#because like no that's not how it was shut the fuck up

[achillesunly]

Okay you know what?

Fuck you all because I agree with the OG poster in the comments

Coz when you're younger and depraved trying to get yourself some quality smut out of fuckass Wattpad and English ain't your first language and you see that yellow shit???

You come from the land of pictures and Wattpad fantasy not fucking university library no colors only tags and warnings, you're used to just-get the shit

So yeah you don't know how to fucking navigate the shit AND you're scared when something with yes continue and no go back pops up you don't bother reading some shit BC you think it might be scam or some

So yes, it happens,

And so YES, FUCK you

ohhh… you guys are like… STUPID stupid

[dukeofankh]

If your vision for the deradicalization of right-wing men begins and ends with "other men telling them that that's gross and to stop it" then I'm sorry, you do not understand how masculinity works.

"Men who hold patriarchal status" and "men who are feminists" are two groups who overlap less than you want them to. I'm sorry. That's not solely because men are so happy with patriarchal status that they don't want to risk it by policing misogyny/queerphobia/racism, It's because being misogynistic, queerphobic, and racist, end expressing other forms of toxic masculinity(and often abusively so) are part of how people establish and maintain patriarchal status. The men who have the ability to stop this via nothing but peer pressure are the very people who are doing it. That's by design. And engaging in feminist intervention is, in and of itself, usually the abrupt end of that status and its associated power to persuade misogynistic men.

Like, I have worked in blue collar jobs as a notably queer person. It was pretty much a constant deluge of verbal abuse. In my experience, most blue collar work environments are exploitative, abusive, and bigoted, and very gleefully so. On the occasions I have spoken up about someone saying something that was super fucking out of line (asking me which of the girls walking by was hottest. We were installing a portable classroom at a middle school), believe it or not, they completely failed to be shamed! Because nobody else on the crew gave a fuck. *I* was the weird one. They ghosted me. A full blown company ghosted me. I suddenly didn't have a job anymore because they just straightforwardly stopped telling me where the next job site was.

Like, this doesn't mean that it's your job to do it, but this vision you have of these big groups of men where everyone is on the fence and there is precisely one shit stirrer who can be shut down by a brave feminist man who can single handedly set the example for all these other guys...you are high. You are describing an "everybody clapped" level absurd scenario. Most of these truly virulent misogynistic guys either have zero friends, because, you know, our society is atomized to fuck, or they are in a group where the feminist guy is actually the weirdo who can be shut down and ostracized much, much easier than the misogynists, because there is no such thing as a man misogynists respect who stands up for women.

You might be saying "well, we're talking about longstanding personal relationships, actually. Like, they need to have to want to spend time with you and then, as a side effect, you can mind control them out of being a threat to us."

Problem with that being:

1: Many feminist men also have no friends, see the atomized society above.

2: Feminist men already stopped hanging out with men who make rape jokes because why the fuck would we want to spend time with them.

3: That isn't just because we respect women so hard. We are in many cases talking about men who are also deeply queerphobic, heirarchical, violent and abusive to other men. What initially drew me to feminism and women was a lack of heirarchical squabbling and constant bullying, and the ability to be openly queer. A lot of men who came to feminism did so because they knew that the patriarchy was not a place they would find success or acceptance. These are not the men who are gonna be able to change right wing minds.

4. Men do not view themselves as a monolith. There is no universal brotherhood of men. The actual meaning of the term "Fragile masculinity" is that men are constantly expected to prove that they are deserving of the status of being a member of their own gender. There are large swathes of men--including most of the men who you'd look to as examples of good, feminist men who you want to undertake this project--who are considered failed men, sissies, f****ts, soyboys, ect. They are. Not. Going. To. Convince. These. Men. Of. Jack. Shit. Much less successfully *shame* them. Jesus.

I know all of this sucks. I know it would be cool to be able to just point at a group and have them be responsible for the work. But nah. It's gonna have to be a societal project, one that will probably outlast all of us. Sorry. The thing you want these men to do is, absolutely, the morally correct thing to do. But presuming that it would be effective is, and once again I am so sorry about this, just ignorance of how these social groups function.

[nanaslutt]

dominating the leader of onychinus

minors and ageless blogs dni

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ ࿔

sylus loves having his wrists bound to the bed while you ride him and choke him out. such a strong important man, relinquishing control to his gf because it gets stressful holding up such an image. he just needs to sit back and let you take care of him sometimes.

he has a gag in his mouth this time, and his eyes are rolling to the back of his head each time you bounce on him, thrusting his cock into your warm and gummy walls. he doesn’t even try to thrust properly, just drools around the gag and lets his hips twitch and jerk as they want while you milk him dry.

“does that feel good, baby?” you ask, rocking your hips against his pelvis with his cock burried deep inside you. he nods, his eyes lidded and pussy drunk as he looks back and forth from your face to where you’re swallowing him up.

the groan he lets out behind the gag makes heat rush through your body when you start to rub your clit. he can feel you tightening around him with the added stimulation, and the sight of you playing with yourself on top of him while you use him like a sex toy is making his balls throb.

you squeeze his neck tighter, making his eyebrows pinch together as his eyes fall shut. “sylus, i’m gonna cum.” you moan, your nails pricking his skin from how hard your choking him. all he can do is groan and nod, trying to speak encouragements through the gag but his words are muffled.

quickly, you release his throat and undo the gag, a line of spit connecting from his lip to the ball. “put your hand back around my neck, kitten. squeeze hard, i’m going to cum with you.” he gets out the second the gag is off.

you nod, wrapping your smaller hand around his thick neck and squeezing. sylus’s hands are pulling at his restraints, and his moans are turning more into gasps and low whimpers. “right there-“ he grits through his teeth when you lean forward and place a hand on his abs, fucking his cock right against your gspot.

he must like the stimulation too, because he stars nodding, his jaw falls open, and his brows pinch together. “cum with me, cum right now.” he orders, and although he’s the one tied up and at your mercy, you’re still weak to his commands.

sylus groans low in his throat when you contract around him. the asphyxiation and your cunt strangling his cock is enough for him. his balls empty inside you and his hips jerk up into yours as he tries to bury himself as deep as he can while he fills you with his seed. “that’s it, take all of it kitten.”

his face and chest are flushed, and his words are deep and gravely from all his groaning. he makes sure to keep you sat on him, keeping your hole plugged up with his softening cock as you unbind his wrists. “did you enjoy tying me up, doll?”

you smile and nod, “of course, not everyone gets to have the head of onychinus at their mercy like this.” he laughs and rubs his wrist when you free him. then, he’s grabbing your face with one hand and wrapping his arm around your waist with the other. “no, it’s only for you. and i love it when my little doll dominates me.”

[pricesprincess]

mdni | part one

"wife? " you hadn't meant to ask that out loud, nor did you mean to add a bite to your tone as you held the spatula when your gaze met john's, hurt gracing your features and a pout on those lips he couldn't get enough of last night.

your dad was oblivious thankfully as his attention turned to the food you were making peeking over your shoulder. he was grateful for you to be staying with him, his cooking skills have never been the best.

john cleared his throat and took a seat on the barstool. "we're in the middle of a divorce, she's been dating her coworker since the beginning of this year." he confessed and explained to you in one breath.

"what? you two have been together for years." it was impossible not to turn around and glance at the man you now felt sympathy for, she was cheating on him and going through a divorce because of it.

before john had the chance the answer the doorbell rang pulling your dad away from the kitchen but not leaving without kissing your head and patting john's shoulder. once the coast was clear you sighed.

a thick tension filled the room as you struggled with what to say.

well, at least he wasn't a cheater. "sorry i didn't tell you doll, i didn't think you were interested in an old man like me anyway, last night took me by surprise." john murmured gazing at you wearily.

"old man? good thing for you that the geriatrics are my thing and i'm sorry to hear your wife is such a bitch, why would she cheat on you?"

your dad seemed to have a knack for interrupting your conversations and you thanked your lucky stars his habit didn't shine it's ugly head last night as you were bouncing up and down his friends dick.

the questions that burned the tip of your tongue were beginning to start to ache, you wanted to know more about john. you were too busy with your mouth on his cock last night to ask anything else.

you two started to flirt a bit after dinner then when your dad went upstairs for the evening your flirting became more erotic and graphic then you finally bared your tits for john and that's how you ended up spread eagle getting your pussy ate like it was his last fucking meal.

you could still feel the soft ache between your legs making you flustered. "duty calls, i have to go in and help real quick. you'll two be okay without me?" your dad asked not knowing about the plans you made.

john answered for you and graciously took the bowl from you daring to give you a wink when your dad's back was turned, it was a bastard thing to do but when your pussy was milking him for everything he had it was too good not to get addicted to.

as soon as the door shut and locked you were on john like a moth to flame, your arms wrapping around his neck to smother him in kisses. "i was going to rip your dick off after i told my dad about last night.'

he held you close as you stood between his spread legs. "last night you barely gave me time to say anything then you were waving your nipples in my face and you started it first sweetheart." john hummed.

"i suppose i did but you were giving me 'fuck me' eyes, and you flirted heavily with me too!" you laughed and tossed your head back making john feel much younger than he has, it's not often he wanted to have sex before but now he wouldn't mind taking you again.

[verysadlesbian]

Now that I have sat with my thoughts for a couple of days, I want to talk about some things:

There are too many people trying to defend Caitlyn's actions, so I have to say: NOTHING, and I mean absolutely nothing, justifies fascism. "Oh but she's grieving and blahblahblah" you know who else was grieving?! The mother of the kid Jayce killed in season 1. You know who else?! Vi and Powder that saw enforcers murder their parents, just like many other children from Zaun. Caitlyn destroyed her mother's legacy in the police brutality™️ operation, you understand how fucked up this is? Her mother's recording is saying "the people from Zaun deserve to breathe," and she did it anyways. If you sympathise with Piltover, you're either part of the problem or naïve enough to fall for fascist propaganda.

Ekko is the only real one. Not a single slightly evil bone in his body. Everything he does, he does for his people, not in a persuit of power, or revenge. He's genuinely good, so much so that he's willing to hang out with not only Heimerdinger, but also Jayce just so he could protect his community. He deserves so much better and I'll be heartbroken when he finds out that Vi was involved in Caitlyn's operation.

I don't know how Vi can forgive Caitlyn after what happened. I know I wouldn't. It just goes to show that you cannot trust that privileged people are going to be different just cause they were nice to you. Viktor found that out in season 1 and Vi is finding this out now.

Do you guys think the black rose is gonna pretend to be Mel?! I don't play LOL, but it is to my understanding that the black rose can make clones, so it'd be obvious that they're gonna take Mel's identity

Saw some people on twitter and tiktok (of course they were there) denying that jayvik has heavy romantic undertones by stating "they're friends! They're like brothers! Why everything has to be gay now?" and EVERYTHING HAS TO BE GAY CAUSE I SAID SO, NOW SHUT UP! But seriously though, I understand that to cishet viewers, their relationship might seem strictly platonic, 'cause they lack the eye that we, queer people, have for these things. And that's okay. Not everyone needs to understand the nuances of a homoerotic friendship. But in the same breath, they're quick to say that "Viktor was thinking about Sky, so obviously he's straight" and that pissed me off, cause: 1 - have you looked at him?; 2 - He feels responsible for her death (cause he was)! He's thinking about her because he feels GUILTY! that man was not interested in Sky whatsoever; 3 - it's so heteronormative to think that a man and a woman can't be friends, they're so adamant in denying jayvik cause "they're friends!" but they do the same fucking thing!; and finally 4 - HAVE YOU LOOKED AT HIM???

Anyone that sides with Piltover would probably be a zionist as well. I don't have to explain this.

The trio "Sevika, Jinx and Isha" is probably my favourite thing in Act 1, I just can't get enough of them.

[tofics]

🥲 With the way my period went last week, this fic was on my brain constantly. But my god, Bug, I needed time to digest this masterpiece. (I've also saved various of your other works in my drafts to comment on later. I apologize for the reblog spam that is about to happen.)

Kay, now. Let's dive in, shall we? 🥰

Joel wakes up early the next morning and greets you with a kiss pressed to the side of your head. “Fuck off,” you mumble, your voice is still thick with sleep but he knows you mean it so he lets you sleep in a bit while he cleans the bathroom for you. He works as quietly as he can, scrubbing it and mopping it from top to bottom. He empties the trash can and the laundry hamper, he makes sure there’s a fresh bar of soap and a new washrag for you. Joel’s just finishing up and wiping dust from the mirror when you find him in the bathroom. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he says as he kisses the top of your head. “How do you feel?”

What a sweet, sweet, kind man. If I woke up to a freshly cleaned bathroom while on my period, I'd probably cry.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you mumble. “The bleach you used makes my head hurt worse.”

🥲 Ma'am. I get it. But. The sweet man.

If looks could fuckin’ kill, Joel thinks. You’re glaring at him. He takes that as his cue to leave. You shrink away from him as he gently brushes your arm when he walks past, then shut the door loudly behind him. Ouch. Joel knows not to take it personally, though. You’re crampy, but you’re also probably hungry. He’ll make you breakfast, something with protein because he knows you need it. 

Sorry, did you say saint??? Saint Joel???

“I didn’t hear ya, sweetheart. Speak up, please.”  “I said yes,” you snap.  Your clipped tone cuts like a knife. Joel bites his inner cheek as he takes your plate from you.

😫 The disrespect. The bitten cheek. (Loved that bit. His annoyance is growing, but he's still keeping his cool. Again, did someone say saint??)

“No. I don’t care,” you interrupt, which hurts Joel’s feelings a little. A lot, actually.

S' OKAY, SWEET BABY. C'MERE. MAMA'S GOT YOU.

“Your glasses broke.”  “Yeah. I see that.”  “I didn’t mean to,” you tell him defensively. “Right.”  “But you really shouldn’t leave your glasses there, Joel.”

Breaking the silence, Joel finally clears his throat and continues his thought, “I’m gonna give you two options,” Joel says. “You can walk the fuck away from me, or you can get on your knees. Whichever you choose, you do so silently. Nod if you understand.” 

“You’ve earned yourself brownie points choosin’ the latter of the two options, but this still ain’t gonna be fun for you,” he says.

S' okay 🥲 I was a bitch 🥲 I deserve it 🥲 Do with me as you please 🥲🥲🥲

He draws out of your mouth entirely only to force his way back in, making you gag and sputter. You attempt to pull away but Joel keeps his hand firm on your head and holds you right where he wants you. “Nuh-uh. I don’t know where you think you’re goin’, hon.”

“Quiet,” he growls. “Heard fuckin’ enough outta you today. You keep quiet.”

🫡 Sir yes, sir.

“Let it be a lesson to ya, then, if it hurts. That mouth ‘a yours has done nothin’ but bitch and moan at me today. S’a punishment, ain’t ‘sposed to feel good.”

I have really bad news for you, then. Ahem.

“Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

“I will wash the fucking sheets. We can add it to the list of all the things I’ve done for ya today, hm?”

Ohhh, he's done done. I just *loved* this bit. The frustration, how fed up he is with the reader. Suddenly you're concerned about causing a little bit of work? Oh, hohoho, no no no. Too fucking late.

Joel had assumed sexual frustration had been playing a role in your attitude today. Cramps, headaches, all sorts of things going on with you and a needy, aching pussy to boot. He does feel sorry for you, but he feels sorry for himself too. It’s why he got his first, but now it’s time for you to get yours. An orgasm should set you straight, or two or three. Whatever he feels is necessary. 

😩 Ma'am. Please. I can only take so much. The hotness in just this ONE paragraph. PLEASE. 😩 "An orgasm should set you straight, or two or three. Whatever he feels is necessary." 🥲 I am a puddle on the floor.

Joel takes his free hand and uses it to press down on your lower stomach, intensifying the feeling of it all. You come hard, gushing on his fingers as you whimper his name.

🫠🙃🫠🙃

“Quiet,” he commands. He begins teasing your slit with his cock once more before he speaks, “So this is what we’re gonna do: you’re gonna take what I give you, however much or little it is. You’re not gonna cry or complain ‘cause you’ve done enough of that today. Right?” Joel pauses, “Nod your head.”

“I know, I know, sweetheart,” he coos at you to quiet you down. “You’re all out of sorts today. M’gonna fix it. I always fix it, don’t I?”

*inhales* - *screams*

He fucks you without discipline, no tenderness at all to the action with those sloppy thrusts, but you’re more lost in him than he is in you - he’s focused on your face, watching you make an ‘O’ with your mouth, and he’s focused on your bouncing body, your twitching thighs spread wide. Your moans, your whimpers and your whines, babbling nothing but nonsense. Joel’s brow is furrowed as he breathes heavily through his teeth, his soft body jerking above you as he hits that sweet spot inside you over and over and over… “It’s all ya needed, isn’t it? The whole goddamn time,” he pants. “Didn’t need to go an’ bitch me out all day if you needed lovin’ like this. Woulda been nice f’ya just said so.”

😶 I have died and am now reading this from the depth of hell. Fuuuuck me!

“Always the tears with you, huh?” he taunts. “Always somethin’. Oh, I know. I know.” 

The fucking "I know"s kill me. Like, I didn't know two simple words like that could do the things to me that they're doing. But here we are. Is that a kink? Is there an "I know" kink? I think I have it.

“You’re gonna tell me what you need,” he instructs, “And you’re gonna ask for it. Nicely. So that means usin’ your manners. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel. Remember those words?”

You’re surprised when he returns to you, pelvis covered in your blood, and scoops you right up in his arms. He helps you to your feet and on shaky legs, guides you to the bathroom. It no longer smells like bleach but instead, lavender. He’s got a candle lit on the sink and the bathtub is filled with warm, bubbly water. “Picked out a bubble bath for you earlier when I went out. Wanna test it out with me?”

😭😭😭 SAY IT WITH ME: JOEL MILLER IS A FUCKING SAINT. A SAINT THAT FUCKS, BUT A SAINT NONETHELESS.

Christ on a cracker, this was delicious from start to finish. I think you have had a lasting impact on how I see (and am trying to write) smut. 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Thank you indeed. 🙌 A masterpiece!!!!

Seeing Red

“Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

Joel’s sorry that your period sucks, but he's reached the end of his rope with your attitude. (6k)

Tags - 18+ smut, brat taming, blow jobs, face fucking, rough period sex, fingering, mating press, overstimulation and multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare in the form of a shared bubble bath, all things periods and period symptoms so headaches, breast pain, cramps, irritability that reader takes out on Joel. You will feel so bad for being such a cunt to this man but he gets to fill two of your holes with his cum so it all kind of evens out. takes place in jackson Fic help - @beefrobeefcal and @joelsdagger for all of their love and support and eyeballs, @noxturnalpascal and @endlessthxxghts thank you both for being my compass and giving me direction and helping to make this fic perfect. I love you <3 A/N - if you're on your period, i'm sending you a hug <3 if you're not i'm hugging you too

I was reminded of my friend @covetyou's fic "Sleepless" which is a lovely piece of classic literature, just like the rest of her works, and I'd like to credit her for inspo. Thank you Lo 🤎🩷💚

You should have guessed there’d be a bloodstain in your underwear, but despite the headaches, your sore breasts, and your cramping abdomen, you’re surprised when you’re met with rusty red in your panties. Fucking great, you whisper, dripping with sarcasm, this is not what you needed today. You had so many things you wanted to get done and now you were going to be spending the whole day miserable and in pain.

“Joel,” you loudly call out. You wait a beat, nothing. “JOEL,” you yell louder. 

You hear the faint sound of his recliner, the popping of his knees and the creaking of the stairs as he walks up them. His two feet are visible through the space between the floor and the bathroom door and then he knocks, “Whatcha need, darlin’?”

“New underwear,” you answer. “And a pad. Also in the underwear drawer.” 

Joel walks away and returns with what you’ve asked for and slides both items under the door. You change your panties and secure the pad made of old rags and t-shirts with the clothespin attached to it. “You got it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply.

“Guessin’ you just started your cycle, then.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Can I get you anything?”

“Nope,” you answer. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” 

“Alright. I’ll join you, then.” 

 You wash your hands and rinse the bloodstain out of your panties with annoyance in the sink, wringing them out before tossing them in the dirty laundry hamper in the bathroom. When you unlock the door and leave the bathroom, Joel’s already asleep in your shared bed. He sleeps curled on his side and yet he still fucking snores - between that and the pain you’re in, you know it won’t be a restful night of sleep. You look at Joel, sleeping peacefully like a baby, and yet you wanna beat the living fucking crap out of him. You curl your body around his, stealing his body heat to soothe your cramps. 

Joel wakes up early the next morning and greets you with a kiss pressed to the side of your head. “Fuck off,” you mumble, your voice is still thick with sleep but he knows you mean it so he lets you sleep in a bit while he cleans the bathroom for you. He works as quietly as he can, scrubbing it and mopping it from top to bottom. He empties the trash can and the laundry hamper, he makes sure there’s a fresh bar of soap and a new washrag for you. Joel’s just finishing up and wiping dust from the mirror when you find him in the bathroom. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he says as he kisses the top of your head. “How do you feel?” 

“Shitty.” You grab at the mirror and Joel’s skin crawls as you touch the glass with your thumb, the smudges left behind from your fingertips clear as day on the freshly cleaned glass. He’ll just touch it up later. You pull out your toothbrush and frown, your nose scrunched in disgust. “It smells like bleach in here,” you complain.

“Well, yeah,” Joel chuckles. “I just cleaned it for ya. ‘Course it smells like bleach.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you mumble. “The bleach you used makes my head hurt worse.”

“Oh,” Joel scratches the back of his head and frowns. “M’sorry, then. Well, we can let it air out for a while, we’ll leave the fan on. Shouldn’t smell for more than a day or so.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

If looks could fuckin’ kill, Joel thinks. You’re glaring at him. He takes that as his cue to leave. You shrink away from him as he gently brushes your arm when he walks past, then shut the door loudly behind him. Ouch. Joel knows not to take it personally, though. You’re crampy, but you’re also probably hungry. He’ll make you breakfast, something with protein because he knows you need it. 

He cleans the kitchen first. He washes the dirty dishes you must’ve forgotten about last night and wipes crumbs from the table. As you come downstairs dressed in sweats and a shirt you stole from Joel, he’s finishing up making your breakfast. “Sit down, I made your favorite.” 

You sit down at the table with your head in your hands. Joel puts a plate with two slices of perfectly golden brown toast and two over-easy eggs in front of you, then a fork and a knife on either side. He fills a glass with water for you as well. He walks away to clean up the stove, then turns around to check on you. Your face is contorted in disgust and you’re not eating. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want this,” you grouse.

“But s’your favorite. You love your eggs over easy,” Joel says. “And the toast, that’s fresh bread and butter. Eat up.” 

“Yeah, but I wanted scrambled.” 

Joel stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded. You usually hate scrambled eggs, and he knows this. But you’re not smirking or holding back laughter like you’re fucking with him. So maybe your tastes have changed, who knows. “Okay. Would you like me to make you scrambled eggs instead, then?”

“Yes,” you mumble in a small voice. 

“I didn’t hear ya, sweetheart. Speak up, please.” 

“I said yes,” you snap. 

Your clipped tone cuts like a knife. Joel bites his inner cheek as he takes your plate from you. He quickly scarfs down the perfectly cooked eggs and toast as he makes you a new plate of breakfast, this time with scrambled eggs. He places it in front of you with a little less care than before and waits for you to take a bite. “Better?”

“Just okay.” 

‘Just okay’. Of course you think it’s ‘just okay’, they’re scrambled fucking eggs - which you don’t like. You’re just being - 

Joel needs to cool off. Hopefully once you’ve eaten you’re a little less irritable. “I’m gonna head out an’ do some errands. Be back shortly,” He’s met with no answer from you, which he expected. 

-

He comes back an hour or so later with a few things from the market he’s been needing along with a couple of VHS tapes that he rented from the library. “So,” Joel says, “I picked out some movies for ya.” He lays four tapes down on the coffee table in front of the couch where you lay. “When Harry Met Sally, that’s a good one,” he begins, “Next is How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days, then Blade Runner, and I picked out My Cousin Vinny,” Joel says. He thinks you’re gonna pick out Blade Runner because it stars Harrison Ford, who he knows you have a thing for. “My Cousin Vinny is pretty good, I don’t think we’ve seen that one yet f’ya wanna give that a try.”

“Mmm, no.” 

Shot down. “Okay. How ‘bout Blade Runner, then. S’got Indiana Jones in -”

“No. I don’t care,” you interrupt, which hurts Joel’s feelings a little. A lot, actually. “I wanna watch this one,” you point to How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days. “He’s cute.” 

Of course you picked the Matthew McConaughey movie. God, Joel fucking hated him. He always seemed so skeezy, if there’s anyone who should’ve bit it on Outbreak Day, it should’ve been Matthew McConaughey. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. Do you think he’s dreamy too?”

“Fuck off, Joel.” 

So teasing’s off the table too, he’ll add that to the list of things that have pissed you off today. Joel turns on the TV and puts the tape in the VHS player before he sits back down next to you. At first you rest on his shoulder, then you spread out and lay your head on his lap. It’s not long before you fall asleep on Joel, leaving him to watch this dumb fucking movie all by himself because god forbid he move you and disrupt your nap. He knows better than to do that. 

-

“So fuckin’ stupid,” Joel whispers to himself as the movie plays, though he did find himself enjoying the part where the Kate Hudson sings “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon. He always did like that song. 

“Mmmm,” you groan, shifting onto your back. Joel’s hand is stroking your hair as you look up at him, but you push it away. “You’re too close to me,” you grumble. 

“What’re you talkin’ about?” 

“You’re crowding me. I feel smothered.” 

Joel scoffs. “Oh, you feel smothered? You’re the one who laid on me.” Once again, your glare is all that you need to say. “Alright then, I’ll move.” Joel concedes. He lifts your head gently and scoots down to the opposite end of the couch. And then he hears you huff. “What?”

“Well, now I don’t have a pillow.” 

Joel sighs as he gets up to grab a throw pillow from the opposite couch. 

“The other one.” 

You’re referring to the other throw pillow that’s absolutely indistinguishable from the one currently in Joel’s hand, but he gets it for you anyway. “Lift your head,” he says softly, putting the pillow under you. He sits back down in the spot you made him move to as you both watch the movie play, but your soft groans interrupt. You’re no doubt in pain from all the cramps right now. “I’ve got somethin’ like a heating pad,” Joel says, looking at you. “S’a big sock filled with rice, I heat it up and use it for neck and back pain. Would that help with them cramps?” You nod without making any effort to meet Joel’s eyes, which he finds a little rude. But still, you’re hurting. He’ll give you grace. 

So, once again, Joel gets up for you. He goes upstairs to get his rice sock from his nightstand, then comes back downstairs and heats it in the microwave for a couple of minutes. He pokes the sock to make sure it’s plenty warm for you and then gives it to you to take. “Here,” he says, “Hold it on your tummy.”

“JESUS,” you yell at him. 

“What?”

“It’s too fucking hot, Joel, why would you make it so hot?” 

 “Just give it a second, sweetheart, you’ll get used to it.” 

“No. It was burning me.” 

“Okay, then let me have it and we’ll let it cool off a minute. Christ almighty.” Joel takes the sock back from you, and he knows his hands are pretty calloused but…it doesn’t feel that hot. When a few minutes have passed, he gives it back to you. “This should be better.” 

You lay the big, warm stuffed sock across your stomach and frown. “It’s not warm enough.” 

“You have gotta be kiddin’ me.” 

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, giving Joel back his sock like you just assume he’ll heat it up again for you. 

“Just a couple minutes ago you screamed bloody murder about it burnin’ you. And now it’s not hot enough?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” When Joel doesn’t jump immediately to reheat the sock for you, you look at him impatiently. “Joel.” 

“You can ask, you know.” 

But Joel gets the hint and gets up for you a third time to reheat the sock he’s letting you borrow. You don’t say please, and when he returns with the sock reheated, there’s no thank you either. What does he get from you? “It’s too hot.”

“Then tell me how I should rectify that for you, because last time I let it cool off and it wasn’t warm enough for ya after.” 

“I don’t know,” you snap. “You’re just really upsetting me right now. Everything hurts and your voice is grating.”

“I’m upsetting you?” Joel repeats your words back to you. “And my voice is grating.” 

“Yes.” 

He’s about at his wits end. “You know, you–” Joel decides not to finish that sentence. Instead, he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes out on the count of five. “Two, three, four…You need to drink some water. S’your first issue, you’re probably dehydrated. Did you drink any water?” 

“It’s not your business.”

 Jesus fucking Christ. “Okay, well I’m makin’ it my business.” Joel gets up for the fourth goddamn time and slams the cup cabinet before filling a glass with water from the sink. He marches back to the couch, “Sit up,” he says. “Drink.” 

“I don’t want to,” you whine. 

“It’ll fix your headache. Drink.” 

“It won’t actually, that’s a myth.” 

“Right, what do I know when you’ve got an answer for fuckin’ everything. Drink.” 

You sit up, scowling at Joel as you take a sip. 

“All of it.” 

You drink the rest of it, glaring at him the whole time. He’s so full of shit, as if any of what you’re going through could be fixed by drinking a glass of water. Water won’t fix your cramps, won’t fix your aching and sore back. When you’re done, you slam the glass on the end table next to you and in doing so, break Joel’s reading glasses. Oops. Didn’t see those. The lenses aren’t shattered, but one of the arms is all bent now. When you look at Joel, he’s biting his bottom lip and breathing deeply. “Your glasses broke.” 

“Yeah. I see that.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” you tell him defensively.

“Right.” 

“But you really shouldn’t leave your glasses there, Joel.”

“Yeah, right. Shouldn’t leave my glasses on the end table,” Joel says. “I should leave them where, exactly? Maybe the floor?” 

“Somewhere else.” 

“Right. Somewhere else.” 

He’s hoping that by repeating your words back to you, you start to hear how absolutely ridiculous you sound. But you don’t seem to. Joel turns and walks away before he fucking throttles you. 

“Can you put on the next movie? I wanna watch My Cousin Vinny.”

Now, now you want to watch that movie. And Joel’s gonna miss out, because he can’t stand to be around you for one minute longer. “Are your legs broken?” 

“Yes.” 

Walked into that one. “You’re fuckin’ impossible. Fine. I’ll put it on, then I’m goin’ away for a bit.” 

“Good.”

Oh, he could fucking kill you. This whole day he’s heard nothing but complaints from your mouth, no pleases or thank you’s at all. Everything he’s done today has been for you, and you couldn’t give a flying fuck. 

Joel puts on the movie, grabs his bent glasses from the end table and heads out to the garage without saying a single word to you. You wonder what bug crawled up his ass. 

-

My Cousin Vinny plays just fine until Vinny shows up in his ridiculous suit to the courthouse. The tape begins to skip a whole bunch, the movie barely making sense, and you have no idea how to fix it - not that it’s your job to know, anyway. So you call out the name of the man whose job it is. 

“Joel.” 

No answer. 

“JOELLLL,” you yell. 

Same deal. You sigh as you sit up and get off of the couch, walking to the garage door. There’s finally a break in your cramps and you’re feeling halfway-human for the first time since yesterday. Entering the garage, you find Joel sitting at his workbench, he’s working on bending the frame of his glasses back into shape. “Joel.” 

He doesn’t turn around to look at you and in fact, he heard you calling for him. He had just ignored you. “Looks like your legs are workin’ now,” Joel replies, without looking at you. “S’a miracle. Means you can follow me around now, terrific.”

You choose to ignore his sarcasm. “Whatever. You need to do something for me. The VCR is messing up and you have to fix it.”

“Hm,” he hums.

“What’s hm?” 

“I’ve fixed lotsa things for you today,” he says quietly. “I need some time to fix my glasses that you broke. S’a difficult task on account of the fact I need my glasses to see.”

“You can do me one favor, Joel. It won’t kill you.” 

Joel stops and gently places his broken glasses on his work bench. He turns to his right and glares daggers at you. “One favor,” he scoffs. “Oh, you’re a fuckin’ peach. You wanna try that again?”

“Try what again?” 

You’re fucking with him. You have to be fucking with him. Why are you fucking with him? You’re not antagonistic like this, not usually, so he concludes that you must be looking for a fight. At this point, Joel is too. 

“I’ve done you countless favors today, sweetheart,” Joel gripes.

“Yeah, but-” you begin.

Joel’s large, warm hand suddenly covers the lower half of your face, silencing your argument. “If the next words outta this mouth aren’t thank you, then I don’t wanna hear ‘em. In fact…”

He bites his inner cheek, nodding his head as he thinks. The way he stares at you, his dark eyes piercing through you - you feel the chill deep in your bones. A wave of clarity hits you as you recall some of the details of the day, the way Joel was there at every turn and while you were busy being cranky and achey, he was trying to wait on you hand and foot. Shit. You’ve been a Grade-A bitch to him all day, a total fucking cunt.

Breaking the silence, Joel finally clears his throat and continues his thought, “I’m gonna give you two options,” Joel says. “You can walk the fuck away from me, or you can get on your knees. Whichever you choose, you do so silently. Nod if you understand.” 

It’s like you’re watching a scene from a movie. You hear Joel’s words, but you almost don’t believe they’re real and so they don’t quite register. He pulls his hand away from your face slowly. Your mouth falls open a bit but you don’t say or do anything.

“Nod. If. You. Understand.” You nod quickly. Joel awaits your decision as you look at the garage door and contemplate your clean way out from this situation, “So what’ll it be?” he asks. Despite it all, that uneasy feeling in your gut, you drop to your knees anyway, eyes still lingering on the door before you look up at Joel. You trust him to take care of you and you think you might owe him this obedience after your behavior today. “You’ve earned yourself brownie points choosin’ the latter of the two options, but this still ain’t gonna be fun for you,” he says. It should scare you - and it does - but you’re still thrilled by it, by the way he sighs and his knees crack as he gets off of his barstool, by the cold look in his eyes as he reaches under his thick belly to unbuckle his belt. Standing above you, he pulls out his half-hard cock and pumps it, feeling it grow to full length in his hand. He’s thick, veiny, and generously sized, a pearly white bead of precum sits atop his slit. His cock is just an inch or two away from your mouth as he holds it between his fingers, his thumb on top and middle and forefingers on the underside. With his other hand, he cards his fingers through your hair and pulls you close, the tip of his cock pressing against your lips. “Open.”

You part your lips open and with that, Joel pushes himself into your mouth inch by inch. You smell him first, that musky and heady sort of scent. Next, you taste the saltiness of his skin and his precome on your tongue and for a moment it’s pleasurable, with his cock halfway in your mouth. You wrap your hand around the end of his shaft like you know what he wants but you don’t know, not really - Joel holds your hand in his own and squeezes it so that your knuckles grind against each other a little bit. He pushes himself further and you can’t lick him or savor this like you wanted to, you just feel his cock intruding, sliding into your mouth. Joel’s testing you, making sure that you can handle all of him and if you can’t, you know he’ll make you. 

He draws out of your mouth entirely only to force his way back in, making you gag and sputter. You attempt to pull away but Joel keeps his hand firm on your head and holds you right where he wants you. “Nuh-uh. I don’t know where you think you’re goin’, hon.” 

There’s no gentleness to it, he fucks your mouth heatedly so that you’re drooling and choking on him, your eyes springing with tears as that pressure builds behind them. “Breathe through your nose,” he reminds you. “In and out. You ain’t done jus’ ‘cause you’re cryin’.” Your lips are sore with the repeated action, your jaw is aching. He rolls his hips, his cock is deep down your throat as he relishes in your warm, wet mouth and the way it makes him feel. 

“Mmm,” you moan, you’re not sure if the noise is indicative of your pleasure or discomfort.

“Quiet,” he growls. “Heard fuckin’ enough outta you today. You keep quiet.”

Your nose is buried in that thatch of coarse curls as he rocks his hips over and over, his soft and pillowy tummy bouncing against your forehead. You squirm and whine as his tip teases the back of your throat and your mouth feels so full, uncomfortably so. Joel picks up on that. “Let it be a lesson to ya, then, if it hurts. That mouth ‘a yours has done nothin’ but bitch and moan at me today. S’a punishment, ain’t ‘sposed to feel good.” 

He’s grunting and groaning, eyes screwed shut as he uses you, pumping in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches with the brutality of the way he fucks your mouth, and just as you think you can’t take anymore, you feel Joel’s cock begin to twitch and pulse. He comes in your mouth without a warning, painting your tongue with his hot spend. It’s salty and bitter and warm on your tongue. Once you’ve swallowed, Joel reaches down and yanks you up by your bicep. He thought fucking your mouth and coming down your throat would make him feel better but honestly, it doesn’t. As he looks at your face, all puffy with tears and swollen lips, he can’t quite find it in himself to let go of his anger. Not yet, at least. “Let’s go,” he grunts as he drags you with him towards the garage door. He marches you though the house and up the stairs. 

“Where are we going?”

“Bedroom,” Joel growls, answering your question like it’s obvious. You suppose it should be, but you figured he was done with you. But he’s not. The regret begins to set in when you realize the retribution you’re about to be met with for the way you’ve treated Joel today. You’d be lying if you said that while wallowing in your pain you didn’t notice how your curt tone got under his skin, hurt his feelings and frustrated him immensely. The dread you feel can’t save you, it’s all too late now. 

 “Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

“Fuck me,” you whisper. 

“Exactly.” 

Joel pushes you into the bedroom and locks the door behind himself. “Lie down on your back,” he says. 

You protest, “But the sheets, Joel. The blood–”

“I will wash the fucking sheets. We can add it to the list of all the things I’ve done for ya today, hm?”

When you don’t jump at his request, Joel takes initiative. He pulls off your - his - shirt from your body and then bends you over the end of the neatly made bed, the old and worn comforter feels rough on the skin of your cheek. Joel pulls down your sweatpants and panties in one motion and then flips you over onto your back, your legs hanging off the end of the bed. You feel embarrassed when you catch a glimpse of your bloodied pad and underwear, moreso when you feel yourself making a mess on his bedding and between your legs. 

“You didn’t make yourself come today, did you?”

“Uhh–” you stutter. “I - I…”

“No point in gettin’ bashful now, darlin’. Just gimme an answer.”

“No,” you tell him. It’s been a while. 

“Figures.”

Joel had assumed sexual frustration had been playing a role in your attitude today. Cramps, headaches, all sorts of things going on with you and a needy, aching pussy to boot. He does feel sorry for you, but he feels sorry for himself too. It’s why he got his first, but now it’s time for you to get yours. An orgasm should set you straight, or two or three. Whatever he feels is necessary. 

Joel undresses himself before pushing your thighs apart and hitching your legs around his waist. Slowly, he slides his thumb through your folds and then circles your clit. He knows you’re vulnerable like this - bleeding pussy on display for him as you make a mess of his sheets. But he’s patient, and he massages your clit calmly until you finally let a moan, a little mmm slip. He smirks at that. 

He pushes his middle two fingers inside you, pumping in and out slowly. He then curls his fingers, searching for that sweet spot on a woman he loves so much. “Fuck,” you cry out, legs instinctually closing shut around him, and he knows he’s found it. 

“Don’t fight it,” he says, opening you back up. He curls his fingers and circles your clit in tandem, making all sorts of lewd noises with your cunt. He admires your body all laid out for him like this, your breasts and your pebbled nipples, soft tummy rising and falling with your breathy oh’s and ahh’s, thick curls framing your pretty pussy like a picture just for him. Joel takes his free hand and uses it to press down on your lower stomach, intensifying the feeling of it all. You come hard, gushing on his fingers as you whimper his name. 

Joel pulls his fingers from your core and wipes them haphazardly on his own torso. “Joel,” you gasp when you feel the thick head of his cock at your entrance.

“I am sorry,” he begins, notching his tip inside you and popping it out. He slides the blunt head through your folds and over your clit, then taps the sensitive part of you with himself. “That you’re in pain. It isn’t fair and I know that. But you’ve done nothing but take your hurt out on me.” He presses himself inside you again, “I’ve got a half a mind to take my own hurt out on you, y’know.” His voice is dark and angered, but he speaks calmly in a way that contrasts the darkness but maintains his authority all the same. “And I think I’m gonna.”

“Joel, I– ”

“Quiet,” he commands. He begins teasing your slit with his cock once more before he speaks, “So this is what we’re gonna do: you’re gonna take what I give you, however much or little it is. You’re not gonna cry or complain ‘cause you’ve done enough of that today. Right?” Joel pauses, “Nod your head.” 

 You obey his rule and nod, yes.

He drags his cock up and down your cunt again, the soft skin of your labia rubbing so nicely against his thickness. He notches himself inside you over and over again, pushing in a little bit deeper each time and pulling back out. You whine, rolling your hips in search of more. “I know, I know, sweetheart,” he coos at you to quiet you down. “You’re all out of sorts today. M’gonna fix it. I always fix it, don’t I?”

Yes. You nod again. Quiet.

“S’right,” he says. “Good girl.”

With that, Joel pushes his leaking cock into you entirely, one gradual slide that has you sucking in a breath that comes out in a strained sort of whimper. His hard, warm shaft parting your insides, filling you whole. Joel hears it in the way that you sigh, that this, this is what you needed. He rocks his hips once, twice. Experiments with shallow thrusts, inching his way in and out of you before he draws out of your pussy entirely only to thrust himself right back in, deeper and harder than before. 

With the fullness of Joel inside of you, everything seems to melt away - all that anger, misplaced or not. Joel’s rhythmic thrusting soothes you, sort of. The soreness of your body, the aching cramps in your abdomen are all gone as you focus on the in and out, the in and out. He builds a comfortable pace, but one that borders on too much too soon. His hands on your waist, pulling you towards him as he pushes into you in equal measure. 

He fucks you without discipline, no tenderness at all to the action with those sloppy thrusts, but you’re more lost in him than he is in you - he’s focused on your face, watching you make an ‘O’ with your mouth, and he’s focused on your bouncing body, your twitching thighs spread wide. Your moans, your whimpers and your whines, babbling nothing but nonsense. Joel’s brow is furrowed as he breathes heavily through his teeth, his soft body jerking above you as he hits that sweet spot inside you over and over and over…

“It’s all ya needed, isn’t it? The whole goddamn time,” he pants. “Didn’t need to go an’ bitch me out all day if you needed lovin’ like this. Woulda been nice f’ya just said so.” Joel reaches for your breasts, harshly squeezing the tender, sore flesh. You wince in pain and he loosens his grip, focusing on your nipples instead. He twists and flicks the sensitive buds and your moans become louder, more high pitched. Joel fucking loves it when that happens, you never realized. 

“Oh, Joel,” you moan, “Yeah, fuck.” 

With one hand still teasing your nipples, he brings the other to your pussy. A few strokes of his thumb on your clit is all it takes to send you over the edge a second time, wanton moans and choked sobs spilling from your lips as he fucks you through it. 

And fucks you, and fucks you. 

And keeps fucking you. 

It doesn’t end, he doesn’t slow himself and you never feel that come down, that descent from pleasure. It keeps going, like pressure with nowhere to go and you feel like you might break. “I can’t, I need you to stop, stop, Joel.”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, thrusting still. “You can take it, be a good girl. Gonna fuck you good and deep like you need. You brought this on yourself, anyway. Two more.” 

This whole time, he doesn’t stop. It’s so much at once and when you thought it was going to end, it doesn’t. Tears of overstimulation spring in your eyes and flow freely down your cheeks. Joel lets you cry because he knows you need it, he knows the release is good for you. You poor thing, how much you must be feeling right now, both physically and mentally. “It’s too much, Joel, I can’t,” you plead.

 “Always the tears with you, huh?” he taunts. “Always somethin’. Oh, I know. I know.” 

It’s the way you look at Joel that causes him to cave, eyes all wide and tear-stained. You’re spent and he knows it, what with all that your body’s put you through. You’ve had a rough day and though he did too, he can’t help but feel sympathy for you at this moment. “Oh, my sweet girl. What am I gonna do with you, hm?”

“I don’t know,” you sniffle. 

“Know you don’t, ‘n you don’t have to. S’my job,” he soothes. With his clean hand, he traces the side of your face and rubs his thumb over your cheekbone. “How about this, then - what are we gonna do next time you’re not feeling so good?” 

“I’m - I’m–”

“You’re gonna tell me what you need,” he instructs, “And you’re gonna ask for it. Nicely. So that means usin’ your manners. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel. Remember those words?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Yeah, I remember.”

 “But you forgot ‘em the whole day today,” Joel says softly. “I think you gotta learn to compromise, too,” he adds. The guilt had begun to set in before, but you really start to feel the burn now. You were unkind to Joel, and he’s been nothing but sweet, doting on every one of your needs. “I think an apology’s in order for the way you treated me today.” 

He’s right, and you know it. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Joel.”

“Oh, I know you are. You just needed the reminder, s’okay,” You hadn’t even noticed how his thrusting had slowed to a still until it picks up again slowly, as he presses kisses to you. Your cheeks first, then your lips. “I’ll compromise too - I’m only gonna make you come one more time, not two. Sound good? Sound fair?”

“I don’t think I can, Joel…”

“Yeah, you can, s’the last one. Take it good for me,” he encourages. “Take it good.” 

That’s what he repeats as his thrusts build again, fucking you deeply. Take it good, take it good for me. He hikes you up further on the bed and joins you so that he’s no longer standing at the floor, he’s got you pressed in half instead, your knees on either side of your chest and your feet above his shoulders. This angle intensifies everything and he knows, oh he knows how much it is for you. You’re tired, sore, overstimulated. But you’ll be done soon, he’ll be done with you soon. He takes your hand and wedges it between your bodies, pressing your own fingers to your clit, “Let go for me, I wanna feel you let go for me,” he says. “Focus right here. You’re gonna come with me, keep your eyes on me…”

You don’t even have to massage your clit, the way Joel angles himself has his body doing all the work, his pubic bone adding pressure to your fingers adding pressure to your clit. It’s intense, all of it - deeply energetic, overwhelming. You can’t quite discern your orgasm as it builds, there’s no definitive start but it’s powerful, devastating almost. Washing over you in waves, you feel it in the base of your spine first. You feel it in your gut, the backs of your thighs all the way to your toes. You hardly register that he’s coming with you, filling you deep with his come. His jaw is clenched tight and he’s groaning, grunting as he milks himself in you.

He leaves you there, whimpering, twitching on the bed. You hear the faint sound of running water, you figure he’s washing himself off. You’re surprised when he returns to you, pelvis covered in your blood, and scoops you right up in his arms. He helps you to your feet and on shaky legs, guides you to the bathroom. It no longer smells like bleach but instead, lavender. He’s got a candle lit on the sink and the bathtub is filled with warm, bubbly water. “Picked out a bubble bath for you earlier when I went out. Wanna test it out with me?” 

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “Yes. Please.” 

Joel sits in the tub first, spreads his legs and welcomes you to sit between them. He washes the blood from your poor, sensitive core and your thighs, washes it from his own body as well. When he’s done, he pulls you back into his chest and his hands find your breasts. “They’re tender, huh,” he murmurs into the side of your head. 

“Super, yeah. Sore.” 

“I’ll bet,” he says. He gently massages the tissue for you, his strong hands working you out in a way you can’t quite do. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

Joel chuckles. “Bout fuckin’ time you thanked me,” he says. “You’re welcome.” 

If you enjoyed, please reblog with thoughts, leave me a comment, or send me an ask! Your words motivate me to keep writing for you all 🩷

Least helpful cats award goes to these two 👇 if you’ve ever wondered what takes me so long to put fics out, it’s this. I try to write and I’m cockblocked by these fuzzballs.

[cobaltperun]

Hi, I was just wondering if you could do a bottom Tara x top g!p female reader fic?!

where Tara and reader are dating but when sam finds out she forbids reader to come over to their apartment the only time they see each is in college. So T and R are texting 24/7 and one evening things get a little spicy like they start sexting ig sending stuff too each other (if you get what I mean) then Tara decides to sneak out because she's missing reader (vice versa) and goes to reader's apartment and they do it for the first time also could it be soft smut and some aftercare maybe. It's just T and R being gay af!

You don't have to do this btw thanks either way!Bye have a good day/night :)

Rule Breakers

SMUT! Bottom Tara Carpenter x Top G!P Female Reader

Masterlist

Word count: 4.9k

“You are what?!” the scream Sam let out echoed through the apartment making absolutely everyone present, you and Tara included, flinch. This was not the reaction you hoped for, though Tara did warn you it would probably be like this. You had no idea how bad it would get.

“We are dating,” Tara repeated and you could tell by the way she reached out and grabbed your hand that she desperately needed to feel your touch to calm down. How could Sam not see that? See beyond the fact that she herself didn’t know you?

“Absolutely not! Tara you met her what? A month ago?” Sam was not accepting this at all. You could see the fury in her eyes as she looked at you as if you immediately threatened to hurt her sister. You knew what the reason was and you definitely couldn't blame her for it. But it still hurt to see she didn't trust Tara's judgment. Tara was an adult. She went through even more than Sam did and she just wanted to live her life, which included falling in love and dating, and you hoped one day moving in with you so you could build your future together.

Yeah. You were whipped.

“Four months, actually,” Tara rolled her eyes. The two of you met in college on the first day. You sat next to each other and immediately got along and fast forward three months, some time after she had opened up to you about how she was attacked and nearly killed by one of her closest friends, she just asked you out and you accepted it. You definitely developed a crush on her a lot sooner than that, and while that wasn't important at the moment you really believed Tara knew that all along. She just had a way of knowing just how you felt about her, in her own words, you were an open book in her eyes.

“That's not nearly long enough,” Sam pointed the finger at you, the fury in her eyes not fading even slightly.

“Hey, Sam wait!” Tara tried to stop her sister, but it was too late.

“Out right now. If I ever see you close to Tara things will not end well for you,” you had no doubts about just how serious Sam was and you saw Tara’s jaw dropping.

“What the fuck Sam?!” Tara screamed at her sister and quickly turned to you as you got up. “No this isn't what I want!” she jumped to her feet after you and stepped in front of you. “Hey, just listen to me, this isn't what I want,” it hurt you to see her like this, in pain and afraid, and her eyes already filling with tears.

For the first time since you came to the apartment you glared at Sam.

“Come on Sam give it girl a chance,” Chad tried to get her to see reason but a single glare shut him down.

“I will not risk Tara's safety,” Sam would not listen, in fact, she stood up as if to show you the way out. You swallowed the lump in your throat as Tara grabbed onto your hand to keep you from leaving, tears were falling down her face.

“I don't want this, please,” her hands trembled as she said that and for a moment you stopped glaring at Sam.

Your eyes softened and you gently brushed the tears off Tara’s face. “I know you,” whispered and leaned down to kiss her, Sam be damned. Tara relaxed into the kiss, realizing you weren’t going to leave her, and she kissed your back and poured all of her love into that one single kiss. When you separated you turned to Sam returning her glare without flinching for a single moment.

Sam was intimidating there was no doubt about it, but this was a lot more important. “You can try all you want, Sam, you will not scare me away. Got it? Drop the protective big sister bullshit because no one gets to make my girlfriend cry. Not even you,” the temperature in the room dropped when you said that and you could tell everyone just got on the verge of running away and you could not blame them.

Sam looked even more furious, she looked ready to spit fire and rain hell upon you, but you stood your ground. And to make your defiance even more clear you stepped around Tara and faced her sister head on with nothing blocking her path.

Sam remained silent for now, just glaring at you and you nodded, feeling like this ended about as well as it could. “Glad that's clear, I’ll see you later Sam,” you made your point clear, there was no reason to stick around because hanging out with Tara at this point, in this situation and in their apartment wouldn’t do any good for anyone, you and Tara especially.

~X~

She absolutely won the lottery. She would never try to even purchase a ticket because all her luck was just spent on getting the most amazing, badass girlfriends she could ever hope for. Did the way you talked back to Sam make her wet? Yes, yes it did.

Would she have gone to her room to handle that if everyone else still wasn’t at the apartment? Yes, she would have.

Would she do it tonight? Absolutely.

~X~

After what happened last week you and Tara kept seeing each other only at college, and that, more often than not, led to both of you just ditching the classes and getting coffee and croissants from a local bakery you both loved to visit. You did not expect that single decision to haunt you for the rest of the week. You both thought you were just that slick about it as you skipped several classes over the past week just so you spend time together and act like an actual couple instead of two people hiding from the world.

The world in this case being Tara's sister.

If Tara started failing classes because of her absence, well, that would be entirely on Sam.

~X~

Tara should have seen the trouble coming from a mile away. She just had too much fun today, walking with you in the park, grabbing breakfast, you even managed to catch a movie, and it was actually a good one! And to make things even better Tara couldn't keep her hand away from your own, constantly holding it as you went from one place to another.

And then the world just turned against her. She opened the doors and saw Sam expecting her with a stern look on her face, and arms crossed, sitting at the table in the kitchen.

She was in so much trouble.

“You were with her, weren't you?” well she couldn't exactly confess, so she would at least try to deny it. What were the chances that Sam had an actual proof Tara skipped classes with you?

“We were catching up on some lesson we missed, so classes got extended,” Tara lied a bit easier than she thought she would, but she figured the habits she picked up on while she was living with her mother were difficult to get rid of.

“Do not lie to me, Tara!” she flinched at Sam’s shout. “I went to pick you up and you weren't there. And when I asked your classmates if you even came to the classes, they told me neither of you showed up today!” Tara was caught pretty much red-handed and Sam knew it.

Tara sighed and sat down across the table. “You can't expect me to break up with her, Sam. I love her!” she was getting frustrated by Sam's behavior. Why couldn't her sister just let her go, just let her live her own life.

“Tara, you don't love her, you don't even know her properly! She could be dangerous,” this paranoia had to stop, because Sam saw everyone that tried to approach Tara as an enemy, as someone Tara needed protection from.

“Sam do you hear yourself?” Tara couldn’t deal with it anymore. “We are living with Quinn and she keeps bringing random guys to the apartment! Any one of them could be as psycho that just gets up one night and kills all three of us. You don't know those guys, yet you let Quinn bring them along!” Terra pointed out, exasperated by Sam not being able to see logic in her words, more importantly she was furious because Sam wouldn't trust her judgment.

She knew you. She had complete trust in you. And she got betrayed in a worse way than Sam did, after all while Richie was Sam’s boyfriend, Amber has been Tara’s friend for over a decade by that point.

“That isn't how Ghostface works and you know that,” Sam argued back. Ghostface this, Ghostface that. Tara was getting sick of it.

How could Sam not see it? “Ghostface isn't the only psycho, Sam! I can't live my life fearing that anyone I meet is going to turn out to be a psychotic killer. I want to live Sam, I fell in love and I want to enjoy that! I want to be with Y/N!” she desperately hoped Sam would just for once listen to her.

Yet Sam acted like a broken record. “We don't know her,” and Tara knew it wouldn’t matter how long you spent trying to get Sam’s trust. Sam would never know you ‘well enough’, Sam wouldn’t even try to get to know you.

“So what? I'm just supposed to fall in love with Chad? Because who else is left?” Tara demanded, but she might as well be talking in an entirely different language.

“This conversation is over, you’re grounded for a week,” Sam stood up and stormed into her room, leaving utterly flabbergasted Tara alone.

What a great way to spend the week off from classes.

~X~

Five days, that’s how long this torture’s been going on and Tara felt like she was about to lose her mind. And she was supposed to last an entire week?! The remaining two days felt like they would never end because each day seemed to drag out more than the previous one, even witconstant texting between the two of you. She turned in her bed for what felt like the hundredth time and her bed showed it. Messy twisted blanket, crumpled sheets, her head resting only on the corner of her pillow as she once again got on her back and stared at the ceiling. Sam was being unfair. Mindy had Anika, her and Sam were living with Quinn, who they didn’t know beforehand, and Tara was sure Sam had something going on with that Danny guy, and Chad was also occasionally flirting with girls! She was the only one who couldn’t have what she wanted.

Her phone buzzed and she immediately scrambled out of the blankets to take it. Curse her battery for needing to be charged! Tara quickly unlocked her phone and saw the message was from you.

Y/N: You need to see this!

Underneath it she saw the cutest Instagram reel of a puppy surrounded by ducklings.

Tara: 😍😍😍 They are so cute!

Your answer was immediate.

Y/N: Not as cute as certain someone, but it’ll have to do 😉

Tara fell back on her bed, a ridiculously wide smile already making its way to her face. Fuck, she missed you so much. ‘Yeah? Certain someone?’ she replied and her breath hitched when you sent her a selfie wearing a very soft looking shirt and grinning at her, and all of that could be manageable, if only Tara’s eyes didn’t immediately go to your lips and she realized it’s been way too long since she got to kiss you. She needed to feel your lips on her own, on her neck, on… fuck, what if you went lower. She bit her lower lip, studying your face, imagining your smiles, the way you looked at her.

Y/N: Tara? Baby? You’ve left me on seen for five minutes

That message temporarily snapped her out of her daydreaming. Or would it be nightdreaming? She never really thought of the logic behind the word. And she was desperately trying to ignore the desire gradually, scratch that, rapidly building inside of her.

Tara: I miss you

She finally replied and glanced back at your selfie as you typed the response.

Y/N: I kiss you too

Y/N (edited): I miss you too

Tara burst out laughing and quickly covered her mouth. ‘I saw it! Can’t take it back!’ she replied only to barely hold her laughter back when you just replied with ‘Shit.’ She smiled fondly, taking pity on you.

Tara: I want to kiss you too, so, so bad. I keep thinking about it and other things all the time

There, she confessed, knowing you were still prone to getting embarrassed and all shy about how affectionate Tara could get. Randomly kissing your cheek or hugging you when she knew you least expected was easily her favorite thing to do. The clear embarrassment on your face and the hitched breath, and especially the way you would freeze for a moment kept Tara entertained.

You had your own ways to mess with her, though she suspected you weren’t doing it on purpose. You would just go ahead and pull her chair out for her to sit, or bring her favorite coffee along when you would meet up and it was really messing her up to feel so cared for after years of neglect. It was yet another reason why she was so mad at Sam because she feared she wouldn’t be able to forgive her sister if Sam’s suspicious nature chased you away.

Y/N: Other things?

Hook, line, and sinker.

Tara opened her camera and switched to video. She winked at it and then turned it lower, to her waist, making sure to capture every detail as she unbuttoned her jeans and just brushed her fingers over the zipper, taunting you. She slowly panned the camera up her body while trailing the path with her hand. “Other things,” she was well aware of the sliver of her skin the camera caught when she pushed her shirt up. “Very specific things,” she whispered as seductively as she could, which, well, she didn’t have experience with seducing people, but she knew she’d get the desired effect with you as her hand brushing between her breasts moved the shirt in a way that emphasized her cleavage. And then she returned the camera to her face to show you she was lightly biting the corner of her lower lip.

She didn’t hesitate one moment before sending it.

You saw the message immediately, yet you didn’t respond, and Tara may have been stuck between getting nervous and completely confident in her charms. Minutes later she finally saw you typing.

Y/N: Tara

She could hear the exasperation in your message, yet she just sent ‘Yes, Baby? 🥺’

Y/N: Look at you acting all innocent

Yeah, she knew she was being rather mischievous. Even more so when she just replied with: ‘But I am all innocent’ she waited a moment, imagining you rolling your eyes and not immediately noticing the word play.

Tara: All innocent and inexperienced, just waiting for you to touch me

She put her phone under her shirt and took a photo, making sure there was just enough light to tease the details of her bra and sent it to you.

Your reply made her squeeze her thighs together. You sent her another photo, this time of you in front of a mirror, your hand covering the bulge in your pants and Tara caught herself wondering, and not for the first time, how big you were.

“Don’t tease me,” she sent you a voice message, whining as she cupped her breast, as her mind created the images of you taking her, fucking her. Instead of a message you actually called her and she resisted cursing because she was about to unzip her jeans and slip her hand inside. “Hey,” she whispered, trying to figure out if she could still do it.

“I’m teasing? Do you have any idea what you did to me?” your voice sounded strained an she knew you were in just as much of a dilemma as she was, only you seemed to be stronger than her, because if she didn’t do something about the lust she felt she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep.

“I know,” she admitted, biting back a moan as she slipped her hand into her jeans and teased her pussy over her panties. Fuck, she was already wet. “Y/N,” if only you were here with her, touching her, fucking her. “Are you hard?”

“What do you think?” you replied and she knew the answer. “I haven’t seen you in five days and the first thing you send me is that fucking video,” oh, you were cursing. She really got to you and you were definitely getting to her as she pushed her panties aside and slid her fingers through her wet folds.

“You started it,” Tara tried to defend herself.

“It was an innocent selfie!” you exclaimed just as she brushed the tip of her finger over her clit.

“Fuck, if we don’t stop neither of us will be innocent by tomorrow morning,” she moaned into the pillow, stuck between the urge to make herself cum and just sneak out and go to you.

“Shit, maybe we shouldn’t stop,” she could hear the faint sound of you stroking your cock and probably would have wondered if you could hear her too, but more importantly she made her decision.

“I’ll be there in ten,” she absolutely despised herself for pulling her hand out of her jeans and ending the call, but she would quickly get rid of that feeling, she just needed to get to you first.

~X~

You met in front of your apartment with Tara immediately jumping into your arms and kissing you, and you found yourself being pushed against the wall next to your doors as she deepened the kiss. “Fuck, finally,” she groaned, pressing her body against yours. “Y/N,” she moaned your name, and you felt her grinding against you, not even waiting to get inside.

The effort it took to actually slow down and take her to your bedroom should be studied, but you couldn’t let your first time be rough and quick. No, Tara deserved a lot more than that. “Easy, Tara, let’s just go inside,” you barely put your hand over your mouth to quiet the moan when she nibbled on your neck.

“I need you,” she whined, but allowed you to pull her into the apartment and toward the bedroom.

“I know, I know, I need you too,” you confessed, uncomfortably hard, and it only got worse when Tara pushed you onto the bed and straddled your lap. “But we can take as much time as we want, just take it slow and enjoy our first time instead of rushing through it.”

She felt it when she jumped into your arms, and now that she was straddling your lap. This was what she wanted for so long, yet now that she was looking at you the words you spoke echoed through her mind. Yeah, she would really enjoy that, just taking things slow for once. Slow and steady.

She leaned down, kissing you softly as she brushed her fingers over the fabric of your shirt, reaching up to your shoulders and squeezing lightly when you wrapped your arms around her. “You sure you’ll be able to hold back,” she asked when she pulled back, you were very hard after all.

You ran your fingers through her hair and looked her in the eyes. “I’m not holding anything back,” you promised and kissed her again. Your lips felt so soft, and Tara moaned, she truly missed this feeling. You slid your hand down to her neck and Tara let out a shuddering sigh as she lifted her head up and made it easier for you to kiss her neck. This was good, this was familiar. Making out with you always left her needy and this time wasn’t an exception as she felt the heat pooling in her core. “Y-Y/N,” she whimpered when you bit her neck slightly, just the way she liked it and Tara slowly began grinding on you. “Just like that,” she whispered as you dragged your tongue up her neck, soothing the burning skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” you were mesmerized by her, captivated by her beauty. Her breathy moans felt like the most beautiful melody ever created and you were the one causing them. You pulled her shirt up just enough to slip your hands underneath it. You felt the slight shiver of her body as she squirmed a bit at your touch.

“Your hands are a bit cold,” she giggled as your fingertips brushed along her sides. “Y/N, that tickles,” she smacked you slightly on the shoulder and saw the grin on your face. “Goofball,” she kissed you quickly.

“Sorry,” you muttered, only half-serious as Tara sat up and slowly, in the most tormenting, teasing way possible, took her shirt and bra off. “Fuck,” she looked gorgeous and there was no way your eyes weren’t giving your thoughts away because you couldn’t get them off her body.

Tara smiled at that, she’s shown you her scars before, so she wasn’t worried about your reaction, but this? She was definitely getting an ego boost from this reaction, and the way your cock twitched against her pussy. “You want me, Y/N? Take me,” she said it. “Do anything you want with me,” and in return she’d do anything she wanted with you and there were plenty of things she wanted, so many in fact she knew you couldn’t do it all tonight.

You cleared your throat and nodded as you sat up yourself and then flipped the two of you around so you were on top of Tara. You looked her in the eyes as you leaned down and, while cupping her breast, licked her already hard nipple. Tara took your own shirt and bra off and watched you as you sucked on her breast while she ran her fingers through your hair, encouraging you to keep going. Her other hand found your breasts and she brushed her thumb against your nipple.

Your tangled bodies moved together. Every touch of your hands left her skin burning, left her body more desperate for your touch, every single brush of your fingers drove her mad with desire. And she still didn’t take her jeans or panties off. Your hand went lower until your fingers tugged at her jeans, teasing her and making her moan. “Need you,” she whispered and felt you nodding as your unzipped her jeans and pulled them down.

“You’re soaking wet,” you grunted as you slowly rubbed her pussy over her panties. Tara dared to believe you could slip your cock inside her without any troubles with how wet she was if only you weren’t so big. You pulled your hand out of her jeans, making her immediately whine.

“Y/N, don’t tease me, please,” she begged, but luckily you just took a moment to take her jeans and panties off and strip the rest of your clothes as well.

“That’s your specialty,” you got back on top of her and pushed two fingers inside her pussy, and if she wasn’t as aroused as she was she would probably be embarrassed at how easily your fingers slipped in. Your fingers felt so good inside her as you continued kissing and caressing her body and Tara lay there, a moaning mess before your cock was even inside her. She reached down and wrapped her hand around your cock, there was precum leaking out of it as she rubbed the tip with her thumb. “Don’t, I won’t last if you do that,” you bit her shoulder a bit rougher than you intended. “I want to cum when I’m inside you,” you said while bringing her close to her orgasm.

“Me too then. Put it in me, I’m ready,” she spread her legs for you and kissed you as you blindly reached for the drawer next to your bed and grabbed the condom on top of it. If she didn’t quite literally tell you you would be having sex she would have teased you, but as it was she just wanted you to put it on and fuck her.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” you asked as you lined your cock up with the entrance to her pussy. And oh, she was ready, soaking wet, she probably wouldn’t even feel any pain. Tara nodded and kissed you once more as she hugged you tightly. She felt the tip of your cock sliding into her pussy and moaned, breaking the kiss and leaning her head back on your pillow.

“Y- Ah! Y/N!” she cried out your name, her fingertips digging into the back of your head, her back arching as you wrapped one arm around her and used the other to hold onto her hip.

“You’re taking me so well, Tara,” you whispered in her ear and finally, finally, she took all of you. She was close before, but now, feeling this full, she knew she was right on the edge.

You knew you couldn’t last for long like this. Tara’s warm, wet pussy engulfed you and you tried to focus on something else, to prolong this, but there was no way you could do that, so, you moved your hand from her hip to her clit and began rubbing as you slowly began thrusting into her, hoping you could get her to cum before you did. You would hold back until she cums, you promised that to yourself.

“I’m so close,” Tara moaned. “Look at me,” she pleaded, and you immediately complied as you looked into each other’s eyes, your bodies moving in the perfect sync as she began meeting your thrusts. Her orgasm kept building up, slow and steady, like your entire lovemaking was tonight, and with each thrust she could see you were getting close as well. “Y/N,” she moaned your name, no longer conscious of how much time you spent like that. She just knew that at one point she came, loud and hard, as your sweat covered bodies pressed together and she felt you cumming as well with a moan of your own.

She was absolutely spent. Satisfied with this being her first time. There would be other nights or days for longer lovemaking with multiple orgasms. In her head, and she truly hoped, in yours too, this was perfect.

Tara held onto you, feeling happier than she’s been in a long time. The blissful feeling consuming her entirely as you pulled your cock out and she glanced down at the filled condom. Maybe it was just her orgasm affecting her brain but she couldn’t help but think how one day, when you’re both ready, you’ll be cumming deep inside her. “Baby, Y/N,” she hummed as you caught your breath on top of her and she gently scratched the back of your head.

You lowered your head a bit and kissed her shoulder. “You were incredible,” you whispered, peppering her shoulder and the side of her neck with soft butterfly kisses. “Tara,” you whispered her name like it was your own, personal salvation. “I love you so much,” it wasn’t the first time you said those words, but it felt so good to hear them.

“I love you too, Y/N,” she tilted your chin up and kissed you on the lips, just as soft as everything tonight was. “I never thought sex would feel this good,” she admitted. There was no pain, no holding back, it consumed her entirely and all she could feel was your love for her as you took her innocence.

You chuckled. “Tell me about it,” you rolled onto your back and pulled Tara on top of you so you could rest while still holding her.

Tara had other ideas, turning both of you so you were lying on the side. “There, that’s better,” she whispered and leaned in, closing the distance between you. You would need to get up soon, clean up, take care of the mess you made, but she could bask in your warmth for a bit longer. Especially when you began rubbing her back, soothing her, keeping her feeling good. “I love how gentle and loving you were,” she whispered as she snuggled up to you, aware that, while she did absolutely enjoy the gentle sex she wasn’t opposed to getting a bit rougher sooner or later. She wanted to feel it all with you, to try everything and anything you were both comfortable with.

“It felt right,” you hummed, focusing on holding her and occasionally kissing wherever you could reach at the moment. While Tara showered you with love through words, you preferred touch, and it worked for both of you perfectly. Tara who was starved for touch, you who were starved for words of affirmation, I was a match made in heaven in her mind.

You stayed like that for some time, easily fifteen minutes, if not closer to twenty. Just cuddling and loving one another before you finally went to clean up, not leaving the shared shower until all the hot water had run out.

A/N: Well... Sam may have been a tiny bit over the top/out of character for the sake of the plot 🤣🤣

[machveil]

Soap x reader x Ghost

( or just Johnny with anyone) he has oral fixation. Doesn't matter it's a cunt oflr a cock, tit or peck, fingers? Anything he can in anytime anywhere.

He might be sucking on his hoodie string if he's out of gums and idle, but in sex? He gets his partner(s) marked with hickeys and bites.

He's the one randomly biting his partner(s) during the day

if I could reach through the screen and kiss your cheek I would jesus christ

CW: Fem!Reader, Johnny has an oral fixation<3, ambiguous on the relationship dynamic - up to your interpretation, no condom, wrap it before you tap it, Johnny x Reader x Simon

Johnny likes to keep his mouth busy - when he isn’t talking he’s got something between his lips. I feel like Johnny was a notorious nail biter growing up. his mother definitely tried to make him stop but eventually gave up because he just kept doing it. he doesn’t bite his nails as much as an adult, but every once in a while he’ll chew and bite off the edge of his nails

Johnny has a thing for wearing hoodies. they’re big, warm, comfortable, and the laces for the hood are nice to chew on. he tends to wear black ones to the gym so you can’t tell the laces are coated in spit and drool as easily. he’s definitely borrowed a hoodie from Simon briefly only to return it with spit soaked laces. Simon didn’t even bat an eye, just shrugged it off and put it on. sometimes Simon gets a hoodie back and the sleeve cuffs have been chewed and slobbered on, but that never deters him from lending Johnny his clothes

Johnny will absentmindedly suck on your fingers while you’re lounging. when you’re cuddled together his mouth is latching onto you, anything his mouth can reach. he doesn’t even notice, eyes glued to tv as he uses your index and middle fingers as a pacifier, gently sucking on them and coating them in his warm saliva. he’s so comfortable against you when he does it, eyes half lidded and body limp - he doesn’t even register how he’s got your fingers down to the knuckle resting on his tongue

Simon’s neck is littered with hickeys, easily hidden behind his balaclava. Johnny can’t help himself, tucked against Simon’s side as he mouths at his throat. it’s nice, Simon’s got his arms around his waist - a nice, secure hold. his brain gets to turn off while he dumbly sucks on his skin, red marks blooming against Simon’s neck and shoulders. it soothes Johnny, lets his mind go somewhere else while he sucks another hickey against Simon’s neck, shifting closer with a small whine caught in his throat

Johnny’s mouth is all yours to use, he’s begged for you to use it before. sometimes sucking and gnawing on items and clothes isn’t enough for him, he needs you. you can’t be upset with Johnny, not when he’s buried his head between your legs, lazily sucking on your clit. he’s solely focused on working his mouth, not aware of his stiff cock straining against his pants. he’s got your hips pushed down, ready to eat you out until he’s done. deaf to your whines and pleas, he’s moaning against your cunt as his eyes flutter shut

Johnny who’s kneeling on the floor, idly sucking on Simon’s fat cock. he’s got a rugby match on the tv, one hand in Johnny’s hair, the other cradling a beer bottle. Johnny’s more than content where he is, nose to Simon’s pelvis, jaw slack as he breathes out through his nose. the weight of his cock on Johnny’s tongue is so good, and Simon’s being nice - hips still and petting him, rough hand gently scratching at his scalp. Simon only thrusts a little when Johnny starts to nod off, eyes drooping shut and drool trailing down his chin

Johnny’s favorite thing? having to sit still, whining as he watches Simon mercilessly fuck you. Simon told him to be good, gave him two commands. “Open.”, Johnny was so eager to begin with, thought Simon was going to fuck his face, turn his brain to mush. he was wrong, but equally excited when Simon guided a dildo into his mouth, “Suck, Johnny.”. his heartbeat was rapid, ringing in his ears, whining as he did what he was told. Simon murmured a quick ‘good boy’, leaving Johnny to watch as he filled you. maybe it was mean, but it was doing something to the poor man, especially when he saw a trickle of white bead out of your slit

Simon knew what he was doing, had a plan going into this. watching you writhe beneath him, head dipping down to mark your neck up - leaving his own hickeys to match Johnny’s. he knows Johnny’s watching, the way his cock stretches you out, bullies it’s way in and out of you. absolutely filthy, his hips stuttering before he’s spilling into you. just a couple times, he forces his hips to buck again, fucking his cum into you, warmth spreading in your tummy as you cry out. Simon can hear the wet sucking behind him, doesn’t have to look to know Johnny has that dildo down his throat, eyes glossy and chin slick

Simon’s nice, lazily pulls out of you after his third orgasm. despite his exhaustion, the overstimulation he feels, he gets up. Johnny can’t help but whine when Simon slowly pulls the dildo from his mouth, teary eyes looking up at the Brit. his desperation is sated though, excitement coursing through his veins as Simon gently grabs his chin. “Good mutt.”, voice hoarse, Simon smiles down at him, “Go clean your toy up, yeah?”. Simon takes Johnny’s place, sitting down. dark brown eyes watching as Johnny settles between your legs, head dipping down to lap at your cunt as you hiccup

[sweetshuga]

The moon is pretty, isn’t it? ✧ CS

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

bsf!chris! Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve—all the possibilities kept eating at you, until he showed up knocking on your window unannounced. [angst, smut, fluff, a sprinkle of everything]

wc. 1.1k

note. English is not my first language!

You and Chris had a falling-out.

You had accidentally laid your feelings bare during a harmless game of 'Truth or Dare'. The look on his face alone made you feel that twist in your gut, but what he said after his silence made your stomach feel like it was dropping down 10-stories.

"Are you fucking serious with me right now?" The almost mad sounding tone made your heart beat faster as you tried to backpedal, "no, Chris, that was–" he cut you off, standing up, looking pissed. "I’m going home, can’t fucking believe this shit," he stormed out before you could utter another word.

The front door slammed shut after him and you sat in silence for a while, your brain unable to comprehend what had just happened. When the realization finally dawned over you, you couldn’t help the tears from forming in your eyes nor the painful clump in your throat.

Not only did he reject you and get angry at you, he left as well. Was he that angry? Were your feelings such a bad thing? Questions swirled in your head like a broken record.

You didn’t know what to do, what to think or what to say. All you could do was sit there and cry, completely shocked with the turn of events. Some people may call you oversensitive or dramatic, but they don’t know how much it hurts—how much more painful it was than any physical injuries.

You curled up in bed, thinking about everything that you could’ve done differently, everything that would’ve been if you didn’t tell him about your stupid crush on him and everything that should’ve been – in your selfish fantasies.

𓆩♡𓆪

You had fallen asleep on your bed after crying. Feeling slightly better but your sleep was plagued by memories of his face, the way he reacted to your feelings and the words he spoke.

You were jolted awake by the sound of knocking, looking around in confusion as you sat up on your bed, only to see Chris looking at you through your window.

You nearly had a heart attack, staring back at him with wide eyes and your hand on your chest. After all, your room was on the second floor, how the fuck did he climb up?

You scurried to the window, opening it to let him in, all the previous hurt gone, replaced by pure bewilderment. His expression turned pained when he saw the dried tear streaks and red puffy eyes, "don’t look at me like that." You blinked, finally realising you’ve been staring at him with wide eyes and a gaped mouth, quickly closing your mouth as you schooled your expression.

"What was that?" Chris sighed, "what was what?" He questioned back, "how the fuck did you climb up? Better yet, why the fuck are you climbing in through the window?" He rubbed his temple, looking frustrated, "look, I knocked on your front door but you didn’t open it, just forget about me climbing in and let’s... let’s talk about—"

You cut him off with a stubborn "no" , he blinked, surprised at what he was hearing, "what?" He asked confused, making you repeat yourself, louder this time, "no." He looked at you bewildered, like he couldn’t believe he was hearing what he was hearing.

"Don’t be a brat," Chris inhaled deeply before continuing, "listen, I know I reacted a bit too dramatically and I’m sorry for that, but you have to understand how surprising it was for me," you scoffed at his words, eliciting a heavy sigh from him.

"Please, just..." His voice trailed off into another sigh, "I can’t... I mean, we shouldn’t," his voice was barely above a whisper, the uncertainty and vulnerability in his eyes caused your heart to race. "Why?" A simple question really, but the answer wasn’t so simple.

"Because..." His voice trailed off, knowing he doesn’t have a good excuse as to why they couldn’t, "because we’re friends." That made your expression harden, "right, of course Sherlock, I know." Chris groaned, "you’re not making this easier—" you cut him off, "and you’re being insensitive."

"Don’t be like that, i just..." he trailed off again, biting the side of his bottom lip nervously, he was fighting a losing battle between what he wanted and what was the better choice in his opinion. "Please..." you looked at him, "please what? What do you want me to do Chris? You know what, never mind—"

His eyes widened at your dismissive tone, realising he might lose you if he wasn’t honest, "no, no, I’ll— we’ll—fuck, let’s do it." He stammered, making you pause, "what?" He quickly added, "let’s date." You looked at him for a good minute, "what?" You asked dumbly, "let’s date," he repeated himself.

"Are you serious? You were just saying you won't and can't when i asked you just now," you raised your eyebrows, completely taken aback, to which he let out a quiet chuckle to. "I know, I just realised something, forget about it and come here," he pulled you closer, and you eagerly complied.

He hugged you tightly, "I realised I couldn’t fight it anymore, you’re too important to me, I can’t lose you no matter what," you let yourself melt in his embrace. "You serious?" You whispered into his chest, nuzzling into it, making him laugh softly. "Yeah, dead serious." You sighed, in relief and contentment.

Suddenly, he walked backwards with you still in his embrace and plopped on the bed, taking you down with him. "Hey–" he shut you up with a kiss, a soft chaste one, and you smiled into it, your heart feeling lighter and warmer.

As you deepened the kiss, his hands wandered over your body, inching down to squeeze your ass before smacking it gently. The sudden feeling made you squirm, causing you to grind on him, making him let out a small groan into the kiss.

You could feel the heat and hardness under you, the only barrier being your thin clothes, and the friction was almost too good to stop. Your hips rolled as you chased after that friction, only for Chris to hold your hips in place.

Groaning as you broke the kiss, "why?" you whined breathlessly, "I wanna feel you, can I?" He whispered, playing with the waistband of your sleep shorts. Nodding as you helped him take off your sleep shorts, followed by his sweatpants.

𓆩♡𓆪

Your world blurred as he fucked you senseless, you didn’t even remember how or when you got into the doggy style position. Your orgasm crashed over you for the nth time tonight, gasping as you tried to control your loud moans, your wrists were pinned on the small of your back by Chris as he pounded into you. "Fuck—so beautiful, ma."

As you two lay in each other’s embrace, content and relishing in the afterglow, you couldn’t help but make a comment about the full moon glowing brightly in the darkness of the night.

"The moon is pretty, isn’t it?" Chris chuckled softly, pulling you closer, nuzzling his face in your hair, "yeah, as pretty as my girl."

𓆩♡𓆪

wc. 1,183

Isa's notes. I know my fics always end with smut or something suggestive... I try to make it any other genre, i really do, but the voices— lmaoo I'm js fucking around, i just like me some smut 🎀

xoxo 𓆩♡𓆪

Masterlist 𓆩♡𓆪 Taglist

Taglist: @strnilolover @mattsfavoritestar @sophand4n4 @tpwktahlz @lilyyliloo @slut4angstt @pvssychicken @poolover123 @loud-sturniolos @inlovewchrissturniolo @queenshet @chrisstopherfilmed @billiesbabya

© sweetshuga

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review by @zyafics

LITERALLY FINISHED AN ASSIGNMENT AND NOW I CAN TAKE A BREATH LETS GOOOO (long annotations below ⬇️)

Arrogant, volatile, downright psychotic — Rafe was a walking disaster.

my psychopath lets gooo

The cabin was small and sparsely furnished: a bunk, a tiny porthole high on the wall, and a single chair bolted to the floor.There was a faint hum of the ship's engines, a constant reminder that you were far from land and any chance of immediate rescue.

ur descriptions paints the scene of s2ep10 when they were on the ship so well, like i remember staring at your words going: wow 😦

"They left. Now, you're my problem. Lucky me.""Now, what am I going to do with you?"

why r all the crazy ones so fine

“To you? Or Ward? Do you only get this cocky when daddy’s not around to rein you in?”

i love LOVE when the reader provokes rafe using his father like bro that's such a trigger for him rein it in 😭

The punch came so fast, you didn’t see it coming. Pain exploded across your jaw, and you tasted blood. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t fucking talk about her, dirty pogue. Ever.”

YOOOOOO 😡

The path led deeper into the heart of the island, the dense foliage casting long shadows as the sun began to set.

god, i love ur descriptions so much u don't understand i'm taking notes as i read this 📝

He blinked, momentarily thrown off guard by your words, “Stay out my fucking way or I’ll kill you myself.”

i love how much of a psychopath he is in this fic, like yes, this is the crazy man of s2 (i can fix him 🤞🏻)

He was a product of his environment, molded by a father who saw him as nothing more than a means to an end.

YES, i love maybank!reader's deep analysis of rafe bc we know and that doesn't excuse his behavior but it helps us understand him 🥹

But beneath it all, there was something else. Something you’d seen before, when you looked at yourself in the mirror after you took the biggest beating of your life and Luke finally got thrown into jail: hope. 

i love her lore so so much!!

And you began to see a way out, not just for yourself, but for Rafe too.

she's a love not a fighter fr 😩

"Because he's family. And sometimes, family is all you have. Even when they’re terrible, even when they hurt you, sometimes you can’t just walk away.""Family's supposed to be everything, right?"

my daddy issues babies, sometimes i wanna push u two together like barbie and ken during play sessions (am i making sense idk anymore)

The sight of the blood staining your arm made his expression shift from bewilderment to fury.

I LOVE LOVE LITTLE DETAILS LIKE THIS

“Shut up. Just… shut up.” He turned back to you, his eyes softening slightly as he took in the sight of your injured arm

he has a heart !!!!

"So this is all about you, then? Your precious ass and how it looks to Ward? Typical Cameron bullshit, only caring about themselves."You don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice dangerously low. "You think this is easy for me? Keeping you safe, dealing with all this? It's not just about me. It's about keeping everything under control."

one of the things i admire so heavily with your writing is ur ability to write tense dialogues, the way they fight back and forth with words!! like i love it so so much!!

"You're impossible," he hissed, his voice a raw whisper."And you’re a coward," you shot back, your voice equally low but no less fierce.The next moment happened in a blur. Rafe’s grip tightened, and before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed into yours with a ferocity that left you breathless.

LOVE LOVE A HATE KISS

The kiss was rough and desperate, fueled by anger and frustration, a collision of two souls too damaged to recognize the depths of their own pain.And yet, beneath the layers of animosity and resentment, there was a spark—as if you were both too messed up to understand how much you needed each other.

the poetry!!! shakespeare!!! u can write hamlet but can william write this?!?!?

"You're impossible," he muttered against your lips, the words barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing."And you’re an asshole,” you shot back, your voice breathless, your body arching into his touch.He pulled back just enough to look at you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly "Drive me fucking crazy.”

i love when they're making out but they find ways to take shots at each other "I hate you," you panted, pouring as much venom into your words as possible. Your thighs tightened around his hips, feeling every inch of him against you. “Your body doesn’t,” He replies coldly, each syllable slowly drawn from his throat, "“Fucking asshole.”“Fucking brat.”

he's such a prick 😭 i want him in my bed

"Eyes on me,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. "Let me see you.”

one of the hottest things a man can say to me

“Y-You—“ He sighed, pausing, “Don’t pull that shit again. I’ll get you out, okay? 

one of my favorite scenes got me kicking my feet like a school girl (dude u CARE stfu 😭)

“We’re getting out.”You wanted to believe in him more than anything. In that moment, it was the only thing that mattered, “Yeah?"“Yeah, pretty Maybank. You and me."“Okay.”“Okay.”

I'M OBSESSED WITH YOUR WORDS OH MY GOD

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

FINAL THOUGHTS | okay okay, let me catch my breath because that smut (their banter!!) was so fucking hot 🥵 (why do i use emojis like a middle school boy? anyways) i think what i truly noticed from this fic is how compelling you can make a scene. the way you built transitions so seamlessly through strong descriptions about what's going on (plot wise!) and it's such an admirable skill that i deeply deeply wish i have. especially because the language and vocabulary you use are so clean and expressive without making the audience (like me) feel dumb about not knowing the definition (does that make sense?) also also. as i always point out, i'm obsessed with your build-up dialogues. right before we hit the intense parts, you manage to build up this anticipation and adrenaline from reader and rafe arguing back and forth. and what i appreciate is how you kept the enemies part of enemies to lovers all the way through, only concluding that reader feels complicated near the end. like i love that she didn't fold; she continues to be defiant and her and that brings me to another trait i love about ur writing: ur consistency in your readers. if u plan on making a certain reader rebellious, you keep it to the very end and i love that. oops, this is getting a little too long. anyways, as always, incredible work gigi, i would love to see more of maybank!reader from you especially a second part to their escape (and what it means for them to be back in obx together?? her brother's reaction?? 🫠)

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18)

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛" + "def some little smut during the enemies part and a long story"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; kidnapping; smut!; violence!; rafe is a red flag; guns and blood; p in v; they tell each other to shut the fuck up a lot lmao;

word count: 8k...im sorry

The sun dipped low, painting the Outer Banks marshes in shades of fiery orange. Tensions between the Kooks and the Pogues had hit a fever pitch, and in the middle of it all? Rafe Cameron, the last person you'd want to encounter. Ever. 

Every run-in with him left a bitter taste in your mouth, lingering for days. It was like he had a knack for getting under your skin. Arrogant, volatile, downright psychotic — Rafe was a walking disaster. Each interaction with him sucked the life out of you. You were convinced that nothing good could ever come from being around him. And yet, there you were, another Maybank, caught in the chaos of the island's most influential family feud.

You knew the risks, but loyalty drove you forward. And now? Well, now you were in deep shit.

Your plan had been reckless, fueled by the desperate need to save Sarah from her deranged family and retrieve Pope's stolen cross. Everything had gone smoothly until chaos erupted, and you found yourself abruptly yanked away from the corridor by a strong grip on your arm, before you could even call out for your brother and Kie. Another hand clamped over your mouth, stifling any attempts to scream. In a blur, you were dragged into a dimly lit cabin, the men's hold on you unyielding. Struggling was futile against his iron grip. He tossed you inside, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. The gravity of your situation hit hard immediately – you were alone, at the mercy of Ward Cameron. The man who'd silenced anyone who dared oppose him, even going as far as faking his own death, kidnapping his own daughter, and manipulating his son into committing murder. 

Because in his twisted world, family trumped everything. Even murder.

Your mind raced as you took in your surroundings. The cabin was small and sparsely furnished: a bunk, a tiny porthole high on the wall, and a single chair bolted to the floor. There was a faint hum of the ship's engines, a constant reminder that you were far from land and any chance of immediate rescue. You quickly assessed your options. The door was solid, and you didn't have anything strong enough to force it open. Fuck, fuck fuck. 

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Panic wouldn't help; you needed a plan. But then, like a nightmare come to life, the devil himself stepped into the room, his eyes piercing as they landed on you. The man who had captured you stood behind him, a smug grin on his face. 

Rafe was visibly surprised to see you, but he quickly concealed it behind a cold, calculating expression. His forehead glistened with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his temples. His shirt clung to his back, soaked through from the scorching heat, and beads of perspiration trickled down his face. He wiped his brow with a weary hand and his gun gleamed ominously in the dim light.

"Well shit,” Rafe said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look what we have here. Didn't expect to see ya again so soon pretty Maybank.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was racing with questions. Where were your friends? Were they safe? Was your brother even alive? Before you could ask, Rafe continued, his tone mocking. 

"Your brother really did a number on you, huh? Left you behind without a second thought. Typical Maybank shit, huh? Always knew you were unreliable."

Son of a bitch. You clenched your fists, fighting to keep your composure. "You're lying," you countered, your voice steady despite the fear gnawing at you, "He wouldn't leave me."

Not unless he was forced to.

Rafe chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "Believe what you want. They left. Now, you're my problem. Lucky me."

“You’re lying.”

His eyes gleamed with a dangerous glint as he advanced towards you. You took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. The cold, metal wall pressed against your back, mirroring the chill that had settled in your bones.

"Now, what am I going to do with you?" he mused, tilting his head as if genuinely contemplating your fate. The gun in his hand swung lazily at his side, but you knew better than to think it wasn't ready to be used at a moment's notice. You swallowed hard, your mind frantically searching for a way out of this hellhole. He was unpredictable and volatile; years of snorting cocaine and family trauma did that to some people. 

But maybe, just maybe, you could reason with him. 

“Rafe, listen. You don't have to do this. Let me go and we can both walk away from this. No one has to get hurt."

Again. 

His laugh was sharp and bitter. "You think I'm going to let you go just because you asked nicely?" He stepped closer, his breath hot against your face. "Nah. You're going to stay right here until I decide what to do with you.“ 

You tried to keep your breathing steady, but fear clawed at your chest. The odds were against you, as they had always been your entire life.

"What do you want, Rafe? The cross? We can make a deal."

His eyes narrowed, the amusement fading. 

"You think this is about money? About that fucking cross? This is about power. Control. And right now...huh, shit, I control you." He leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper. "The cross is mine now. How do you feel about the Bahamas?”

Your top lip curled in disgust, “I’d rather drown.”

His smile twisted into something even darker. “I think you’re worth more alive, at least for now.”

You refused to show him any more fear. “To you? Or Ward? Do you only get this cocky when daddy’s not around to rein you in?”

Rafe’s expression hardened, and for a moment, you thought you’d pushed him too far. He leaned in close, his eyes cold and unforgiving. 

“Watch your fucking mouth, Maybank. You don’t know anything about my family.”

You laughed bitterly, unable to stop yourself. “Yeah, no. You're right. Just that you're dad’s little lapdog, doing his dirty work while he pretends to be some upstanding citizen. And where’s your mom in all this? Oh! She left.”

The punch came so fast, you didn’t see it coming. Pain exploded across your jaw, and you tasted blood. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t fucking talk about her, dirty pogue. Ever.”

Anger took over you like wildfire, burning hotter than the pain. Your jaw throbbed, but the rage was stronger. You wanted to hit him back, to wipe that smug look off his face, to make him feel the hurt he had inflicted on you. Your fists clenched at your sides, every muscle in your body taut with the desire for retribution. The fury in your eyes matched the darkness in his.

You spat blood at his face, glaring up at him defiantly. “You’re just a puppet. Your sister hates you, your dad uses you, and deep down, you know it. You’ll never be more than his bitch.” 

His grip tightened painfully, rough fingers digging into your flesh, lips twitching into a snarl, but you didn’t flinch. If you were going down, you’d go down fighting. His eyes flickered with something you’d never seen in him, before he released you, stepping back. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? So tough.”

“Smarter than you,” you shot back. “At least I know who I am. What are you, Rafe?“

He stared at you, tongue pressed against his cheek, eyebrows furrowed. Then he laughed, a harsh, grating sound that sent chills down your spine. His hand reached out, and your breath stilled throat tightening as he fiddled with a lock of your hair. He’d let out another laugh, entirely dismissive of the trepidation you’d felt stuck.

“You’ve got guts, Maybank. It's gonna get you killed.“

You wiped the blood from your mouth, meeting his gaze with unwavering defiance. “I’ve survived worse than you.”

And you had. If anything prepared you for violence, drugs, and pain, was living with Luke Maybank your entire life. And maybe, if you didn’t hate Rafe with every fiber of your being, after everything he’d done, you’d feel sorry for him. But you didn’t, and he sure as hell didn't feel sorry for you. 

For a moment, the room was silent except for the low hum of the ship’s engines. Then Rafe turned on his heel, motioning to the man by the door. “Watch her. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Do I look like fucking Michael Phelps? Where the fuck would I go? We’re on a ship you crazy bastar—Hey! Rafe! Open the fucking door!” 

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the small, dimly lit cabin. You listened to his footsteps fade away, feeling a sense of relief and dread settle in your chest. What the fuck had you gotten yourself into? They could kill you, dispose your body in the ocean and no would give a single fuck. No one would think you’d gone missing, because you’re a Maybank and that’s what your kind of people did, apparently. Your brother would probably assume you’re dead, he’d try to get justice and fail in the end, because the rich always won.

The musty air of the cabin felt oppressive as you turned away from the small porthole, where the bright sun and endless expanse of blue ocean taunted you from beyond. Days had melded into one another, each marked only by the arrival of meals and the sporadic presence of Rafe. You had hoped for some sense of clarity, some hint of what your future held, but his visits offered nothing but insults and foreboding silence.

You paced the small room, your mind racing with the possibilities of what they had planned for you. The guard remained a silent sentinel, a constant reminder that escape was not an option. But then, the cabin door creaked open again, and you tensed as Ward Cameron stepped in, his presence commanding immediate attention. 

He gave a nod to the guard, who stepped out, leaving you alone with the man who held your fate in his hands. A fucking lunatic with enough means to play for all the dramatics he enjoyed. Great.

"Get comfortable," Ward said, his voice smooth but carrying an edge that set your nerves on edge. "We're almost there."

"Almost where?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

"The Bahamas," he replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "A little slice of paradise, if you will."

"And what happens then?" you pressed, needing to know more.

Ward studied you for a moment, as if weighing how much to reveal. “Keep out of sight, stay quiet. Rafe and I have some business to attend to, and we can't afford any distractions."

"And if I refuse?" you challenged, though you knew the answer.

Ward's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. "Let's not be stupid, sweetheart. You're here because you know too much. Refusing isn't an option. Cooperation, however…”

A chill ran down your spine at his words. The stakes were clear, and you realized that your only chance was to play along, at least until you could figure out a way to escape this nightmare.

The rest of the day passed in a tense haze. Eventually, you felt the ship slow, the engines quieting as you approached your destination. When the door opened again, Rafe was there, his expression unreadable.

"Time to go," he said simply, motioning for you to follow, "Move."

You stepped out onto the deck, the warm, salty breeze hitting your face as you looked around. The sight of the lush, tropical landscape did little to ease your anxiety. You were led to a smaller boat, and soon you were speeding towards a secluded island, the main landmass of the Bahamas visible in the distance. This was a world away from the familiar streets and faces of The Cut. It was straight out of a postcard. Something you and JJ would fantasize about while high of your asses and writing bucklists. 

God, JJ. You only hoped he made it. You’d never gone a day without each other before you were dragged into this mess last summer. It wasn’t fair. You only wanted enough money to get by, an easy fix to get everything sorted, finish college, ship your dad somewhere far away from you two. But Ward’s greedy ass had to ruin everything for you. 

As the boat neared the shore, you couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom. The island loomed closer, its pristine beaches and swaying palm trees offering a stark contrast to the danger that lurked just beneath the surface.

Rafe’s hand gripped your arm, his grasp tight and unyielding as he led you onto the sandy beach. Ward followed close behind, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the scene before him.

"This way," he said, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. You followed obediently, your mind racing with possibilities. Escape seemed unlikely, but you clung to the slim hope that you could find a way out of this mess. As you walked, you couldn't help but wonder what awaited you on this remote island.

The path led deeper into the heart of the island, the dense foliage casting long shadows as the sun began to set. You could feel the weight of Ward and Rafe's gazes on you, their presence a constant reminder of the mess you were in.

Finally, you reached a clearing, and your heart sank as you saw what awaited you. A small house. In the middle of nowhere. Oh god, you were a dead woman. 

“This will be your home for the time being," Ward said, his voice cold and unfeeling, as if he was offering you a vacation rental and not kidnapping you. You wanted to protest, to demand answers, but you knew it was futile, there was a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, it practically swallow you whole. 

“My son will be keeping you company, don’t get too excited.” 

The way Rafe’s head snapped in his father’s direction told you more than what you needed to know. Once again, daddy dearest was calling the shots without taking his opinion into consideration. Ward’s casual cruelty was suffocating, a stark reminder of the power he wielded over everyone. As he turned to leave, leaving no space of negotiations or pleadings, Rafe’s eyes bored into yours. No questions asked, only blind devotion to his father. 

The door slammed shut, leaving you alone with Rafe once more. He looked at you, resentment playing across his face and something inside you urged you to fight. 

“I’m not going to make this easy for you," you said, your voice a low growl, “I’m not dying here. Not with you.” 

Rafe chuckled, greasy bangs moving as he shook his head, “You really think you have a choice here?” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space, “You think you’re special? Nah, Maybank. He’ll get rid of you eventually, don’t worry.”

“Exactly. He will, not you. You don’t have any control either and I think you hate being here as much as I do. That shit makes us both prisoners.”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off guard by your words, “Stay out my fucking way or I’ll kill you myself.”

You were sure he wouldn't, only if Ward asked him to. He’d fucked up enough before, when he accidentally shot Sarah and didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. You know he wouldn’t do it again, not if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulder and his trust fund. Ward Cameron hated slips ups, hated even more the monster he raised, but he sure came in handy when he needed him. 

Rafe’s words hung in the air like a noose, but you refused to let them tighten around your neck. "Empty threats," you shot back, squaring your shoulders. "I've dealt with bigger monsters than you, Rafe."

For a moment, a flicker of doubt passed through his blue eyes. They were bloodshot red, perhaps from the lack of sleep or maybe because he was high off his mind, you didn’t care to ask. But just as quickly, his usual sneer returned. "Enjoy your stay, Maybank.”

With that, he turned and left the room. Him and the stupid slamming of doors. You were alone again, your pulse racing but your resolve intact. You had to get out of here. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were a Maybank—survival was in your blood. You took stock of your surroundings once more, this time with a sharper eye. The walls were thin, the windows barred, but there had to be some weakness, some way to exploit the situation. You ran your fingers along the seams of the walls, looking for anything that might give. Your mind raced through every piece of advice JJ had ever given you about breaking and entering. You’d done a lot of that over the years, and while most people thought you pogues were simply criminals, they never cared enough to ask why you and your brother spent so much time in and out of the sheriff’s department. 

So, what if two dirty, no-good kids were barely hanging on for dear life? No one gave a shit. 

Weeks blurred into each other, each one marked by the same routine. Rafe's visits, Ward's looming threats, and the endless search for an opportunity to escape. You watched Rafe carefully, noting his every move, his every interaction with Ward. You noticed the way Ward belittled him, treating him more like a tool than a son. It was a toxic dynamic, one that made you wonder if Rafe was as much a victim as you were. You’d seen bits and pieces before, but Sarah had described Ward as some sort of saint up until recently. Rafe on the other hand? Their dynamic was so different from what you were used to. You and JJ were like two peas in a pod, you’d die for him and you know he would do the same, no questions asked. If there was one good thing in your life, it was your brother. 

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for Rafe, despite everything he'd done. He was a product of his environment, molded by a father who saw him as nothing more than a means to an end. 

You saw the cracks in his armor, the moments of doubt and vulnerability. The way his hands would shake every time Ward raised his voice, the way he would bite his nails to hide the embarrassment booming in his cheeks. How he never walked into his father’s space or any other room without announcing his presence. It gave you whiplash. 

You began to argue less with him, your animosity slowly giving way to a grudging understanding. You hated feeling so…forgiving. This boy had done unspeakable things to you and your friends, to your family…and there you were. Feeling sorry for him like you didn’t know better. 

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the small house, Rafe brought you dinner. He placed the plate on the table, his movements tense, his expression unusually subdued. Strangely so, you’d memorized that expression. You didn’t even have to ask to understand what had gotten under his skin. You watched him for a moment before speaking.

"Why do you let him treat you like that?" you asked, your voice softer than usual. You didn’t understand why you did it. You regretted the words the moment they came out of your lips, but there was something inside itching you to ask. 

Rafe's eyes snapped to yours, rage and something else—pain—flashing in them. "What the hell do you know about it?" he snapped, but there was less bite in his words. 

At this point he just sounded tired. 

"I understand,” you replied, thinking of your own father. "I know what it's like to want to prove yourself, to be more than what they think you are."

Rafe's jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to the floor. For a moment, he looked lost, like a boy searching for something he could never find. "You don't know shit," he muttered, but there was no conviction in his voice.

"I know enough," you said quietly. "You don't have to keep doing this. You don't have to be his puppet."

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You think it's that simple?"

"Maybe not. But you can choose to be better than him. You can choose to stop this.”

Rafe looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time. It was borderline unnerving. The weight of his stare. The way your stomach flip-flops under his attention. 

“Shut the fuck up and eat, Maybank."

But beneath it all, there was something else. Something you’d seen before, when you looked at yourself in the mirror after you took the biggest beating of your life and Luke finally got thrown into jail: hope. 

He didn't say anything, just turned and walked out, leaving you alone. 

Again. 

The days continued to pass, but something had shifted. Rafe was less hostile, more contemplative. He didn't treat you as roughly, didn't hurl as many insults. It was a small change, but it was there. And you began to see a way out, not just for yourself, but for Rafe too. You knew what he did, knew what he was capable of, but no one deserved to rot in hell with someone like Ward. You needed to bide your time, to wait for the right moment. And when that moment came, you had to be ready to act. 

Another day began with the same oppressive heat. The sun had just started to rise, casting a golden hue over the island. You were in the small kitchen of the house, preparing a meager breakfast from the limited supplies you had. The routine had become almost mechanical, a way to keep your mind occupied and stave off the rising panic.

Rafe entered the kitchen, eyes barely open as he wiped the sleep away. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the sound of the liquid hitting the glass breaking the silence. He stood with his back to you, staring out the window. 

“What’s Luke like?”

You froze, your hands pausing mid-motion. It was an unexpected question, one that cut deep and made you want to hurl on the spot even though you hadn’t had anything to eat yet. 

“Why do you want to know?" you asked cautiously, trying to keep your voice steady.

Rafe shrugged, still not turning to face you. "Just curious. You Maybanks are a tight bunch, right? So what's he like?"

Tight bunch…that was one way to put it. 

You took a deep breath, trying to decide how much to reveal. "He’s a drunk, a thief. But he's still my dad."

He finally turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing. "So why do you stick around? Why not just leave him?"

You knew what he was trying to do, giving you a taste of your own medicine. You couldn’t blame him. 

You met his gaze, the raw honesty of your answer surprising even you. "Because he's family. And sometimes, family is all you have. Even when they’re terrible, even when they hurt you, sometimes you can’t just walk away."

Rafe seemed to consider this, his expression unreadable. "Family's supposed to be everything, right?" His voice carried a bitter edge, hinting at his own unresolved conflicts.

"That's what they say," you replied quietly.

He took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving yours. "Must be tough, having a dad like that."

Tough? It’s heartbreaking. Knowing that the one person who was supposed to love you, cherish you and protect you for life never gave a single fuck about his kids? Yeah, sure it’s “tough”

You nodded, a sad smile playing on your lips. "Guess we have that in common.”

Rafe looked away, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, we do." He set his glass down with a heavy thud, the sound resonating in the small kitchen.

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, but then he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I get it," he said quietly. "More than you know."

You watched him, the way his fingers ran along the rim of the glass. "Then why do you keep doing this? You don’t have to."

His eyes blazed with anger. “It's not that simple," he snapped. "You think I have a choice? I killed someone. For him.” 

It was the first time he had said those words out loud. And it made him sick to his stomach. That he’d been scared and high enough to do something so reckless, just so they wouldn’t take away his dad. 

"We always have a choice," you countered, your voice firm. "Maybe not the best ones, but we can always choose to be better."

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression a tumult of emotions. Then he shook his head, turning away. "You don't know anything," he muttered, but there was less conviction in his words than before.

"I know enough," you said softly, watching his retreating back. "And so do you."

He paused at the doorway, his hand gripping the frame tightly. Without turning around, he spoke, his voice low and strained. "I'll see you later."

As he left, the kitchen felt colder, but you knew you had reached him, even if just a little. And that gave you hope.

After that, Rafe’s visits were less frequent, and when he did come by, there was an uneasy tension between you both. You couldn't tell if it was the weight of your conversations or the sheer exhaustion of being trapped in this toxic cycle. Still, every interaction chipped away at the walls he'd built around himself, revealing glimpses of the person he might have been, had his life taken a different path.

Tonight, the air was still, the only sound was the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. You had been biding your time, watching for the perfect moment to make your escape. The house was quiet, Ward was gone and you hadn’t seen Rafe in two days. By now, you knew how the guards outside fell asleep before 2am like clockwork. 

You could it. 

This was your chance, and you couldn't afford to waste it.

You moved silently, slipping out of the small bedroom and into the hallway. Every creak of the wooden floorboards seemed to echo in the stillness, and you held your breath, praying you wouldn't be caught. The front door loomed ahead, your path to freedom. Your heart raced as you slowly turned the handle, wincing at the faint click that accompanied the action.

The night air hit you like a wave as you stepped outside, the cool breeze a stark contrast to the oppressive heat that had been your constant companion. You glanced around, ensuring the coast was clear, then made your way towards the small boat moored at the edge of the beach. The plan was simple: get to the boat, start the engine, and head for the main island where you could find help.

You kept low, moving quickly but cautiously, every step bringing you closer to your goal. The boat was within reach when a noise behind you made your blood run cold. 

The crunch of gravel underfoot was unmistakable. You turned sharply, and in the dim moonlight, the silhouette of one of the guards emerged from the shadows. The asshole who’d gotten you here in the first place. He was closer than you had anticipated. Your heart pounded, adrenaline surging through your veins as you broke into a sprint, abandoning stealth for speed.

"Stop!" the guard shouted, his voice carrying across the trees. You didn't dare look back, your eyes locked on the boat. A sharp crack split the night—a gunshot. You felt a searing pain in your arm, but you couldn't stop. You pushed through the pain, your goal now just a few yards away.

Another gunshot rang out, but you were too focused to determine where it landed. You reached the boat, hands trembling as you fumbled with the ropes. The pain in your arm intensified, but you forced yourself to keep moving. Suddenly, a heavy hand grabbed your shoulder, spinning you around. You struggled, kicking and thrashing, but he was stronger. He pulled you to the ground, pinning you down as he radioed for backup.

"Got her," he said into the radio, his breath hot against your ear. You tried to wriggle free, but his grip tightened. Moments later, two more guards arrived, hauling you to your feet and dragging you back towards the house.

Your mind raced the sting in your arm a painful reminder of your failed attempt. As they pulled you inside, the walls seemed to close in around you, your brief taste of freedom slipping away.

Moments felt like hours as you sat in the chair, the pain in your arm throbbing with each heartbeat. The quiet murmurs of the guards outside were interrupted by the heavy, hurried footsteps of someone approaching. The door flew open, and there stood Rafe, disheveled and wild-eyed, a gun clutched tightly in his hand.

“What the fuck is going on?” he barked, his voice a volatile mix of anger and confusion. His gaze scanned the room, landing on you. 

The sight of the blood staining your arm made his expression shift from bewilderment to fury.

He stormed towards you, his eyes blazing. “What happened?” he demanded, his voice low but dangerous. Before you could answer, he whirled around to face the guards who had re-entered the room. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Rafe shouted, waving his gun erratically. “She’s bleeding! I try to sleep in peace and this is what I come back to?”

The guards exchanged nervous glances, shifting uncomfortably under Rafe’s glare. “She was trying to escape, Mr. Cameron,” one of them stammered. “We had to stop her.”

His expression twisted with rage. “So you fucking shot her?” His voice dripped with incredulity and disdain. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? My father wants her in once piece.”

The guard who had caught you tried to explain, but Rafe cut him off. “Shut up. Just... shut up.” He turned back to you, his eyes softening slightly as he took in the sight of your injured arm. Or maybe the pain was making you delirious.

 “We need to get that cleaned up,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. Without another word, he holstered his gun and gently took your uninjured arm, pulling you to your feet. The guards looked on, unsure of what to do or say. 

Rafe shot them a deadly look. “Get out,” he snapped. “Before I shoot you bitches myself.”

Once Ward’s men had left, Rafe's demeanor changed. His concern, which had briefly softened his striking features, hardened back into anger. He ran a hand through his long hair, pacing the small bathroom before finally stopping in front of you. His eyes were intense, burning with frustration.

He sneered at you, his voice dripping with disappointment and exasperation, "I thought you had some brains in that pretty little head of yours," he spat out, his frustration palpable. "What were you even thinking? Do you realize how close you came to getting yourself killed?"

You tried to speak, to defend yourself, but he didn't give you the chance. His words came fast, each one like a dagger aimed at my heart. "You could've died out there! A bullet barely missed you—do you even understand how lucky you are?"

His fists clenched at his sides, his eyes burning into yours. "I just don't get it. Do you think you're invincible? Because you're not. You're just..." He stopped himself, taking a deep breath as if trying to regain control of his temper. "You're just reckless," he continued, his voice quieter but still seething with anger. "You didn’t think about the consequences, about what it would do to..."

He trailed off, his attention faltering for a moment before snapping back to you. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between knocking you out cold and something else—maybe concern, maybe fear.

"Don't act like you give a shit about me," you called after him, your voice trembling with both pain and defiance.

He stopped in his tracks, his back stiffening for a moment before slowly turning to face you. The fury in his eyes was matched only by the bitterness in your own. "I don't," he retorted, his tone icy. "But my ass is on the line too. You think Ward won't come down on me if something happens to you?"

You stood up, despite the throbbing pain in your arm, facing him head-on. "So this is all about you, then? Your precious ass and how it looks to Ward? Typical Cameron bullshit, only caring about themselves."

Rafe's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice dangerously low. "You think this is easy for me? Keeping you safe, dealing with all this? It's not just about me. It's about keeping everything under control."

You scoff through your nose "Here we go again. Control? You think dragging me back here, shooting at me, is control? It's chaos, Rafe. You're just as trapped as I am, and you can't stand it."

His face twisted showcasing his wrath, and he took a step towards you, closing the distance. "Shut up!” he growled. "You don’t understand the pressure I'm under. The expectations, the demands. I didn’t ask for any of this."

"And neither did I," you shot back, a strict finger aimed at his face in warning, “So shut the fuck up.”

He took another step towards you, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and ragged.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You think this is just about me? It's about keeping everything from falling apart. It's about—"

Before he could finish, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer, your faces almost touching. "I don’t care about your excuses, Rafe. I don’t care about your pressures or your fucking control. All I know is I’m not staying here.”

The look he gave you was filled with enough ire to have a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, the hollow beneath his dark brows deepening as his classical features twisted into an expression of silent hatred. His breath came in short, sharp bursts. His hands came up, gripping your waist, not gently but not roughly either, as if he couldn’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.

"You're impossible," he hissed, his voice a raw whisper.

"And you’re a coward," you shot back, your voice equally low but no less fierce.

The next moment happened in a blur. Rafe’s grip tightened, and before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed into yours with a ferocity that left you breathless. His mouth was demanding, almost punishing, and you responded, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even as you wanted to push him away.

The kiss was rough and desperate, fueled by anger and frustration, a collision of two souls too damaged to recognize the depths of their own pain. And yet, beneath the layers of animosity and resentment, there was a spark—as if you were both too messed up to understand how much you needed each other. Each fingertip left an imprint, a silent declaration of the strength he was restraining. It was like he was fighting to contain this force within him, to keep it from overwhelming you both. 

If someone told you you’d be kissing Rafe fucking Cameron of all people just a month ago, you’d think they were crazy. And yet… All you wanted were his hands on your body, his warm skin against your own.

Oh his hands.

They roamed slowly yet purposefully over your lower back, over your waist. You breathed out a sigh of relief, taking the collar of his shirt in both your hands as you pulled him closer, relishing in his warmth. He smelled like whiskey and cigarettes. 

He pulled away slowly, your lips the last to part, and blinked down at you. You watched him lick his bottom lip, taking in the sight of you.

“’You’re bleeding—“

“Shut the fuck up.”

His eyes flared with renewed anger, but also with something else—something darker, more primal. Your words were like a match to gasoline. He didn't respond verbally; instead, he took a half step back before swooping you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly.

With a swift, decisive motion, Rafe carried you to the dining table, and you barely had time to register the cool wood against your back before he was on you again, his body pressing down on yours with a desperation that matched your own. There was no tenderness there, only raw need and a desire to consume. He pried your lips apart again, his tongue sweeping in as he kissed you deeply, his mouth moving invasively over yours. His fingers gripped your jaw with a vice-like hold. A strange sensation fluttered beneath your skin, and you wrapped your legs around his hips, closing the distance between your bodies as he pressed flush against your center.

His hands moved with such intent, slipping under your shirt, his fingers tracing every curve with a delicious blend of roughness and urgency. You reciprocated eagerly, your own hands tangling in his hair, urging him closer as your kiss deepened. Everything around you blurred as the room spun, his warmth against you making you breathless, his taste lingering on your lips, intoxicating and irresistible.

You tugged at his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons because you just couldn't wait. He let out that deep, sexy growl that made a shiver run down your spine. His hands were all over you, touching your skin and leaving fiery trails wherever they went. It felt like he was trying to memorize every inch of you, wanting to claim you in a way that words could never capture.

"You're impossible," he muttered against your lips, the words barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. He leaned down closer to your collarbone, to catch the scent on your skin, and he couldn't tell if you were amused or annoyed from the way your cheeks rounded as you narrowed your eyes at him.

"And you’re an asshole,” you shot back, your voice breathless, your body arching into his touch.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly "Drive me fucking crazy.”

"Good," you replied, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him down again. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back, trying to maintain some semblance of control. But you didn't want control. You wanted to lose yourself in this moment, to forget everything you'd been trough and just feel.

Rafe seemed to sense this, his hands becoming more insistent, his touch more possessive. He lifted you slightly, positioning you better on the table, his body slotting perfectly between your legs. The friction was exquisite, a delicious tease that left you craving more.

"Rafe," you breathed, and he almost fell to his knees at the soft whimper that left your lips when he couldn’t help but jerk his hips forward. He responded instantly, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer as he kissed you with a fervor that left you dizzy. The table creaked under your combined weight, but neither of you cared. Your hand grabbed his forearm, over the veins strained from his grip on you, your nails sinking into the skin exposed.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your eyes locking with his. There was a wildness there, a reflection of the storm inside you. You reached up, tracing his jaw with your fingers, feeling the stubble beneath your touch as his mouth, hot and demanding, left a trail of fire in its wake on your neck. A noise of pleasure slipped from your mouth as he palmed at your breast, thumb grazing across your nipple as his teeth grazed your collarbone, kissing down, littering your skin bite marks.

"I hate you," you panted, pouring as much venom into your words as possible. Your thighs tightened around his hips, feeling every inch of him against you. 

“Your body doesn’t,” He replies coldly, each syllable slowly drawn from his throat, "

“Fucking asshole.”

“Fucking brat.”

You opened your mouth to hiss something at him, to fight back, show him that you were the one in charge, but the intention died the moment Rafe cupped you through your shorts. A pathetic excuse of shorts due to the heat. Heat bloomed in your stomach, melting into a torrent want that flooded your skin and left you breathless. His determined blue eyes pierced into yours, watching as he pressed the heel of his palm against the apex of your thighs, his middle finger tracing your entrance and applying light pressure to the sensitive dip between your legs.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty?” He asked, lips brushing over your mouth, loose bangs brushing against your brow “Thought you had more fire in you.” he rasped coldly, moving your shorts and underwear out of the way and your lips parted on a sharp inhale as you felt him touch you for the first time, “Yeah, thought so.” 

Every nerve ending seemed to come alive under his hands, and the room around you blurred into insignificance. All that mattered was the man in front of you, his relentless grip on your senses, his unwavering control over your body.

"God, I hate you," you whispered again, the words almost a prayer, a futile attempt to cling to the anger that had fueled you for so long. But even as you said it, you knew it was a lie. You hated how much you needed him, how much you craved his touch, his dominance. Perhaps you’d been locked away from society for too long. That was the only plausible reason for you to let Rafe Cameron touch you.

Rafe smirked, a dark, satisfied gleam in his eyes. "No, you don’t.” 

You did. At least you used to, everything’s confusing now.

He teased you, his touch light and teasing, drawing out your frustration, your need. "Tell me what you want," he murmured against your lips, his voice a seductive growl that made your heart race.

You bit back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. But the need was overwhelming, a fierce ache that demanded release. 

“Fuck you," you spat, your defiance crumbling under the weight of your desire.

He chuckled darkly, his fingers finally slipping inside you, curling and stroking in a way that made your hips buck against his hand. "That's right," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Let me hear you."

A broken moan escaped your lips, and you arched into his touch, your body writhing with need. His fingers moved expertly, finding all the right spots, driving you near the edge with a skill that left you breathless. Every touch, every stroke was designed to push you closer to the brink, to break you down until you were nothing but a trembling, pleading mess.

"Rafe, please," you finally gasped, the words ripped from your throat by the overwhelming pleasure. "Please, I need you."

His smirk widened, and he pulled his fingers away, making you whimper in frustration. He didn't make you wait long, though. With swift, practiced movements, he freed himself from his pants, the sight of him hard and ready making your mouth water. 

Without a word, he positioned himself between your legs, the head of his pretty cock teasing your entrance. "You ready for me?" he asked, his voice a rough whisper that made your heart skip a beat. 

You nodded, your eyes locking with his, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear. "Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation. "Please, Rafe."

He didn't need any further encouragement. With a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure that made you cry out. Your back arched involuntarily, your lips parting as he entered you, filling you completely in a way you had never imagined.

He rolled his hips firmly against yours, and your head tipped back as his cock rubs perfectly against you. You’d never felt so full. He didn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. After another firm roll of his hips, testing you out, figuring out his rhythm. His movements were hard and relentless, pounding into you, knocking the breath from your lungs with each forceful thrust, barely giving you time to adjust. 

You clung to him, your nails digging into his muscular back, your body moving in perfect rhythm with his. The table creaked and groaned beneath you, but you didn't care. All that mattered was the man above you, his relentless drive, his unwavering control. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. You could feel him losing control, his need matching your own. 

Your eyes squeezed shut, blocking him out so you could pretend you weren’t stupid enough to let the man that ruined your life fuck the living hell out of you.

"Eyes on me,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. "Let me see you.”

Even though you really wanted to shut him out, you just couldn’t fight the crazy pull he had over you. His voice was like a force of nature. You opened your eyes and locked onto his intense gaze. Seeing him above you, his face twisted with raw need and determination sent chills down your spine. His eyes were locked onto yours, filled with this dark, unyielding intensity that left you totally breathless. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval and something deeper, something that made your heart race even more. It made you want to run for the hills, "Fucki—Oh, fuck"

With each thrust, he drove you closer to the edge, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. The pleasure was overwhelming, a torrent of sensations that left you gasping, moaning, begging for more. His name slipped from your lips in a broken, desperate plea, and he answered with a renewed vigor, his movements becoming more frenzied, more primal.

"Fuck," he growled, his voice rough and strained. "You're so tight... feels so fucking good."

You could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words. Your entire world had narrowed to this moment, to the feel of him inside you, to the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you. Your body arched beneath him, your nails digging into his skin, leaving marks that would undoubtedly linger.

"Rafe," you whimpered, the sound barely more than a breath. "I'm... I can't..."

He understood. His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming almost brutal in their intensity. "Come for me," he commanded his voice a raw whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Let go."

His words pushed you over the edge, and you came with a scream, your body convulsing around him. The intensity of your release was like nothing you'd ever felt before, a white-hot explosion of pleasure that left you trembling and breathless.

Rafe followed you over the edge, his own release crashing through him with a force that left him shaking. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he rode out his orgasm, his movements slowing until he finally stilled, still buried deep inside you.

For a moment, everything was still, the only sound the ragged breaths but then Rafe lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, there was something almost tender in his gaze. 

“Y-You—“ He sighed, pausing, “Don’t pull that shit again. I’ll get you out, okay? 

“Rafe...“

Before you could process his words, before you could question or argue, his lips were on yours again. Differently this time. Gentle. 

Devastating almost. 

“You’re still bleeding Maybank.”

Rafe’s words snapped you back to reality, the pain in your arm a sharp reminder of your injury. The moment of vulnerability between you evaporated, leaving you with the stark realization of your situation. You pushed at his chest, forcing him to back off slightly, and hissed through clenched teeth, "Then do something about it."

He just stood there, staring at you as if he had never seen you before. As if he was truly seeing you for the first time despite having known you since you were seven, despite all the moments marked by violence and terror. And you hated every second of it because your heart was practically leaping out of your chest. No one had ever looked at you like that before.

And then he simply shook his head, drew closer again, resting his forehead against yours, hands back on your thighs, fingers pressing as if he needed to ensure that you were real, that everything was real.

“We’re getting out.”

You wanted to believe in him more than anything. In that moment, it was the only thing that mattered, “Yeah?"

“Yeah, pretty Maybank. You and me."

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ’  simple acts of love from skz

—All the times stray kids said I love you in the little things.

words・6.8k pairings・stray kids x reader genres・fluff, a little crack, established relationships warnings・lots and lots of kisses!! happy tears, drunken re-confessions, silliness, playful living room dancing, minhos a shy baby, he's also a little shit in changbins, erotic painting in hyunjins, hans is a little bit more emotional, silly little proposals, my terrible attempt at writing lyrics, jeongin stalks your goodreads profile and buys your entire TBR list like I don't have at least a thousand tbr books...some of these are silly some of these are sickeningly sweet,

a/n・I wrote these drabbles based on these headcanons, but I did change Minho's because I believed it fit him better!! Also, this has been rotting in my drafts for MONTHS im not super proud of them, but I hope you like them anyways.

ᡣ𐭩 chan + sneaking into your bathroom to trace hearts onto the bathroom mirror.

"This is a suicide mission!" his lungs scream as he slips into your inferno of a bathroom, a heavy cloak of steam hugging him instantly. His respiratory system begs for release, a moist cough rolling up his throat; but like the magnificent boyfriend he is, he shoves those rebellious bodily functions right back down his windpipe.

Was his silly little plan worth the ability to breathe? Yes. Did he also wonder how you even could? Also yes.

The mirror fogs like the surface of an ancient lake, obstructing the image of his mischievous grin. He brings a pointer finger to the glass, drawing all his ardor in the mist—though it only comes out as lopsided hearts.

Your voice floats out from behind the curtain, absentmindedly humming to a silent tune. Shadows of your hands move through your hair, your body refracted onto the thin sheet.

You are so beautiful...

Cupid smacks his jaw shut.

He manages to slip out right as the water sputters off, sliding into the living room by his socks. He face-plants onto the couch, scrambling to sit upright. The loud smack of your towel echoes in his ears as his wide eyes dart to the table, frantically searching for something to occupy his attention. He snatches the first thing he sees, which just happens to be a... candle?

Whatever, no time!

Chan is intently studying the ocean-blue Bath & Body Works label, when you come pattering out, damp hair dribbling water behind you. The moment you step into his line of sight, his heart plummets—that stupid aromatherapy candle nearly tumbling with it.

There you were, in all your drenched glory, your towel wrapped snug against your chest, tears rolling freely down your cheeks. Did you hear that?! Tears!! You were crying?! Why were you crying?!?!

Chan must have embodied the spirit of a kangaroo, because he’s never jumped up faster in his life.

"Why are you crying? You're supposed to be happy!" he yelps, yanking your body into his arms, water seeping into the thin fabric of his tee shirt. His brain becomes the equivalent of the world’s most fucked-up ambrosia when you begin laughing, the curve of your smile pressed into his chest. He blinks—he doesn't know whether to kiss you or call a priest. Maybe he should do both?

Suddenly you pull away, cocooning his cheeks with pruney hands, your bottom lip wobbling as you sob, "I'm so in love with you."

Well, good job—now he's sobbing too.

"I'm in love with you too, baby."

You had drawn hearts on the walls of his soul in the same way he had drawn them in the steam of your mirror. The only difference is, yours would never fade away.

ᡣ𐭩 minho + randomly sending you songs that remind him of you.

Minho wasn't the type to throw his arms around you, pressing kisses to your face with all his overflowing ardor. Instead, in the minuscule overlaps of time between talking on the phone and constructing a perfect dance routine, he'll find himself sitting dazed upon the lounge room couch, mindlessly nodding to a catchy tune. He had left his Spotify on smart shuffle, finding comfort in the idea of a song found without searching, as if it were fate's gentle finger dusting the path to new adventures. He flutters his eyelids shut, ripples of sound washing over his skin.

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on everyone that you'd be mine, mine

In a rash flood of emotions, he sends you the song just before Chan steps into view, announcing his dire need to finish choreographing the final steps of their newest single. Begrudgingly, he slips his phone into his back pocket, his earbuds following suit. The only thing that keeps him sane throughout the day is the anticipation that he will go home and see you, and that makes it all worth it.

ᡣ𐭩

May I have this dance?" you declare, extending your arm with feigned seriousness, though the playful smile tugging at your lips betrays you instantly.

“What?” Minho chuckles through furrowed brows, observing the unusual surroundings; candles flicker dim lighting on the walls, throwing shadows on the rose petals you had scattered around your living room, forming an intriguing resemblance to a romantic dance floor. He sets the bags of groceries on the ground. Lee Know is so beyond confused, yet also pleasantly surprised, especially when you waltz over to him, tight red dress hugging all your gorgeous curves.

“You still haven't answered my question,” you sing, playfully twirling into his arms. Your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, tracing mindless circles in his hair. A shiver rolls up his spine as you tilt your face forward, lips so close; his heart flutters like a fragile leaf tumbling down from an autumn tree. He blinks before exhaling—

“Of course, I'll dance with you.”

A delighted squeal erupts from your lips, and you jump away from his arms, heading straight over to your phone to play the song he sent you prior. A warm blush floods his cheeks, painting them a bashful red.

“Did you like it?” His eyes fall away from yours.

“Did I like it?? Of course I liked it!” you squeal, gaping at him like he was the dumbest person on the planet. World War Three rages inside his chest as he fights not to fold like a lawn chair, flopping on the floor like a flustered starfish. Though when your hands rub their way up from his chest to his shoulders, he's surprised he's even upright. Your hips sway to the melody, a warm smile melting away all his defenses; but when you guide his awkward hands to the dip in your hips, it’s game over. He stuffs his face into your neck, littering the sensitive skin with kisses, his brain screaming: distract the enemy!! distract the enemy!!

“Do you know how much I love you?” he mumbles with striking genuineness. Instead of answering his question, you simply twirl yourself around his finger, placing his hand to wrap around the small of your back. He dips you down right as the music swells. It was magical, really—the candlelight twinkling in your peripheral, spills of starlight dancing off the ocean's surface. It was all so perfect—that was until your shoe caught on one of the rose petals, the floor turning slick under your feet. You send yourself tumbling straight to the ground. Minho squeals, grasping at thin air, but then he too also slips, frantically shooting his wrists out so he doesn't crush you.

The music cuts through the deafening silence as petals weave their way into your hair. You roll your lips into your teeth, glancing over to an eerily still Minho, staring at the ceiling like a spooked tabby. As if he could feel your eyes, his gaze finds yours, and only then does he burst out into roaring laughter, which prompts you to also join the fun.

“Are you sure you're the main dancer?” you tease through breathy giggles. He gasps, smacking a dramatic hand over his chest.

“I’ll have you know you fell first.”

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on everyone that you'd be mine, mine

In that moment, as the light hits you just right, he swears he finds the universe in your eyes. Your skin is showered in candlelight, head tilted back—joy flickers on your tongue as honey drips from your teeth. His heart pounds against his ribs, flowers sprouting in his lungs. To the world, he was an aloof grump with smooth moves and an impressive affinity for cats; but to you, with you, he was so much more.

Mid-snort, he captures your cheek, pressing his lips to yours. In a single gesture, he is pouring all the words he wished to say—

though to you, it tasted a little bit like—

If he had to blow a wish on every dandelion in the universe just to keep you, he would; and only through your lips would he find the power to keep breathing.

ᡣ𐭩 changbin + gushing about you while drunk

The balmy patio is sticky with soju-infused groans, most of the boys slumped in their respective seats, throwing back exasperated swigs of their drinks as they desperately try to drown out Changbin’s relentless rambles.

The two semicircle outdoor couches form a full circle around an unlit bonfire pit. On one of the couches sits a completely unfazed Felix, taking small sips of his soju between chuckles; an extremely annoyed Seungmin, glaring daggers at Changbin; and I.N, who doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything except, well, sleeping—body slumped against the armrest. Hyunjin is sandwiched between Chan and Changbin on the other couch: Chan, who wishes he never even brought up the idea to buy beer in the first place, and Changbin, who is currently slumped over a very irked Hyunjin’s lap. Han is somewhere in the house, probably giggling at his own swirling reflection.

Hyunjin digs his fingers into the roots of his locks, fighting every urge not to yank the tufts straight out.

“N-no, but Jinnie, you don’t u-understand—she’s so pretty,” Changbin slurs, stuffing his face into his friend’s hoodie, which makes Hyunjin frown and swat him away.

“That’s it! I’m calling Y/N!” Seungmin announces, jumping up from his seat. Chan grabs his sleeve, yanking him straight back down, much to Seungmin’s dismay. he sinks into the polyester in a puddle of disgruntled grumbles.

"Or we could record him," Minho calls out from the shadows of the back entryway, only ever appearing when he needed more beer or more entertainment. And right now, it was dinner and a show. Minho simply shrugs as if his evil plan wouldn’t ruin his best friend's bad-boy reputation. "Send it to Y/N later," he mumbles to himself, the devil tilting his cheek up. Nobody seems to hear him, so he slyly pulls his phone from his pocket and presses record.

"No, no, no! You can't call Y/N. She’ll know I love her!" Changbin gasps in horror, stumbling to grab the phantom phone that apparently appears on Hyunjin’s lap with the way he paws at his jeans. Hyunjin takes a nice, long swig of his soju.

"You know you and Y/N have been together for over four years, right?" Felix chuckles, finding the whole ordeal pure comedic relief.

"No, you don’t understand. She’ll know I love her... lover," Changbin’s words slur into an incoherent shake of his head. Minho's evil cackles float out from the concealment of the doorway, and Chan perks up.

"Minho, what are you doing?!" Minho slams his phone against his thigh. What the hell?? Does Chan have Spidey senses or something??

"Nothing!" he yelps, sounding super convincing. Chan narrows his eyes toward the darkness where Minho is supposedly lurking, sporting an eerily perfect rendition of a frustrated father. That is, until Changbin begins a very off-tune version of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” rolling over on Hyunjin’s lap to tap his fingers up his arm and eventually landing on Hyunjin’s nose with a giggle. When Hyunjin almost bites his finger off, Chan finally diverts his attention. Minho thanks God for the shadows—how else would he have gotten away with recording all of that?

“I’m about two seconds away from bringing you back to Y/N,” Hyunjin sighs, his lips pressed into a tight line as he glares at the man whose eyes just burst with light at the thought of seeing you. Chan smacks Hyunjin on the back sympathetically, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Why me, Lord? Why me?" Chan sings his woes under his breath but just loud enough for the camera to pick up—and for Minho to giggle.

"Y/N, I miss Y/N. Can I go home to Y/N, please?" Changbin hiccups, slumping his head onto Hyunjin’s shoulder. Hyunjin’s eye twitches. "I wanna tell the pretty girl I love her."

Felix emerges from his silence with a fit of laughter, nearly spilling his beer all over the floor. "Weren't you just saying you didn’t want to tell her you loved her?"

Changbin whips his gaze forward, his eyes hardening into a very foggy glare. "Well, now I want to tell the pretty girl I love her," he states matter-of-factly, his eyes fluttering a bit, betraying just how drunk he is.

Felix’s amusement is transparent as he raises his beer in Changbin’s direction. "Somebody needs to bring him to Y/N and let him re-confess his undying love for her."

Seungmin has never jumped up so fast in his life; he’s mid-volunteer when Chan grabs the cuff of his sleeve again and yanks him right back on his ass. Seungmin collapses onto the couch, ready to spit a disrespectful insult at his elder, but he folds like a lawn chair when Chan shoots him that look.

"Seungmin, you are far too drunk to take him home, while I," he looks to the sky with regret, "am very regretfully sober." Chan sounds like he’s going through the five stages of grief in one sentence.

"Okay, buddy, I’m taking you home," Chan grunts, clapping the drunken boy on the back. Changbin beams like he just heard there was a cure for cancer.

"Hell yeah!" He jumps up, only to stumble slightly, the patio swimming in his vision as he catches himself on Hyunjin’s forehead. When he finally, barely stabilizes himself, he throws his hands up. "See y’all bitches later! I—” he dramatically points to his chest in pride, “—am going to see my girl," he declares and marches straight out the door. Chan is mid-goodbye hug turned introspection with Felix, wondering what he’s doing with his life, when he hears a loud shatter in the hallway. Chan falls out of Felix’s arms immediately, his stride turned sprint. 

"Son of a bitch, Changbin, that was my favorite vase!"

ᡣ𐭩

“Go ahead, tell the pretty girl how much you love her,” you tease, playfully mimicking kissy faces while simultaneously poking Changbin’s crumpled form, his boiling cheeks sandwiched between his knees.

Why did Minho have to send you that video? But most of all, why did he have to send it while Changbin was still hungover? All this humiliation can’t be good for his headache.

Changbin groans, falling back on the bed to pull a pillow over his scorching face. The fact that the whole mattress hasn’t burst into flames is truly beyond him. Giggles pour from your lips, even as they settle atop his stomach, leaving kisses all the way up his torso. You can hear his flustered pants from down here.

“Okay, that’s enough bullying for one day,” you say, straddling his waist to snake your arms around his waist, pressing your chests flush together. Your teeth graze his shoulder, softly biting the flesh. “Come on, baby, take the pillow off your face.” You press your smile against his shirt before resting your chin on his chest.

He peeks out from under the pillow, tugging it down just enough to reveal his eyes, still reluctant to fully reveal himself. You bat your lashes at him, pouting ever so slightly. He folds—like a damn lawn chair, at this point, he’s practically collapsing in on himself with how much he’s folded. His face melts into a grin as he finally pulls the pillow down.

He so regrets that.

Your face lights up with laughter as you take in his beet-red cheeks, your eyes disappearing into crinkled slits. “I’m sorry, I just... I just can’t,” you cackle, doubling over in heaves.

“I hate you,” Changbin shouts, flustered, smacking you square in the side of the head with the pillow. It does nothing to quell your amusement; in fact, it only makes it worse.

“That’s not what you said last night,” you snort, falling off him as you kick your feet against the sheets.

Despite his urge to tie a millstone around his ankle and jump off the face of the earth, he can’t help but smile, caught in an unusual state of awe. Your mouth is boxy, laughter filling the air like strands of warm honey.

“Apparently, you think about me a lot,” you snicker, still rolling around. his smile only spreads wider.

If only you knew how much he thought of you.

ᡣ𐭩 hyunjin + painting perfectly captured portraits of you

“Hold still for me, baby,” Hyunjin whispers, his voice low and intimate, as he lightly drags his brush down the length of your arm, adding the final touches to your portrait. His gaze traces your bare body, memorizing every inch until even the freckle on the upper left side of your waist is drawn onto the inside of his eyelids. The valley of your breasts trembles with each labored breath, your muscles tightening against the couch where you lay.

“I’m really trying, Jinnie, but it hurts,” you whine, fighting to keep your head steady. Your boyfriend lets out a breathy laugh, savoring one final glance at your naked form. With careful precision, he drags the sharpest part of his brush down your thigh, finishing the entire painting with his favorite peice of you.

“Done,” Hyunjin murmurs, settling back into his chair with a satisfied smile, admiring the art he’s just created. Usually when he painted, there was always something he hated about his work—whether it's the proportions or the colors were slightly out of harmony—it was never good enough. but when he paints you, there's never an issue; for he could capture you with children's finger paints, and you'd still find a way to look utterly breathtaking.

“Let me see,” you squeal, jumping up from the uncomfortable spot you’d claimed on his couch. A faint blush appears on his face as he turns the easel around, unraveling his heart before you. And oh, when he does—you collapse into his arms, all your strength diffused into a shuddering gasp. He had dipped his brush into your soul, and with every meticulous stroke, he gathered the very essence of your heart. It was almost unreal how perfect he made you appear to be—your moles speckled across your skin in gold, dusted like stars; your stretch marks adorned in silver, shining like slips of light.

How are you not sobbing right now??

“Is it okay?” he asks, bashfully wrapping his arms around your naked waist, completely unfazed by your current state of undress.

“Hyunjin, this is more than okay,” you sniffle, voice crackling with emotion. You turn to meet his gaze, only for his palms cradle your cheeks with a touch so tender, it's barely there. One second, you’re breathing; the next, you’re transcending, existing only between his lips.

By the time you come up for air, the world around you has changed. He’s on top of you now, his hands resting on either side of your head, thoughts long forgotten. He moves closer, allowing whisps of his hair to tickle the sensitive flesh of your neck; for his lips to settle upong the delicate curve of your collarbone. He doesn’t stop—he doesn’t stop until the sun kisses your skin, until the sky is filled with the very stars he painted upon your skin.

Only in love and art are you eternal and in hyunjin, with hyunjin, you are both. 

ᡣ𐭩 han + hiding messages into every song he produces

"In every lifetime," a heartfelt promise whispered between shuttering breaths. Han's lips parted, your tongue savoring his astonished gasp. "What did you say?" quickly transformed into "Did you mean it?" when you had tenderly threaded your fingers into his hair, the pad of your thumb settling just under his jaw. Your needy hands had fogged his head, but he never forgot it.

"In every lifetime," you had uttered many moons later, nestled underneath the stretch of midnight sky. The universe had stilled, all of time and space screeching to a deafening halt. You unraveled the scrolls of his soul, and with the eternal vow of "I do," swore forever. So, he, for however long he may live, intends to hold you to that promise.

From: Hannie 🐿 Do not by any means play my new song!!!

From: Hannie 🐿 Im serious!!

From: Hannie 🐿 Promise me Y/N!!!

You giggle at his earnestness, clicking the notification to message him back.

From: My Wife ❤ I won't I promise!

From: My Wife ❤ Scouts honor 🫡

You admired Han's dedication to his craft, but what you admired most was his need to share every single part of it with you.

"You didn't listen to the song, did you?" Han calls out from the foyer, slamming the front door behind him. He urgently throws off his shoes, his heavy footsteps following him all the way up the stairs. Your mirth bubbles up behind a bitten grin, lip firmly tucked between your teeth.

"No!" you shout back, feigning indifference; though when he swings your bedroom door open, you’re overcome with breathy giggles—his hair is tossed around at all angles, puffed cheeks pink and gasping.

Now that was the man you fell in love with.

"Somebody's eager," you tease, chucking your phone somewhere on the bed. His eyes are oddly fearful when you lift yourself up from the comforter, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. His chest heaves, breath labored and shaky; flighty fingers find the knot of his tie, yanking it loose. You reel your head back. Since when does he wear a tie? You flick your gaze down his figure. Since when does he wear suits?? Your confusion only festers as he lets out an anxious chuckle, wringing his hands like wet rags.

"You have no idea." You didn’t know—didn’t know what he was about to risk. His heart was clay in your hands, and with the delicacy of a butterfly's wing, you pressed your fingerprints into his skin. For now, through touch alone, his soul will find you in every lifetime; but first, he must promise you himself in this one, and that appeared to be an impossible feat.

It's now or never, he tells himself.

So, with an arduous breath, he steadies his quivering hands just long enough to slip his phone out of his back pocket. Was it just him, or is it suddenly really hot in here? He swipes to YouTube. Why was it getting so hard to breathe?? He presses play. His heart somersaults its way down to his stomach when the opening melody echoes from the speakers. Your brows lift, lips pursing in your signature concentrated quirk. His mouth forms around a smile, breathing getting marginally easier, but that peace is short-lived as the chorus begins—only then does he feel the symptoms of real fear.

In every lifetime, his warm voice melts from the speaker.

A falling star just shot from space and hit you directly in the chest, rendering you utterly speechless; even as your gaze finds his glassy eyes, you just can’t believe it.

In every lifetime you swore.

It’s just too perfect.

So, for as long as I may live, I wanna be yours.

He’s just too perfect.

In every lifetime I'll dip my knee down.

There’s no way.

And yet he sinks to one knee, slipping a velvet box from the confines of his pocket. Your hands make purchase around your mouth, stifling a wet cry.

In every lifetime I'll ask to be yours.

"Y/N L/N, will you marry me?"

You drop to your knees, tears tracing cordate-shaped rivulets down your cheeks. "Yes, Han, I'll marry you! I'll marry you!"

Your lips swear forever as they land on his, and that promise echoes far into lifetime number twelve.

ᡣ𐭩 felix + giving you gum wrapper hearts

Lee Felix was stupid in love, heavy on the stupid, figuring he was about to start World War Three to get that gum wrapper out of Seungmin’s hand.

“Please,” Felix begs, drawing out the "e" in an obnoxious whine.

Felix has been professing his love for you through gum wrapper hearts for about as long as he’s been chewing gum, so he is going to be damned if he lets one gum wrapper gets away without meeting his fingers first. Seungmin’s eyes harden into an frustrated glare, about two seconds away from punching a pizza-sized hole in his best friend’s face.

“You know, the more that you beg me for this wrapper, the more I don’t want to give it to you,” he deadpans, voice flat with irritation. Felix throws his head back in an ear-splitting groan.

“Whyyy not??”

“Oh my gosh, Seungmin, just give him the damn wrapper,” Chan interjects, exasperated.

“Yeah, listen to Chan. Give Felix the wrapper,” Felix teases, laying his chin on his hand, fluttering his lashes with a shit-eating grin. Seungmin clenches his jaw, crumpling up the foil—much to poor Lixie’s dismay.

“Did you see that, Chan?! Seungmin crumpled my wrapper!” Seungmin squeezes it harder. “Look! Do you see that, Chan?! Seungmin is bullying me!” Chan sighs, digging a knuckle into his eye. He is about five seconds away from sticking both grown toddlers in time out.

“Seungmin, for the sake of my sanity, give Felix the damn gum wrapper.” The fact that he actually had to tell two full-fledged adults that was truly beyond him, yet here he was.

“It’s the principle of it, old man—” As soon as the words leave his lips, Seungmin wants to stuff them right back in. Chan grits his teeth, steam practically whistling from his ears.

Oh, crap.

“You little—” Chan dives for Seungmin, to which he squeals, ducking from his elder’s hand, gearing up to smack him square in the forehead. In the clamber of movements, he ends up dropping the beloved wrapper. Felix lets out a squeal of excitement, lunging for the foil. When the crumpled aluminum sits in his hands, he has never felt so rewarded in his entire life, smiling like he just won a million bucks.

Almost out of muscle memory, he begins smoothing it out, folding up all the right corners. He beams, stuffing the little token into his pocket, fingers itching to give it to you later.

“Thanks, Seungmin,” Felix smirks, taking a proud sip of his drink. Seungmin manages to stick his tongue out while trapped in a headlock.

“You suck,” he wheezes, throwing weak slaps onto Chan's bicep. Felix giggles, his phone buzzing against his jeans. Felix quite literally drops everything to pick it up, his heart singing the same song as your special ringtone.

From: My world 💙 Look, baby, isn’t it so beautiful? I took the pic while I was on my way to work. I actually swerved off the road to take the picture, haha. Just wanted to share it with you. Love you, baby!! [Image.png]

When he clicks the image, his phone is flooded with the most breathtaking view. The sky is stained like melting ice cream, cotton candy colors that burst around your hair, though that isn’t what Felix is looking at—he is looking at you. The moment he looks into your lopsided smile, Cupid shoots him all over again.

From: My star-light 🌟 Wow.

From: My star-light 🌟 No words.

From: My star-light 🌟 I didn’t know my girlfriend could look so stunning.

From: My star-light 🌟 Oh, wait, there was a sunset back there somewhere.

From: My star-light 🌟 Yeah, that was pretty too.

From: My star-light 🌟 Are we still on for tonight?? I miss youuu.

From: My world 💙 Oh my gosh, Lix, you’re making me blush, haha.

Seungmin chokes somewhere in the background. Felix doesn’t notice. Felix is submerged in the silky ocean of rose-colored love.

From: My world 💙 Of course we are!!

From: My world 💙 I miss you too, baby!!

From: My world 💙 Literally can’t wait to see you.

Felix is mid-text when his friends suddenly turn bright red, clambering to untangle themselves from the mess of limbs they got themselves stuck in. Felix doesn’t realize the reason Chan is suddenly fixing his hair or Seungmin is unruffling his shirt is because two of the most stunning women just walked past them. Felix was too focused on making time move faster.

ᡣ𐭩

Felix has never been to space, though he can accurately say that he has tasted the sky.

He sips the stars off your lips, every shared breath an inhale of the galaxy. Felix knows that somewhere, someplace time exists, but not here, not now, not with the blades of grass lacing through his hair; not when he’s pressing your chest flush against his, rolling around on the ground until the night sky is kissing the earth in his vision. Your laughs are buried in his neck when he gets too dizzy to continue, littering kisses on the sensitive flesh there. You pull away for only a moment, brushing a rogue strand of hair off his brow. You smile, dipping to press a soft peck to the tip of his nose.

The two of you had crept into this darkened backyard hours ago; you proposing a date under the stars only to share them between your lips instead. You have been locked in this position for lifetimes, and Felix has no plan to stop.

His palms lift to graze your cheeks before sealing your mouths together again. His soft laugh puffs against the seam of your lips, his smile curving against your own. “God, I am so in love with you.”

He was; he so, so, so was.

He was so in love with you, he had almost forgotten about his gift. Key word: almost.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he gasps, chasing your warmth when he pulls away, sitting up.

“What?” you playfully whine, biting back a grin, settling your hips against his thighs. He chuckles, poking a finger into his pocket, fishing out the gum wrapper heart.

“I know it’s not perfect,” he whispers, cupping something in his palm, “but I hope you still like it.” He rolls his fingers out bashfully, offering you the crinkled silver heart. He bites his lip, a faint blush falling over the apples of his cheeks. The little gift was by no means perfect; it was ripped, wrinkled, and just a little lopsided. Yet you can’t help the fondness that explodes in your chest. Still cradling the heart with care, you throw your arms around his neck, tackling him to the ground. Your chest flush against his, he grunts when you land upon the earth, smacking slobbery kisses all over his face. You don’t stop, not until he is flipping you over, now attacking you with equally wet kisses. Your giggles live in the balmy summer air.

To you, he was the sun; but to him, you were the universe 

ᡣ𐭩 seungmin + buying you a bouquet every time the old ones wilt

October 11th, 2020.

That was the last time your apartment smelled like something other than florals. That was also the first time Seungmin had ever bought you flowers—a simple gift for your one-year anniversary that spiraled into a four-year tradition. You don’t ever talk about it, and he certainly denies it, when you thank him for how the wilting tulips magically evolved into beautiful daylilies. You find it endearing, the faint blush that falls over his cheeks when he tries to convince you that it wasn’t him.

Now that you think about it, your white roses did seem to have a little bit of brown on them yesterday.

Mid-wipe of the bathroom counter, you rush down the stairs, almost sliding into the kitchen in your socks. Without fail, there they were: bright red tulips, replacing the withering roses that had been in the vase earlier. A spreading grin pulls at your lips as you check the stove clock, quickly connecting the dots.

You had been cleaning the bathroom most of the evening, your earbuds blocking the world out. He had probably heard you humming from upstairs, choosing the perfect time to sneak in through the door. You squeal, sprinting up the stairs to throw open your bedroom door. You expect to find him lounging on the bed, but instead, you find him below it, cradling a square object in his hands. His head whips around, panic falling over his features. He slams the lid shut before fumbling to shove it right back under the bed, much to your dismay.

“Hey, what?” You yelp, diving for the box. Seungmin blocks you, accidentally knocking it out of his hands, unfurling its contents all over the floor.

It looks like a garden just threw up in your bedroom.

Hundreds, thousands of differently shaped petals are scattered on your floor, tufts of colorful memories spread out like a silky scroll. First, you freeze. Then, you gasp; your muscles thawing like a flower unfurling in the snow. It hits you slowly, blossoming in your chest and spilling from your eyes—Seungmin hasn’t been throwing away the flowers he bought you. He’s been collecting them.

You didn’t realize you were crying—not until you spoke—“Seungmin, what is this?”—then you heard it, your voice withering and wet. When you finally go to meet his gaze, he can’t seem to look at you, tilting his head down in shame.

“W-Well I-I’ve just…” he begins, trailing off with a rub of his burning neck. “Fuck, this is going to sound so stupid,” he flushes, staring down at the single yellow petal that fluttered onto his folded thighs. Suddenly, Seungmin feels your thumb brushing over his knuckles, and something shoots through his skin, something that straightens his spine and evens his breathing.

“I-I’ve um…” This was harder than he thought it would be. “Been collecting them for a while now, I wanted to keep them for when we get married. Wanted to scatter them down the aisle…”

His voice gets smaller with every word, sinking into himself as though that will make the gravity of the sentence less exposed, less raw. For a second, as silence stretches between you, Seungmin feels so stupid, embarrassment painting his cheeks red. You must think he’s such a fool, must think he’s crazy for ever believing he could marry you—his thoughts stop the moment your lips meet his, palms pressed firmly against his cheeks.

“I love you,” you whisper in between breaths, kissing him until it feels like you can’t kiss anymore; until he falls back upon the feathery bed made of magnolias and memories; until, with a star-lit sigh, he pulls away, untucking the red of a dried rose tangled above your brow. Even surrounded by God's most beautiful creations, he can’t bring his gaze to fall from yours, your eyes and all the mesmerizing sparkles they hold.

Seungmin couldn’t trace the exact moment he fell in love with you. Rather, it bloomed slowly over time, a feeling that took root; wrapping around the slabs of his ribs.

With you, he grew, and all of a sudden, with every breath he inhales, he finds you fluttering in his chest. At first, it terrified him. Though, now he knows—some gardens never die.

ᡣ𐭩 jeongin + stalking your goodreads profile to annotate your favorite books

“So, you’re a stalker, huh?” you muse, brushing your palm over Jeongin’s shoulder, which was clearly not a good idea, cause no sooner do you make contact is he jumping twenty feet out of his skin. You throw your hands up when he swivels around, ripping off his headphones like they were going to materialize into a baseball bat.

“Crap, y/n, you scared the hell out of me,” Jeongin pants, a relieved smile pulling on his cheeks; grateful that the intruder was indeed his girlfriend and not a 6-foot-tall man in a scream mask. For a second, he wonders if you’re possessed, a lopsided smirk playing on your lips while you tweak out, kind of laughing, kind of nodding, kind of looking like you need an exorcism. Then it hits him. Hits him like a 200-pound dump truck, rendering him breathless once more. He puts Flash to shame by how fast he slams his laptop shut, scrunching his face in cringe. The laugh you let out is devastating, a full-belly guffaw that makes you double over, stumbling straight into his arms.

For a second, when the lamplight hits you just right, Jeongin has to stop.

His breath catches in his throat, taking all of you in. There you were, with your hair falling in messy tangles, your eyelids slightly smudged in black, your smile boxy and sun-bright, you were perfect, and you were sitting on his lap. If you didn’t start talking, he would have stared at you for hours—probably would have started drooling as well.

“So, this is how you’ve known all my favorite books, huh?” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck. It takes him a hot second to gather himself, heart fluttering at the newfound proximity.

He stuffs his head into your neck, the heat of his cheeks burning into your skin. “Yeah…is that weird?”

“Is it weird?? Yang Jeongin, I’m pretty sure you just inadvertently proposed to me,” you reply, your tone light-hearted though you're dead serious.

“What?” He chuckles with a shy smile, leaning back.

“Yeah, I mean, you stalk your girlfriend’s Goodreads profile to read and annotate her TBR list. That is a proposal. I don’t make the rules.”

“Is that so?” he smirks, inching forward, your noses brushing together.

“Yeah,” you whisper, hot breath fanning across his lips, you lean in, finally sealing your mouths shut. Jeongin groans, your thumb swiping the nape of his neck. His heart pounds with a thousand different translations of 'I love you'.

“How many?”

He hums, slamming back down to earth, still a little bit dizzy.

“How many books have you bought?”

That sobers him up.

His eyes widen slightly before he bashfully chuckles, awkwardly scratching his ear. “Oh, uh…not that many.”

“Can I see them?” He’s two seconds from saying no, until you brush your lips against his cheeks, then his forehead, then the sides of his eyes, before, finally, he is tasting your grin instead, “Please?”

Well, how can he say no now?

He fiddles with the bottom of your shirt, biting his lip before sighing and pointing under his bed. “They’re all under there.”

You squeal, clambering off him to dive at the foot of his bed, sticking your hands into the dusty abyss below. It doesn’t take you but five seconds to find the box, though it takes you 5 minutes to actually pull the damn thing out, feeling more like a dead body than dead trees.

However, when you flip open the lid, the struggle is all worth it. Your jaw drops. Jeongin’s stomach flips upside down.

"Yang Jeongin, there’s no way..." You peer at him through dewy lashes, there had to be at least fifty books in this container. "You were planning on giving me all of these?"

"Well, yeah. Just...when I had enough time to annotate them."

"You've already given me like 10. How have you found enough time to read them?"

"I read them every night before I go to bed."

"And annotate them?"

He clears his throat, a faint blush falling over his cheeks like rose petals. "Yes."

"Where did you get the money for all this? These books have to have been like a thousand dollars."

"My check had just come in, and I knew how much you liked to read... I just wanted to do something nice for you. Why is this starting to feel kind of like an interrogation? Are you mad? Is this, like, really weird?" Jeongin can feel his eyes widen, anxiously shifting in place.

“One more question,” you step forward, pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. He shutters when you make contact, gaze fluttering down. Jeongin expects you to laugh, maybe demand that he takes them back, or the worst of them all tell him he’s too obsessed. What he doesn’t expect you to do is drag him forward, and smash your lips together.

“How are you so perfect?” you exhale, puffing onto his lips like a breath of his own. He was going to show you how, he was going to show you how all night long.

ᡣ𐭩

If you thought he was perfect then you definitely think he is perfect now.

The sun slips through the curtains, dyeing your sweaty skin in gold; your mouth is nuzzled into his neck, lashes tickling his skin every time you shift. He draws phantom circles over your naked waist, savoring this moment, soaking your body in until he can remember the feel of your form through memory alone. You stir, feeling his heartbeat pick up.

It must have been a dream that urged you to say it, because somewhere, on the edge of sleep, you murmur, “What’s your favorite story?”

He didn’t have to think about the answer, not when he had thought about it a million times before. Without hesitation, Jeongin whispers, “Ours.”

(I rushed tf out of some of these I'm sorry)

[boofeine]

Just read your ‘what makes svt vocal in bed’ and I started giggling and kicking my feet at Cheol’s. Would love to see you go into further detail because I just KNOW that man loves seeing the claw marks you leave on his back and arms 🙂‍↕️

WARNINGS: mdni, (small) pain kink, marking, scratching, pet name, swearing, mentions of cumming inside, rough sex, raw sex

As a leo, this man just loves the little reminders you let on his skin. Seungcheol definitely wakes up the next morning, smiling and shaking his head to himself, staring at his naked reflection on the bathroom mirror, with the red marks of your scratches all over his back and arms.

The type to see your new nails done first thing. His light touch coming to your hands, so he can bring it close to his face and take a good look at the sharp and perfectly shaped nails. "Beautiful" He praises, caressing your fingers with his thumb, a smirk forming on his lips as he looks up to your face instead "They will make such beautiful marks" He says, letting a kiss to your hand before letting it go from his grip.

Seungcheol loves to go restless on you. His thrusts deep and fast as you squirm under him. He goes down to reach even further inside, your leg up on his arm as his breath fans on the nap of your neck with his animalistic pace while you moan on his ear. Your nails digging up on his back, going all the way down to his hips. The burning feeling of the scratch on his skin making him groan, his thrusts haulting with how much that affects him. "Fuck, I love when you do this... Shit! It feels so fucking good" he confesses.

He loves to edge you, just so he can see your desesparate state that includes tugging his arms and pulling his neck harshly, like you just need to find ground on something. Your pussy aching to cum, clenching around him so much with the needy moans of his name. His eyes rolling back when your legs come around his waist, caging him in between your legs, your nails drowning on his shoulders "cheol, please, i need to cum" you beg and how can he say no? A grunt leaving his lips and the same high coming to him, his balls tightening and breath pacing.

Seungcheol always want you under him, because he can't help but be addicted to the feeling of you cumming and gripping his biceps with so much force that has him going insane. But he also likes when he has you from behind, your head aligned with his shoulders as he fucks you. His dick gets so impossibly hard by the sight of your ass bouncing with his bucks. The way your knuckles turn white from handing tightly his thighs under you. Cry out moans filling the room as your back arch and the same familiar knot form on your stomach "Fuck! Cheol... so- goooo -o... -d... aaaah!" you stutter in between moans and his thrusts that makes your body shake. His hoarsy voice taking over "cum, pretty. let it go for me" he hums. Your nails pressing his skin like it was just sheets. The grip pushing the sides of his ass to keep fucking you as you feel your high approaching. "Shiiiiit" He swears under his breath. Your body stopping just to let it all out seconds after as you cum and make a mess on your inner thighs, his cock and balls. His eyes shutting and head lowering with a low moan as his load empty inside your cunt.

The rare times you get the chance to have him under you, he can also enjoy the view. The way your boobs bounce while you roll your hips on him. The way you arch your back and dig your nails to his abs when he starts to meet up your thrusts. He's so obsessed with the sight of the line of your neck and clavicle when you moan out with your head thrown back. You're so desesparate picking up the pace, not even realizing how you're going down to just beneath his core with your sharp claws, low groans coming out from him as you're too preoccupied on chasing your own high over his cock to even mind. He gets himself running laps underneath you. You know He's enjoying it, too.

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - Say the Word Author's Notes: I have no clue how the military works or even how a base looks like and not gonna lie I don’t respect it enough to do research. Warnings: MDNI, Racism

Ghost really wished he was a better man. Because a better man would have thanked you for your gift instead of ridicule you for it. A better man would have dropped everything to be at your side. A better man would have chosen you over duty. 

But alas Ghost is just a ghost. A husk of a man. A monster. 

But if there’s one silver lining here is that only a monster can recognize another monster and Ghost knew that look in Nikto’s eyes — it’s the same one he sees everyday in the mirror. Ghost couldn’t protect you from himself but that doesn’t mean he won’t try to protect you from this new monster. 

So as you inch your face closer to Nikto’s mask to hear him, Ghost does not hesitate to rip you from the Russian’s jaws. 

“Nikto!” he barks. Nikto slowly turns, almost annoyed by the sudden intrusion while you fly back, feeling ashamed for… talking. When this is all over, Ghost will rid you of this guilt. He promises. 

“You should stand next to me. Will make it easier when I introduce you to the rookies,” Ghost explains. The two lieutenants were tasked in going over basic combat skills with the rookies. 

(And you were here because you’ve been wanting to dust off your own skills and after you heard Nikto was joining Ghost this time around, you felt more comfortable in joining.)

Nikto begrudgingly makes his way over to Ghost, leaving you alone on the mats. And just on cue, the rookies walk into the training room. They surround you with sadly, your “favorites” opting to stand at both of your sides. 

Ghost quickly introduces Nikto and splits the room in half. One half would work with Nikto while the other with him. Ghost pretends not notice the “help me” look your shot at Nikto when you got stuck with him. That was his imagination… that had to be in his head. 

Ignoring the tightness in his chest, Ghost walks up to his group and quickly goes over today’s lesson plan: submission, how to take down your opponent without any weapons. Easy and just the perfect way to get under you… for professional reasons, of course. After calling you as his partner, which your eyes nearly popped out of your head when he said so, he asks the rest to pair up and take a spot on the mats. 

However, before the group split, one of the rookies that especially loved to give you a hard time, spoke up. 

“Lieutenant, quick question?” 

“Make it quick,” Ghost snaps. You are literally about to throw him to the ground. He needs this rookie to shut up. 

“Does the pencil pusher really need to be here? They’re literally just taking space,” he asks. The rookie shoots you a taunting smile. 

You couldn’t believe it. You felt your body go hot.

“Say that one more time,” you spit back. You got in his face. Fuck professionalism. 

And it seemed like the rookie agreed as he got in your face as well. “Learn your fucking place,” he hisses. “You’re just a means to check off a box. No one actually wants you here so why don’t you go back to your office and fuck off, —!” Your ears start ringing at that last word. He towers over you and stares straight into your eyes. Pure hatred is in his eyes. 

You haven’t felt this level of anger in so long. Fuck this guy. Fuck this job. Fuck the 141. Fuck the military. Fuck everyone. You pull your arm back ready to swing when…

Nikto flies past you, throwing the rookie to the ground. He starts to wail on the dumb fuck. The rookie’s little posse tries to pull Nikto off but it’s no use— Nikto pushes them off like nothing. You remain still and watch the scene before you. 

And you’re not the only one. Ghost is in utter shock. In the matter of seconds, Ghost was cockblocked, you were disrespected, and a rookie was getting his face caved in and Ghost didn’t do anything. He just watched. Ghost is a man of action. But he just couldn’t at this moment. Why?

“Lieutenant!” one of the rookies shriek. That finally breaks Ghost of his trance. He rushes over to Nikto and pries the man off the rookie. The fellow lieutenant fights back. However before Ghost can really get into it with the Russian, your voice is heard. 

“Nikto,” you say. No emotion, just a statement. You look at the two and just shake your head. Nikto stops and moves towards you. He cradles your face and gently buds his head into yours. He grabs your hand and begins to walk out the training room with you when he turns around. 

He stares daggers in Ghost’s face and hisses.

“Ask yourself this lieutenant! Why did he feel comfortable enough to disrespect your teammate in front of your face?” 

And with that he leaves with you, leaving Ghost with the question he didn't know the answer to.

Word Count: 838

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[betterthanakickintheface]

Speaking as a white person... No, people of colour and wanting to be listened to, believed, valued, consulted, and protected in the countries they live in, and are citizens of(I'm Canadian, but I feel like it's all still Very applicable) -daaaaring to be any kind of vocal about how that doesn't happen and how they are, you know, VERY UNDERSTANDABLY not fucking happy about that are NOT the problem

To feel so comfortable saying so just demonstrates how far up your own clearly racist ass you are, no one who wasn't would double down and reiterate that astoundingly wrong opinion again but with more words

And "zero concrete examples"?? You've got some effective fucking blinders on if you can say that and believe it but think that white people's love of moving the goal posts for, and pseudo-intellectualizing away concerns, struggles and very real dangers to REAL PEOPLE who just aren't you/us isn't a very real and hugely documented, and far-reaching problem you're literally just stupid

There is no other way you can look at or hear people sharing their perspective on their own fucking lives and what is important to them as a person who is *specifically* not white and is not interested - and nor should they be - in being told to shut up, keep waiting 'their turn', quiet down, that their extremely valid and NECESSARY voices and experiences get summarily dismissed as "inane" because white people just can't fucking stop deciding that every single discussion about how white people and whiteness have done and continue to do SO much damage is about them specifically and personally that they at "best" allow their discomfort to not only often ignore objective facts about how AT THE VERY LEAST the vast majority of white people and peoples have historically been Very Shitty Indeed to peoples of colour, even people they just think of as 'not as good a white as us *insert north, western, or central European nations especially here*' but also to override or bypass sympathy, empathy, compassion or even willingness to fucking listen to them about their lives to the point that we white people shut anything not complimentary to us down. We are so fucking fragile that we can't seem to fucking get that not everything is about us, for us, concern us, have to include us and it fucking shouldn't have to. Especially when all we seem interested in is having access to any and all spaces so that we can pretend that "no, everyone else is actually wrong about things they-as a group have all professed to have experienced".

Like... Seemingly one of our favourite fucking things to do is brag about supposedly having friends of different ethnicities and cultures to anyone who will listen, so why do so many of us not fucking listen to them??? Why do so many of us then also not care or believe those friends?? Try to help? Aren't they your friends, OUR friends?? Even if it's a hard pill to swallow, why do so many of us white people actively stand in the way of supporting things that will help our friends, partners, family, coworkers(not to mention children, whether connected to you as an individual or not)?? If our friends and loved ones, wider communities are helped, provided for, listened to does that not also benefit us needy white people too by extension of being in the same potentially improving society that doesn't continue to waste so much fucking time and energy on keeping entire peoples down because white people are either insecurity and hate.

White people have been the "not all men" people who get mad when sexual harassment comes up; and yeah, most people know and believe that but that(usually unnecessary) distinction ultimately is diminishing, dismissing and ignoring the point of the matter which is that the generalized statement and belief that "men do sexual harassment" is because so many people have had those kinds of unpleasant interactions or experience, often repeatedly. Even if they were not talking about you specifically, and you've never done anything misogynistic or worse THEY have enough negative experiences with other men that that statement is true to them even if you find it hard to believe.

White people do that whenever anyone says anything about how we have in the past, but also continue to treat people of colour like shit. Like yeah, no shit not all white people are feral racists, just like not all men are creeps... But I dunno if enough people are saying that "more than a few(separate, unrelated, individual) white people have said/done/legislated negative things to and against me" maybe we should fucking SHUUUUT UUUUUP and believe them?? acknowledge that even if we, as individual white people have never knowingly or intentionally been racist there is still clearly A PROBLEM because we keep being told it is a problem.

So yeah, it's very much white people that have held us all back, even the progressive ones because we cant get out of our own way. And when soooo many of us demonstrably have been unable(or unwilling) to even recognize that, let alone do anything to change it it fucking ruins lives in a very real way and if you can't see that...you yourself are part of the problem with white leftists and progressives

**as a white person, and an untagged-by-OP one at that, I totally understand if you'd prefer I remove my addition to your post, in which case I absolutely will 🖤

Every white leftist should read this

[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 3

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 3.3k

c/w - language, slight homophobia

a/n - hi, i’m back! i wrote the majority of this part while high and she’s mostly unedited so if you see mistakes, no you don’t. i’m so happy with how y’all are receiving this story and i’m having so much fun writing it! i’d like to reiterate that i’m sure paige’s mom and step-dad are amazing parents and this is all fictional! as always, i hope you enjoy, and lmk what you think!

Finals go about as well as Azzi expected. With the way she and Paige locked in three days before, she’s not too surprised. They didn’t even go to the gym the entire time, instead staying shut up in Paige’s bedroom with highlighters and textbooks and laptops. Although, Paige did get pretty stir-crazy on day two and started doing push-ups on the floor. Azzi had gotten a weird vibe that she was showing off.

What did make studying a little harder, though, was the fact that Paige seems to be having trouble separating their acting from their actual friendship, and has thus taken to calling Azzi ‘ma’ and brushing her thigh even while they’re alone. Azzi doesn’t know how to tell her to stop, or if she even really wants to.

It’s now the day after finals and only two days before they leave for Montana, where the real challenge will begin. Needing some space from Paige, which is a rarity with them practically living together these days, Azzi has retired to own room to pack her bags. It’s not going well.

Usually, she’s an amazing packer. She enjoys it, even, finds it soothing to create a checklist, pick her outfits, and pack her belongings just so so that they all fit.

Today, it’s a little different. Because today, she doesn’t know what to plan for, and she doesn’t know her to make all her shit fit into this suitcase, and she can’t decide what outfits to bring because all she can think about with each article of clothing is whether or not Paige would like it. Would Paige like these leggings, the way they hug her ass? Would she like this tight top with the plunging neckline? Would she compliment these shoes, ogle this little skirt?

Being in love with Paige is nothing new. But this, this feels foreign to Azzi, feels like when they were teenagers and she was just beginning to realize that her feelings for Paige were more than platonic. It feels nervous and jittery and insecure, and over the years Paige has become safe. She is secure and strong and rooted deeply in Azzi’s very being. Azzi wants more out of her, sure, but that fact hasn’t made her this afraid in years.

Groaning, Azzi fists up the sweatshirt she’s holding and then buries her face in it to scream. She’s about halfway through her little tantrum when a knock on her door startles her out of it. She doesn’t bother to lift her head out of the sweatshirt to mumble, “Fuck off.”

The door opens anyway, of course, and then there’s Carol’s voice, cautiously asking, “What’s going on in here?”

Azzi finally lifts her head to stare at her best friend. “Trying to pack for Montana.”

“Yeah?” Carol asks, still speaking softly as if she were trying to soothe a rabid animal. “And, uh, how’s that goin’ for you?”

Azzi groans again. “Really great, yeah. It’s awesome.”

“Mm.” Carol hums, then perches herself on the edge of Azzi’s bed, looking down at her. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says automatically, because she can’t tell her best friend what’s actually going on, or else she’d give away she and Paige’s secret. But Carol looks at her suspiciously, like she might start interrogating her at any second, and so Azzi quickly decides to tell a half-truth. “Ok, I just, I’m nervous to see Paige’s family in Montana.”

Carol furrows her brow. “But haven’t you met them before?”

“I have,” Azzi nods. “But only the times they came up to visit Paige, and those were far and few between.” Azzi can’t help the bitter tone that seeps into the last part.

“Yeah,” Carol says. “From what I’ve heard it doesn’t seem like they’re super involved with her. Not like her dad and step-mom.”

“They’re not, and they never have been,” Azzi says, clutching the sweater a little tighter as if she were choking it. “Paige’s mom left when Paige was like three and she didn’t come back to visit until an entire year later. Paige didn’t even remember her by then. She says she hugged her dad’s leg and cried the first time she visited,” Azzi seethes, remembering how Paige had laughed quietly when she first told Azzi the story, her eyes sad. “And now they’re homophobic and totally shut Paige out when she told them she was a lesbian and they’re going to hate me, it’s going to be so hostile and awful and—“ Azzi cuts herself off with another scream into the sweatshirt. Vaguely, she realizes it’s an old one of Paige’s, something she stole way back in high school. Fitting.

“Hey, hey,” Carol says, sliding onto the floor next to Azzi and patting her knee, “you gotta chill out, okay? You know Paige won’t let them say a word to you. That girl would protect you with her life,” she says earnestly, and it makes Azzi’s heart skip.

“Yeah?” Azzi asks, just because she wants to hear it from someone else.

“She loves you a lot, Az. And I think we all realized it a lot sooner than you did, because y’all were too fucking stupid to notice how different you are around each other.”

Azzi furrows her brow. “Different?”

“Yeah,” Carol nods, patting Azzi’s leg. “Ever since we got to UConn, the two of you are always in your own world. You listen to her for hours if she wants you to and she’s always touching on you, being all protective and shit. And don’t even get me started on the way she looks at you when she thinks you won’t notice. I mean, you two are dating now and she still does that shit.” She shakes her head affectionately, then laughs. “And y’all were like that long before we got here, too.”

Azzi isn’t really listening anymore, too stuck up on thinking, Paige looks at me?

It might seem like a silly thought because Azzi is stealing secret glances at Paige all the time, and she has done for years. But that makes sense, because Azzi is hopelessly in love with her. Paige has absolutely no reason to be staring at Azzi when she thinks nobody’s watching.

Carol must be saying all this to make her feel better. She always knows the right thing to say.

“Yeah,” Azzi says, instead of saying what she’s really thinking—There’s absolutely no chance Paige looks at me in secret—and when Carol leans in to hug her, she returns it, letting her head rest on her best friend’s shoulder. “Thanks, Carol. You’re right.”

“I know, girl,” Carol responds. Azzi takes a deep breath, trying her best to chill out, and just as they’re separating, her door cracks open. Of course, speak of the devil, in pops Paige Bueckers, blond hair flowing loose around her shoulders. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Nah,” Carol says, waving Paige in. “Just chatting.”

“Gossip?” Paige asks, shutting the door behind her.

“Don’t worry, we’d never gossip without you.”

Paige laughs and then looks down at Azzi, who is quite busy doing the very important job of picking at a scab on her knee. “Hey, babe. Everything good?”

Azzi looks between her two best friends, and Carol’s giving her a soft, encouraging smile which Paige clocks immediately—the three of them have gotten good at reading each other over the years—and she walks over to them, sitting down across from Azzi. “Okay, what’s up?”

Surprisingly, Azzi’s eyes begin to sting and a hard lump forms in her throat, emotion overtaking her more strongly than it usually does, and she only has to wonder why for just a moment before she remembers, her period should be starting any day now. Stubbornly, she swallows down the tears, refusing to embarrass herself by crying in front of them. “Nothing’s up. I’m just—“

“She was having a hard time packing,” Carol says quickly, pushing herself up off the ground. “How about you help her, Paige? Sit on her suitcase so she can zip it or something.” There’s a warning in her tone and Paige gets it immediately, based off the way she nods and scoots closer to Azzi.

As soon as Carol’s gone, Paige is reaching out to rest her arms on Azzi’s knees. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says, but Paige doesn’t buy it one bit. “Really, it’s fine. It’s dumb.”

“Not dumb, ma,” Paige says softly. Her thumb rubs against Azzi’s knees, and this is something Paige only does when they’re pretending. Azzi wonders again if she should warn Paige about the fact that their dating habits are seeping into their normal friendship, even when they’re alone. That could become dangerous.

But right now, the comforting warmth of it is welcome.

“Seriously, just tell me,” Paige urges, impatience evident in her tone. “You’re makin’ me all nervous.”

“Don’t, it’s actually not a big deal at all.” Azzi figures she should say something before Paige builds this up in her head too much. “I just, I’m worried about seeing your mom. I know she’s not gonna like me because of…” she gestures between them, “this. But I know she’s not my favorite person either and I’m just kinda scared that everything’s gonna clash and you’re gonna end up getting hurt.”

Paige stares at her for a second, then nods and sighs. “Yeah, that makes sense.” She looks down at her hands in Azzi’s lap, then back up at her. “But, like, if anything bad happens, it’s not gonna be on you. It’ll be on my parents for being shitty. You don’t gotta worry ‘bout me.”

Suddenly, Azzi feels guilty. Here she is having a mental breakdown over a situation that ultimately won’t affect her nearly as much as it’ll affect Paige. And here Paige is, sitting across from her, comforting her. The hands on Azzi’s knees start to feel too hot.

“You must be nervous, too,” Azzi says. “You don’t know how they’re gonna react when you show up with me rather than some guy.”

Paige shrugs it off, but her throat bobs. “Nah, it’s alright.”

Paige looks chill as can be, shoulders slumped, face relaxed. But Azzi knows her too well, notices the way her fingers are twitching and her eyes are looking everywhere but her.

“You don’t have to act in front of me,” Azzi says, hoping it doesn’t sound too corny.

“I know,” Paige says immediately. She finally meets Azzi’s eyes. “Listen, I might be a little nervous. But it’s whatever. And you don’t gotta be nervous, either. Whatever happens, we’ll be there together, yeah?”

Azzi nods, lifting Paige’s hands off her knees to take them in her own. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I got you,” Paige says softly, and it flusters Azzi but she’s more focused on the way Paige is looking at her, this little crease between her brows like she’s trying to figure something out. Just like after their kiss. But Azzi clears her throat and Paige snaps out of it, pulling her hands away from Azzi’s to brush herself off. “And you got me. Just like always, yeah?” She stands up, then looks around awkwardly, suddenly all jittery and weird. “So, uh, do you actually need help packing? I’m basically a master packer, I could get it done in prolly five minutes, flat.”

Azzi knows Paige is trying to deflect from whatever that was, and it seems like, once again, they’re not going to talk about it. Amazing.

“You’re the worst packer I’ve met in my life, P,” Azzi teases, going with it. “I usually need to help you.”

“I’on need no help,” Paige waves her off. Then she looks down at Azzi’s suitcase and scratches the back of her neck awkwardly. “But, uh, if you wanted to come up to my place to help with some fits I wouldn’t be mad.”

Azzi shakes her head, deciding to leave her packing for later. “Come on, stupid head. Let’s go.”

“Yo,” Paige says, following her out of the room. “Don’t call me stupid.”

“Sorry you’re right,” Azzi says. “Shit-for-brains is way more fitting.”

“Yo!”

—————————————

Before leaving for the airport, their teammates act like they’re going off to war. They all hug them extra-long and talk forlornly about what they’re gonna do without ‘mom and dad’ around.

Now that Azzi and Paige are ‘dating’, the two of them get called mom and dad more often than they get called their actual names. It’s kind of cute, actually, even if it is annoying sometimes.

“You kids be good,” Paige says sternly, playing into the act, and Azzi ruffles KK’s hair and says, “don’t bother your brothers.”

“Yeah, don’t bother us, Camera,” Ice says, and KK tackles her. Paige and Azzi take the opportunity to sneak out.

They’re at the airport now, waiting in the lounge where they only get approached by two polite fans asking for pictures. Paige is just dozing off when their flight is called, and Azzi manages to drag her through the gate into the plane before she’s slouching in her seat, falling asleep as soon as she sits down.

She wakes thirty minutes later, and she rests her head on Azzi’s shoulder when they start up a movie to watch. When she does, instinct takes over and Azzi doesn’t really realize what she’s doing until she kisses Paige on the head, nuzzling into her blonde hair, and she’s mid-nuzzle when she remembers that they have no reason to be all up on each other like this. Paige is stiff on her shoulder now, and Azzi laughs awkwardly, lifting her head to stare blankly at the movie. “My bad. Habit.”

“You’re good,” Paige says. She softens on Azzi’s shoulder, and then she mumbles something completely incoherent.

“Sorry, what?” Azzi asks, popping an earbud out to hear better.

“Huh?” Paige says.

“You said something.”

“Nah, you’re hearin’ stuff.”

“Paige.”

“Shh, I’m missing the movie.”

“Paige, seriously, what’d you just say? You tryna talk crap?”

“No,” Paige says emphatically. She shrugs, then leans her head a little further into Azzi’s neck and mutters, “I just said I didn’t mind.”

“Didn’t mind what?” Azzi asks, scrunching her nose.

“Are you dumb?” Paige says.

“Rude,” Azzi responds, and then she says, “Wait. You didn’t mind when I kissed you?”

“Didn’t mind when you kissed my head,” Paige corrects.

It’s Azzi’s turn to mumble, “Well, I know you didn’t mind when we kissed for real, either,” and Paige hears it and lifts her head up, shoving Azzi away. “Hey, chill with allat. I said that to you in a moment of weakness.”

Azzi shoves her right back, hoping to hide the feelings she’s sure are written all across her face, because Paige has admitted that she wants to kiss Azzi again and now they’re bringing that up, and what does it even mean?

“Aw,” Azzi says, trying for casual, “you big ol’ softy.”

“I ain’t soft,” Paige says gruffly, looking out the window and crossing her arms over her chest.

“I think you are,” Azzi sing-songs, then she leans over into Paige’s space. Paige doesn’t turn to her, but her breath hitches when Azzi whispers close to her ear, “I think you’re soft as hell for me.”

Paige stares stubbornly out the window. “No clue what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Mm,” Azzi hums, and then she rests her chin on her shoulder, gazing out the window as well, even though her mind is elsewhere. “I think you like doing this with me, P.” Feeling bold, she sneaks her hand onto Paige’s thigh, clad in those basketball shorts that always do something to Azzi’s head. “I think you’re surprised by how much you like it. Having an excuse to be all over me whenever you want. Acting like I’m all yours when we’re around people.”

Paige gasps when Azzi presses her lips to her neck, not kissing her but just resting there, and she turns back to look at her when Azzi lifts her head.

They’re inches apart.

Paige looks at her lips. She’s been doing that a lot ever since their conversation in the bathroom. Azzi is a soldier for the amount of restraint she usually has, because when Paige looks at her like this—this new, unfamiliar look on her face while she stares at her lips—every bone in her body wants to close the gap between them.

Today, her restraint feels frayed. And so she leans forward, slowly, and kisses just the edge of Paige’s mouth. Not a real kiss. But not friendly, either.

Paige gasps.

Azzi breathes out shakily, and then she shoves Paige’s face away playfully. “Watch our movie, dumbass.”

Azzi is shaking for the entirety of the movie, but at least she’s pretending to watch it. The entire time, she can feel Paige’s eyes burning into her skin.

Azzi gets the sinking feeling that something unexpected is going to happen on this trip.

—————————————

They get off the plane at 7pm. By the time they get their bags, it’s 7:30. And by the time Paige’s parents pull up to get them, it is 7:45. Paige clutches Azzi’s to her side with one hand, her suitcase held tight in the other. Her mom and step-dad look at them strangely and whisper to each other before getting out of the car.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dean is the first to speak. “How was the flight?”

Paige releases Azzi so he can pull her into an awkward hug while her mom stands back. “Yeah, uh, it was good.”

“Good, good,” Dean nods. “That’s good.” He glances back at his wife, who is looking between Paige and Azzi with this expression on her face that Azzi doesn’t like at all. “Here, um, let me get you ladies’ bags.”

He takes a suitcase in each hand and pops the trunk to start loading up their stuff. He murmurs something to Amy when he passes, by, and she nods stiffly before taking a measly step forward. “Hi, baby. Your…hair looks nice.”

Azzi almost squeezes her eyes shut at how awkward this is. But at the same time she can’t, watching mother and daughter like she’s watching a train wreck.

“Thanks, Mom.” Paige is the first to reach out, and even though Amy holds her stiffly, Paige falls into her mother’s arms, something she has never been able to do often. Azzi can tell Paige thinks it may be the last time and is trying to savor it.

“Paige,” Amy says, pulling away from her daughter after a few moments and glancing pointedly at Azzi, “I see you brought your friend.”

Paige looks back at Azzi, who, despite her own nervousness, gives Paige her most encouraging smile.

“That’s alright, we have a pullout,” Amy says after neither of them responds. “Would’ve been nice to know that I needed to shop for an extra person, though.”

Azzi winces. What a rude thing to say.

“So, where’s Ryan?” she goes on, and Azzi’s stomach churns. This is it. “Your father and I have been dying to meet him.”

“Not my father,” Paige murmurs quietly enough that Dean won’t be able to hear from where he’s still lingering behind the car, taking great care in loading up their bags.

“Don’t be like that, Paige, you know what I meant,” Amy sighs, then runs a hand down her face. “Ryan isn’t here, is he?”

At this, Dean perks up, closing the trunk door.

Paige backs up a few steps, back to Azzi, and takes her hand to pull her forward. “No, he’s not.”

“Uh,” Azzi says, speaking for the first time when everyone looks at her expectantly. “Nice to see you guys again.”

“Good to see you too, Azzi,” Dean says jovially, even though they’ve only met a few times.

Amy looks at Paige. “Why is she here with you?”

She looks as if she knows the answer and is dreading it.

Paige, always so brave, strives on anyway.

“Mom, Dean,” Paige says. “I’m sorry for springing this on you, I know it seems last-minute. But…” she looks over at Azzi, who squeezes her hand a little.

She smiles softly down at her, and doesn’t even bother to look at her parents when she says, “Azzi’s my girlfriend.”

Amy places a hand to her chest and Dean walks forward to rub her back soothingly. Azzi inches a little closer to Paige. Here they go.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334

[fluffylino]

minho is felix's bestfriend and also happens to be your sworn enemy. he comes over one evening.

whats the worst that could happen...

-contains mature themes

frustration.

pure frustration was what you were feeling. was it really this difficult to operate a toy?!

a damn vibrator that too. a simple little vibrator. internally embarassed by your lack of 'skills' in using it.

maybe you were pressing down on the wrong setting. cause everytime it reached the highest vibrations, it would go back to the lowest setting, a few seconds after.

you didn't even feel like continuing because of how pissed of you were. what a bad way to ruin your fun.

it had been month since you last felt like you should treat yourself. get yourself off to be very specific.

and when you decide to finally try out your very first vibrator, the universe decides its not your day.

stepping out of the bathroom, still uncomfortable with the sensitivity between your legs. unintentionally edging yourself and eventually giving up entirely on trying to make yourself cum.

you blamed it on the vibrator. that darned cursed object.

flinging it on the bed in annoyance.

a small little sticky note is placed on the lamp on your bedside table. its from felix.

he had yelled goodbye while you were still showering (more like struggling). and you had yelled back, acknowledging him.

i'll be going out with chris for an hour or so. minho-hyung will be coming to our room in 20 minutes. im sowwy but he really needed a place to chill at...seungmin is studying and needs no disturbances....so i told minho he could stay in our room for a couple hours.

don't worry, bubssss i'll be back soon so things don't get awkward between yall!!!

MAYBE TRY AND GET ALONG?!

- lixie ☆

now this pisses you off even more. why the hell was everything going exactly the opposite of what you wanted.

lee minho was the last person you'd want in your shared dorm room. minho was literally gonna be coming here.

it had been almost 15 minutes since felix left. that means he'd be here anytime soon. before you even get the chance to hang your towel on the back of your chair, someone knocks on the door.

"fuckin minho of all people"

its real frustration at this point. nevertheless you open the door for him. taken aback by the attire he's in.

it was the very first time you'd ever seen him so...put together? dressed up?

what you meant was he was in semi formal attire ; a mixture of badboy or rather biker boy vibes.

"whats up with the outfit" you say, gesturing to him entirely. pointing out the leather jacket he had thrown on. it fitted him well. a bit too well.

the ripped jeans hugged his thighs. thick and muscular. a reminder that he works out and is a dancer.

"do i need a reason to wear what i feel like wearing?"

his cockiness has your fists itching to punch him straight in the nose. he huffs out a deep breath, walking right into the room. as if he owned the place. he had been here a number of times with felix. but it still pissed you off.

"fuck off" you mutter under your breath. closing the door and walking back to your bed.

that is until you see him plopping himself down on your bed. YOUR BED.

"what'd you say?" minho repeats. he has a few raspberries in his hand.

did he carry them all across campus..to eat them here ? you sometimes question his questionable habits and ways of thinking.

"don't feel like telling you" you cock back. placing your hands on your face and sighing.

were you that needy that for some reason his cologne made your breath fasten-

"what's gotten you so..." his voice trails off, beginning to question why you were so irritable. "...hot and bothered."

"i am not hot and bothered so kindly shut up"

you blurt out, blinking at him and thats when you realise.

where had you thrown the vibrator? did you put it back in your hiding spot or was it still in the bathroom...

"this says otherwise." and to your worst nightmare, minho is holding up the toy.

its like your blood runs cold. theres nothing you can say. or do. except go speechless and motionless.

"pretty cheap, don't you think?" observing it so casually. you feel yourself get wetter. his fingers catching it mindlessly.

"s-stop playing around with it" you stutter, suddenly feeling shyer than ever.

minho smirks and you unconciously press your thighs together.

"it doesn't work properly, does it."

switching it on. it buzzes loudly in the silence of the room. its vibrations are hardly anything.

you've had enough and you grab his wrist. pausing in shock when the buzzing becomes louder. you can feel it vibrating.

he presses down on it harder and it nearly vibrates out of his grip.

how had he managed to get it to its highest setting-

"did you cum? or are you just staining your panties right now as we speak." he snorts out, manspreading.

"cause this wasn't even switched on properly"

☆

you find yourself laying on your back. his hand slithered past the waistband of your pants. pressing it right over your cunt. teasingly moving the rounded tip up and down.

"needy pussy"

he's on top of you. smirking and observing every single change in your expressions.

"min-hho-" squirming under him. your hands flying down to weakly tug on his wrist. eyes struggling to stay focused.

"i must admit. hearing you say my name like that makes me want to see how you'll be if I fuck you"

sadistically keeping his pressure firm. nudging it under your panties.

"you're so much better like this, baby"

minho smirks. chuckling at the way you push yourself deeper into the bed. hips bucking upwards to escape his teasing. its cold when it comes in contact with your clit. the tips of his fingers rubbing into your folds everytime he played around with the toy.

"lee.minho a-ah" you writhe out, voice turning whiny. the familiar sensation builds up. except its more intense than ever.

he purposely turns the setting lower and you whimper in disappointment.

"maybe if i rub this..." pushing the vibrator all over your folds. a breathy gasp escaping his lips at how slicked up your cunt was.

"...or maybe if i touch this soaked cunt" dropping the vibrator and slipping his index finger through your slippery swollen lips.

"shit baby, did i get you this wet." and you know he's going to tease you for days if not months.

"you hate me, d-don't you" you whisper,shooting him a glare when he traces a digit over your clit.

eyes widening and breath quickening with how he maintains eye contact with you. bringing his head down to grunt in your ear. his fingers slapping your pussy meanly.

you whine, gripping his biceps. the leather jacket thrown on the edge of your bed.

"i hate you alright." he whispers, rubbing into your wetness slowly. minho chuckles. "filthy girl. you're throbbing on my fingers"

"i hate you so much that i jerk off to your pictures or that tone you use when you're pissed at me...i hate you to the point I cum so hard just picturing you taking my dick"

you can't control the fluttering feeling. coating his fingers even more so.

"i h-hate you more"

theres no heat in your words. gasping and legs quivering against his thicker thighs. keeping you open, unable to close your legs around his hand.

"hm, you do? tell me how much you hate me, kitten"

"i d-do...f-fuck" eyes rolling back in pleasure. desperately trying to chase your orgasm but he doesn't let you.

"yeah? you hate me so much that you're letting me touch you." minho says, voice going deeper. his ears are a shade of red and his lips parted.

"you're wet and begging for more under me. is that cause you hate me, sweetheart. or is that just you being you"

he quickens his pace. circling hard over your swollen and aching clit.

till you're throwing your hands around his neck. pulling him onto you entirely while you cum. its the hardest you've ever orgasmed.

maybe it was cause it had been so long...or you were sure it was because of him.

"there we go, good kitty" riding your high.

taking you by surprise when he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. so you push a few strands of hair out of his face. not letting go of him just yet.

"don't call me that" you whisper, struggling to hold in your smile. his lips curve upwards into a subtle smirk. kissing your neck slowly..

"but now that I know you're so pliant, i claim you as one of my cats"

your legs giving in when he gets up. wiping his coated fingers on his jeans. it leaves a wet stain.

"again as I said." you lift your head up, confused.

"this thing is useless!" grabbing the vibrator like he had personal beef with it. flinging it casually somewhere behind you.

"choose me. customize, personal talk, boyfriend material, protection...all in one package, baby"

pointing to himself.

he reaches over to the abandoned raspberries on the counter. walking back to stuff one small red berry in your mouth. smiling when you savour it.

"good kitty"

.

.

"is that minho hyung's jacket you're wearing?" felix' eyes widen. wondering why you were wearing the leather jacket.

"yeah and he told me i could wear it when i meet him for dinner tonight" you reply, lacing your boots up.

"YOU'RE HAVING DINNER WITH HIM?!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

I wanna be his dinner- GOD HE'S SO ARGHSBSJAKJW HAHAHAHIWHEHSHS