at your angelic-like features while talking about whatever thing you were talking about with your aunt, sometimes forgetting that the rest of your family was there and that he had to keep appearances to any curious eyes.

⠀⠀　　“so, caleb?” he turns his head way too fast at his name being called, getting out of the trance he got caught on by staring at your red plump lips. “how are you doing with your studies?” a friend from your parents asks, he didn’t even know her name.

⠀⠀　　“mmh, well, all good. gotta study more than expected but she helps me with that, I have a hard time focusing, you know…” he answers with a boyish smile and tender voice, pinching your skin when pronouncing your name.

⠀⠀　　“yeah! gege is working really hard for this career, and i try to help him as much as i can” you voice an answer in a sweet tone, him knowing the reality of this said help.

⠀⠀　　“i see, you two seem really close, if i didn’t know you i’d think you ar—”, “well, that cuts it for tonight i’m afraid” your mother intervenes, knowing how annoying her friend gets regarding this topic. they even argued several times about how your relationship should be checked on since it looked very inappropriate from the outside, but she refused to listen, being a blind believer on your innocent sister-brother interactions, thinking caleb it’s just very clingy and protective about you.

a fierce blush creeps onto your cherub cheeks, feeling embarrassed at anyone questioning your relationship with your gege.

wasn’t it normal, having your big brother hold you for way too long, getting kissed on the lips before going to sleep or even helping you with the strange ache between your thighs when he rubbed himself against you to keep you warm at night?

he made sure to keep you away from anything or anyone vulgar, wanting to cherish your pure mind and thoughts for himself to slowly corrupt, carefully making you believe that good girls don’t go out with boys, don’t kiss anyone but their big brothers and reaching him to ask for help regarding any small issue a normal person could take care of themselves, but not you. you were too stupid ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა

and just like that, he made you his little doll for him and him alone, emptying your silly head from anyone but him. you depended on him for anything.

your nipples got hard in the winter? don’t worry, he will slowly rub them while you sat on his lap with his cock buried deep inside you, just to keep you warm. whispering sweet nothings to you while leaving wet kisses along your neck, smiling to himself when listening to your adorable whimpers. he had to use every single trace of self control to not break your puffy pussy in two right there.

he actually never properly fucked you, just played with you like adults do (..◜ᴗ◝..) nothing wrong with that, right?

you wanted to help him focus on his homework? you knew how easily distracted your gege could get and you just wanted to help! (•ᴖ•｡) so he told you to get on your knees, making sure it was on top of some soft cushion, and commanded you to start pampering small kisses on his bulge. just like the ones you gave him all over the face when you were happy to see him ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

so you kept your hands on your lap like the good girl you were to approach his big bulge hiding under his grey sweatpants, leaving sweet little smoochies all over his prince's parts (as he called yours your princess’s parts), and leaving light traces of saliva on the way.

just a few minutes like that, completely focused on the task your gege gave you to please him as you always wanted, and he came undone fully clothed. you looked up at him trough your long lashes, surprised to see that creamy liquid stain his pants, the same one he made you lick from his fingers sometimes before (⁠ᗒ⩊ᗕ ྀི)

he can’t help but laugh fondly at your expression, caressing your cheek before slipping his thumb into your mouth, feeling how you wrapped your warm tongue against the pad of his finger.

now you were both heading to your shared bedroom, the inside of the villa specially silent since everybody else stayed outside, smoking and updating on the latest gossips while drinking the leftover wine.

caleb was mad, how dare that bitch even think about questioning you two? he knew what was best for you, he was your shiny armor knight, your big brother who would always protect you. what was wrong with that?

your tiny heels clicked trough the long and empty halls, chasing after caleb as your short legs could; he was stomping, and he was truly angry.

you never saw him so mad ever since he caught you watching some filthy porn a friend of yours sent you when you told her that you didn’t do that kind of thing since your brother told you to not to. needless to say, he made sure to beat her up real good so she wouldn’t get any close to you, ever. but you didn’t need to know what he did, he’s just protecting you! (づ_ど)

once you catch up with him inside the said bedroom you pout, playing with the lacy hem of your dress as you close the door behind you. he’s sits down on the edge of the bed, holding his head between his hands as he takes deep breaths. he had to take care of that whore later, noted.

⠀⠀　　“gege? what’s wrong? did i do something bad?” you inquisitively ask, taking careful steps to stand before him, still playing around with your clothes in a nervous manner.

no answer from him, just a deep breath and a big pair of hands holding the back of your thighs to bring you closer, burying his face in the plush of your belly while featherly kissing it.

⠀⠀　　“no, doll, you did nothing wrong.” he blurs out against the soft fabric of your dress. “it’s just mom’s friend, she made me angry.” you feel his hands creep closer to your ass, holding yourself onto his broad shoulders.

you knew caleb didn’t like the questioning of your relationship, he liked to keep things private, a secret only for you two. your silly head couldn’t find an answer, what were you supposed to say when his skilled fingers removed your cottony panties down and he kept his pinkish gaze on you like that?

⠀⠀　　“you’re mine, pips, you know everything i do is for your own good.” you knew it, that old lady’s words meant nothing to you. “what would you do without me, hmm?”

you heard the side zipper of the dress and before you know it, you’re fully naked in front of him. it’s not the first time, but you can’t help feeling a little ashamed. he’s so perfect, tall and fit, and you don’t match his toned body.

you cross your arms in front of your breasts, hiding your blushing face underneath your hair, feeling his hand once again come up to your chin to lift it up while the other one holds your wrists a little bit too hard.

⠀⠀　　“don’t dare hiding from me, princess, you know I love the sight.” he confesses in a breath, restarting the trail of kisses from your soft belly down to your pubes, rubbing the tip of his nose against the little hairs.

you can’t help but whine, readjusting your hands on top of his head, caressing his soft dark locks trough your slim fingers. “gege, don’t do that, you know it feels achy.” you complain in a peachy voice.

he falls on blind ears, paying all of his attention to your princess’s parts, making you separate your legs by holding your inner thighs before lowering his head to clit level, smothering the growing bud with open-mouthed kisses.

he slowly toyed with your dripping entrance, circling the ring muscle with his index finger while paying attention to your pearl, lost in the sweet and sour flavor of yours. “fuck, doll, what do I have to do to make everyone understand that you’re my good girl, hmm?”

you don’t even listen to him, too caught up in the sensation of said finger caressing your velvety walls, throwing your head back while you pushed your hips closer to his face, letting out an adorable moan when feeling a second one peeking in.

⠀⠀　　“i see, you’re too stupid to answer that.” he said in a condescending way, fucking you with his long fingers slow but deep, even biting your clit at times. “don’t you see you need me to do everything for you?” one harsh thrust, reaching that gummy spot. “to tie your shoes, to wash your hair, even to dress you up in the morning?”

you were a moaning mess, your hair falling like a cascade at your back and sticking to your sweaty forehead, your toes curling at the way his skilled fingers toyed with your weak spot, feeling how he curved them inside you, that strange sensation knotting in your belly. “gege, i feel weird again, stop, stop” the tears in the corner of your eyes fall away to your neck.

⠀⠀　　“let go f’me, angel, you know your big brother likes it.” and he loved it, the taste of your juices, sweet enough to be addictive. before you realize you were creaming his fingers, feeling a strong arm wrap around your waist to keep you from falling. “good girl, you did so good for me”.

his murmurs fall quiet when he laps at your pussy to take every single drop of you in his mouth, moaning at the taste. your head falls on top of his, trying to catch your breath while he wraps you with both arms and lifts you up, heading to the bathroom to clean you up.

he first washed your sweaty body and clothed you with one of his huge t shirts, you falling asleep mid-bath and him taking you to bed carefully, making sure you were comfortable before taking care of his hard dick and rubbing himself against your discarded panties, staining them with cum not many minutes later (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

he threw them inside one of his designated drawers and hugged your smaller frame into his naked chest, drifting to sleep.

your big brother loved you so so much!

a/n: let me know if you liked it, i want feedback! also, idk if this was too long, i got carried away hehe (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[trickbxbes]

Hey girl!

Love your work, especially the Dae-ho stuff and I’m so glad I found your page!!!!

If I can, can I request more smut… WHO SAID THAT

I don’t know if you need an idea, maybe if you do what I’d Dae-ho and fem reader are in an established relationship and they haven’t had sex in a WHILE, you got it from there ;)

-🦑

Omg I’m so sorry I didn’t see this but yes >:)

𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 (18+)

[𝐃𝐚𝐞-𝐇𝐨 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

Summary: You and Dae-Ho have been extraordinarily busy trying to stay afloat from all the debt. It led to long days, and shorter nights. Both of you spending less and less time with each other. But one argument actually helps release some long built tension :)

Warnings: Smut, Minor arguing, angry turned passionate sex, kitchen fucking, p in v, fingering, unprotected sex,

Word Count: 1,703

Your shoulders slack as you finally get home, holding your purse close to you as a reminder to stay awake. It was a long night at work. Your eyes stung from the dryness. You fumble for the keys to your shared apartment with your boyfriend, Dae-Ho. Debt had been weighing heavily on both your shoulders and his. Many times did you come home to your lover already asleep, and many times did you wake up to an empty bed.

Entering your home, you’re surprised to see the living room light still on. Dae-Ho was sitting at the dining table, back hunched slightly over his laptop. He turns to see you arrive, squinting his eyes and then rubbing them.

“Hi, honey. Wow, is it that late already?”

He checks the clock on the screen. You nod, rubbing your head. A migraine had creeped its way to the left side of your skull. You flick on the kitchen light to get yourself some water. But you’re greeted by a ghastly sight, dirty dishes stacked up in the sink. The chronic stress you were under turned your minor irritation into full frustration.

“Dae-Ho, I thought I told you to clean that…!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. Dae-Ho leans back in his chair, getting scolded making it harder for him to not get defensive.

“‘m sorry, I thought I did it already. I have a lot of stuff to do too, you know.”

His tone made him come off a little more self justifying than he intended, which further amplified your annoyance. You hum, looking to the ground.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure.” You mutter sarcastically. Dae-Ho’s eyebrows furrow as you go and grab a glass. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He sat up a bit straighter. “It means I’m not the one in 250 mil debt, Dae-Ho!” You knew you’d regret being so harsh but right now you couldn’t care less. A dry chuckle leaves his lips. “Don’t act so innocent. You’re in mil debt territory too!”

“I just wanna come home to a clean house!”

“You want me to do it so bad? Fine!”

Dae-Ho gets up from his seat and storms to the sink. “Y’know more than half of these are yours, though.” He’d say quietly, wanting an end to the conflict but also wanting to get that point across. You grip at your hair, your teeth grit. “Why are you making this so difficult? You think I like coming home super late and being so tired I can’t do anything but crawl in bed? I miss you!” You raise your voice, but lowering your volume mid shout. As angry as you were, you didn’t forget your boyfriend’s discomfort with shouting and aggression.

He’s about to turn on the sink, still heated. “I miss you too—!” Until he saw you pulling your hair, making him instinctively grab your wrist. “Stop that-!”

You jerk, trying to release yourself. “I wouldn’t be this pissed off if you had just did what you said!” Your struggling made you step back, now feeling the cold kitchen counter on your back.

“You think I like going to bed alone too? Barely being able to see you, huh?!”

His breath is hot on your face, the close proximity being mere inches. You find yourself staring up at him. Being pinned to the counter, his rough grip on your wrist, it made a certain heat rise in your stomach. You both don’t say anything for a few minutes, just glaring at each other. Until you use your free hand to grab the side of his neck and pull him in for a searing kiss.

Dae-Ho makes a surprised sound before reciprocating, groaning against your lips. He lets go of your wrist, instead choosing to grab your hips and pull you closer to his body. He presses you further against the counter, making you moan lightly as you had your hands tangled in his hair.

You lift a leg up, giving Dae-Ho a chance to grab your under thigh and lift your leg higher. You feel his bulge against your wet core, he was already getting hard. Had it really been that long since you two have done it?

You hook your leg around his waist, grinding against his body. A deep rumble leaves Dae-Ho’s throat, he pulls back, a string of saliva connecting you both. “Fuck…” He pants for air. Disappointment and anxiety creeped up faster than you could’ve imagined. This was the first time you two were this passionate in awhile. You couldn’t let him pull away now.

You grab the cuff of his shirt and yank him back toward you. Oh that shirt, you always hated it. The design reminded you of some clown graffiti you’d see in a sketchy part of town. You’d rather see your boyfriend without it on.

As you kiss him again, you slide your hands up underneath his shirt. His skin was hot, his hips stuttered as you ran your fingers over his abs. Dae-Ho shuddered a little. But he leaned closer, his tongue dancing along with yours. He’d attempt to speak to you in between your hot temperature kisses.

“Wait—is this… okay?”

You cup his cheeks and look him in the eyes, you could see you both were much less angry. But the passion brewing was one you couldn’t let simmer. You needed that shit to over boil.

“Dae-Ho. Fuck me. Now.”

Dae-Ho did not have to be told twice as he dived back into your lips. The passionate exchange only broken for a moment as you made him take that ghastly shirt off. His hand slowly slid down your pants as your hands slid around his neck. Dae-Ho groans in your mouth as his hand feels your soaking folds. You whimper in pleasure, trying to somehow get closer to him. He starts to rub your clit in smooth slow circles. You whine out, Dae-Ho letting your sounds fill the room so he could hear you clearly. His mouth was slightly open, as if mimicking the shape your mouth was making.

He slips in a finger, curling it and making you bite your lip. Dae-Ho thumbs the bottom of your lip. He leans in close.

“Don’t. I wanna hear you.”

His tongue swirls around yours before his lips connect for a quick peck. He inserts another finger, now drawing out all your sounds. He plunged them in and out of you in a steady rhythm. You still had both your hands on the back of his neck.

“Fuck… fuck, fuck… Dae-Ho…!” You couldn’t take it, you needed more. You took off your shirt, and aggressively pulled down your bottoms. You’re left in just your bra and underwear for him. His fingers didn’t leave your dripping cunt, continuously finger fucking you. You felt yourself getting close, but this isn’t how you wanted to go. “Dae-Ho~! Get… inside!” Your command somehow made the male even harder, his cock stirring in his pants.

He removes his fingers so he could lift you up onto the kitchen counter. While you desperately removed your panties, he took off his pants and got his member free.

Dae-Ho lines up with your entrance. Your wetness being more than needed for a lubricant. “Fuck, you’re so wet. All this cause of me?” He’d remark with a light cocky smirk. You glare up at him, still needing your nerves fucked out of you.

“Shut up.”

The male narrows his eyes and enters you with one thrust, bottoming out. You cry out, wet enough where it didn’t hurt, just raw pleasure. “Oh fuck—!” You choke on your own words. Dae-Ho barely gives a moment to adjust as he starts ramming into you at a fast pace. Pumped full with adrenaline, you didn’t mind at all. It almost felt like having sex for the first time. But you’ve never felt Dae-Ho’s thrust so desperately before. He had his hands on your hips, pushing you further down on him to meet every thrust. You were seeing stars, almost drifting away from the feeling. But then, you hear a,

“I love you.”

Dae-Ho was looking at you with a deep sincerity. You gaze into his eyes. Of course, now you remember, you were fighting. Your heart grew so full. You cup his face, and lull him closer.

“I-I love you too!”

You both kiss lovingly, now out of pure passion and love for each other, than out of lust. His rhythm struck slightly out of order, and you knew he was close. Before you could even hold out for him though, you come undone. You cry out his name, your head arched toward the ceiling. Dae-Ho sped up, his thrusts sloppy, but yearning.

“(Y,n)… (Y,n)…! Shit…!”

He lets out a held back roar, finishing inside of you. You cling onto him, whining with broken gasps. Your hands drift from his back to his shoulders as the two of you calm down.

Panting, Dae-Ho rests his head against your collarbone. You weakly rub his head, closing your eyes. He slowly comes out of you, creating a light squelching sound.

“Don’t be mad…I love you.”

His tone was soft, hesitant. You recognized this vulnerability from him, and slowly wrap your arms around him. “I love you too…” You say sincerely. Dae-Ho doesn’t say anything back, but he does scoop you up bridal style in his arms.

You’re carried back to your bed, and he lays beside you. It was late, and you were more than happy to get some rest after that. You can safely say you’re no longer angry. To double check on that, Dae-Ho mumbles,

“I’ll do the dishes in the morning, I promise.”

He gently pushes a strand of hair from your face. You scoot closer, signaling your boyfriend to embrace you in his open arms. He plants a kiss on your head. You listen to his heartbeat, the way it beat so fast.

“I’m sorry…”

“…I’m sorry too…”

The two of you lay there together, drifting off into a well needed slumber. But for the first time in awhile, you felt like your relationship with your lover was secure. And how, that’s one way to get out of doing dishes.

[fuk3d]

A Moment In Time

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Warning(s): Mentions of neglect, verbal abuse, and self-doubt.

Word Count: 1,074

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first time getting back into writing fanfic since 2016 LMAOOO. Anyway, I'm pretty sure this is pure shit so pls feel free to give me constructive criticism. AND PLEASE TELL ME IF THERE'S MISTAKES CUZ THATS EMBARRASSING HAHA. Also writings cringe as hell so soz.

The Wayne resident felt empty, soulless, cold, and you couldn't bare the stillness of it all. So you step out onto the balcony, coffee in hand with the chilling air biting at your fingers harshly. You absentmindedly sipped on your coffee, the warm sensation from your cup steadily combating the freezing cold. The garden's atmosphere was filled with tranquility, the sun's rays slowly touching everything in its path. 

If only it could be like this forever.

You breathe in a shaky sigh and flutter your eyes to a gentle close, small puffs of air exit your mouth as you exhale out slowly. This would be the last time you’ll be gazing down at the alluring range of flowers scattered across the garden, its colours radiating brightly from the warm sunrise as it gently caressed the horizon. You can’t help but think back to all of your greatest achievements, your not so finest moments, and the bitter reminder of lonely memories that are left dormant inside your mind.

What more could I have done? Why didn’t I try harder? Why? Why, why, why, wh-

“Young (Name)? Are you alright? It’s cold out there, you should come back inside, where it’s warm.” Your eyes snap back open and you turn your body to face your family butler, Alfred. You blink, then you blink again, until you sputter out your reply with a wobbly smile. “Alfred! I’m- I’m fine, I just wanted to have my coffee out on the balcony.” ‘one last time’.

You turn to breathe in the fresh air for the final time before leaving the balcony area in silence. Today is your 18th birthday, and yet it doesn’t feel like it. A birthday is supposed to be a milestone, something to be celebrated with friends and family, with loved ones.

You shake yourself out of your stupor, a shudder leaves your lips, the icy temperature sending chills throughout your body. You find yourself sitting down near the kitchen table, your lukewarm coffee still in hand. And Alfred all but quietly makes your favourite breakfast, just how you’ve liked it for the last 18 years of your life. It’s been hard, you think to yourself. The unwarranted isolation from Bruce, the hurtful, cut-throat words thrown towards you from Damian as if you were a burden, the excuses from Dick, claiming he already had plans made so “Maybe next time! Yeah?”. And you remember so vividly of Jason pushing you away, as if the bond you two shared didn’t matter anymore. The fond memories, the time spent together, gone, just like that after he had died.

And how could you forget about Tim? Or about Cass, Barbara, Stephanie, and Duke? None of them rarely ever put in the effort to spend even a fraction of their time with you. But it doesn’t matter to you, right? No, not even a single bit, you don’t care anymore; of course you don’t care! Because you’re done, you’re done being in the shadows, done being stuck within those four tiny walls that had been called ‘your room’, and done with not being anyone's choice, especially not even your fathers. 

Even so, that's not true is it? You can lie to everyone else, but you can’t lie to yourself. You do care, and it stings because you’ve been caring up until you forced yourself not to anymore.

With your heart held heavy in your chest, an indescribable ache creeps up your throat as you recount the gut-wrenching memories that you struggle to desperately shake from your head, your now empty cup sits cold on the table in front of you. 

“Breakfast served.” Alfred slides a plate of your favourite in front of you. Your lips are stretched into a light smile, yet it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thank you Alfred..” You say before the both of you are engulfed in comfortable silence. You eat your breakfast at a comfortable pace, savouring the delectable taste that fills your mouth before inevitably finishing your breakfast. Your family's butler busies himself by cleaning the kitchen counter, wiping it down with careful precision before moving down to wipe down the very kitchen table you sit at. “Hey, uhm Alfred?” You speak up before you can even stop yourself, the words stumbling out in a fervent storm. 

“Will you miss me when I move out?” Alfred can only stop and look at you, really look at you. And from the looks of it, you appear collected, indifferent even, but to your butler he notices nearly everything about you. The way you play with your hair when you’re nervous, or how you fiddle with your fingers when you’re uncomfortable and the slight furrow of your eyebrows as you concentrate. So you can’t help but shrink just a little at his expression, his features showing no emotion for you to understand what he’s feeling. 

“I know you’re busy assisting the families business with… their nightly duties and... and I realise I’ve been such a burden to you and the family, but I know I’ll miss you the most out of everyone so-” 

you’re abruptly cut off by the shuffling of Alfred’s feet walking towards you, his arms enveloping you into a hug. A hug that was desperately needed and long overdue. You reciprocate Afred’s action’s and tightly wrap your arms around him, your hands scrunching up Alfred’s uniform because of how hard your hands are balled up into fists. You’re stunned, too puzzled to speak as Afred’s begins to speak. 

“You will be missed dearly Young [Name]. You’re smile, you’re creativity, you’re ideas, our time together; I’ll miss all of these things, those moments that we have.” a pleasant warmth settles within you, Alfred’s hand makes its way to the back of your head, bringing you to his chest as he pats gently. It’s barely audible but it's there, a small sniffle once, twice, then a series of them start to fill the empty rooms' quietness. Tears start to well up within your tear ducts except you refuse to let them fall despite a few already running down your face. You cry, you just feel so scattered and a bit of a mess right now as your tears and snot stain Alfred's clothes.

You let yourself be in the moment, you let down your walls and stripped away the hard exterior around your heart. You’re vulnerable and…  it feels great. 

For once you feel relieved. Happy.

Credit to @adornedwithlight!

End Note: Just to rephrase, this is my first time getting back into writing fan-fiction so I'm rusty asf lol. And any writers that have been doing this for way longer than me, please give me some tips or advice on how I can improve my own writing LMAOO.

[saturnscafe]

I’m desperate to know about “big bad wolfs” first rut plz ill beg 🙏🏾

I’m here to please lol.

͙˚ ༘✶Big Bad Wolfs First Rut

Smut Below

He was avoiding you, he wasn’t responding to texts or calls. He wasn’t showing up for classes either. You were starting to think he just dipped and dropped out or something.

You stood at his door knocking before you heard rummaging behind the door. When he opened it he looked almost worn out. His face was a bit red, hair sticking to his forehead. No shirt on just bare in his boxers. “What are you doing here?” He asked his voice thick.

“I was worried about you” you said meekly.

His face softened realizing how he must have made you feel. “I’m sorry beautiful, I’m-“ he said exhaling loudly. “I’m in a rut and I don’t wanna hurt you” he admitted.

You remember learning about heats and ruts before, you knew he had to have been hurting.

“Let me help you” the words blurting out.

He cocked his head to the side, studying your face. “Y/n- I don’t think that’s” he started to say before you cut him off.

“I trust you, plus” you said before moving closer to him “I think it’ll be kinda hot” you said that smirk making him groan.

When you were finally inside he cupped your face staring into your eyes. “If at anytime you need to stop. Tell me got it?” He said sternly. You nodded and with that he leaned in kissing you hungrily. His hands gripped at your thighs and ass as his tongue prodded at your mouth.

He started walking you backwards body hitting against the couch you could feel a grin creep across his face. He swiftly turned your body bending you over it. Before you knew it he had your pants and panties off. His head pressed between your legs. His arms hooked around your legs pulling your body down on him. He had your cunt pressed so nicely against his mouth. His tongue lapped at your folds, groaning loudly.

His cock was peeking from his boxers dripping pre cum. His hips moved on their own moving upwards trying to create some friction. He was eating you out like a man in death row and you were his last meal. His tongue found its way into your sopping cunt, moving erratically. Your hands gripped at the gripped at the couch trying to keep yourself ground but to no avail. He was driving you closer and closer to your first orgasm cumming hard around his tongue. He licked you clean nipping at your inner thighs. He wanted to keep going. Wanted to draw another or two from you but he needed inside of you.

He stood up licking his lips as he rid himself of his boxers. His body pressed against you before kissing your shoulder. “I love you” he said against your ear before pushing into your warm cunt. The moans that left both of your mouths was almost pornographic. His big muscles arm wrapped around your waist before he started moving. He wanted to go slower for your sake but he couldn’t help himself. His hips snapped back in and out of you as his leaking tip kissed your cervix.

“Fuck- ah- y/n I love you. You’re my beautiful mate- can’t get enough-“ he groaned into your neck.

“God- you feel somehow even bigger” you moaned out.

You were already seeing stars another orgasm growing close. “Gonna cum again already? Seems like you wanted this just as much as I did” he smirked.

“Fuck who wouldn’t want- want their hot mate to fuck them like this-“ you babbled but those words. You calling him your mate. It almost made him cum then and there. Sure you guys have been dating and you call him your boyfriend but you’ve never used the word mate. It ignited something primal in him.

He growled against your skin “say that again” he demanded. His thrusts becoming faster, harder- deeper. Your mind almost went blank before he nipped at your neck, his hand finding its way to your face. He turned it making you look directly at him “say it.”

“My mate” you choked out. You swear his eyes almost went black at the sound. His grip around your waist tightened, the couch slightly moving from how he was pounding into you. “Yeah I’m your mate. No one else can have you. Your mine. Mine.” He kept repeating like it was the only word he knew. His hand left your face bringing it down to your ass before smacking it hard. You moaned loudly at the slight sting. His nails gripped into your hips as he let out a long low groan.

“Who do you belong to? Huh.” He growled.

“You! Only you!” You almost screamed your orgasms ready to flow over.

“That’s right. Me. No one else’s. Me and only me.”

He pulled out before pushing into you with a powerful thrust. Your orgasm toppling over you, it was intense making your body shake. “Gonna take my knot- fuck gonna give me a litter yeah? You want that? To be stuffed full of all of me-“ he was babbling at this point but you didn’t care.

“Yes- fuck yes please- please want all my mates pups” you said incoherently.

He let out a loud growl before sinking his teeth deep into your shoulder. He pulled out one last time before pushing back in hard. You felt his knot push in with almost ease at this point stuffing you full. You could feel him twitching inside you as his hot cum painted your walls.

He was panting, you were panting. No one spoke for a few moments before he kissed your back softly. “I love you, you know that right?” He said sweetly.

“And I love you” you responded.

The rest of the night was filled- or you were. With him fucking you in every room of his apartment on any surface that he could. You gave him a run for his money though, being just as greedy for him as he was for you.

[revelboo]

Hi Revel! Not a request or anything but I just wanted to send in an ask telling you how much I appreciate your works! There’s such variety to choose from and I’m constantly impressed with the storylines that you craft and everything you come up with! I love how much you’ve thought about each character and it really shows in your work. For example, you’ve gone into little bits here and there about how each of your Starscreams’ are different and you are just superb at showing it! (Your take on Armada Starscream is my absolute favorite!!) It’s really inspiring honestly and makes me want to get back into fanfiction again. I can’t tell you how much I look forward to checking your blog each day and seeing what you’ve been up to! Also your blog is so accessible! I cannot imagine all the links you have to put in and kept up with but I’m so grateful for it! Ah, sorry for the rambling but I hope life treats you well. :^] <3

Here’s a silly little photo for you! He is so little <3

Thank you! I’m glad you like my nonsense and go out there and write the things you love! 💕

Bee’s just a tiny bab.

Even If It Kills Me Pt 14

Armada Starscream x Reader

• Head lifting from where you’re idly drawing on his datapad, you go still at the smell of food. Actual, hot food not chips or cookies. And Runway chirps holding up a brown paper bag. Watching the other two try to seize it from him before Starscream huffs through his vents and picks you up to set down on the floor with the mini-cons. “How did you get fast food?” You ask as Runway pushes the bag in your hands and then drapes himself against your back when you sit crosslegged on the floor and open it, the other two creeping closer and openly curious.

• Wings lifting and falling as he retrieves an energon cube for himself and smaller ones for the mini-cons and joins you on the floor, he watches you remove little wrapped packages from the bag. “The mini-cons found it,” he says and you shoot him a look. “A human set it on an outdoor table in the park and Runway snatched it,” he admits with a grimace. You don’t look angry, though as you grab a fistful of little yellow sticks and shove them in your mouth, eyes closing. Watches Sonar and Jetstorm lean over to vent curiously, recoiling when you offer them a bit. “They can’t eat that. Unless you want them purging on you later.”

• “Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper to the mini-cons and Runway affectionately butts his helm against you before seizing one of the mini energon cubes Starscream is holding out for them. Because you’ve been wanting real food rather than the junk food Star keeps bringing you. Know he’s trying his best, keeps stealing things for you and he’s been working on something lately in a corner of his habsuite, the paneling of the wall and floor pulled up over there. Not sure what he’s up to since he gets flustered when you ask, making you think it has to do with you.

• “I’ve told you that you don’t need to thank me or them for that,” he mutters before taking a deep drink. Aware of you grinning up at him before you turn your attention back on the food, eating much quicker than you normally do to make him feel guilty. Because he’s almost certain he’s doing a terrible job caring for you and you’re just too nice to say anything to him. You seem happier at least with him. When you have your nightmares and he remembers the bruises on your face when he’d found you, the resignation, he thinks about returning to that home he’d found you at. Wanting to find whoever scared you so bad you still can’t shake the fear. Knows he’ll likely never be able to get revenge on his tormentor, but he could remove yours from the face of this world. But if he does and you ever find out, you may not look at him the same way anymore and he can’t risk that. Wants you to keep smiling for him. To be worthy of your trust.

• “I know,” you say, looking up to find him frowning at nothing like he sometimes does. That little show and tell of scars was the most he’s let his guard down and had been enough to understand that he understands you, because he’s suffered at someone else’s hands, too. That he’s been through not exactly the same thing, but something similar enough and he’d not been completely broken by it helps you keep smiling for him. He’s gruff and awkward, but he’s kind. And you want to protect him and that kindness, because it means everything to you.

Previous

[lelengerine]

pairing. chenle x shy!reader

synopsis. the one where your affection-starved boyfriend keeps asking you for kisses

tags. established relationship, purely fluff, no specific prns used for reader, lmk if anything was missed :D

wc. 0.8k

notes. this is heavily self-indulgent (again) and i have no excuses. why can't all men just be chenle im so srs 😞😞 also can we talk about the dreamies love me right stage like it was SO good (i am still here it is my roman empire),, anw likes and feedback are highly appreciated!

꒰ m.list ꒱

“babe, kiss please.”

chenle’s voice is light and teasing, as though the request is the most natural thing in the world. his lips are already puckered, his chin tilted upward just enough to let you know he’s fully expecting to get his way. his arms are sprawled comfortably on the couch, legs stretched out, one sock-clad foot nudging yours beneath the blanket draped over both of you.

you glance at him, already feeling the warmth creeping up your neck. his confidence is unshakable, and it’s maddening how he knows you so well—knows you’d never outright deny him, especially when he’s in one of these moods.

“but le,” you stammer, your voice slightly higher than usual, “that’s the tenth one today.”

your face is already flushed, the heat blooming across your cheeks as you avoid his gaze. you fiddle with the hem of the blanket, trying to appear unaffected, but the small, traitorous quiver in your voice gives you away.

“no one told you to keep count, baby,” he replies smoothly, his lips quirking into a grin that deepens the dimple on his left cheek.

“i know, but…” you trail off, words slipping away as he leans closer, his eyes locked on yours with that mischievous spark that always sets your heart racing.

“kiss?”

his voice is softer now, more of a coax than a command. the single word lingers between you, playful and persistent, as if daring you to resist. his proximity is overwhelming, the faint scent of his cologne that vaguely reminds you of fresh laundry mixing with the warmth radiating from his skin.

you shift slightly, trying to steady your breath, but the couch feels impossibly small. “le,” you murmur, barely audible, and your eyes flit nervously to the muted television.

he tilts his head, his dark eyes wide with mock curiosity. “hmm?”

the late afternoon sunlight streams through the windows, casting soft, golden patterns on the walls. outside, birds chirp faintly, their song weaving into the cozy stillness of the room. the scene is peaceful, but the fluttering in your chest is anything but.

“i just think…” you pause, your fingers curling tightly around the edge of the blanket. his presence is so close, so consuming, that forming coherent sentences feels like a monumental task. “i just think you’re doing this on purpose.”

his grin spreads wider, and there’s a twinkle in his eye that confirms your suspicions. “maybe i am,” he says, his voice low and lilting. his hand drapes casually over the back of the couch, fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. “but what are you going to do about it?”

you puff your cheeks slightly in frustration, your lips pressing into a thin line. “you’re impossible,” you mutter, though your tone lacks any real bite.

“and you’re adorable,” he counters effortlessly, his teasing edge softening into something sweeter. his gaze lingers on your face, taking in every shy glance and nervous fidget.

the quiet stretches between you again, and for a moment, all you can hear is the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. the weight of his attention feels heavy yet comforting, like a blanket wrapping around you.

“hey.”

you glance up at him hesitantly, and he takes the opportunity to tilt his head slightly, his expression now devoid of the teasing smirk. “you don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable,” he says, his tone sincere in nature.

the sudden shift in his demeanor catches you off guard, and your heart skips a beat. you realize then, with the way his gaze softens and his teasing fades into genuine care, that this is why you never deny him.

your hand hesitates, but eventually, you reach out to brush your fingers against his cheek. his eyes widen slightly in surprise before his grin returns, smaller this time but somehow warmer.

“okay,” you whisper, your voice so quiet you’re not sure he hears you until he leans in again, this time slower, giving you all the space in the world to pull away if you want.

but you don’t.

your lips press against his for the briefest moment, featherlight and shy, but it’s enough to make his heart swell. when you pull back, your cheeks are aflame, and you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“see?” chenle murmurs, his voice tinged with a mixture of pride and affection. “not so bad, right?”

you swat at his arm, grumbling under your breath, but he just laughs, leaning back against the couch with a contented sigh. “eleven,” you mumble after a moment, counting softly under your breath.

“what was that, baby?” he asks, feigning ignorance, though the grin tugging at his lips tells you he heard every word.

you glance at him from the corner of your eye, a small smile tugging at your own lips despite yourself. “that’s the eleventh one today.”

chenle chuckles, leaning over to press another quick kiss to your temple, his voice low and teasing.

“then make that twelve.”

[andy-15-07]

Whispers in the Dark

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1976

Paul Mescal Masterlist

The room was bathed in the warm, golden light of a bedside lamp, casting long, soft shadows on the walls. Paul sat on the edge of the bed, his white t-shirt clinging to his shoulders and chest. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous smile playing on his lips. Y/n stood by the window, her arms crossed lightly, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. The hum of Dublin’s nightlife buzzed faintly below, but up here, in this small cocoon of a hotel room, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Paul said, his Irish accent lilting as he broke the silence. His tone was gentle, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of vulnerability that Y/n could hear plainly.

She turned to face him, her lips curving into a small smile. “Just... soaking it all in, I guess.”

He chuckled softly, running a hand through his messy curls. “It’s not every day you spend the night with an Irish lad, eh?”

“No,” she replied, her voice tinged with playful sarcasm. “Not every day.”

Paul patted the spot next to him on the bed. “Come here,” he murmured, his eyes warm and inviting.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, then crossed the room, her heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nervousness. She sat beside him, her knee brushing against his. Paul reached out, his hand grazing her cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You know,” he began, his voice low, “I’ve been thinking about this moment for a while.”

“Oh, have you now?” she teased, tilting her head slightly.

He nodded, a soft blush creeping up his neck. “I’ve wanted to make this special. You’re special, Y/n.”

Her breath hitched at his words, and she felt her cheeks grow warm. “Paul...” she began, but he cut her off with a gentle shake of his head.

“Let me finish,” he said, his hand now resting on hers. “I’ve been in relationships before, yeah? But nothing has felt like this. You make me feel like I can just... be myself. No pretenses, no masks.”

Y/n’s eyes softened, and she squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to try so hard, Paul. I like you for you. For the way you sing off-key when you’re cooking, the way you get passionate when you talk about football, and the way you’re always thinking about everyone else before yourself.”

Paul’s lips twitched into a grin. “Off-key? Really?”

She laughed, the sound light and melodic. “You’re not going to argue that point, are you?”

“Alright, fair,” he admitted, laughing along with her. The tension in the room seemed to dissolve, replaced by an easy comfort that came naturally to them.

They fell into a companionable silence, the only sound the faint murmur of traffic outside. Paul leaned back on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked at her. “You’re really something else, Y/n,” he said softly.

She turned to him, her expression serious now. “So are you, Paul. Don’t ever forget that.”

He sat up, leaning closer until their faces were just inches apart. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Y/n’s heart raced, and she nodded, her voice caught in her throat. Paul closed the gap between them, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was both tender and electrifying. His hand cupped her cheek, and she melted into him, her fingers tangling in his curls.

Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other. When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting together.

“Was that alright?” Paul asked, a hint of shyness in his voice.

Y/n laughed softly, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “More than alright.”

He grinned, his dimples deepening. “Good. Because I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

The night unfolded slowly, each moment steeped in intimacy and laughter. They talked about everything and nothing, sharing stories, dreams, and fears. Paul’s humor and warmth put Y/n at ease, and she found herself opening up in ways she never had before.

As the hours passed, they lay tangled together on the bed, their legs entwined. Paul traced lazy circles on her arm, his voice soft as he spoke.

“You know, Y/n, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this happy before. It’s like... everything makes sense when I’m with you.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she pressed a kiss to his chest. “You make me happy too, Paul. Happier than I ever thought I could be.”

He tilted her chin up, his eyes searching hers. “Then let’s make a promise, yeah? To always be honest with each other, no matter what.”

She smiled, nodding. “I promise.”

Paul leaned down, capturing her lips in another kiss. This time, it was slower, more deliberate, as if they were trying to memorize the feel of each other. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in a bubble of love and trust.

His kiss deepened, his hands moving to cup her face, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. Y/n responded eagerly, her hands sliding beneath his shirt, exploring the contours of his back, her fingertips trailing along his muscles as if memorizing them.

Paul’s touch was tender but grew bolder with each passing moment, his hands slipping to her waist as he pulled her closer. “You feel incredible,” he murmured, his voice husky and thick with desire.

Y/n arched into him, her nails grazing his shoulders, sending a ripple of tension and pleasure through his body. “You feel incredible too,” she whispered back, her breath catching as his lips moved to the delicate curve of her neck.

Paul paused for a heartbeat, his intense gaze meeting hers. “I want you,” he said, his voice rough and urgent, filled with unspoken promises.

Her answer came in the form of a nod, her eyes wide and full of trust. “I want you too,” she managed, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Paul’s hands roamed her body with care and reverence, each touch deliberate, each kiss leaving her skin tingling. His shirt was the first to go, revealing the warmth of his skin beneath her palms. She marveled at the feel of him, her hands exploring the firm planes of his chest and back.

Their movements were unhurried yet purposeful, as if savoring every second. He eased her back onto the bed, his body hovering over hers, a perfect blend of strength and gentleness. Her fingers tangled in his curls as he kissed her deeply, their connection growing more intense.

Paul shed the remaining barriers between them with a mix of tenderness and urgency, his gaze never wavering from hers. “Are you sure?” he asked one last time, his voice soft but steady.

Y/n’s response was unwavering, her hands cupping his face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He smiled, his expression filled with love and awe before he kissed her again. Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, their rhythm slow and deliberate at first, building into something more urgent and primal. Each touch, each kiss, brought them closer, their connection deepening with every passing moment.

Paul groaned softly, the sound vibrating against her skin as he buried his face in her neck. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his breath warm and ragged.

Y/n clung to him, her nails digging lightly into his back as her own gasps mingled with his. “You too,” she managed, her voice shaky but full of emotion. “You’re perfect, Paul.”

Their bodies moved in unison, fitting together as though they had always been meant to. Y/n arched into him, her body responding to his every movement. Paul’s kisses trailed from her lips to her collarbone, each one igniting a new wave of heat that coursed through her.

As their pace quickened, the intensity between them grew. Paul’s voice broke with emotion as he whispered her name, his hands cradling her as though she were the most precious thing in the world. Y/n responded with equal fervor, her own cries of passion filling the space between them.

When they reached the peak of their connection, it was as though time itself stood still. They clung to each other, their bodies trembling, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. Paul pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, his arms wrapping around her as he held her close.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Y/n smiled, her head resting against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat steady and comforting. “I think I’m the lucky one,” she replied, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin.

They stayed entwined, the warmth of their connection wrapping around them like a cocoon. The world outside faded into insignificance as they lay together, their connection deep and unspoken. Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t empty—it was charged with the weight of their emotions, their breaths syncing as they slowly came down from the high of their shared intimacy.

Paul shifted slightly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/n’s face. His expression was a mixture of tenderness and awe, as though he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

Y/n nodded, her lips curving into a small, content smile. “More than alright,” she whispered. “That was... everything.”

Paul chuckled quietly, his fingers tracing the curve of her jaw. “You have a way with words,” he teased, his dimples flashing as his grin widened. “But I’m glad you feel that way.”

She let out a soft laugh, her hand resting against his chest. “I think you might be rubbing off on me, Mr. Poet.”

“Oh, is that what I am now?” he asked, arching a playful eyebrow.

She smirked, tapping his chest lightly. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Paul leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Too late,” he murmured against her skin, earning another laugh from her.

They lay together for a long time, their limbs tangled as if neither could bear to let go. Paul’s fingers lazily traced patterns on her back, while Y/n’s hand rested on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this close to someone,” Y/n admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paul’s arms tightened around her, pulling her closer. “Me neither,” he replied, his tone earnest. “You make everything feel... different. Like the world’s quieter when I’m with you.”

She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with emotion. “You make me feel safe. And seen.”

“You deserve to feel that way every day,” Paul said, his voice firm yet gentle. “And I’ll do my best to make sure you do.”

Y/n smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. It wasn’t driven by urgency this time—it was slow and full of promise, a silent vow that neither of them needed to put into words.

As the night stretched on, they talked in hushed tones, their conversation punctuated by soft kisses and bouts of laughter. The connection they shared went beyond words, beyond physicality—it was something deep and profound, a bond that felt as though it had always existed, waiting for the right moment to surface.

Eventually, exhaustion began to creep in, and they settled into a comfortable silence. Paul pulled the blanket over them, tucking her securely against his side.

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he murmured, his lips brushing her temple.

“Goodnight, Paul,” she replied, her voice soft and sleepy.

With his arms wrapped around her and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek, Y/n felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. In this moment, everything felt perfect—like they were exactly where they were meant to be.

[just-a-creep-babe]

What Makes You Tick - Chapter 4

(Ticci Toby x Reader)

Tysm to everyone who voted in the poll for this chapter!!

Commissions are open!

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Masterlist: x

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Divider by @plum98

“What do you know about your neighbor?”

You’d expected the one in the goggles—what was his name again?—to do the talking, purely based on the fact that he's the one who kidnapped you in the first place. But it’s the one with the porcelain mask who wastes no time cutting to the point.

You wonder how blatantly obvious your fear is as you shake your head and stutter out an answer.

“I-I don’t—I don’t know anything.”

Your eyes dart nervously between the three of them. You feel like you're trying to convince a pack of wolves not to eat you alive. The odds are so blatantly stacked against you that it feels pointless to even try defending yourself.

"Well, you're gonna have to come up with something, sunshine. Because you're no use to us if you don't tell us anything. And the way things are looking now," he trails off, almost as if to bask in your helplessness.

You try not to shift in place, try not to feel like a piece of meat dangling in front of three hungry dogs.

And then even though you don't need him to spell it out for you, he finishes his sentence anyway.

"You're gonna want to give us something to work with."

You glance wearily between the three of them.

The black-masked man is casually leaning against the wooden drawer by the door. He doesn't seem to have any weapons on him, but one look at his well-built shape is enough to tell you he probably doesn't need any, anyway. When he notices you looking, he tilts his head to the side, and you quickly look away.

The other one, the guy in the goggles, is the stillest you've ever seen him be. There's an almost anticipatory calm to him, like at any moment, he'd be ready to jump into action. You don't even want to cast your gaze down to the hatchets hanging from his hips.

When you look back at the man in the white mask, you find that he's crossed his burly arms over his chest.

Your stomach sinks.

They're so much bigger than you, so much stronger. Even if you weren't outnumbered—hell, even if there were two of you against only one of them, you're not entirely certain you'd be able to run away, much less fight.

"I... I don't—"

You swallow back the rest of your sentence when an image of blood soaking through wooden floors flashes to mind. Push it down, push it down. Now's not the time to think about it.

"I didn't," you correct yourself with a flinch, even though it has the taste of acid rising to the back of your throat, "didn't ever get the chance to know her personally."

You cast your eyes to the floor. And when all you can imagine is a cold body lying in front of you, you squeeze them shut.

In all honesty, you never really cared about your neighbor. She was a hag; a crooked old woman who didn't take care of herself and who, truthfully, gave you the creeps.

You don't know what she got up to in her spare time. You certainly don't know what she could've done to merit the attention from these sorts of people. You don't even think you want to know. But regardless of your opinion of her, you need to think of something.

You need to think of a good enough lie.

"She... she mostly kept to herself," you shift, and the bed creaks beneath your weight. "She was a shut-in; didn't go out much, didn't like people—that kind of thing."

You take a deep breath.

Lie like your life depends on it—because it does.

"I don't know why me, but she—she let me in. She didn’t like anyone else, but she confided in me. And she... she was never specific about her secrets, about the kind of things she did that pushed people away..."

You shift again, and the throbbing pain of the cable ties rubbing into your sore wrists helps you focus on weaving together the frail threads of your story. You can only hope that your concentration comes off as recalling something from memory and not imagination.

"But I know she was scared. And ashamed. It's why she always kept to herself; she couldn't bear her guilt and paranoia to others."

The more you speak, the clearer your story becomes. You mingle facts with fiction, inventing a character, a mockery of the woman who's likely in a body bag at this point. A woman who's had her life stolen by the very man standing to your left.

You try not to shiver as the thought, unwelcome, comes to mind.

"So that's it? That's all you know?"

The white-masked man leaves no room for hesitation in his question, no space to keep dancing around the bush. Cold, curt, dry.

You wonder if he can see through your act, and you have to hold back the urge to cringe.

They want something specific, you realize. Some concrete piece of information that you clearly don't have. If you make something up, they'll know immediately. But it's not like you can just admit you're bullshitting your way through this.

You rub your wrists together again, looking for some kind of out, some kind of safety you can cling to before it's too late.

But you must be taking too long for their liking. Because as you're scrambling to come up with something, he nods to the brunet.

Their executioner, you realize with daunting horror. They're going to clean up their loose end right here, right now. They're going to kill you.

"Wait—wait!"

In a frantic panic, as you're clumsily kicking as far back away from him as possible, you stammer, "W-wait, I—I know more!"

Despite his white-masked accomplice's impatience, he pauses. And that's when it clicks.

Whether they like it or not, you have some semblance of influence over the situation. They want something you have—information they think you possess, information that's important enough for them to risk an abduction over. There's a chance you might be their only lead.

You're your own bargaining chip.

"I know more," you repeat. "And—and I'll tell you if you promise to bring me home. Unharmed."

The man huffs, and his black-masked counterpart snorts out a low laugh.

"Alright, sunshine, you wanna pinky promise on that while we're at it, too?"

You ignore the rush of heat rising up your face. "I'll show you," you blurt out impulsively, "bring me back and I'll show you."

The man cocks his head. You don't fail to notice the way the muscles in his arms jump, like he's flexing to relieve some kind of tension in his body. You don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing.

"Show what?" he all but hisses.

"She—she kept a hiding spot. She was always very secretive about it. But I saw her. I saw her go into it, and I know it's where she hid her important things. Whatever you're after..." you hesitate, then muster every ounce of confidence to say, "there's a high likelihood it's in there."

You twist your wrists against the plastic ties. Pins and needles prickle the tips of your fingers, but you're thankful for the sensation. It grounds you.

Another huff.

"And what makes you think we're even after that kind of thing?"

You shake your head, try not to bite your lip, try not to let the cracks show through your facade. "Bring me back, and I'll show you. I'll tell you everything I know. And I promise I won't say a word about any of this."

He doesn't answer for a few seconds, like he's considering your offer. You're too scared to add anything else, too scared to spoil your measly chance at freedom. So you just quietly sit there and wait for what he has to say.

Without necessarily meaning to, your sight lands on the man with the goggles. Your gazes lock, and when he cracks his neck to the side, that flutter of fear and nausea tugs at your chest again.

You remember the blood on his hands. You remember the scream.

You, again, have to force away the reminder of what these men are capable of as you sit there, tied up and helpless between the three of them. All you can do is wait.

After what feels like way too long, the masked man "hmps."

"Don't make me regret this, sunshine."

It's all he says as he turns around and returns to the joint room.

The two other men linger behind, and for a second, you're almost worried something bad is going to happen. But then the black-masked man turns as well, and the brunet follows suit.

They're both around halfway through the door when, even to your own surprise, you dare to call out to them.

“W-wait!”

The men pause, and when the one with the goggles turns to look at you, your face warms. You try not to shrink back from his gaze as you speak.

“I—My wrists hurt. I can’t feel my hands. Can you… can you please take the zip ties off?”

It’s a long shot, you know it is. You're beyond humiliated for having to ask—and even more so as you anticipate their mocking rejection.

But, to your surprise, your kidnapper seems to hesitate.

“Please.”

You offer one last measly, pathetic little plea in the hopes of reaching whatever semblance of compassion that might still be buried within him.

He cracks his neck again, and then he wordlessly approaches.

You should be relieved. You should be happy that he's going to help you, that he's going to untie you and grant you some bare minimum of autonomy. But all you feel is fear as he unhooks a hatchet from his belt and comes closer.

You flinch as the metal blade glints menacingly in front of you. When he wraps his arms around your form to reach your wrists, you don't even dare to open your eyes.

He doesn't touch you, but he's so close that you can feel his warmth on your skin. His scent envelops you, wrapping around you like a false sense of security. You don't move, you don't even breathe.

You half expect the blade to sink into your back. But with one flick of his wrists, the plastic snaps, and warm blood floods into your hands, all the way to the very tips of your fingers. He didn't so much as nick you in the process.

You're not entirely certain if you just imagine him lingering next to you. You can't see his eyes, but you can feel his gaze soaking in your reaction.

What does he want from you?

It almost feels like he's about to say something, but then, to your relief once more, he leaves.

You've just enough time to look up and catch the black-masked man watching the whole interaction from the doorframe. But then he turns and leaves, and so does the one in the goggles, and they shut the door behind themselves and lock it with a resounding click.

•••

Over the next few hours, you become a slave to the clock on the nightstand. Every minute ticking by feels painfully slow.

You expect the men to return and tell you they're ready to take you back. But when that doesn't happen, it starts to feel like little more than wishful thinking. You wonder if they lied, if they're just biding their time until they find the best way to dispose of you. And that's when you realize you probably shouldn't keep waiting around like some kind of damsel.

You need to find a way out of here.

The first thing you try is the most obvious option; the front door. You fiddle with it for the better part of an hour, and when your frustration mounts, you're tempted to break it. But you don't want the men to hear—you certainly don't want to attract their attention—so you come up with a quieter solution.

You rummage through the drawers and find a pen. There aren't any scrap pieces of paper around, so you rip out a page from the bible on the nightstand and write your message. You slip the paper through the crack, and then, just in case only one isn't noticeable enough, you write a few more and cram them all under.

You wait a few minutes, pressing your ear to the door to listen in on the other side. But there's nothing except dead silence.

You fidget in place, at a loss for what to do with yourself. And then you get the idea to listen in on their side of the wall too.

Hands pressing to painted wood, you gently press your ear to the surface. You close your eyes, strain your hearing, and wait.

One minute.... two minutes... three...

They're either very quiet, or the rooms are ridiculously well-insulated. You somehow doubt the latter. You wonder if they're still in there, or if they've since left. You make it a point to be more attentive to sounds both in the hallway and in their room.

Another half hour and it hits you; you're hungry.

You drink water from the sink in the hopes of it filling you, but it barely helps at all.

When you catch another glimpse of your reflection, your eyes dart to the shower behind you. You weigh your options, then decide, fuck it; you might as well.

It ends up being a good distraction. The scalding water feels wonderful against your skin. And with nothing else to do but wait, you take the luxury of your sweet, sweet time.

You only come out when the water starts losing its heat.

Even though it isn't very appealing to put your dirty clothes back on, you realize you don't have much of a choice. You'd rather wear not-so-clean clothes than be caught between three masked men in nothing but a towel. You get dressed, return to the room, and are surprised to find two plastic-wrapped sandwiches on your bed.

Your mouth waters immediately at the sight. You scarf both of them down, and even though you pause to consider saving the second one, you're so hungry that you can’t resist it. You try to savor it as much as possible.

And then you're left waiting and waiting and waiting some more.

The following two days are spent similarly.

You're given food and, on occasion, some kind of drink when you're either sleeping or in the bathroom, which means they're listening to what you're doing.

Well, either that, or there's a hidden camera somewhere in the room. You've checked every nook and cranny, but the possibility still lingers at the back of your mind. You don't even want to consider the implications of what that might entail.

You try staying awake the second night, just to try to catch them when they come into your room. But you don't hear them, and after waiting in the dark for a few hours, you end up passing out halfway through the night.

The possibility that they lied about bringing you back becomes increasingly plausible on the third day.

You feel trapped.

You're too scared to scream for someone to save you. Not only are you worried about getting gagged and tied, but you also don't want to risk the ever-so-faint and dwindling possibility that they might still bring you back home. And even if they don't plan on letting you go, you're worried—most of all—about them killing you if you make too much of a scene.

No one seems to have noticed any of the dozens or so notes you slipped under the doorway, which, if you had to guess, means your kidnappers saw them and threw them out. Either that, or they picked a room at the very back of a hallway in some obscure hotel no one ever stays at. But even in that case, surely the hotel staff would've stumbled on them... right?

Eventually, it feels like your last option is to knock on their door and ask when they plan on bringing you back.

You lift your knuckles over their door, then hesitate.

The minutes tick by.

But you just can't bring yourself to knock.

You're too scared.

You go back to pacing back and forth in your little prison of a room.

On the third night, you're determined to stay up.

Even despite the clock on your nightstand keeping you grounded in reality, your lack of a proper routine—lack of a proper anything—has your body's rhythm completely out of sorts. You slept through most of the day, and when the night comes, you're wide awake.

Still, you're wrapped in the cheap hotel sheets, lying in the dark with your eyes closed in the hopes of fooling anyone who comes into thinking that you're sleeping. And even though you aren't tired, by the time you eventually do hear the door creaking open, you're on the verge of falling asleep.

The sound, however, snaps you right back to full attention.

You try to keep your breathing steady, try not to disrupt the flow of your chest rising and falling so evenly.

You wait and listen, and you hear... nothing.

You try not to shift. Try not to let it interrupt the flow of your breathing. You just lay there and wait, wondering what happened. Did they only open the door to quickly check in on you? Did they not actually come into the room?

You wait a little while longer, and then, right as you're about to open your eyes, you feel it. You're being watched.

[vintageshanny]

Beautiful Bird

This is just a short little fluffy smut based off my fantasies about these pictures. It is sort of a sequel to Get Your Belt Unloose, but it can also stand alone.

Content: Mentions of Elvis’ changing body and insecurities, fluff, smut, 18+

April 1976

“Elvis? There’s some reporter waitin’ in the hall.” Charlie peered tentatively into the dressing room where Elvis had barricaded himself as soon as the show was over.

“I told y’all, no press!” Elvis snapped irritably, not bothering to even lift his head from where it was drooped against the back of the rust orange couch.

“Well, that’s what I told her, but she was pretty insistent that she knows ya. Said ta tell ya her name is Sherry and she interviewed ya here a few years back.”

Elvis raised his head as a specific memory came washing over him. Singing “Sherry Baby” to a beautiful curvy reporter before she sank down on her knees in front of him and thanked him so...passionately. She’d probably be disappointed at how much he’d changed though. But the thought of seeing her again proved too enticing.

“Okay, send her in. I-I-I remember her,” Elvis nervously stuttered, pulling himself up off the couch as the sound of clicking high heels came closer to the door.

Charlie showed Sherry in and then disappeared, pulling the door closed behind him on the way out.

“Elvis, I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me,” Sherry started out nervously as she walked closer to him.

“Honey, I don’t get too many interviews like the one ya gave me. I couldn’t forget somethin’ like that.” Elvis smiled as he pulled her into a hug, his sweet teasing tone putting her at ease. “I did want ta see ya again after that, but y’know life jus’ gets so busy.”

“I understand.” Sherry fidgeted with the hem of her short corduroy skirt as her eyes took all of him in. He was as handsome as ever, but softer now. His face, his chest, his stomach – they were all a bit rounder than when she’d last seen him. She tingled with excitement at the thought of running her hands over all of that manliness. He was still in his jumpsuit from the show, and it was unzipped enough for her to get a peek at the crease where his chest met his belly. She was dying to reach in there and touch his soft furry skin. To find those little pink nipples and press her lips to them. To make him moan with desire.

Sherry finally pulled her eyes back up to his face to find him giving her a funny look. She blushed as she realized how obviously she’d been examining his body.

“I-I-I'm not just fat y’know, this is, uh, from some health problems I have,” Elvis blurted out unexpectedly, his own face hot with annoyance at being scrutinized. Is this why she came back? To pick him apart like everyone else?

Sherry looked startled and then realized he was misunderstanding her thoughts. “Oh, I wasn’t thinking that at all. I think your body looks absolutely perfect,” she breathed out slowly, trying to control the sensations going through her own body, the way it was instinctually responding to being so close to him. She could feel the slick arousal between her legs as she reached out to touch him. “Can I?” she whispered as she pulled his zipper down further.

Realizing that he had mistaken her desire for disgust, Elvis licked his lips and nodded as she pushed his jumpsuit back off his shoulders and down his arms, his top half now exposed.

“Y-y-ya think this is perfect?” he asked, watching her expression carefully as she continued to study his body, taking in every little detail, letting her fingertips wander over every inch of his terrain. He knew there were plenty of fans still attracted to him, but he could never seem to stop the insecurities from creeping in.

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” Sherry responded, leaning in to kiss his nipples, letting her tongue lap at him, his chest hair tickling her face as her lips trailed down over his stomach toward that sweet treasure.

“Ya wanna taste me again, Sherry baby?” Elvis murmured, finally letting his inhibitions go. He couldn’t seem to get aroused as often as he used to, but in this moment, he could feel the warmth growing down below. He wanted to hold onto this feeling of satisfaction as long as possible.

“I want more than a taste this time, Elvis. I want all of you. I want you inside of me.” Sherry smiled at the way Elvis let out a little shiver of desire at her words.

“How bad do ya want it, baby?” Elvis’ hand crept under her skirt and pulled her panties down, feeling the dampness of the fabric. He slid his hand back up, squeezing the soft flesh of her thighs as he worked his way back to the center. He slipped his fingers through the pool of wetness and pressed one gently inside of her, groaning at the way her body responded to his touch. “Ya want it that bad, hmm? Lemme have a look.”

Elvis guided her toward the couch, lowering her into a sitting position as he knelt in front of her, pushing her skirt up over her hips. “Mmhmm, spread your legs baby, jus’ like that. There’s that pretty wet pussy I remember.” Elvis leaned in and watched her flutter and glisten as he slid his finger in and out and played with her button, pressing it with his thumb and making her writhe with desire.

“P-please Elvis, I need you,” Sherry moaned as he removed his finger and watched her clench, her body searching for him.

He leaned in and licked her wetness, her legs quivering on either side of his head as his tongue dipped inside of her. He could feel his rock-hard length straining to bust out of his jumpsuit. It was now or never. He stood and pulled his suit the rest of the way off.

“Let me,” Sherry whispered as she leaned forward and pulled his underwear down, her face level with his throbbing manhood. Precum covered his sensitive tip, and she bent her head toward him and licked it off, taking all of him into her mouth. She caressed his balls gently as she sucked on him, savoring the taste and scent of him as he moaned her name.

“Oh Sherry baby, I ain’t gonna last too long. Sit on my lap, honey.” Elvis sat on the couch and pulled her on top of him. She straddled his lap and lowered herself carefully, feeling him enter her and slide in deeper until he was completely consumed. “Take this off, baby, I wanna see that beautiful body,” Elvis tugged at her top and pulled it over her head. He reached around and deftly unsnapped her bra, flinging it to the side and taking in the sight of her. “Mmm so pretty,” Elvis murmured as he gave her nipple a little pinch, watching the way her breasts bounced as she rocked her hips against him.

Sherry pressed her naked torso against his as she rode him, their soft bodies fitting together like a puzzle. She pressed her lips against his plush ones, the sensations overwhelming her as he thrust his hips upward, his dick hitting a spot deep inside of her, pushing her toward the edge.

“Oh God, Elvis, that feels so good,” she moaned.

With one last thrust, she could feel him pulse inside of her, filling her up as she trembled around him, a high so sweet she wished it would last forever.

“Baby, the way ya were moanin’ my name like that, I couldn’t hold on any longer,” he whispered in her ear as he hugged her tight, his embrace warming her very soul.

“Elvis, that was perfect. Worth the wait.”

“Were ya waitin’ for me honey? Is this all for me?” Elvis’ hands rubbed her back soothingly as he softened inside of her.

“It’s yours whenever you want it,” Sherry whispered, trying to hold back her tears. She knew she had another beautiful memory to cherish, but she also knew that she couldn’t cage this beautiful bird who belonged to the world. She could only give him all the love that he deserved.

[tinytinyblogs]

Punishment time darling

They give you everything you could ever want, but crossing them is a mistake you’ll never want to make.

Hyung line, Maknae line

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

Ghosting you, giving you the silent treatment—that’s Han’s specialty. He doesn’t need to yell, argue, or raise his voice; his silence is far more effective. It’s deliberate, calculated, and utterly consuming. Han knows exactly how to make you squirm, how to make your mind spiral into doubt and guilt. After all, he’s spent so much time being the perfect partner, the sweetest, most thoughtful person in your life. A sudden shift in his behavior is enough to make your entire world feel like it’s crumbling. When Han is upset, it’s not chaos that you face—it’s an eerie calm. He doesn’t reply to your texts, doesn’t meet your eyes, and acts as if you don’t even exist. At first, you might think he’s just distracted, maybe busy with something else. But the longer his silence stretches, the more uneasy you become. Han thrives on that unease. He loves the moment when panic starts to creep in, when you begin questioning every little thing. What did you do wrong? Did you hurt him? “Han, please, talk to me,” you plead one day, your voice trembling with desperation. He glances at you briefly, a flicker of something dark in his eyes, before turning away without a word. That single look says everything: you’ve disappointed him, and now you’re going to pay for it.

For Han, this isn’t just punishment—it’s a game. He’s a master of control, and his silence is his favorite weapon. He knows how to create a void that only he can fill, making you desperate for his attention, his approval, his love. The more he pulls away, the more you scramble to win him back, playing right into his hands. Days pass, and his sweet, doting persona feels like a distant memory. The warmth that once made you feel safe is replaced by a chilling detachment. You try everything to get him to respond—a heartfelt apology, small gestures of affection—but nothing works. That’s exactly what he wants. Han relishes your helplessness, watching you crumble under the weight of his absence. Finally, when you’re on the verge of breaking, he speaks. His voice is soft, almost kind, but there’s no mistaking the menace beneath his words. “You think I’m being cruel? No, love, this is what happens when you forget your place. I give you everything, and you repay me by disobeying? How ungrateful.” Then he leans in, his smile chillingly sweet. “Don’t make me do this again. You wouldn’t like what I’m capable of.” Just like that, you’re reminded that Han’s control over you is absolute, leaving you no choice but to obey.

Felix

Felix greets you with a smile as bright as sunshine, his voice gentle and soothing. “It’s okay, love. Mistakes happen. Just make sure you don’t do it again,” he says, his tone full of warmth and reassurance. It feels like everything is fine—like his words are an embrace meant to ease your worry. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, Felix begins to change things around you. For your own good, or at least, that’s what he firmly believes. The next day, you notice your phone is nowhere to be found. You search every usual spot, but it’s simply gone. When you ask him about it, Felix smiles sweetly, his expression as warm as ever. “You don’t need that, sweetie. I’m here, after all,” he says casually, as though it’s the most logical explanation in the world. His words are laced with affection, but there’s something about the way he looks at you that leaves you uneasy. Then comes the moment you try to step outside. The front door is locked, and the key is nowhere to be found—not in its usual spot or anywhere nearby. You turn to Felix, confused, only for him to greet you with that same sunny smile. “Where are you planning to go, love? No, no, just stay. There’s nothing important out there,” he says cheerfully, his tone almost playful. Yet the underlying message is clear: you’re not leaving.

As the days go on, it becomes harder to ignore the changes. His cheerful demeanor makes the situation even more unsettling. It’s not that he’s openly angry or upset. Quite the opposite—Felix is all smiles, his soft voice and kind words wrapping around you like a blanket. But that’s what makes it so unnerving. He doesn’t need to yell or punish you in obvious ways. Instead, he controls your world bit by bit, taking away your freedom one small step at a time, all while keeping that ever-present smile. Felix, the smiling punisher, ensures that every move he makes feels peaceful, even as he tightens his control. He’s convinced that it’s all for your own good, leaving you powerless to argue. You don’t know if he’s upset or not because he never shows it. He keeps smiling, as if everything is perfect, even when you feel the walls closing in around you. And in the end, that’s what Felix loves most—the way you eventually stop resisting. Under his ever-cheerful facade, he knows he’s succeeded when you no longer have the ability to disobey him. For Felix, it’s not about breaking you with force—it’s about molding you into someone who wouldn’t even think of defiance.

Seungmin

Seungmin is far more dangerous when he’s mad. He doesn’t lash out physically, nor does he lose his composure entirely. Instead, he wields his words like weapons, knowing exactly how to cut you where it hurts the most. For Seungmin, this isn’t just anger—it’s calculated, deliberate punishment. And in his mind, you deserve every bit of it for daring to upset him. His tone is calm, but the edge in his voice is sharper than any blade. “I trusted you,” he begins, his eyes narrowing as they pierce right through you. “But maybe I overestimated you.” Those words hit hard, striking the very insecurities you try so desperately to hide. It’s not just what he says—it’s the way he says it. That look of disappointment in his eyes feels like a weight pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. Seungmin doesn’t need to shout or raise his voice. He doesn’t waste his energy on dramatic outbursts. Instead, he lets his cruel words do the damage, each one carefully chosen to break you down. “You think you’re clever enough to deceive me?” he sneers, his tone dripping with disdain. The way he stares at you, unflinching and cold, makes you feel small and insignificant. As he continues, the tears well up in your eyes. You try to hold them back, but Seungmin notices immediately.

He always notices. And instead of softening, he doubles down, exploiting every vulnerability he can find. It’s like he’s taking inventory of everything you’re insecure about, everything you’ve ever been afraid to admit, and using it against you with precision. He doesn’t just stop at your tears. No, he takes them as proof that his words are hitting their mark. “It’s good you understand,” he says finally, his tone a mixture of finality and dismissal. “I don’t want to feel this way, but you leave me no choice.” His cold rationality feels even more crushing than outright anger would. Seungmin sees the way your shoulders slump, the way your gaze drops to the floor, but he doesn’t stop. For him, this isn’t about comfort or reconciliation. It’s about control. He believes you need to know your place, and in his mind, the only way to achieve that is to make you feel small enough that you’ll never cross him again. “You’re lucky I’m even giving you a chance to fix this,” he mutters, his voice soft but biting. “Next time, don’t make me regret trusting you.” Even as he walks away, leaving you alone, the weight of his words lingers. Seungmin doesn’t need to break you with force—he’s already broken you with silence, calculated remarks, and the deep scars left behind by his cruel, deliberate punishments.

Jeongin

Jeongin, with his innocent demeanor and soft smile, seems harmless at first glance. But beneath that sweet exterior lies someone far more dangerous than you could ever imagine. Jeongin knows how to wield his knowledge like a weapon, turning your deepest fears and darkest secrets against you without hesitation. His calmness when you make a mistake isn’t a sign of forgiveness—it’s a sign that he already has the upper hand. “Ah, do you need me to remind you who owns you?” he asks, his voice light and almost playful, but there’s no mistaking the edge beneath his words. Jeongin doesn’t need to shout or rage. He simply lets his actions speak for themselves, and those actions cut deeper than any punishment could. Jeongin’s obsession with control is rooted in knowing everything about you. It’s not just a pastime for him—it’s his greatest pleasure. Every secret you’ve tried to bury, every moment you’ve wanted to forget—Jeongin uncovers them all, keeping them locked away until the moment he decides to use them. He’s like a collector, carefully curating the parts of you you’d rather leave hidden. One morning, you wake up to find a small note placed neatly on your nightstand.

Your heart sinks as you notice the picture attached to it—a snapshot of a memory you’ve tried so hard to erase. The blood drains from your face as you pick it up, your hands trembling. You don’t need to ask who left it there. The message is clear, and the signature scent of Jeongin’s cologne lingers in the air. Moments later, he steps into the room, his usual soft smile playing on his lips. He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “Darling, if it weren’t for me, the whole world might already know what you’ve been so desperate to keep hidden. I’m the one keeping your secrets safe. Don’t you think it’s easier to just listen to me? To do as I say? That way, we can live peacefully together?” The casual tone of his words contrasts sharply with the weight of his threat. It’s not a plea for obedience; it’s a reminder of the power he holds over you. Jeongin thrives on the fear in your eyes, the hesitation in your voice as you nod. For him, the game isn’t just about control—it’s about watching you realize there’s no escape. He enjoys the slow realization that you are entirely in his grasp. And through it all, he keeps smiling, his innocence a mask for the dark intentions lurking beneath. To the outside world, he’s perfect. To you, he’s a master of quiet destruction.

[clappingandcheering]

(Percy Jackson x reader)

Shiny like the ocean

Warnings: None! Super cute story about you and Percy wanting to be parents and then becoming parents. Lmk if you want another part with the baby making, but I'm like a fresh writer, so I didn't want that to be my first impression!

"You know," Percy began, his voice casual but with that unmistakable gleam in his eyes. "I've been thinking."

You glanced up from the book you were reading, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? This should be good," you teased, half-smiling, knowing full well that when Percy Jackson got that look, you were in for something unexpected.

Percy's grin widened, clearly pleased with your response. "What do you think about having a kid?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you suddenly found your fingers twirling absentmindedly around the edge of the book. "A kid?" you echoed, trying to sound nonchalant, but the truth was, you weren't sure how to respond. You'd always imagined this kind of conversation would come up eventually—but now that it had, it felt like your words were stuck somewhere deep inside.

Percy, sensing your hesitation, leant forward on the couch, his voice softening. "I know we’ve talked about it before, but... I just really think we’d be great parents." He was already smiling that goofy, hopeful grin, the one you couldn’t resist even if you tried. "We’d make an awesome team, you know?"

You could feel the heat creeping up to your cheeks as you looked anywhere but at him. The idea of having a child, a little one to take care of, to love... It was terrifying and exciting all at once. You weren’t sure if you were ready for that kind of responsibility, but Percy was always so sure about things, and it made you want to believe it too.

“I mean, I guess we could..." you mumbled, your voice small and shy. “It’s just… I don’t know.”

Percy raised an eyebrow, teasing. “What, you scared of a little diaper duty?”

You snorted despite yourself. “You’d be the one doing all the work, huh?”

“Maybe,” he said with a wink. “But honestly, I think we could do it. And if we mess up, we’ll just blame it on the gods.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Always the Greek way.”

Percy laughed, and before you could think of a more serious response, he leant over and kissed you on the cheek. “No pressure. Just something to think about.”

But as he pulled away, there was a sincerity in his eyes that made your heart swell. You weren’t quite sure what to think yet, but when it came to Percy Jackson, sometimes the best things in life came when you least expected them.

Three years later...

You woke to the soft sound of giggles echoing down the hallway. A small hand tugged at your arm, pulling you out of your sleepy haze.

"Mum! Dad’s making pancakes again!" the little voice squealed.

You blinked, your mind struggling to fully wake up, but when you opened your eyes, you saw the tiny form of your son standing at the foot of your bed, his curly hair sticking out in all directions like a cute little mess. He was wearing his favourite Captain America pyjama shirt, the one Percy had picked out for him because it "matched his heroic spirit." The little boy grinned at you, his eyes wide and full of excitement.

"Did you sleep okay, buddy?" You asked, sitting up, your heart warming at the sight of him.

"Yeah!" he said, bouncing on his heels. "Dad said we’re having chocolate chips in the pancakes today. And we’re going to the park afterwards! Can we go, Mum? Can we?"

You smiled sleepily, brushing your hair out of your face. The house was quiet except for the soft noises of Percy in the kitchen and the sound of laughter spilling out from there.

“Give me a second, okay?” You said, ruffling your son’s messy curls. "I’ll be right down."

As your son hurried off to the kitchen, you let yourself take a moment. You could hear Percy’s voice, light and cheerful, as he worked at the stove. The warmth of the moment settled over you—this was your family now. The little boy who had come into your life and changed everything, who was both a reminder of the love you and Percy shared and a miracle of your own making.

You felt a soft tug in your chest. It was hard to remember what life was like before him, before you’d taken that leap, before you and Percy had gone from shy, unsure newlyweds to confident, exhausted—but incredibly happy—parents.

Downstairs, Percy was flipping pancakes with the same easy confidence he'd had all those years ago. The three of you—together, imperfectly perfect—sounded like a family now.

As you made your way into the kitchen, your son immediately ran over to you, his arms wide. “Mum! Look!” He showed you his tiny pile of pancakes, adorned with a mountain of chocolate chips.

“You made all of that?” You asked, pretending to be impressed, though you knew who had done the bulk of the work.

Percy chuckled, tossing his flour-covered spatula into the sink. “Teamwork,” he said, winking at you. “He’s getting good at this.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of your two favourite people, your hearts full. "I think he’s going to give you a run for your money in the kitchen soon."

“Good,” Percy said, scooping your son up and tossing him into the air, earning a burst of delighted laughter. "We’ll need all the help we can get."

And just like that, your heart melted. This little family of yours—it wasn’t perfect, but it was everything you’d ever wanted.

[kimulus0check]

If you're still doing Eltingville club stuff can you plz do Pete x chubby reader (and can it be NSFW if you're comfortable with it of course)

This ask was made for me. I’m here to rep every big girl like myself. Fat gurls 2025

•He’d secretly be into bigger women I know it.

•he’s the skinny and scrawny boyfriend to your chubby and curvy girlfriend

•would he goon at pornstar build plastics and creep on busty hourglass figures, on the regular yes. Though I think he’d be curious about bigger women in the sense that they are big in both places he’d love. He’s till pete, he’ll still objectify you regardless of weight. Weirdly woke, but not woke incel from the nineties/2000s kind of vibe.

•if you dress like a slut and show yourself off, like boosting with confidence, he’d try to test you by saying some weird shit like “how’s my heifer doing today?” Or “i think that shirts a lil too small for ya, but I don’t know if store carry a five xl.”

•If you stand your ground and nick him down a few pegs he’d get hard in a split second. Loves when someone can match his attitude.

•If your more on the quiet side and more timid he’d catch on. Either better or worse.

Nsft

•sit on his face, He’s not even experienced in the slightest but he’s not afraid.

•he’s loves to grab your plush thighs and waist and watch his hungers sink into your skin.

•He will bite you. The most violent hickeys you can imagine. Pete will urge you to bite him, but would say “you call shit that biting? Let me show you biting.”

Tw: knife play, blood, mention of gash fucking

•wants to cut you with a knife you got him for his nineteenth birthday along your thighs. He will plead for you to let him just to stick the head of his cock in one of your wounds, don’t do that I’m sure it’s not worth the infections.

•if you let him cut his name on your thigh he’d be over the fucking moon. If this it’s not just seeing your blood, but also claiming you. Also the process of him talking you through it too.

•When Pete is in this certain zone he can be really good at praises.

• “You’re doing so good for me, you got the first letter down.” Then “your being so brave for me you know that? My brave girl.” And “hey, hey, you’re so close. Just keep looking at me okay?” Into “you’re on the last letter baby, fuck, after this m’ gonna fuck you till morning.”

[the-weeb-of-the-uchiha]

The air was thick with tension as you stepped into the dimly lit bar, the sound of clinking glasses and murmured conversations wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You weren’t here for just any drink; you were here for a meeting that could change everything. But your heart raced for another reason entirely.

Toji Fushiguro was sitting at the far end of the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand, his dark hair slightly tousled, exuding an aura of danger and allure. His presence was magnetic, drawing you in despite the warnings you’d been given about him. You took a deep breath and approached your resolve hardening.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, trying to sound casual, even as your heart raced.

Toji looked up, a smirk playing on his lips. “Not at all. I was wondering when you’d show up.” His voice was low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine.

You took a seat beside him, the heat radiating off his body making it hard to focus. “I thought we needed to discuss the mission.”

“Sure,” he said, leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear. “But I’m more interested in what you think of me.”

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks, but you met his gaze. “You’re dangerous, Toji. I’ve heard the stories.”

He chuckled darkly. “Stories don’t always tell the whole truth. Besides, danger can be… exhilarating.”

You swallowed hard, the tension between you palpable. “Maybe so, but it’s not something I can ignore.”

“Why don’t we take this somewhere a little more private?” he suggested, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You hesitated, but something deep inside you urged you to leap. “All right, lead the way.”

Toji stood, his presence towering over you as he guided you out of the bar and into a secluded alleyway, the city lights dimming behind you. Once the door clicked shut, he turned to you, his demeanor shifting from playful to serious. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“No,” you replied, your voice steady despite the quickening of your heart. “But I know better than to underestimate you.”

His smirk returned, and before you could process what was happening, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing onto yours. The kiss was fierce and hungry, igniting a fire within you that you hadn’t expected. You melted against him, fingers threading through his hair as he deepened the kiss, his hands gripping your waist possessively.

Toji pulled away just enough to catch his breath, his eyes dark with desire. “I knew you’d be fun.”

You bit your lip, a playful smile spreading across your face. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Let’s see just how fun we can be,” he murmured, his voice low and enticing.

With that, he pulled you back in for another kiss, his hands exploring your body, leaving no room for doubt about his intentions. You responded eagerly, giving in to the thrill of the moment, the world outside fading into the background as you lost yourself in him.

Toji’s hands roamed your curves, pressing you against the cool brick wall of the alley, the excitement of being caught mingling with the heat of the night. Your breath hitched as he pulled away, eyes scanning your face with a predatory gaze.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, voice thick with desire.

“I want this,” you breathed, and in that instant, he captured your lips again, the kiss igniting the air around you.

Lost in the thrill of forbidden desire, you knew this was a night you would never forget—a night where boundaries blurred and passion ruled.

[undercvrfan444]

For weeks you felt as though someone was shadowing you. Anytime you went out a feeling of paranoia would settle in your shoulders and make you sick.

Whispers of white would grace your peripheral vision. It was always the same messy movement, gone before you could truly get a look at where the color originated from.

You’d been out all day. A close friend had asked you to come over and help her pack up the apartment she’d been living in for the past few months.

“I’m gonna miss you being around.” You said after taping the last box shut. What you really wanted to tell her was you’d miss feeling like you knew someone in this large city.

Nobara smiled softly at you. “I’m gonna miss you too babe!” A comfortable silent falls between the two of you while large cardboard boxes are squeezed together beside the door.

Lost in your own thoughts you almost don’t feel the petite gand on your shoulder, whipping around out of surprise. “Whoa! What’s going on with you girl?”

A small frustrated sigh pushes from your lips. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t know..” Running your fingers through your hair, thoughts race behind your eyes.

“I-I don’t know how else to say this, but…I think i’m being stalked.” Feeling the words come off your tongue left you with a bitter taste in your mouth. To admit something was truly happening to you was to accept the fear that dwelled in your chest when “he” was around.

And possibly the arousal too.

How is it that a person could be stalked and in some sick fucked up way, they could be turned on by that disturbing fact. Your heart rate speeds up as you feel the subtle creeping of heat tickle your cheeks.

Nobara is quick with her response, not letting a single thing slip past her.

“Stalked?” She murmured. “By who? I know there’s a lot of sick fucks out there, but damn.”

“I’m not sure to be honest. Whoever he is, he isn’t stupid. Any time I go out of my house I feel him.”

“Feel him? Babe what-“

“He’s never gotten physical with me! Partially because I think he’s either scared o-or maybe just trying to scare me. I haven’t figured which one yet.”

Thick, uncomfortable silence fills the air. Almost as if “he” could be summoned by a mere whisper of his existence. You can’t be scared. How could you lie to Nobara and tell her you were startled by this person when there was a pool of arousal forming in your panties. It was a sick world you lived in and you were sicker so.

For hours the two of you spoke about your unidentified stalker. You delve into the details of every wispy stray hair you’d see from the corner of your eyes, how his mere presence made you believe whoever he was it was undoubtedly certain strength lies within him. The conversation drew on so long the sun sank and the moon had now rose to show herself.

The cushion your body has been residing on felt as though it melded to be one with your body; signaling your time to leave.

“Y/n I’m not sure you should go home. Wouldn’t you feel safer staying here? I know everything is packed up but at least you would have another person with you.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that. I’ve never been attacked anyway Nobara, i’m sure i’ll be fine going home tonight.”

With that you were sent on your way, multiple opportunities to stay with Nobara were presented and you shot every single one down. Why? Maybe because it intrigued you to think of your stalker finally showing himself to you. You enjoyed the idea of someone caring so much about you that they’d go out of their way to STALK you.

Cool, crisp night air fills your lungs with every shallow breath you take. From behind you footsteps easily mimicked your own. Any other normal person wouldn’t have been able to recognize the sound, but you’d grown to expect the sound. In fact…you craved to hear those perfectly synchronized steps.

The entirety of your walk home, his footsteps echoed behind you. Stuttering heartbeats pounding so hard your ribs hurt. Terror ran rapid throughout your body and eventually morphed into excitement.

Finally reaching your door, you paused for a moment. “Are you still there?” Your small voice was shaky; unsure of what answer you preferred more. The world seems to go quiet around you. Unfortunately there was no sound behind you. No breathing, no steps, no ruffling of clothes, just the breeze blowing past your hair.

AUTHORS NOTE:

so ik this is random but like i’ve got fragments floating in my head and this is one of them

[calderasletski]

Eyes Do Not Decieve

The first time Y/n encountered Suo was when she was trying to escape a weirdo trying to flirt with her….

The first time Suo encountered Y/n was when he was out on patrol and he discovered he had a girlfriend he never knew he had….

“As I told you I’m here with my boyfriend,” squeezing Suo’s arm, she said to the person who Suo presumed was bothering her.

He could’ve intervened with his skills in martial arts but he didn’t. He wanted to see how this would play out.

“Darling, is he bothering you?” he asked her effortlessly playing along.

Y/n faltered a little at how compliant he was being. Though only for a little while.

“Oh yes. I was waiting for you when he came over. I told him I had a boyfriend but he… didn’t believe me.” She gave him a look that said ‘am I doing this okay?’

Suo shot back a ‘who knows’

But the creep was not convinced. “Are you sure you know him?”

“Yea, why would I approach him if I didn’t,” she said, crossing her arms to prove her point.

“I know it’s unbelievable to you that a lady as beautiful as her would date me but you’re being rude,” Suo remarked.

‘Damn, he’s smooth,’ Y/n’s thoughts screamed.

“Okay then what’s his name?” the creep asked her, pointing to Suo disbelief still evident in his eyes.

………...

............

“...zuko…”

……….....

………......

“That’s it! You don’t even know this dude!” he yelled, stomping towards her.

Before he could register what was happening, he felt the world spin and when he opened his eyes and looked up, Suo was looking down on him shielding Y/n behind him.

“Whether I know her or not is none of your business but I’d rather not see you bothering her again,” he said dangerously.

This scared the shit out of him, making him run  away.

Y/n on other hand was fawning over how cool Suo looked pulling off a move like that. “How did you do that?”

“You see, there’s a spirit sealed under this eyepatch. I can borrow its power to do some special moves,” he said seriously.

Y/n knew whether to take him seriously or not. “So you get possessed by the spirit sometimes.”

“You can put it like that,” he replied. He was enjoying this.

“Thanks for helping me,” Y/n said smiling at him.

Suo has never seen anyone smile so brightly at him. Maybe he was starting to develop a crush, maybe his mind was playing tricks on him.

“It’s nothing. You can come to me anytime you want. After All, I’m your boyfriend,” he joked.

Y/n felt her cheeks burn so she tried to cover her face with her hair.

Suo was enjoying getting a reaction out of her.

“I’m Y/n L/n. What’s your name?” Y/n asked unexpectedly. “In case you become my boyfriend again I’ll need your name.”

It was rare for Suo to get a taste of his own medicine. Regardless, he chuckled and said, “Suo Hayato.”

~

The next time Suo saw Y/n he found out she knew Sakura….

The next time Y/n saw Suo she found out he was friends with Sakura…..

And Sakura was weak to teasing. And when you place him between two people with the same energy in one room which is basically Kotoha’s cafe…

“I missed you so much,” Y/n said dramatically.

“I kept thinking about the day when I’d see you again,” Suo matched her freak.

Kotoha, Nirei, Kiryu-everyone knew they were faking it.

Sakura on the other hand felt like he was gonna combust. “Will you two just cut it out?! D-do this where people can’t see you!”

~

It turns out even he needs her help too…. And she’s happy to help him out and maybe show him off….

Two girls was asking for Suo’s number. He declined but they were relentless.

“My girlfriend wouldn’t like the idea of you asking for my number like that,” he said loud enough for Y/n to hear when he saw her approaching.

“Like it?” Y/n said as she stopped beside him and hooked her arm with his. “I’d hate it actually.”

And then she proceeded to brag about him. Even though Suo had no idea when they went they went out to hunt spirits at night he stared at her affectionately and nodded to her every word.

Even if the girls didn’t believe her, eyes do not deceive.

Sakura knows it too. He’s scowling at the spectacle unfolding in front of him with his face beet red. “Damn it! I’m leaving!”

~

Y/n asked Suo to teach him how to punch creeps in style…. Suo suggested he teach her how to slap creeps in style….

“Can’t you just go easy on me?” Y/n said getting up from the ground after Sou gently tripped her.

“You told me to give it all you got,” he remarked.

“True…” she said pouting.

“How about you come at me again. I promise I’ll go easy on you this time,” he said without any hint of teasing in his tone.

Y/n scanned his face for signs of mischief.

“Okay… on the count of three,” she said skeptically.

However she launched at Suo just as she said “three!”

Suo, already accustomed to her antics, was used to this. He blocked her effortlessly and as she was about to fall back he grabbed on to her, their faces inches from each other.

“You said you’d go easy on me,” Y/n said grabbing onto his shirt.

“I did go easy on you,” he said smugly. “I didn’t let you fall this time did I?”

“Wow you deserve to be rewarded for your efforts,” she said, her face heating up.

Before she could process her actions, Y/n grabbed the side of his head and placed a kiss on his cheek.

Suo stiffened his hold on her as he forgot whatever words of retaliation he was gonna say.

“Are you feeling shy?” Y/n said although she was barely holding herself together. ‘Why did I have to go and do that!’

“N-no,” his voice cracked. No  one ever heard his voice crack.

Y/n pushed herself away from him. Not that he was holding her too tightly. “I guess the training’s over now… I should head back,” she said and turned to leave.

Before she could run away, Suo grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. “W-what?”

“Would you mind if I ask you to stay?” he stated clearly.

Releasing the breath she didn’t know she was holding, she turned around to face him. Suo was staring at her with a lovestruck expression. And her expression probably mirrored his. The same facial expressions that Sakura often caught a glimpse of when they were supposedly faking it to rile him up. Before they themselves realised it Sakura knew they were in fact not faking it.

~

The next time they met at Kotoha’s cafe Suo confidently approached her, taking her hand and kissing the back of her palm.

And Sakura could confirm that his eyes never decieved him.