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bueckers555 · 1 month ago

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CAN’T STAND YOU — nika muhl x reader

summary: in which, you and nika show each other just how much you can’t stand one another

warnings: smut smut and more smut

authors note. part two of the pazzi x reader fic will be up soon but first, my girl nika cuz one too many angry edits of her popped up so this is what my head came up with ITS OVULATION WEEK SORRY

No one on the team could pinpoint when it started—least of all you or Nika Mühl.

Maybe it was during that first practice when you’d hustled for a loose ball and she’d beaten you to it, smirking as she dribbled away like she’d just claimed some unspoken victory. Or maybe it was the time she’d called out your positioning in a drill, her tone sharp and clipped, like you were a rookie who didn’t belong on the same court as her. Whatever it was, the seed had been planted, and it grew into something jagged and unyielding, a mutual loathing neither of you could shake.

It wasn’t loud or showy at first. You didn’t scream in each other’s faces or throw punches in the gym. It was quieter, colder— a slow burn that everyone felt but no one could fix.

You’d roll your eyes when she took the lead in huddles, her voice cutting through the air with that unshakable confidence. She’d scoff when you ran a play, muttering something under her breath about your footwork or your timing.

The team noticed, though—they always did. Paige would shoot Aaliyah a look, a silent “not this again,” while the freshmen shuffled awkwardly, unsure where to stand when the tension thickened.

On the court, it was a different beast. You were both too good to let it tank the game outright, but it showed in the cracks. During a fast break, you’d hesitate just a split second before passing to her, the ball leaving your hands with a little too much force, like you were daring her to miss. She’d catch it, of course—she was Nika Mühl, she didn’t miss much—but the glare she’d send your way could’ve burned a hole through the hardwood.

When she drove to the basket, you’d hang back instead of setting the screen she needed, forcing her to twist through defenders alone. She’d still score half the time, but the other half, she’d turn it over, and you’d feel a flicker of grim satisfaction.

“Run the play right next time,” she’d say after, her voice low and flat as you jogged back on defense. Not accusatory—just factual, like she was stating the weather. It pissed you off more than if she’d yelled.

“Maybe if you didn’t hog it, I would,” you’d mutter, loud enough for her to hear but not enough to draw Geno’s attention. She’d pretend she didn’t, but the way her shoulders stiffened told you she had.

The team adapted. They had to. Paige started calling the shots more, acting as a buffer, while KK quietly nudged you both toward open spots to keep the offense flowing. But it was a Band-Aid on a bullet wound.

During one game against a ranked opponent, you’d both gone for the same rebound—neither of you calling it—and ended up colliding, the ball slipping through your hands and out of bounds. The crowd groaned, and Nika’s eyes met yours for a split second, sharp and furious, before she turned away. Coach benched you both for the next few minutes, his jaw tight, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

Off the court, it was subtler but no less brutal. In the weight room, you’d push yourself harder when she was around, stacking plates on the bar until your arms shook, just to prove a point. She’d do the same, her reps silent and relentless, never looking your way but always aware. At team dinners, you’d sit at opposite ends of the table, your conversations with others clipped whenever she spoke up. The team stopped trying to force you together after a while—why bother when it always ended the same?

No one knew why it ran so deep. You couldn’t explain it yourself. She wasn’t cruel, not really—just infuriatingly self-assured, like she’d already sized you up and found you lacking. And you weren’t petty, but something about her set your teeth on edge—maybe the way she carried herself, like the court was hers and you were just borrowing space. It wasn’t jealousy; you were too good for that. It wasn’t even personal, not at first. It just was, a reflex neither of you could unlearn.

By the time that bad game rolled around, the tension had a pulse of its own. You’d both been off: your shots rimmed out, her passes sailed wide. The mistakes weren’t all on one of you, but it didn’t matter. Every missed opportunity became a weapon, every fumble a reason to point the finger. The final buzzer sounded, and the loss sank in, heavy and bitter. You caught her eye as you walked off the court, her expression a mirror of your own—frustration, blame, and something darker simmering beneath.

The team saw it coming. They always did. But this time, when the locker room door swung shut behind you, it wasn’t just another cold standoff. It was the breaking point.

The locker room was suffocating with tension after the game—a brutal loss that left the team reeling. The scoreboard had mocked them: 72-68, a four-point deficit that felt like a chasm.

Everyone knew who’d been at each other’s throats all night: you and Nika Mühl. The star guard’s fiery glare had met your own more times than the ball had hit the rim, and the team was sick of it.

“Great job out there, huh? Maybe if you’d passed the damn ball instead of hogging it, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” you snapped, slamming your locker shut. Your voice echoed off the metal, sharp enough to cut through the murmurs of your teammates.

Nika whirled around, her dark hair still damp with sweat, eyes blazing. “Me? You’re the one who missed three wide-open shots in the fourth quarter. My grandma could’ve made those with her eyes closed, and she’s half-blind!”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, stepping closer, your chest heaving from the adrenaline still pumping through you. “Your ass had two turnovers trying to show off with those fancy ass dribbles. Maybe stick to the basics next time, hotshot.”

The rest of the team exchanged looks—Paige Bueckers rolled her eyes and muttered, “Here we go again,” while Azzi Fudd grabbed her bag and bolted for the door. They’d seen this dance before: you and Nika, two storms colliding, leaving wreckage in your wake. No one dared intervene anymore.

It was pointless. Like trying to get a shark and bear get along: stupid and a waste of time.

Nika’s jaw tightened, her lips curling into a sneer. “Shit, at least I’m not the one who let their girl blow past them for that game-tying layup. You’re a mess.”

You laughed, bitter and cold. “A mess? Says the one who fouled out with two minutes left. Real fucking clutch, Mühl.”

She stepped closer, her breath hot against your face, her voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Keep talking. See where it gets you.”

The air crackled between you, thick with rage and something else—something unspoken that had been simmering for weeks. Your teammates had scattered now, leaving the locker room empty except for the two of you, the silence amplifying every ragged breath.

“Fuck you, Nika,” you hissed, shoving her shoulder.

She didn’t budge, just grabbed your wrist and yanked you closer, her grip bruising. “Fuck you,” she spat back, her lips inches from yours.

And then—chaos. You didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly her mouth was on yours, all teeth and fury, a kiss that felt more like a fight. You shoved her against the lockers, the clang of metal ringing out as your hands tangled in her hair, pulling hard. She groaned—a sound that was half-anger, half-need—and bit your lip, drawing a sharp hiss from you.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you muttered against her mouth, your hands already under her jersey, nails raking down her back.

“Shut up,” she growled, spinning you around so your back hit the cold steel. Her fingers were rough, tugging at your shorts, yanking them down with no patience. “You piss me off.”

“Good,” you snarled, kicking the fabric aside and pulling her closer, your thigh slotting between her legs. She was still in her uniform, sweaty and disheveled, and the sight of her—pupils blown, chest heaving—made your stomach twist with want.

Her hands found your hips, digging in as she ground against you, her breath hitching. “Fuckin’ always got sum to say,” she taunted, but her voice cracked when your fingers slipped beneath her waistband, finding her already soaked. “Fuck—”

“Keep talking,” you mocked, echoing her earlier threat as you pressed two fingers inside her, curling them hard. She gasped, her head tipping back against the locker, and the sound sent a jolt straight through you.

She didn’t back down, though—never did. Her hand slid between your thighs, mirroring your movements, and the sudden pressure made your knees buckle. “You’re such a bitch,” she whispered, her thumb circling you with ruthless precision, “can’t fucking stand you.”

The words hit like a punch, and you hated how they made you clench around her fingers. You retaliated, adding a third finger, pumping faster, deeper, until her thighs trembled and her insults dissolved into broken moans. The locker room smelled of sweat and sex, the air thick with the sound of your ragged breathing and the wet, desperate rhythm of your bodies.

“Fuck, Nika—” you choked out, your free hand gripping her shoulder as she pushed you to the edge, her fingers relentless. She smirked, even as her own voice shook, “Say it again.”

You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction, but your body betrayed you, shuddering as she tipped you over, your release crashing through you like a tidal wave. You clung to her, nails biting into her skin, and she followed seconds later, her hips jerking against your hand as she came with a string of curses in Croatian you barely understood.

But it wasn’t enough—not for either of you. The anger still burned, fueling something primal. You shoved her onto the bench, straddling her before she could recover, and she pulled you down with a wicked grin, her hands guiding your hips to grind against her thigh. The friction was maddening, too much and not enough all at once, and soon you were both chasing that high again—overstimulated, oversensitive, but too stubborn to stop.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” she panted, her voice raw as she gripped your waist, her touch bruising in the best way.

“Then die,” you shot back, but the words lost their venom as you came again, harder this time, your vision blurring. She laughed—breathless, triumphant—and pulled you into another messy, desperate kiss, her tongue claiming you like she’d won the argument.

When it was over, you collapsed against her, both of you sweaty, trembling messes. The locker room was silent again, save for your heavy breathing. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, the weight of what just happened settling in.

Finally, Nika muttered, “We’re still fucked for the next game.”

You snorted, too exhausted to argue. “Yeah. But at least we’re good at this.”

She smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and for once, there was no venom in her eyes—just a flicker of something softer. “Truce?”

“For now,” you said, and you both knew it wouldn’t last.

#nika mühl #nika muhl x reader #nika muhl smut #uconn wbb #uconn #smut #wlw smut #wlw post #lesbian

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shellxrls · 5 months ago

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— r. cameron / barry / reader

warnings: dom!barry, sub!rafe / unprotected anal sex / rimming, ass eating / cum-swallowing / threesome / dubcon (sex as payment) / oral (male receiving) / voyeurism

synopsis: rafe cameron x barry x gn!reader… you owe a debt to a certain prolific dealer on the cut, rafe believes he can pull a few strings to get it taken care of, you just never expected the alternate payment to be so debasing.

Barry likes to shove the noise out of Rafe. Like he can hoard the aggressive spikes of volume in his head if he really tries, bundle them into a rough package and store them safely within his cerebral cortex.

You can tell Rafe almost hates it, too eager for pleasure yet too impatient to wait, and so Barry knowingly draws it out of him — bated breaths turning into whispers of frustration until Rafe opens his mouth to spit out a harsh profanity and Barry finally decides to move. In that fraction of a second pummelling his whole length inside of Rafe and forcing out a guttural, drawn-out noise that you'd never heard from the boy before.

He locks eyes with you across the dingy space, and your pupils quickly flutter in humiliated distraction — landing on the shadows of Rafe’s back instead, fluorescents bringing out the harsh dips of darkness and paling his skin in comparison to Barry's.

You find yourself wanting to look away, every action too intimate, and every subsequent reaction too vulnerable. You were an intruder to this relationship and you felt it, like you were watching through a two-way mirror except you were the depraved bastard on the clear side, and they would never realise you were there.

You had never expected this when borrowing a favour from Rafe, his promise to get your debt waived cause he 'knew a guy' now almost a distant memory. Although you starkly remember him greeting Barry at the door, offering 'fresh meat' while their hands lingered too long to be in casual greeting.

You knew whatever Rafe was dragging you into was fated to be shady, but what you couldn't predict was the way the two stood by Barry's bed and argued in an aggressively hushed tone, Barry's calloused fingers coming to rest on Rafe's shoulders when he'd finally persuaded him into submission — “You're gonna sit right here while Rafe takes care of this debt for you princess" while guiding you into a yellowed plastic chair, settling you down with wink.

Now you were forced to watch, to listen, and to feel while Rafe — your dealer and the most high-strung, misogyny-fueled, cokehead you'd ever met — took dick from a man jut as pretty as him in a grimy trailer.

"Feelin’ good about volunteering for her debt now babyboy?" Barry grins, gripping Rafe by the jaw and bringing his face up to be conflicted between looking at you or the man behind him, he settles on Barry, who then decides to thrust into him particularly harshly to which Rafe only lets out a useless garble, "shittt, my bad, forgot that you turn into a dumb slut for some dick."

Sweat was dripping down your collar now, beads building up against your temples alongside a painful pulsing in your lower stomach. Barry noticed, too observant for his own good and yours too — "Yeah y'can touch yourself pretty girl," it comes out a bit strained, a stray tendon in his neck tensing at what you assumed was Rafe tightening around him, "bitch down here seems to like the idea."

It wasn't so much a prompt as it was an order, funny thing about the way Barry could manipulate tone, must've adopted it in the army, next to the ability to stare so hard you could feel his eyes drill holes into your skull.

"I ain't gone' say it a third time."

Subtly, you nod, swallowing your anxiety and dropping clothing to the floor until you can see Rafe wrapping a quivering hand around himself, eyes glossy while Barry is momentarily too distracted to dismiss him.

"Well shit, Rafe, keeping the prime cut to yourself I see," Barry raises his eyebrows in a chuckle, stilling inside of Rafe and clutching a hand by his bicep to match his lecherous smirk.

"Brought her by as soon as I could bitch, now move, fuck," Rafe groans, trying to push himself further onto Barry who only grapples his leaner hips into stability.

"Nah." Now towards you, having changed his mind about your positioning, he asks "C'mere."

Rafe whines when you get up, subtly grinding his hips and pleading for your gaze with his own, searching for remission and hoping you'll be kinder than Barry.

Barry instructs you to kneel by his feet. You’re now eye-level to where he sits inside of Rafe, twitching and pulsing while rafe constantly trembles with restlessness.

"Rafe's gonna cum very soon, you wanna know how I know? He's got that screwed up bitch face like he's gonna cry—" he's addressing you directly, completely disregarding Rafe's aching form on the bed and humiliating him with this dissection of his features, undisclosed to anyone but Barry at this point, "An' I'm gonna go pretty soon after him. Thing is, I don't want to get my sheets dirty with alla that, so you're gonna do me a favour and clean it up before anything spills."

Nodding, you feel his gaze intent on you again, unwavering. Remaining on your knees, you move so you can tongue at Rafe's dick — his nose red and his lips wet, face watery and flushed from the buildup while he stares down at you.

Once Barry starts thrusting again, you wrap both hands around Rafe, one circling his base and steadily jerking him off, whilst the other cups his balls, your mouth simultaneously sucking on his tip and drawing tight circles around the flushed slit.

"Fuck, 'm close," he groans, twisting up into your mouth, "f—fuck Barry 'm so close, 'm gonna cum."

Until you're swallowing round his girth and Barry's coaching the both of you through it, one hand tangled in your hair to push you down and the other stroking Rafe's shaking thigh.

Before you pull off Rafe you can still feel him throbbing in your mouth, and when you finally do Barry tugs you to your feet, forcing you into a sloppy kiss.

Tongue warm in your mouth and licking the remnants of Rafe off your gums, which is what finally gets his stomach to tense and flex when he finally cums himself, spilling into Rafe while grabbing a handful of your ass and painfully digging his nails into the flesh as he does.

He shoves you back down to kneel before Rafe when he's done, "Go on, prove yourself useful f'me and I'll consider that debt paid off hmm?"

Complying, you shyly bend your face towards Rafe, stretched out and leaking, tonguing the twitching muscle and cleaning up whatever Barry had left.

"S'too much, too much," Rafe swats at the empty air, curling into himself and flaring his ribs in overstimulation.

"You beg for it like a fucking girl so now you're gonna sit here and take it like one 'kay bitch," Barry rubs the skin around his cheek, patting it in domestic mockery despite Rafe's snot and tears.

In only a few more minutes Rafe cums again, dick leaking miserably on his toned stomach in rhythmic spills. Barry runs a finger through it, making Rafe shudder, before bringing it to the brunette's mouth and forcing two curved fingers inside — hooking them through his uvula and forcing it down until he starts gagging.

"Hope babyboy here didn't drop you off, think he'll be staying with me for the night."

"I can find my own way back," while already grabbing your things to head out — the taste of both men still sickly prevalent on your tongue.

"You ever need more favours you tell Rafe to call me a'ight," Barry whistles as you walk through the door, simply responding back with a murmured confirmation.

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calypso-rt · 2 months ago

Note

Rafe x A sweet kind Pouge!Reader: Kind of s1, with his hate against Pouges/still fighting too see them as equals. Maybe a oneshot-two shot? Reader’s having bad mental health/depression at the moment and so she decides to head out into nature and camp somewhere for the night to escape. Rafe is fed up with Ward who is constantly belittling him, needing a break and heads to nature to do the same. They both end up getting lost, and losing some of their equipment. Reader is plain and simple not a wilderness person and Rafe has bad luck. Their paths end up crossing and they are forced to be there for each other for the night, or well Rafe is the only one complaining, she tries to be cordial and friendly. Maybe his annoyance for her further effects her depression since she’s already feeling like a burden for existing. And maaaaaybe……..they have to share a sleepingbag together in order to keep warm and Rafe is the one who takes that step, not wanting her to be cold and starts feeling protective over her

A/N: what a creative request, I'm so honored you trusted me to create a story out of this. i've fallen in love with sweet pogue reader and rafe thanks to YOUU <3

out of the woods

-> S1 Rafe x F!Sweet!Pogue!Reader

RAFE'S POV

Rafe tells himself he’s not running.

He’s just... getting space. That’s all.

A break.

A second to breathe before Ward’s voice drills another hole into his skull, reminding him that he’s a disappointment. That he needs to step up. That no matter what he does, it’s never enough.

So, yeah. Maybe driving out here, parking his car on the side of a dirt road, and hiking into the woods wasn’t the most well thought out plan. But what was the alternative? Sitting in that house, listening to Ward’s condescending remarks over dinner? Watching Rose pretend not to hear it?

He needed out. Just for a night.

The thing is, Rafe doesn’t actually like nature.

Not in the let’s go on an adventure way.

But right now, the silence is the only thing keeping him from snapping.

He walks aimlessly, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw clenched so tight it aches. The sun is sinking behind the trees, shadows stretching longer across the ground, and he probably should’ve figured out where he was going before stomping off into the woods like an idiot.

He should go back.

But then he thinks about Ward, about the look on his face earlier, the disappointment etched into the syllable of his name, and Rafe keeps walking.

Because right now, being lost out here sounds a hell of a lot better than going home.

...

YOUR POV

You’re not sure when you got lost, but you’re here now.

And here is officially nowhere.

Like Rafe, you told yourself this would help. That getting away for a night, leaving everything behind, would give you the reset you needed. That if you could just be alone, away from the noise, the expectations, the constant weight pressing down on your chest, maybe, just maybe, you’d feel something again.

The forest is too quiet and your backpack is starting to feel heavier, pressing against your shoulders, and when you pull your phone out for the hundredth time, it’s the same thing: No Service.

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest.

It’s fine. You’ll be fine.

Then, just as you’re debating whether to keep walking or set up camp, a branch snaps behind you.

You whip around so fast it makes you dizzy.

And standing there, looking equally displeased to see you, is Rafe Cameron.

You freeze.

He stares.

For a second, neither of you say anything, just blinking at each other like you’re both trying to process this nightmare.

Then Rafe exhales sharply, running a hand through his already-disheveled hair. "No fucking way."

You swallow, the immediate panic of being lost momentarily replaced with an entirely new kind of dread.

Because Rafe Cameron hates Pogues.

And now you’re stuck in the woods. With him.

You offer a nervous smile, shifting your weight. “Uh… hey?”

Rafe looks you up and down, his lips curling. "Of course it’s a damn Pogue." He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “This is just fucking great.”

Your stomach twists.

“I—um,” you clear your throat, forcing yourself to stay calm, “I think I might be lost.”

Rafe barks out a humorless laugh. “Wow. Shocker.”

You frown, fingers tightening around the straps of your backpack. “Are you lost?”

His jaw tics. “No.”

You glance pointedly at the overgrown path behind him. “Are you sure?”

Rafe glares. “I don’t need some Pogue thinking she’s smarter than me.”

Your face flushes. “That’s not what I—”

He lets out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. “Out of all the people to run into, it had to be you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to not take it personally. You know how Rafe is. How he sees you.

Still, it stings.

You shift uncomfortably. “Look, I know you hate me, but I—”

“Hate is a strong word,” Rafe interrupts flatly. Then, after a pause, he scoffs. “Actually, no. That’s accurate.”

You blink, throat tightening.

Okay. Ouch.

You try again, softer. “I didn’t plan on running into you, either. But maybe we should stick together? Just until we find a way back?”

Rafe lets out an incredulous laugh, stepping closer, his height suddenly a little more intimidating. “Yeah? And why the hell would I do that?”

You hesitate. “Because… being alone out here is dangerous?”

Rafe just snorts. “I think I’d take my chances.”

Your stomach twists again, but you push through it, offering him the smallest, most tentative smile. “I don’t want to be a bother, I promise. I just think we’d be safer if we—”

“Holy shit” Rafe groans, tilting his head back like you’re the most exhausting thing in the world. “You sound so fucking desperate.”

Your breath catches.

Something cold curls in your chest.

You look down, trying not to let it show, but Rafe is still staring at you, eyes sharp, waiting for you to fold.

And maybe a part of you wants to.

But instead, you inhale, steadying yourself, and lift your chin just slightly.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Well, I’ll just keep looking on my own then.”

You turn to leave, but something in Rafe’s expression flickers.

It’s quick. Barely there.

But when you take a step, he exhales sharply through his nose, muttering, “Jesus Christ.”

You hesitate.

"Fine."

Your lips part in surprise, but Rafe just glares at you again, like he’s already regretting it.

“But if you slow me down," he says sharply, "I’m leaving your ass behind.”

You nod quickly, relieved despite the venom in his voice.

“Got it.”

Rafe grumbles something under his breath and turns on his heel, marching through the trees like he knows exactly where he’s going.

You don’t know what’s worse, the fact that you’re stuck with him, or the fact that, despite everything, you still don’t totally hate the idea.

...

RAFE'S POV

This is a fucking disaster.

Not just being lost. Not just the dwindling daylight or the fact that his dad is going to lose his shit when he realizes Rafe never came home.

No.

The real disaster? The fact that he’s stuck out here with you.

A Pogue. A sweet one, which somehow makes it worse.

Because if you were loud, whiny, or even remotely annoying, he’d have no problem ditching you. But instead, you’re... nice. Soft-spoken. The kind of person who smiles too easily and looks at the world like it won’t chew you up and spit you out.

It’s infuriating.

Almost as infuriating as the goddamn raccoon currently running off with the last granola bar.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Rafe hisses, watching in pure horror as the little shit disappears into the underbrush.

You stifle a giggle.

Rafe whips around, glaring. “Oh, you think this is funny?”

You press your lips together, fighting a smile. “It’s kind of funny.”

Rafe exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “This is unreal.”

It’s bad enough that he’s stuck out here, but now this? First, his phone battery dies, then he loses his flashlight in the river, and now a raccoon has robbed him.

At this rate, he wouldn’t be surprised if a bear showed up just to mock him.

You shift beside him, your small backpack looking laughably unhelpful in a survival situation. “Do you have anything else?”

“No, I don’t have anything else,” Rafe snaps, standing up so fast it makes him dizzy. “Unless you have some magic Pogue survival tricks up your sleeve, we’re screwed.”

You frown slightly, like his tone stings, but you don’t snap back. You just sigh, thoughtful.

“Well… we still have water,” you point out. “And I do know a few things.”

Rafe scoffs. “Yeah, sure.”

“I do!”

“Like what?”

You glance at the sky, then back at him. “Like how to navigate using the stars.”

Rafe blinks.

You cross your arms, lifting your chin just slightly. “If we can get to higher ground, I can figure out which direction is south. And if we follow that, we should eventually hit a road.”

Rafe stares at you.

Then, deadpan: “You read that in a book, didn’t you?”

You flush. “…Maybe.”

He groans.

“Hey!” you protest. “It’s better than nothing.”

Rafe rolls his eyes. “You really think some random survival tip is gonna get us out of this?”

You shrug. “Do you have a better idea?”

Rafe opens his mouth, then closes it.

Because no. He doesn’t.

And that pisses him off more than anything.

He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate this.”

You smile, just a little. “You hate everything.”

Rafe glares.

But after a long pause, after another sharp exhale, another glance at the sky, he grits his teeth.

“Fine.”

Your eyes brighten slightly. “Fine?”

“We’ll do it your way,” he mutters. “But if this doesn’t work, I’m never letting you live it down.”

You smirk. “Deal.”

And just like that, you take the lead, heading toward the ridge in the distance.

Rafe follows, grumbling under his breath.

Because if there’s one thing worse than being lost in the woods it’s the fact that, just this once, a Pogue might actually be right.

...

YOUR POV

You two had stopped to camp for the night since it was far too dark to see much.

You really should have packed better.

The cold seeps into your bones, cruel and relentless, as the temperature drops lower than you ever could’ve anticipated. Your thin top does nothing to stop the shivers wracking your body. You curl in on yourself, trying to will warmth into your limbs, but it’s no use.

You’re freezing.

And Rafe notices.

Which is just great.

Because he’s already annoyed at being stuck with you, already made it painfully clear that you’re nothing but an inconvenience to him. And now you’re sitting here, shivering like an idiot, proving exactly what he already believes. That you’re a burden.

Like you don’t already feel that way every day. Like you haven’t spent the past few weeks drowning in that feeling, in the crushing weight of your own existence, in the nagging thought that everyone would be better off if you just disappeared for a while.

You left home to escape that. To be alone, to not feel like dead weight for once.

And yet, here you are, making things harder for someone else again.

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your lips together as you try to control your breathing. You don’t want to cry in front of Rafe Cameron. He already thinks you’re pathetic.

A sharp sigh cuts through the silence.

Then:

“For fuck’s sake.”

You flinch slightly, curling in tighter, bracing for more. More grumbling, more complaints, more proof that you shouldn’t even be here.

Instead, Rafe moves.

There’s some rustling, a lot of grumbling, and then something drops into your lap.

You blink, looking down at the sleeping bag he’s just shoved toward you.

“I’m not letting you freeze to death,” he mutters.

You stare.

Then, hesitantly, “I—Rafe, this is yours.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he snaps, already looking irritated with himself. “But you clearly didn’t come prepared, and I’m not gonna sit here and watch you turn into a fucking icicle.”

Your fingers clutch the fabric, hesitation curling in your chest.

You don’t deserve this. Not his warmth, not his help. You’re the reason he’s miserable, the reason everything always seems to go wrong.

You shake your head. “I’ll be fine.”

“Bullshit,” he huffs. “You’re shaking so hard I can hear your teeth chattering.”

You bite your lip. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Rafe stills.

For a second, he doesn’t say anything.

Then, quietly, so quietly you almost miss it...

“You’re not.”

Your breath catches.

It doesn’t sound like a grand declaration. Doesn’t even sound particularly convincing. If anything, it sounds like he’s just as surprised by the words as you are.

But then he exhales sharply, like he’s pissed at the situation rather than at you, and runs a hand through his hair.

“Just—fuck, just get in the sleeping bag.”

You hesitate.

He glares.

“Now, Pogue.”

You huff but finally, reluctantly, do as he says, scooting into the sleeping bag. The fabric is still warm from his body heat, and you try not to shiver too obviously as it sinks into your skin.

It helps, but not enough.

Your body is still too cold, your fingers still too stiff, your breath still coming out in sharp, uneven puffs.

Rafe watches you for a second. Then curses under his breath.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “Move over.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait, what?”

Rafe doesn’t repeat himself. Just shoves his way into the sleeping bag beside you, and suddenly, it’s small. Too small.

Your heart lurches into your throat as his body presses against yours, heat radiating from him in a way that makes you go still, breath hitching.

It’s awkward. Stiff. Rafe keeps as much distance as possible, jaw clenched, muscles tight.

You don’t blame him. You wouldn’t want to be stuck pressed against you either.

Minutes pass. The tension is thick, the silence heavier than the cold.

Then, gradually, Rafe shifts.

He exhales, like he’s battling something within himself. And then, with an irritated grumble, he moves closer, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you against his chest.

“Just shut up and go to sleep,” he mutters.

You don’t say anything.

Because, despite everything, despite the hostility, the insults, the fact that he hates Pogues, he’s holding you.

Keeping you warm.

And for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel completely alone.

...

RAFE'S POV

The silence is... weird.

Not that he expects nonstop talking from you, but usually, you have something to say. Some little comment, some naive observation about the world that makes him roll his eyes. Usually, you're at least trying to be optimistic, to be annoying in that soft, persistent way.

But right now?

Right now, you're just quiet.

And he doesn’t like it.

Not that he cares.

Because he doesn’t.

It’s just that he’s used to you pushing back. Even when he insults you. Even when he makes it painfully clear that you have no business being stuck together out here.

He frowns, staring up at the sliver of sky visible through the trees. The stars are bright. Cold. Kind of like the way you feel curled up beside him: small, shivering, barely taking up any space at all.

He should probably say something.

Not something nice, obviously, but something.

"Didn’t think you could go this long without complaining," he mutters. "Almost impressive."

There’s a long pause.

Then, you speak quietly, barely more than a whisper:

"Didn’t want to be more of a burden than I already am."

Rafe freezes.

Something in his chest twists, sharp and sudden, like a knife slipping between his ribs.

He shouldn’t care.

You're a Pogue. You're not his problem.

And yet.

It’s a familiar feeling, isn’t it? The weight of being too much, of never measuring up, of being an inconvenience to the people who are supposed to care about you. He’s spent years swallowing down that same bitterness, hearing it from his dad’s mouth over and over until it sank into his bones.

But it’s different, hearing you say it about yourself.

Because you're—

You're just...

Fuck.

Rafe exhales sharply. He doesn’t know how to comfort people. Doesn’t even know why he wants to. But before he can think better of it, before he can convince himself to just shut up and let it go, the words slip out.

"That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."

You stiffen slightly. He can feel it, the way your body tenses, like you had expected him to agree. Like you're used to people agreeing.

Rafe grits his teeth.

"You’re not a fucking burden."

You don't say anything.

Don't argue, don't push back, don't believe him.

And maybe that pisses him off more than it should.

He doesn’t let you respond. Just shifts slightly, his grip tightening around you, his arm pulling you a fraction closer. Like if he holds on tight enough, it’ll force you to understand.

You exhale softly, a small, exhausted breath. Then, finally, you relax against him.

Rafe stares up at the stars.

His usual frustration feels distant, drowned out by something heavier. Something he doesn’t know how to name.

All he knows is that he hates the way that sentence sounded coming from your lips.

And that if anyone ever made you feel that way, he might actually kill them.

...

YOUR POV

The first thing you register is warmth.

Not the biting cold from last night, not the shivers rattling your bones, but actual warmth, steady and solid against your back.

The second thing you register is movement.

A slow, deliberate shift, like someone trying not to wake you.

Your eyes blink open to the soft gold of early morning, sunlight filtering lazily through the trees. The sky is still streaked with traces of pink, and the forest hums with the sound of waking birds.

And then you realize...

Rafe is still holding you.

Not tightly. Not like last night, when his grip had been almost protective, but enough that when you shift, his arm instinctively tenses around you before he seems to catch himself and pulls away.

For a second, neither of you say anything.

Then...

"You drool in your sleep."

You blink, turning to squint up at him.

He’s already sitting up, rubbing the back of his neck, but there’s a smirk tugging at his lips.

You huff. "Do not."

He raises an eyebrow, glancing at his shoulder. "Uh, yeah, you do."

Your cheeks heat as you sit up too, trying to gather the mess of your tangled blanket. "Well, you talk in your sleep."

Rafe snorts. "Bullshit."

"Swear on my life. You were mumbling about stocks or something." You bite back a grin, tilting your head. "Weirdly on brand, actually."

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Kill me."

"Not before breakfast."

That earns you an unimpressed side-eye, but there’s no real bite behind it.

And that’s when it really hits you.

Something is... different.

Rafe is still Rafe: gruff, impatient, rolling his eyes at every other thing you say, but there’s something softer now, something lingering just beneath the surface.

Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t snap at you when you try to help pack up.

Maybe it’s the way he hands you your stuff without a single sarcastic remark.

Or maybe it’s the fact that when you mention using a new strategy again to navigate back, he actually listens.

He still complains about it, obviously.

But when you point out the right direction, he follows without arguing.

Progress.

By the time you finally spot the road in the distance, your body aches, your hair is a mess, and you’re starving.

But you’re... weirdly okay.

And Rafe?

Well.

He doesn’t seem as eager to get rid of you as he did last night.

You glance at him as you both step onto solid ground again, brushing dirt off your clothes. He looks over at you at the same time, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he scoffs.

"You look like shit."

You sigh dramatically. "Wow, what a charmer."

He smirks, but it fades just as quickly. For a second, he hesitates, shifting his weight.

"Need a ride?"

You blink.

He nods toward the road, where his truck is parked just up the hill, miraculously not stolen or trashed. "Back to the Cut, or wherever the hell you came from."

Something in your chest flutters.

Not because of the offer itself, but because of him.

Because you’re pretty sure that last night, he would’ve left you to figure it out yourself.

But now?

Now, he’s offering.

You tuck your hands into your sleeves, biting back a small, knowing smile. "That depends," you tease. "Am I allowed to touch the aux?"

Rafe exhales sharply, shaking his head as he starts toward the truck. "Christ. I take it back."

You laugh, trailing after him.

Maybe you’re still just a Pogue to him.

But maybe Rafe is starting to realize it's not as black and white as it had seemed.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction

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s1ut-4-rafe · 25 days ago

Text

PUTTIN' OUT | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (One Shot)

Pairing - Rafe x Female Kook! Reader

Summary - She’s the hottest caddy in Figure Eight, and he’s the rich, irresistable golfer who knows exactly what he wants—and it’s her. The tees are high, the chemistry is hotter, he’s about to turn her world upside down—on and off the course.

Word Count - 2745

Content - Heavy angst, intense flirting, lots of teasing, golfer/caddy girl dynamic, suggestive but sfw.

The sun hung high over the country club, its rays beating down on the manicured greens where the usual sounds of golf balls echoed in the air—distant thwacks of clubs, the soft chatter of players, and the occasional curse.

Today, none of that mattered as much to you. Rafe Cameron and his usual crew—Topper and Kelce—were on the course, and you were the hottest caddy they’d ever had.

You couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in Rafe's behavior every time he showed up. It was the way he always seemed to get more flirtatious the more he came around. You’d worked here long enough to know the drill: flirt with the members, stay professional, and pocket the tips. But Rafe? He played his game differently.

At first, it had been just casual banter—his usual cocky comments that made your heart skip a beat. But over time it was like he was testing your boundaries, pushing the limits of how far he could go without crossing the line. And the more he did it, the more you couldn’t help but enjoy it. You weren’t some naive girl falling for his charm; you knew how to play along.

Rafe wasn’t the only one who noticed what you were doing. Topper and Kelce were just as amused by the back-and-forth, occasionally chuckling as they watched their best friend flirt endlessly with you.

You enjoyed teasing him just enough to keep him on his toes. You’d smile just a little too coyly when handing him a drink, lingering just a second too long when you caught his eye. You didn’t need to say anything; your actions spoke louder than any words ever could.

Sometimes, when you bent over to grab his drink from the cooler, the short shirt you had to wear for work would ride up just a little, giving him the perfect view. You couldn't help but notice how his eyes lingered, the way he tried to act like he didn’t look, but you knew better. The way his jaw tightened, the slight shift in his posture—it was all the confirmation you needed. You were playing him, and he was loving every second of it just like you.

You relished the attention, fully aware of the effect you had on him, and the more you caught him staring, the more you enjoyed it. After all, you had learned how to make him lose focus—just like he had done to you in the past.

The more he came here, the more he got hooked on you. The game wasn’t just about golf anymore—it was about who could outplay the other in this little war of wits and flirtation. You were no longer just the caddy who took their drink orders. You were the one he couldn't take his eyes off, the one who kept him coming back for more, the one who made him lose his focus.

You cruised the course in your golf cart and rolled up to their hole with a cooler of drinks, wearing your best smile and the kind of confidence that only came from knowing you looked damn good in your caddy outfit.

“Hey, fellas, what can I get ya?” you asked, leaning against the cart just a little too casually.

Topper shot you a wink. “You’re lookin’ good today, as always. You keepin’ cool?”

You flashed Topper a playful smile, your eyes moving over to Rafe, who was already watching you with that familiar, smirking intensity. You could feel the heat radiating off the sun and the way his gaze burned through you like he was trying to figure you out all over again.

"Of course," you replied, voice light but knowing, "Just staying hydrated.”

You could see Rafe shift in his stance, fingers gripping his club a little too tight.

“Anything for you, Rafe?” you asked, leaning in just a little closer, giving him a chance to make his move. The way he swallowed told you everything you needed to know. He wanted you to get closer. You were close enough to hear the faint rustle of his shirt as he adjusted his position, his eyes never leaving yours.

His voice was low, just a hint of that cocky edge he always wore. “I’ll take whatever you’re offering, sweetheart,” he said, his lips curling into a grin that could melt steel.

You felt a thrill race down your spine at his words. He was playing with fire, but so were you. "Hmm, are you sure about that? You don’t even know what I’m offering yet." You let your words hang in the air, teasing and suggestive, watching as his gaze sharpened with interest.

Kelce, trying to break the tension, let out a loud laugh. “Easy, man, you’re gonna get burned if you keep looking at her like that.” But you could see the amusement in his eyes—he knew exactly what was going on, just like Topper did. They were both enjoying this little game between you two, almost as much as you were.

You grabbed a cold bottle from the cooler, popping the top and handing it to Rafe with a soft brush of your fingers against his. The touch wasn’t accidental—of course it wasn’t—and you saw the way his expression faltered for just a second, his eyes momentarily glazed.

“Thanks,” he said, voice a little rougher than before. You could tell he was trying to keep his cool, but the slight tremor in his hand as he took the bottle told you everything you needed to know.

“You’re welcome,” you said, your voice as sweet as honey. You knew how to keep him hooked, just enough to make sure he came back for more. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Rafe didn’t say anything right away, but you could see the wheels turning in his head. He wanted more. And you were going to make him work for it.

As you turned to head back to your cart, you caught a glimpse of Rafe out of the corner of your eye. His eyes were on you again, tracking your every move, as if he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

You could hear Rafe’s voice behind you, a little louder now, the cocky edge back in full force. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a caddy quite like you,” he called out, making sure you heard every word.

You smirked to yourself, knowing this little game wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

"Well, Rafe, you haven't seen anything yet," you said, your smirk growing wider. You were in control now.

As your shift comes to a close, the sun is dipping lower, and you’re unpacking up the cooler and gathering your things. The day’s teasing Rafe lingers in your mind, and just as you start heading toward the parking lot, you hear footsteps behind you.

“Hey,” Rafe’s voice calls out, a little breathless, as if he’s been waiting for the right moment. You turn to find him standing just a few feet away, his usual cocky grin now replaced with something more serious. His eyes are on you, and there's a spark of something more intense than before.

You raise an eyebrow, "What’s up, Rafe?"

He steps closer, that familiar edge of flirtation back in his voice but mixed with a challenge. “You know, you’ve been teasing me all day,” he says, his eyes scanning your outfit—your skirt, specifically. “The way you’ve been bending over, the way you’ve been looking at me, making sure I notice you... you don’t think I’m gonna let you get away with that, do you?”

Your heart races a little at his boldness, but you keep your composure. "What are you gonna do about it, Rafe?" you reply, your voice smooth and knowing.

He smirks, stepping even closer, not quite touching you, but close enough that you can feel the heat from his body. “I’m challenging you to a game of mini-golf. One-on-one. The winner gets... whatever they want.”

He lets the implication hang in the air, making sure you understand exactly what he means.

You lean back, arms crossed, giving him a playful smirk. “Oh really?” you ask, cocking your head.

His smile widens, clearly amused by your response. “Really. If you win I’ll give you exactly what you want, sweetheart,” he says, drawing the word sweetheart out in a way that feels both daring and intimate. "No limits. No hesitation."

A flicker of excitement sparks in you at the thought of what you might be able to ask for. You keep your gaze locked on his, the challenge now fully in motion.

“Well,” you reply slowly, “I’m game. But don’t say I didn’t warn you—I'm not here to lose.”

Rafe chuckles, the sound low and teasing. “Neither am I.”

The two of you head to the mini-golf course, the playful competition already beginning as you both tease each other during the game. As you play, you keep it lighthearted, but the tension is undeniable. Every time you sink a tricky shot, Rafe can’t help but throw out a compliment or a flirtatious comment.

“Nice shot. You’re good at this,” he remarks, a little breathless. His eyes flick to your lips and back to your eyes, making it clear he’s enjoying the game in more ways than one. “But I am still ahead.”

You flash him a mischievous grin, the challenge now fully alive in the air between you two. “Not for long,” you reply, voice low and confident. “I’ll be taking my prize, Rafe.”

He leans against his club for a moment, letting his gaze linger on you, clearly amused by your confidence. “You really think you can win? Just like that?” He smirks, crossing his arms and watching you line up your next shot. “You’re gonna have to try a lot harder if you want to beat me.”

You could feel the words almost slipping from his lips, and for a moment, his usual cocky tone wavers, just enough to make you want to push him a little further. "We'll see about that," you murmur, eyes glinting with a teasing challenge.

As you approach your ball, you notice Rafe watching you intently, his focus not entirely on the game anymore. You take your time lining up the perfect shot, deliberately slow, making sure he sees every movement you make. His gaze never leaves you, his lips curling into an amused smile as his eyes flick to your legs and then back to your face.

"Taking your sweet time, huh?" he calls out, his voice hushed but playful like he’s caught in the trap of wanting to see you win just to keep the tension alive. "You really think I’ll let you catch up?"

You glance at him with a raised brow, your lips curling into a sly smile. "I don’t need much time, Rafe. I’m just setting up for the best part.” Without missing a beat, you sink the ball into the hole with ease. "Boom. Another point for me."

Rafe lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Alright, alright,” he grins, his fingers lightly tapping the side of his club, the competitive fire in his eyes flickering. “Guess you’re not as bad as I thought.”

You roll your shoulders back, stepping up for the next hole. “Not bad? You’ve got a lot to learn, Rafe. I’m only just warming up.”

He watches you carefully, his smile tightening into something more focused. “I don’t know,” he says with an exaggerated shrug, “I think you’ve already given me a run for my money.”

You sink another shot, this one a little trickier, and his reaction is immediate. “Damn, you’re really making this interesting,” he says, voice tinged with admiration. “But even if you keep hitting shots like that, I’m still in the lead. That’s gotta sting, huh?”

You feign a frown, giving him a playful pout as you walk over to the next hole. “You think I’m worried?” you ask with mock disbelief.

He chuckles, but there’s something deeper in his eyes now, a mix of desire and challenge that only makes you more determined. He leans in just a little, his voice taking on a teasing edge. “What’s your plan, sweetheart? You gonna keep bending over like that to distract me?” He smirks, a glint of mischief flashing in his gaze. “Because if that’s the case, we might as well forget about the game.”

You meet his eyes, the playful banter now thick with something more, something that makes the game feel secondary. A rush of heat runs through you, but you don’t let it show—at least, not completely.

"Wouldn’t want to give you too much of an advantage," you reply, keeping the teasing tone, but with a challenge of your own. "But if you’re that easily distracted, I might just take advantage of it."

He leans closer, almost as if daring you to make the next move. “Don’t play with me, babe. You’ve got my attention now.”

You smile, holding his gaze for a beat longer than necessary, feeling the tension between you two stretch to its limit. “Guess you’ll have to keep your focus, Rafe. The game’s still not over.”

His lips curl into a devilish grin, and it’s clear he’s not backing down. “We’ll see who’s got the focus in the end.”

You both continue through the course, the back-and-forth banter growing more heated with each hole.

As you both line up for the final shot, the air between you two is thick with tension. He looks at you, not quite smiling anymore, his gaze intense and challenging.

“You ready for this?” he asks, voice steady, but you can hear the underlying hint of something more, something deeper.

You nod, matching his intensity with your own. “I’ve been ready all along, Rafe.”

As the last shot looms, you both line up for the final hole. You take your shot first, the ball rolling just a little too far off course to make it. A sigh escapes your lips, a mock-frustrated sound, but your eyes are still locked on Rafe.

“Guess it’s your turn,” you say, voice dripping with playful submission. "Good luck, Rafe."

He steps up with a cocky smile, rolling his shoulders as he lines up the ball. "Don’t worry, babe," he says, his voice casual but confident. "This one’s in the bag."

With a swift, smooth swing, Rafe sinks the ball in one clean shot. He throws his club aside, his gaze turning to you immediately, almost predatory.

“Well, looks like I win,” he says, his smirk deepening. "And since you promised me whatever I want…"

You stand there, the anticipation making your pulse race, every fiber of your being drawn to him. You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. "You sure you know what you want, Rafe?" you ask, voice teasing but also giving him full control of the moment.

He takes a step closer, the tension between you two crackling. “I’ve known what I’ve wanted for a while,” he says, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “I just didn’t think you’d make it this difficult to get it.”

A shiver of excitement and something else – something more primal – shoots through you at the way he’s looking at you. It’s all heat, a pull between you both that’s undeniable.

"You’re really making me work for this, huh?" he says, his voice dropping into something darker, more insistent.

“I’ll give you exactly what you want, Rafe. You just have to say it," you murmur, your voice dropping to match his intensity, every word laced with a quiet promise.

Rafe’s eyes flicker over you with that knowing, predatory smile, his gaze never wavering from yours. “Let’s go,” he smirks, his hand wrapping around yours as he pulls you toward his truck.

The drive is a blur, his hand never straying far from you. Every touch, every glance, sends sparks coursing through your skin, making it impossible to ignore the heat that’s been building between you two all night.

He parks the truck, the engine still humming in the silence between you, and when he turns to face you, it feels like the world stops. His gaze is heated, and intense, and you know, without a doubt, that what’s next is inevitable.

But before either of you can make a move, you share a lingering look—a quiet acknowledgment that the night, in all its anticipation, has only just begun.

I don’t know how I feel about this one you guys lmk what you think??

#rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #obx #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe imagine #rafe obx #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader

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letternotekisses · 7 months ago

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Bro I cant even think of specifics would you be able to write a Cassidy drabble i need him incredibly bad

save a horse...yk the drill <3 nsfw below da cut

Cassidy grunts softly, chewing on the end of his cigar as you make your way over with a disapproving look on your face, you're shaking your head and grumbling at the sight of his injuries. He could care less about his scuffed up state - not when it was you tending to him. Cole is quick to flick the ash away, chucking the cigar and stomping it out once you reach his side.

Cassidy proudly presents himself to you as if his injuries were a badge of honour, grinning to himself when you fail to keep your stern expression, a small smile gracing your perfect lips. You're quick to cut through the fabric of his shirt to get to the nasty gash beneath, and he exhales through his teeth once your warm palms ghost his skin.

He should feel guilty - really, fantasising about the sweet little apprentice medic just doing her job. But he just can't help himself, shifting a hand over his belt uneasily when his mind starts to wander to deeper territories.

Cassidy wonders if you'd scream for him when he speared you open on his meaty cock, crying out his name as he pins you down with his bulk, grinding into you as you grasp at the cotton of his bedsheets below. He wonders if you'd claw at his back, marking him up and scratching gently at the weathered skin as he bullies the fat tip of his cock into your needy hole.

He'd cup your jaw, holding your chin gently as if to guide you whilst you parted those pretty lips around his shaft. Would you look up at him with watery eyes, fluttering your lashes like the sweet thing you were? Or would you take him to the hilt, gagging messily around his cock like a little slut?

Would you beg for more? Would you drool into his sheets as he holds your thighs apart, watching the way his cock disappears into your hot, wet cunt?

Cole shudders, just the thought of your pretty little pussy enough to have him hardening in his trousers. You're too focused on mending the wound on his side - your touches soft and fleeting. He wants nothing more than to bury his face between your thighs, he wants to eat you out until you're whiny and overstimulated, he wants to hear you complain about the beard burn between your legs the morning after. He wants you--

You suddenly clear your throat, and his honey brown eyes snap to you with the same sleazy gleam you'd grown accustomed to. You gesture towards his side, all immaculately cleaned up and covered with protective dressing.

Cassidy grins, tipping a hat to you with the intent of asking you for a drink later. "Thanks, doc."

#asks #requests #smut #request #overwatch x reader #overwatch 2 #drabble #overwatch x you #overwatch imagines #cole cassidy #cole cassidy x reader #overwatch #cw: smut #i hate this #this is bad #i need sleep #x reader #sorry anon

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princessbrunette · 1 year ago

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Step bro John b got me thinking, what if John b didn’t take up the offer to bone his step sis because he is too much of a problem solver to create more problems so jj gives her what she wants, fucking her realll good he would so be like “John b is mean huh? Doesn’t wanna take care of his lil sis” while balls deep inside you. His so pervy

ต( ິᵒ̴̶̷̤ ﻌ ᵒ̴̶̷̤ )ິ王女୨˚̣̣̣͙୧

“somethin’ bout this bein’ a secret really turns you on, huh?” jj winces, voice low and husky in your ear as he grinds his dick through your walls, all but dropping his weight on you in your bedroom. john b was off chasing some lead across the water, stupidly leaving jj to ‘keep an eye on you’ as if you were the troublemaker out of the two.

jj had wanted to be a good friend, but the opportunity presented itself — being you walking around a bikini top and the tiniest skirt to mankind, and unlike john b jj wasn’t one to waste perfectly good pussy being dangled right below his nose.

which is how you ended up with him inside you, unable to resist his charms. “just wanted to feel good, jayj.” you mewl, voice trembling with each fast and sudden thrust of his hips, drilling into you. by instinct, you throw a hand back to push against his tummy and he lightly smacks it out the way.

“move that hand, mama. you wanted this.” he drawls, that charming southern twang making your walls flutter around the shaft that you had glossed with your arousal.

“are—are you g’nna tell john b?” you whine, and to be honest — you’re not sure what you want the answer to be. you keep this little rendezvous to yourself and stay turned on by the idea of being a sexy little secret — or you face the consequences of a jealous and jaded step brother, who could potentially take that frustration out on you. you always did find possessiveness sexy.

“hey i’m not a snitch.” he adjusts his hands, one arm sliding beneath your stomach to hoist your ass up a little higher, the other hand coming to affectionately wrap around your throat. he presses a kiss to your jaw and his lips linger there as he stills inside you. “unless, like… you want me to tell him. in which case you’re naughtier than i gave you credit for.”

you groan, wriggling until he got the message and helped flip you on to your back. he didn’t let you off easy though, pinning your knees up onto your chest leaving you spread and exposed. instead of getting shy, you giggle, almost evil and doll-like which only approves his suspicions about you being quite the little nympho. “but we’re doing such a bad thing, jj.” you bat your eyelashes, faux innocent and he smirks at the audacity, licking the cut at the corner of his mouth.

“look, all i know is john b sent me over here to look after his little step-sister,” he explains as he lines himself back up with your needy hole and pushes back in, making your face twist in pleasure. “and that’s exactly,” he punctuates with a hard thrust that bounces you off the bed. “what— i’m— doing.”

ต( ິᵒ̴̶̷̤ ﻌ ᵒ̴̶̷̤ )ິ王女୨˚̣̣̣͙୧

#anon #jj maybank prompt #stepbro!johnb

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bahngarang · 8 days ago

Text

chapter 0.0 ☆ end of beginning

ss: 11

wc: 469 (nice)

cw: mentions of + jokes about car accidents, mentions of comas, medical inaccuracies probably, angst, graphic description of pain? idk i'm just writing what a flare-up feels like to me

the main thing yn felt was pain. pain in her knee, pain in her jaw, and pain everywhere else. the meds barely took the edge off.

thankfully, her parents had managed to get her a private room, so yn didn't have to listen to other people, but in a way it made this whole thing worse. maybe it would have been a little better if she didn't feel so alone in her grievances.

she just wanted to sleep, to get away from reality for a little bit – but being away from home, in hospital of all places wasn't helping. the weird, bleach-y smell lingered in her nose, and the irregular beeping of her vitals was drilling a hole into her skull. not even holding the pathetic excuse for a pillow over her ears drowned it out. it was too uncomfortable a position anyway, especially since yn could only lay on her back so she didn't put pressure on her knee, or her jaw, or the many other injuries she'd sustained from the crash. the restlessness gradually seeping into her bones didn't help anything either, and yn knew it would only get worse over the months she'd need to heal.

at first, yn hadn't realised why she'd woken up in hospital, to a jaw wired shut, and a leg brace, and pain burning up her insides.

and then, she remembered.

crossing the road, alone, in the dark. the screeching of the tires as the car rounded the corner. standing, frozen, like a deer in headlights, and the blinding pain that spread like lightning through her body as she hit the ground, before blacking out.

due to some cruel twist of fate, she'd woken from her coma on what would have been her day off from training. all in all, not the most innocuous of days, but it meant that chan was there. him and his little, worried face, wasting his time on her. although, yn supposed it was better that she'd woken up then, so that he didn't have to spend the whole time just watching her, unconscious. and, well, it was nice having a friend around during the panic of the first moments of wakefulness.

but now, she was alone again. nothing to do but try desperately not to think about the accident, or the pain, or chan's little, worried face… it didn't really leave much. and those things were pretty hard not to think about when it felt like the images kept resurfacing in her head in a constant loop, a grim picture book, over and over – and the pain, a cloying caramel clogging up her insides and sinking its claws into her body, flames blazing.

yn just wanted sleep. but tonight, sleep was not her friend. and, to her reckoning, it wouldn't be for a long while.

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eclipsturns · 1 month ago

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ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𔓕⠀crash and burn ﹗ㅤ

࿙࿚֒ ࿙࿚ ࡛ ֹ pairing ! ۟ exchange student!reader x hockey player!matt

Chapter 13: the aftermath

the weekend after their explosive clash was a quiet torment, a stretch of days where time seemed to drag through mud.

y/n holed up in her room at the millers’ house, pacing barefoot across the creaky hardwood, her phone a lifeline she couldn’t let go of.

by sunday, the sting of their words had dulled into a gnawing ache, and she found herself typing frantic messages to matt:

“can we talk? i’m sorry, please just answer,”

her fingers shaking as she hit send.

she called too, her voice breaking in voicemails, “matt, i didn’t mean it, i swear, just call me back.”

she even resorted to spamming him with texts, each one more desperate, but his silence was a brick wall: cold, unyielding, and deliberate.

for matt, it wasn’t simple either. he’d sit on his bed, staring at her messages lighting up his screen, his thumb twitching over the reply button, every fiber of him screaming to respond; but the anger was a wildfire in his chest, scorching any softness he felt.

he loved her—fuck, he loved her so much it hurt—but the bitterness of her accusations, the way she’d doubted him, kept his hands still.

he’d toss his phone onto his desk, muttering to himself, “she doesn’t get it,” and pace until the floorboards groaned under his weight, trapped between longing and rage.

the weekend bled into monday morning, the hours heavy and sluggish, and when y/n finally dragged herself out of bed, the gray sky outside her window mirrored the heaviness in her chest. she threw on a hoodie and sneakers, her movements mechanical, and trudged downstairs, the millers’ house quiet except for the distant clink of dishes in the kitchen.

the walk to school felt endless, her sneakers scuffing the damp pavement, each step a battle against the dread pooling in her stomach. the air was cold, biting at her exposed hands, and she kept her eyes down, avoiding the world as it blurred past her.

she stepped into the school, the linoleum floors slick under her shoes, the halls already buzzing with morning chaos. her eyes darted through the crowd, searching for matt, her breath catching when she spotted him by his locker, his hoodie pulled up, his posture stiff.

“matt!” she called, her voice cutting through the chatter as she hurried toward him, dodging a group of freshmen, her heart pounding like it might break free.

he turned his head slightly, his blue eyes meeting hers for a split second—empty, distant—before he looked away, slamming his locker shut with a clang that made her flinch.

“matt, please, can we—” she started, but he brushed past her, his shoulder grazing hers like she was nothing, his steps echoing down the corridor as he disappeared into the sea of students. she stood there, her throat tightening, the hum of voices around her fading into a dull roar.

the bell rang, sharp and jarring, pulling her toward physics class.

the walk there was a haze, her sneakers dragging against the floor, the weight of matt’s rejection slowing her down. she slipped into the room, her backpack slung over one shoulder, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.

mr. henderson was at the board, chalk scratching out, “newton’s third law—action, reaction, you know the drill.”

the classroom buzzed with rustling papers and low murmurs—jake tossing a pencil to nate, whispering, “heard matt’s girl lost it at the game,” and a girl near the front giggling about weekend gossip.

y/n made a beeline for the seat next to matt, her pulse racing, hoping proximity might spark something. he was slouched, doodling on his notebook, his jaw set.

she slid into the chair, her voice soft, “hey, can we—” he didn’t even look up, just dropped his backpack onto the seat between them with a thud, cutting her off.

“seat’s taken,” he muttered, his tone flat and sharp, like a blade slicing through her hope.

“matt, come on, i just—” she tried again, leaning closer, but he snapped his head up, his eyes cold as steel.

“i said it’s taken. fuck off.”

the room quieted for a moment, heads turning. mr. henderson glanced back, adjusting his glasses, “problem over there?”

jake smirked, “nah, just matt dodging his ex.”

a few laughs rippled through, and y/n’s face burned, her hands curling into fists as she grabbed her stuff and retreated to a seat near oliver, her vision blurring with unshed tears.

the rest of the morning crawled by, each class a blur of monotony and muffled voices, until the lunch bell finally rang.

y/n shuffled through the crowded halls, her steps heavy, her backpack pulling at her shoulders as she made her way to the cafeteria. the air grew thick with the tang of fries and spilled soda, the clatter of trays filling the space. she found oliver and maggie at a table by the windows, sliding into a seat as the chatter washed over her.

maggie, her eyeliner smudged from the morning, poked at her salad, “you look like a zombie, y/n. what’s up?”

oliver, sipping his chocolate milk, chimed in, “yeah, you’ve been staring at that sandwich like it insulted you.”

y/n managed a weak shrug, “not hungry,” her gaze drifting across the room to matt’s table.

he was with his hockey crew, nate cracking a joke that made him laugh, a sound that twisted her insides, but when she turned back to her tray, she missed how matt’s eyes flicked to her, lingering with a flicker of pain before he masked it, joining in on another round of banter with his teammates.

she couldn’t stay after that. the noise, the sight of him; it was suffocating. she mumbled an excuse to oliver and maggie, grabbed her bag, and slipped out of the cafeteria, her sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as she darted down the hall.

the girls’ bathroom was her refuge, and she pushed through the door, the faint smell of bleach and cheap perfume hitting her as she locked herself in the farthest stall.

the tiles were cold against her palms as she sank to the floor, her knees drawn up. sobs tore through her, ragged and loud in the cramped space, her chest heaving as panic clawed at her lungs.

she pressed her forehead to her knees, her breaths shallow, her mind a whirlwind of anguish.

he hates me.

i ruined it.

i’m not enough.

her fingers dug into her scalp, pulling at her hair as tears soaked her jeans, the reality of losing him crashing over her like a wave she couldn’t swim against.

meanwhile, across campus, the day trudged on, and matt was already at the rink by late afternoon, the cold air biting his face as he laced up his skates.

hockey practice was a disaster.

the rink echoed with blades slicing ice and sticks clacking, but matt was a mess: he fumbled a pass from nate, the puck skidding wide, and when he tried to recover, he tripped over his own skates, crashing into the boards with a grunt.

“dude, what’s your deal?” nate snapped, skating over, his breath fogging in the cold.

matt shoved himself upright, his stick slamming the ice, “i’m fine, back off!”

but he wasn’t—his shots veered off-target, his checks were sloppy, and coach’s voice boomed, “sturniolo, you’re moving like a damn rookie! focus!” matt’s jaw clenched, his frustration a mirror of the turmoil inside, y/n’s absence a weight dragging him down, dulling his edge.

hours later, as the sun dipped low, y/n left school behind, her sneakers crunching gravel on the walk back to the millers’ house.

the air was crisp, the sky streaked with fading light, and every step felt like wading through quicksand, her body exhausted from crying, her mind numb. she pushed open the front door, the warm glow of the kitchen spilling into the hall, but it did little to thaw the chill inside her.

at the dinner table, the lasagna sat untouched on her plate, steam curling up as mr. miller chatted about his day, their son poking at his food with a fork.

mrs. miller, her graying hair tied back, watched y/n with quiet concern. “you’ve barely eaten, sweetie. something wrong?”

y/n’s voice was barely audible, “just not feeling it tonight.” she pushed her chair back, mumbling an excuse, and fled upstairs, the stairs creaking under her weight.

in her room, she curled into a ball on her bed, the darkness a heavy blanket over her.

a gentle knock broke the silence, and mrs. miller slipped in, closing the door with a soft click. she perched on the bed’s edge, her hand resting lightly on y/n’s shoulder. “hey, talk to me, you’ve been a ghost all weekend—what’s eating at you?”

y/n’s resolve crumbled, her voice a whisper as tears welled up, “i messed up with matt. we fought, bad, and now he won’t even talk to me. i tried everything, but he’s just... gone.”

mrs. miller pulled her into a hug, her arms steady, “oh, honey, he’s not gone, he’s hurting, just like you.”

“i said things i didn’t mean,” y/n confessed, her words muffled against mrs. miller’s shoulder, “i was so scared he’d leave me, and now he has.”

mrs. miller smoothed her hair, her tone gentle but firm, “you’re both raw right now; boys like matt... they shut down when they’re mad, but it doesn’t mean he’s stopped caring. if you want him back, you’ve got to own what you said, really apologize—not just through a screen, but to his face.”

y/n nodded, her sobs easing, a flicker of clarity cutting through the fog. she’d wounded him as deeply as he’d wounded her, and fixing it meant facing him, swallowing her fear, and laying her heart bare.

big time.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ⚡︎ ㅤ𝑀𝐘 𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ..! @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @ariieeesworld @pixie-sticks-are-good @luvjaeeee @sturnslutz @mattswifeyy @oopsiedaisydeer @v4lsturn @pair-of-pantaloons @idkwhatthisevenislol @sturn777 @whore4mattsturniolo @mattchalattee @madifilipowiczisthebest @fratbrochrisgf @sturniolo101 @ivysturnss @mattsatellite @sturnsblogs @izzylovesmatt @allisonclairee @m4gz-png @mr-wrinkleton @bluestriips @surprisecurlyfriesbackup @immaqulate @wysmols @onevison

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alexa-yukiyu · 1 year ago

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Heyo, how are you? I’m not sure if you celebrate it, but hope you had a great Easter? Would you write another Dokucha story where she’s the daughter of Mihawk and being very secretive whenever she goes somewhere. One day, Mihawk follows her (Crocodile and Buggy follow him too, they’ve got nothing better to do xD) which is easier said than done. She’s very smart (after all she’s Mihawk’s daughter) and tries to make sure not to be followed. Once they find her, they can’t understand what they walked into. Humandrills, Bananawanis, Kung-Fu Dugongs, and many more other animals are living in a secret place together and getting along, and especially, they all love her so so much. Together with her animal family they’re taking care of a wounded Sea King. Buggy is ready to leave the place and never come back, too many fearsome creatures for his taste and Crocodile and Mihawk are just at a loss for words (now Crocodile knows where his pets went, she doesn’t like that he uses them for battles and such, she loves their company and would never want any harm to come to them). Once they sense the three men, all the animals start to become hostile towards them ready to protect Dokucha at all cost.

The Scaly and furry ( mihawk x f!child!reader x crocodile)

A/N I DID IT GUYS AFTER SO LONG I FINALLY DID IT. I din’t have any idea on how to integrate buggy so he kinda got missed out. But here we are another dracule!reader, reader is in ther middle childhood, so young but not a todler but also not a teen. But anyways thank you guys so much for waiting

Mihawk narrows his eyes as once again his daughter had left in a hurry, leaving behind a poor excuse of wanting to explore the outside. His eyes flickering back to his co-worker as he pipes in

“If you’re that curious about what the brat is up to, we can simply follow her,” Crocodile huffs out, a cloud of smoke leaving his mouth as he spoke

It was easier said than done, seeing as his daughter had inherited haki from him, one she had harnessed under both his and Crocodile’s guidance. But it was still not on par with theirs, which made it possible for the two men to evade her detection, following her as she made her wave through the thick bushes until she arrived at a cove hidden away by trees and boulders.

She blinked, looking back

“I thought I felt something…” she murmured, turning back around smiling as she spotted one of her friends waiting for her at the entrance of a more secluded part of the cove.

“Hi Manny, I'm back!” She called to the Dugong, who made some aggressive punching movements her way as they both entered a more enclosed part of the cove

“I know, I’m sorry. Dad and Cruncle are getting suspicious, so it was harder to get this time,” the girl grumbles, letting out a squeak as she was suddenly lifted off the ground, relaxing when she recognized the presence.

“Enrique, you scared me,” she gasped, giggling when the human drill hugged her tighter

“I ‘m sorry; I know I was gone longer than normal; I'm back,” she said, smiling up at the ape that sat in the branches, letting low hoots as he put the girl down again

“I knew you cared, Enrique!”

A louder set of hoots and disgruntled noises left the Humandrill upon hearing this

“Tell yourself that, but I know you care!” She argued back to the growing cacophony of howls and screams, the occasional gecker leaving the ever-increasing group only to be stopped as Manny, now joined with his own group of dugongs, began emitting a series of whistles to get both of them on track

“Ah right, sorry,” she apologized, making haste to a blue hole deeper down the cove, smiling as a colossal beast surfaced when she kneeled next to it

“Hi Musa, how are they doing? I’m sorry it took me a bit, but I brought the medicine. Would you bring them up?” She spoke as she caressed the bananawani’s jaw, grinning when the latter let out a satisfied hiss as she sank back into the depths, returning accompanied both only by more of her kind but with a similar-sized beast being supported by their scaly bodies

She frowns at the Sea King’s state as they weakly glance at her, letting out a weak hiss in greeting

“Here, can you open your mouth?” Smiling when they complied, throwing the medication in their mouth

“You’re bigger, so I had to get a couple…hundred, but it sho-AH

Her words were caught up as, for the second time, she found herself airborne, this time; however, the culprit seemed to be a dusty mass dragging her feet in the air and dangling her upside down

As soon as this happened, as a switch being flicked, all the animals in the room became alert, aggresive, the bananawanis crawling out of the water and standing in front of her now dangling body. The dugongs and Humandrills stood in their own formations, preparing to fight the newcomers. Some of the human drills were quick to try to get the girl down, climbing through branches near her position, only to back down as the sand lashed out at them if they got too close

“It’s okay, guys, I know them,” she explains, trying to calm the growing tension in the cove

“Hi dad, hi Cruncle….what are you guys doing here?”

“I reckon we should be the ones asking that question,” Mihawk spoke, staring up at the girl

“What are you doing near them?” Crocodile growled as the creatures began to advance on them, as he flashed them with his haki in return, grinning when they backed away

“Wait, don’t hurt them! I can explain!” She hurried out

Mihawk quirked an eyebrow at that

“They’re my friends!” She chirps only to turn into a squeal as she is raised higher after a shared glance between the ex-warlords

“Dad!” She whined, a frown on her face

“Where did they come from?”

She pouts at that

“Well?”

“The human drills came with me from our old home, and we found the dugongs at the beach.”

Mihawk glances at Crocodile for confirmation on the latter, already knowing how likely it was for the apes to have followed them to the island, seeing how close they had grown in Kuragaina Island

“Dugongs are native to this area,” he confirms

He hums at that

“And the beasts?”

“I sneaked into Uncle’s gloomy room, and they were just there; they were lonely, so, I kind of, umm, let them go?”

Crocodile lets out a scoff at that

“They are huge predators, the only predators to sea kings, and you let them go because they looked lonely?”

“That’s what I just said, dummy.”

“Watch it brat.”

She sticks out her tongue at him in return

Mihawk rolled his eyes, walking closer to her

“What about the sea king?”

“It’s a baby! It got left by his pod, and he got really sick; he found them when me and Musa were out swimming, and we wanted to help them, well Musa wanted to eat them at first….”

“You are going to be the death of me,” he sighed, catching the child as Crocodile released the sand holding them up

“So…can I come see them again?” She asked the men once they had departed from the cove, much to the chagrin of the animals

They glance at each other before Crocodile begins

“The banawani need to come back.” he started sending her a side glare when she began to protest

“They have a job to do; once they do their job, they are free to go and rendevous with you,” he states

“Job? Do they play with you too, Cruncle? Is their job to keep you company?”

“N-

He pauses at the scathing glare he receives from the swordsman, understanding it was better not to let the young girl know what the reptile’s actual job consisted of

“..They keep me company and help me with some cleaning.”

“Cleaning? Them?” She questions, trying to picture the crocodiles using their huge bodies to tidy up an office

“They get rid of the trash for me.”

“Oh! That sounds like Musa and the rest! They are always hungry,” she laughs

Mihawk nods his head, a silent sign of acknowledgment for the otherwise aloof man

“You have to let me know where you are actually going from now on, no more sneaking out. As long as you do that, you are allowed to continue your peculiar friendship group.”

“Really?!”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, dad!”

A moment of silence envelops the trio as they continue walking, only to be cut short by the girl once again

“Do you want to come to cuddle and play with them with me?”

“No.”

“Worth a shot”

Again thank you for all the kind words I got saying to take my time, and sorry I completely disregard your words cause LISTEN I WANT TO KEEP GIVEN YOU GUYYS

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

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itsstarseason · 3 months ago

Text

╭┈──── ◌ೄ◌ྀ ˊˎ

╰┈➤ ❝ FOR OUR TEAM’S SAKE.

in which, Taeyong confronts Seyeon about her guarded behavior and she realizes she can’t ignore the elephant in the room anymore.

✰ STARRING. Seyeon & Taeyong feat. NCT 127

✰ TIMELINE. 2017, before Cherry Bomb era

✰ THEMES. angst, hurt comfort, lore drop

✰ WARNINGS. profanity, mentions of food and alcohol

✰ WORD COUNT. 2.3k

seyeon lore so complex idek where to start

✰ SEYEON'S MASTERLIST

It’s already midnight when Seyeon is hunched over a plate of grapes at a kitchen counter in the 5th-floor dorm. Doyoung bought grapes and refused to share that information with her and the other 10th-floor members, so Seyeon had to take matters into her own hands and eat them before Doyoung could even take a look at them.

Her elbows rest on the counter as she inspects each grape in her fingers before she pops them into her mouth. It’s dark. There’s one dim kitchen light, but it’s more of a shadow, and the city lights sparkle behind the window. The cold wooden floor sucks on her bare feet and it travels to her exposed legs, but Seyeon doesn’t mind. The faint ticking of the clock and water running from the shower in the bathroom fill the emptiness, but there is something else.

Behind her, Taeyong is sitting on the living room couch, drilling holes in the back of Seyeon’s head for a good few minutes.

“Gonna ask or keep staring?” Her voice resonates through the silence.

Taeyong licks his lips before he answers. “What did you do before you joined SM?”

“I lived in the US.”

He nods, although she can’t see it. “I know. New York, right? How was it?”

She lifts her gaze up for a moment, stares at the white ceiling, and angles her body toward him with a shrug. “Alright. Y’ know, it’s New York. It’s okay. I mean, there’s trash and rats everywhere, but hey! The Statue of Liberty is nice, if y-“

“Seyeon.” He looks straight at her and she stares back at his frown. Her hand, which was resting on the kitchen counter, is now holding onto it. “I’m not asking about New York. I’m asking about you. You never talk about yourself.”

She finally fully faces him. Her feet cross on the wooden tiles and hips rest against the counter. She hides her hands in the pockets of her hoodie and chuckles. “What’s there to talk about? Wanna hear about me chasing rats?” She laughs, but there’s a hint of mockery in her voice.

Taeyong’s stare is sealed on her face. His expression is stone-like.

“Some members feel like they don’t know you.”

Seyeon doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t move and doesn’t look away. She is as stoic as Taeyong.

“Who did you talk to?”

“That’s not important, but it’s not just me. It’s hard to ignore your behavior.”

She looks to the side. Her jaw relaxes as quickly as it tightens. “It’s not true. You guys know me.” Her voice is convincing, but not enough for Taeyong. He gets up from the couch.

“We know you, but we don’t know anything about you.”

He wipes his nose with his fingers. His shoulders drop and he’s staring at her with a mother-like worry. Even his voice sounds like that, despite being shaky.

Seyeon hates it.

“If you want to be coworkers, it’s fine, but you’re a part of our team and you need to be open with us.”

Seyeon shakes her head, but her eyes grow stern on Taeyong. “We’re not just coworkers.”

“Then talk to us. Seyeon, I asked you a simple question, and you ditched it.”

“I know.”

“Is everything okay?” Taeyong hides his hands in the pockets of his pants. His voice is laced with sincerity, and his big eyes stare at hers with concern.

“Yeah.”

Her response is light, but the longer Taeyong stares at her, the more confidence her eyes lose. They wander around the dark room. She can only see the shapes of furniture, but at the moment, she prefers that over Taeyong’s pity.

“Seyeon.” Taeyong’s voice cuts through the silence. Half of his body is gone behind the wall. Seyeon’s head turns to him with the same unreadable expression. “If it’s a personal matter, I can’t tell you anything. But, we’ve been a team for more than a year and we will be for a long while. So, as a leader,” his eyes flicker to her feet before he gives a final look at her face, “whatever it is, rip the bandaid off. Please. For our team’s sake.”

He lingers long enough for his words to settle into the dark room, then disappears in the hallway. Seyeon’s head hangs low and her fingers curl inside her pockets. She gulps.

For our team’s sake.

A few nights later, Seyeon returns to the 5th-floor dorm.

The conversation with Taeyong lingered in her mind like a rabbit jumping in and out of its underground tunnels. She had expected a confrontation—the members aren’t stupid and she could only go so long avoiding any not-work-related interaction—but she thought she could ride that wave longer.

That night, Taeyong left her no choice. She can’t risk hindering the group’s dynamics and she can’t keep lying to them. If she chose to live this life, she should man up and go in on it.

The dorm is pitch black until Seyeon’s eyes adjust to the darkness. It’s quiet, too; the floor is barely creaking under Seyeon’s bare feet. The cold from her damp hair makes her exposed legs shiver. She walks to the kitchen first. Her eyebrows raise at the sight of clean counters. She has grown used to the mess on the 10th floor, it’s strange to see the sink not filled with dirty dishes. She opens the fridge. The light casts a shadow on her face, making her eyes squint before she inspects each shelf. A bottle of beer is hidden behind some leftovers, so she takes it, opens it with her teeth, and closes the fridge. It’s probably Taeyong’s.

With the beer in hand, Seyeon walks toward his room. A “Come in!” reaches her ears as soon as she knocks on the door.

Taeyong is seated at his desk across the door. The blue light from the computer screen is illuminating his face and a lamp in the corner of his room is lighting the place. He is staring at her, a little confused. He still has makeup on from the day, but the dark circles under his eyes are now peaking through the layers of concealer.

“Hi.”

Seyeon shuts the door behind her and sits cross-legged on his bed, placing the beer in her legs. She catches the quick side eye Taeyong gives her and looks at him. “What?”

He licks his lips and shakes his head. “Just… don’t spill the beer, please.”

She stares at him for a second before a smirk appears on her lips. “Got it. No wet bed tonight.”

Taeyong chuckles, but then his expression turns unreadable. He watches water drip from her hair onto his sheets and takes a deep breath. She’s making a mess. Taeyong looks back at Seyeon’s face, but she is already staring ahead, eyes unfocused, and sips on the drink he bought yesterday. Taeyong takes another deep breath. The words linger on the tip of his tongue. He looks at her face and opens his mouth to say something and that’s when he stops himself.

Seyeon’s lips are pressed into a thin line. Her gaze isn’t just unfocused, it’s distant. Her back is hunched and her slim fingers play with the bottle. Although she has just showered, she looks the opposite of refreshed.

Taeyong knows why Seyeon is here. He is starting to figure out how she works, so he turns back to his computer but leaves his body angled toward her.

Seyeon takes longer them either of them expected. She shifts restlessly on the bed, lying on her back, side, stomach, back to sitting. Her fingers fidget with her clothes, hair, even her toes, and Taeyong’s sheets, and the silence between them only stretches with her wandering eyes. By the time Seyeon speaks, most of her beer is gone and Taeyong’s eyes are red from rubbing them too many times.

“I never wanted to be an idol.”

Taeyong’s hand pauses over the keyboard. His head twitches toward her and his eyes immediately find her face. He slowly turns his chair toward his bed, facing her.

“Had no singing or dancing skills… never even thought of it,” she says with a half-smile. “Like a week after I came to Korea, though, this one woman basically stalked me,” she chuckles, making quick eye contact with Taeyong. “She was everywhere I was, I have no idea how. And she’d always come up to me and ask ‘Do you want to be famous?��, ‘You have potential’, ‘You should be a celebrity’, shit like that—I was 10 years old, it was fucking weird—she just kept telling me to audition. I’d just ignore her, but one time I thought she’d leave me alone if I go.”

A smile lingers on Seyeon’s flushed face, but it’s paired with a light frown like she’s judging her own words. She glances at Taeyong long enough to catch his reaction without eye contact. He is staring at her with a kind of pureness in his eyes. He stays silent. Seyeon takes a sip of the beer and continues.

“It was a random day in a week. I dunno, maybe Thursday? Doesn’t matter. But the moment I entered the building,” her eyes widen, “everyone was staring. Everyone knew who I was, I could tell. It was so fucking weird. And it was around the time ‘Tell Me’ by Wonder Girls was released, so I learned the choreography and sang it. It was terrible.” She pauses, shaking her head. “It was so bad.”

A soft smile graces Taeyong’s face and his head tilts to the side. “You were always the best trainee. I couldn’t be that bad.”

“Deadass.” She stares at him. “I mean, you know, I did my worst on purpose, but oh my fucking God…” Her palm lands on her lips to cover her open mouth. “I gave them the laziest performance ever. And—you know how they are—they were so silent. The air was so awkward, they were staring at me and I could barely see their faces because of the lights. The atmosphere was so weird, so I thought I tricked them and scared them away. They brought a contract instead.”

Taeyong’s mouth drops open.

“They signed you right away?”

Seyeon nods. “After ten years, that moment is still the fastest I’ve ever seen them work.”

Taeyong lets out an airy laugh. He shifts in his chair, resting his intertwined fingers on his lap and letting his spine melt into the leather. “When they cast me, I said I’ll audition if they buy me food. They agreed.” His smile falters a little. “It was a little weird, but,” his voice gets weaker, “I had no choice.”

All this time, Taeyong thought he and Seyeon were far from similar. But with the way Seyeon stares at him now, silent and free of any judgment with such deep understanding in her eyes, he thinks she knows exactly what he means. He doesn’t have to say anything more, because she knows what it means to be desperate. He feels seen—not as an idol or a leader—as a person with wounds and scars. He thinks he sees the same in her.

Still, it’s too much to handle. Taeyong clears his throat. “If you didn’t want to be an idol, why didn’t you leave?”

Seyeon’s jaw tightens. Her fingers intertwine around the bottle between her legs and her eyes jump to the computer screen behind Taeyong. She gulps and nods toward it. “Open YouTube. I wanna watch something.”

Taeyong stares at her blankly. “Now?”

“Yeah,” she says in a flat tone.

He can press on further and point out how she ignored his question. He can send her away and finally go to sleep. But after four years of knowing each other, this is the first time Seyeon has ever voluntarily spent time with him. For the first time since their debut, Seyeon initiated a conversation that was more than small talk or job-related. It’s not worth the risk, at least not tonight.

Taeyong does what she says. He scrolls for a minute until any video catches his eye. When it does, he looks at her for approval, and she nods. They watch the video in silence. Seyeon lies on his bed, and Taeyong slides down on his chair and puts his feet on the edge of the seat, wrapping his arms around his calves.

That night, Seyeon falls asleep before she can walk back to her dorm. She occupies most of Taeyong’s bed and still has the—now empty—beer bottle in her hand. He watches one or two more videos before he turns the computer off.

Taeyong’s gaze shifts to Seyeon with a sigh. He walks to her, takes the bottle from her grasp, and puts it on his desk. He gently shoves Seyeon’s limp body to the side of the bed and lies down on the empty side.

His cheek presses into the pillow and his body melts into the mattress. It’s a single-sized bed, but there’s just enough space for either of them. Their backs gently press into each other, and as Taeyong listens to Seyeon’s muffled breaths, he lets his eyes close. It’s a little strange to be this close to Seyeon. It’s the first time her guard is not up in front of Taeyong or any of the members, even more so now that she is asleep. It’s new, but oddly comfortable. For the first time, he doesn’t mind having wrinkled sheets.

Before he falls into slumber, Taeyong hopes that none of them will regret tonight.

itsstarseason 2025 ✰

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corazondebeskar-reads · 4 months ago

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how to break a girl in ten easy steps - part two

dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

words: 570

summary: all hope is lost.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, non-con, captivity, brute force, kicking, hitting, forced oral, vomiting, consumption of bodily fluids including piss and vomit, abuse, AU, non-linear, this is by far the grossest chapter tbh.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: please read and heed the series and chapter warnings. this is very dark. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. please read responsibly.

catch me sliding in just under the deadline for @romana-after-dark's dead dove december

Step 9 By now, your girl should be cooperating and obedient most of the time. But is she really yours? It’s possible, but most girls require a final push into total subservience. You’ve likely broken her down by now, so it’s time to make it official.

The light flicks on, the buzz that heralds nothing but horror startling you from uneasy sleep.

“Good morning, cunt,” he says cheerfully as he thunders down the stairs. His noisy steel-toed bootsteps reverberate through the concrete floor you’re sprawled across before one of them kisses your ribs with the same gentleness he always shows you.

Which is to say that you’ll have another blossoming bruise there later.

You groan, and he chuckles.

“Up and at ‘em,” he says.

You know the drill by now. The path of least punishment. Another groan escapes you as you drag yourself to your knees and open your mouth, jaw already aching.

“That’s a good girl,” he drawls disdainfully. “A good little piss hole.”

And he starts his day as he always does, now that he’s living the dream. He empties his bladder down your throat, snickering as your eyes burn with the rancid taste. There’s no reprieve. As you gulp down the last of his urine, he starts to fuck into your mouth, the fat head of his cock plugging you like a wine cork.

Sometimes it goes down easy. Today is not one of those times.

Your stomach roils, you can feel his hot piss still sloshing around inside as he starts to add his cum to the mix and it doesn’t take. Your body rejects it and no matter how hard you try to hold it back, to swallow it down before it’s too late, you’re vomiting around his softening cock.

He sneers and pulls back, wiping himself clean of your sick by rubbing his dick on your outstretched tongue. You know better than to put it back inside your mouth.

“Look at you, makin’ yourself breakfast,” he jokes, like he always does when this happens. He smirks at his own words and steps back. “Hurry up. Got a special treat for ya today.”

You’d feel dread, if it wasn’t already a permanent fixture in your gut. You felt dread the moment you first laid eyes on Joel Miller and you were right. But he was inevitable.

He clomps back up the stairs, leaving you to clean up the floor and yourself. You don’t dawdle, of course, The sooner you finish, the sooner you can go upstairs where the fresh spring air will fill the small cabin, the sunlight’s pale tendrils awaiting you.

By the time you’ve crawled up, he’s taking sausages off the stove and humming to himself while the coffee pot percolates noisily. You reach his chair and wait, trying to ignore the way your kneecap shifted.

“Got good news for you,” he says with a smug smirk. “You’re dead.”

You plummet, or so it seems. The blood rushes, your eyes widen, your breath stops as if he’s a fortune teller. But no, it picks back up shallow and rapid.

He laughs and dangles a newspaper clipping in front of you.

Police Call Off Search for Missing Woman

“They had you declared dead. Probably to collect on your life insurance,” he says, looming, shadows darkening his satisfied sneer. “Ain’t that somethin’? Nobody’s looking for you anymore. Nobody’s gonna take you away from me now.”

next chapter

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #dead dove fic #dark fic #dark!joel miller #tw: non-con #heed all warnings #reader discretion advised

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shadowisles-writes · 9 months ago

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Adventurers ⛰️ Elucien Week Day 3

Just wanted you to know The times I feel helpless Nothin’ but dark skies On the nights that seem endless You are like daylight, babe -Daylight, Vance Joy

Word count: 1027

@elucienweekofficial

Lucien wiped sweat off his forehead with his sleeve before he walked back into the house. A long walk away from Helion’s palace, it was a two storey house that Elain had fallen in love with on sight years ago. It had needed work, but Lucien didn’t argue with her choice. He had built plans to fix it and found local businesses that could sell them the materials they needed.

Elain had no knowledge of the handiwork necessary when they started, but she had learned, never hesitating to get her hands dirty. They had laughed endlessly while they painted each of the rooms together and ate bread and cheese on the floor of their living room before they had bought their table. Helion had offered them space in his palace—and paying people to do all of this work had always been an option—but both Elain and Lucien wanted to build their home with their own hands as much as possible.

They had failed at some things, like the one time Lucien flooded a good part of the house after drilling a hole in the bathroom wall and hitting one of the water pipes. They had taken Helion’s offer for a few nights while someone more qualified fixed up the house. In the end, it was beautiful and theirs, and Lucien was thankful for it every time he stepped through the front door.

Usually, at this time of day, Elain would be found in their garden cutting off a few fading flowers or checking for pests. Sometimes, when their roses were close to wilting, she’d cut them off and use the petals to make a fragrant loaf of bread. Lucien frowned when he had to walk up the stairs to find her, sitting by their bookshelf without a book on her lap. She just stared through the window from the armchair, not reacting when the door creaked or when his foot scuffed the floor to make noise on purpose.

“Elain, honey,” Lucien whispered as he brushed his fingers lightly over her hair.

“Hi, I didn’t hear you come in,” she turned her head and smiled in a way he knew was forced.

“You were deep in thoughts,” he remarked, feeling the warmth of the sunlight she had soaked up emanating from her skin.

“Yeah,” Elain looked out the window again and said nothing else.

Almost silently, Lucien pulled another chair to the window and sat in it beside her. He didn’t stare at her, but rather turned to the same view she was looking at. He remained silent for several moments,

“Can I help?” He eventually asked.

“I felt cold,” was all Elain said.

Lucien expected them to sit in silence for a while longer. He always stayed with her in those moments, just for support because he’d seen the heaviness in her eyes whenever she was forced by her sisters to go outside and pretend she was in a mood to talk. After a while, though, he usually tried to bring her back to their present, and the happy life they had built together.

This time, Elain herself broke out of her stillness by herself and sighed as she scooted her chair closer to his to lean into him heavily. Lucien wrapped his arm around her shoulder, accepting her into his chest in a position that couldn’t have been comfortable but at least brought them closer.

“We can leave,” he murmured against her hair.

It wasn’t a fix, but he hoped it could be a spark of joy. As he had hoped, Elain perked up a little bit. She sat up, threw her legs over his lap and transferred herself from her chair to his thighs while Lucien circled her waist to keep her from sliding.

“And go where?” She asked with hopeful eyes.

“Summer, or Day,” Lucien shrugged with a smile. “Spring, or somewhere on the continent,”

Elain kissed his jaw. “That’s a lot of options,”

“Anywhere with enough sunlight, really,” he broadened her options, as if the Day Court wasn’t bright and warm all year round. It was the cold that bothered Elain. He had always known, but over the past few years, he had noticed she only slipped deeply into those moods after too many cloudy or rainy days in a row.

“You’re my sunlight,” she told him instead.

Lucien was surprised for a moment, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re my sunlight,” Elain rested her small hand on his cheek. “When I feel cold, or things seem… dark. You’re like sunlight. We don’t need to pick an adventure from the amount of sun, I just need to be with you.”

Lucien kissed her softly and closed his eyes tight to stop the tears from stinging. Adventures were what Elain had always called their trips. He didn’t even remember how it had begun, but even the simplest trip out of their city to visit a rare flower field was an adventure. Lucien had made a game out of it, writing random destinations on pieces of paper and making Elain pick one to decide where they would go next.

Sometimes, adventures were a visit to her sisters and trying out a new place in Velaris, sometimes they involved traveling to a corner of a court neither of them had explored before. Lucien had slipped some of his favorite places there too, where he could show her around and give her stories of his past visits.

“Let’s go to Summer,” he eventually whispered, stealing another kiss before he continued. “Just you and me, and a little house right on the beach.”

“I’m a terrible swimmer,” Elain chuckled, though he had taught her enough to stay afloat

Lucien grinned, his hand squeezing her hip gently. “You can cling to me the whole time.”

She huffed a laugh, remembering what had happened the last time they went to the Summer Court and swam naked at night. She had clung to him indeed, legs around his waist and arms tight on his neck.

Only good memories came from that time, drawing a smile to her face, so Elain agreed in a soft voice, “Let’s go to Summer.”

#elucienweek2024 #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #lucien vanserra x elain archeron #elucien fluff

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year ago

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Syria!Series Part Three: Catch 22 - Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @chickensrule @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface @justameresimp @handsupforamiracle @lxaah11 @librarian1002 @littlebadariell @imaginecrushes @luckyladycreator2 @flrboyd @nani-kenobi @areamir @b-bradshaw @adaydreamaway08 @crimeshowjunkie @shepgurl @ashcosmo @inkandarsenic @caffeinatedwoman @tortilla-maria1 @lemmons1998 @dr-alan-grantler @dizzybee03 @watashiwasun @burningpeachpuppy @penguin876 @haley-hotchner @deliriousfangirl61 @agentorange9595

Syria!Series:

Part One: Syria - You're stuck on the otherside of the world when Beau's captured in Syria.

Part Two: In Sickness & Health - Beau eventually makes it home.

Beau doesn’t sleep. He sits up on the couch watching late night television until the sun comes up. When he does drop off, it’s for thirty-minute intervals. He wakes up with his heart pounding, his nerves jangling because he dreams he’s back in that storage container in Syria, hearing Zahir’s screams in his ears. He feels the blister of the flame across his skin as they heat up the skewers, they used to pierce his flesh, each one drilling into him. He sees the flash of a blade in the darkness, his own blood splashing across the metal floor, he hears the drip of it rebounding through his skull.

He barely eats, barely speaks. Most times he doesn’t even look at you, his gaze just stays firmly fixed to the screen in front of him.

“How’s he doing?” Solomon asks you, one morning over coffee.

The two of you are sitting in your office, sharing the pastries that he bought especially for the occasion. He’s been checking in for weeks now, ever since he dropped Beau off home. The bond they both have is forged in jet fuel and blood, they’ve always been there for each other ever since flight school. Besides you, he is the only other person who will go to the ends of the earth and back for Beau.

“He’s depressed, anxious.” You tell him, pulling at the pastry, the flakes falling into the napkin on your lap. “I don’t know how to get through to him.”

Solomon rubs his hands together, dusting off his palms into your bin.

“What about you?”

“I started seeing a shrink.” You admit, wrapping your hands around the coffee mug. “I’m scared that everytime I close my eyes he’s going to disappear, that I’m going to lose him again and I…”

You trail off, your gaze straying to the window because you can already feel that constriction in your chest, the one you always feel when you go down this rabbit hole.

“Does he know?” Solomon asks you and you shake your head.

“No, I don’t want to put that on him.” You tell him as you exhale, your eyes starting to sting.

Solomon sighs before leaning forward.

“Maybe you should. If he sees you’re getting help maybe he will too.” He suggests, clasping his hands together. “Beau is one of the strongest people I know but he’s stubborn and he struggles when it comes to mental health. His father, the way he grew up…” His jaw tenses as he meets your eyes. “You know what I’m talking about.”

You aren’t the only one whose father whose beat on you. Beau’s father along with being an ex-Marine, was a gambler and an alcoholic. When he lost, Beau was an easy target. His father humiliated, berated, slapped, punched, kicked. Beau took it all, because if it was happening to him it wasn’t happening to his mother, who was struggling to put food on the table and keep the house. He never said a word to her about what he was enduring, he knew the weight that would put upon her shoulders. So, he kept his mouth shut and he endured every single beating his father doled out.

“Yea,” You tell Solomon as you clasp the coffee cup to your chest. “I think about it all of the time these days.”

The comparisons to now and then, the powerlessness of both situations, the physicality of it. It runs a lot deeper than what happened to him in Syria, it taps into something visceral, an emulation of his past. Right now Beau is that scared little boy, torn between the horrific things that happened to him back them and the torture he suffered in Syria. You realise he’s stuck, reliving his past, trapped in the present. He doesn’t know what the future looks like more, he can’t hope to look towards it because it doesn’t exist to him.

“We need a plan.” You tell Solomon. “We can’t keep going about this the way we have been.”

Solomon smiles because now you’re speaking his language. He hates feeling useless and if he can do anything to help Beau he will, he’d happily follow the other man through his world and the next.

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

***

When you come home that night Beau is sitting on the couch in exactly the same place as you left him. His gaze is distant, far away. You can tell he’s not watching the TV, not really. The images might be passing before his eyes but he’s not seeing them. He’s in his head again, reliving something that you’re not a part of.

You sit down beside him, but he doesn’t acknowledge your presence, he simply stares eyes unblinking. You reach out, bridging the gap between the two of you, your hand clasping his.

“Beau.” You say softly and it draws him back to the present. He tilts his head towards you, his dark eyebrows furrowing into a frown.

“Ally?” He murmurs before his gaze strays down to your hand.

“Where were you?” You ask him.

He raises his eyes to the ceiling for a minute.

“Syria.” He tells you before swallowing hard. “A storage container in the desert.”

It’s the first time he’s told you this detail, he doesn’t talk about what happened to him overseas. Everything you know has come from Solomon.

“How often do you back there?” You ask him.

You see his jaw tense as he swallows hard. You hear him inhale, it’s a sharp intake of breath and you realise that he’s trying to keep himself together right now because inside Beau is falling apart.

“It feels like I never left.” He says, his voice breaking.

“Beau.” You say quietly, drawing his attention back to you. “You can’t live like this. You need help, professional help.”

He pulls away and you know in that moment you’ve lost him, that he’s withdrawing from you all over again. You reach into your pocket and remove a fluorescent green post it. There’s a time and a place written in it. You push it into his hand, and he stares at it confused.

“You have an appointment with my counsellor tomorrow.” You tell him as you raise to your feet. “I’d like for you to go.”

“And if I don’t?” He asks you.

You can hear the challenge in his voice. He’s already going through the worse thing in his life, what more can you do besides leave and that’s a Catch 22, in itself.

“You know how this ends Beau; we both do. The bullet, the bottle or this…” You say gesturing at the post it in his hand. “It’s your call.”

Love Beau? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#beau simpson #beau cyclone simpson #beau simpson x reader #beau simpson x you #beau cyclone simpson x reader #beau cyclone simpson x you #top gun maverick

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mmmichyyy · 2 years ago

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a.u.gust 2023 - day 4: teacher(s)

1.5k words of shop teacher!mickey & school nurse!ian @gallavichthings 🖤 posted on ao3 too!

Faculty meetings are–in Mickey’s opinion–the bane of his entire existence. Completely unnecessary, redundant, a total bore. Just send it in an email for god’s sake. Especially when the meetings are scheduled at the ungodly hour of eight on Monday mornings, an entire half an hour before he usually arrives at school. Well, twenty-nine minutes, to be exact - if the first class starts at eight-thirty and it takes him a minute to rush from the parking lot to the shop classroom, then he’ll show up right as the bell rings, not a minute more.

Except the new bright-eyed and bushy-tailed principal went to some new-age educational conference over the summer and came back brimming with ideas of bonding and connecting amongst faculty members. How important it was to foster a community and create an open forum and a safe space for communication–her words, not Mickey’s.

As if any of the underpaid teachers give a flying fuck about any of that. None of them would've gone to the first meeting and continued to attend week after week without the bribe of free bagels and the not-so-subtle suggestion of possibly taking away the one good vending machine from the teacher’s lounge. The threat of losing easily accessible corn nuts and milk duds really was the reason why every person working at this underfunded Southside high school had to suffer through thirty minutes of mandatory torture every week.

Mickey worked there for two years and never laid eyes on half the staff at the school or knew anyone’s name until these meetings. He stays in the shop classroom all day, makes sure none of the students drill a hole through their hand or cut themselves on a hacksaw, then goes home. But now, everyone from the basketball coach to the art teacher to even the goddamn janitor had to attend and endure the principal babbling about upcoming school events and ways to improve the school–like time and resources aren’t already limited as it is.

What a colossal waste of time, Mickey grumbles to himself, as he strolls through the main doors of the school after smashing snooze multiple times on his alarm clock and begrudgingly getting his ass out of bed.

At least his on-the-fritz coffee machine decided to work today, or else he may be prone to commit murder without caffeine this early in his system.

But to Mickey’s luck, he doesn’t get two steps into the foyer before slipping on an invisible wet patch on the linoleum floor, crashing forward into what his mind registers for a split-second as a moving wall, which he practically bounces off of, if it's even possible to bounce off a solid surface. The impact causes him to stumble backwards and nearly collide against the glass trophy display case.

“Fu– watch where you’re going!”

“Oh shit, are you okay??”

Mickey rolls his shoulders with a groan. Just as he’s about to unleash hell, he looks up to a pair of worried green eyes staring right at him. Turns out the walls aren’t out to get him - not this time at least - it’s a person. Not just any person, a man who is built like a fucking brick barricade with a firm taut body and fierce red hair that nearly causes Mickey’s jaw to drop in surprise.

“Uh…” Words. What are words? He didn’t hit his head, did he? Why can’t his mind form coherent thoughts?

Unaware of Mickey’s temporary brain daze, the redhead continues to ramble in an apologetic voice, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been blocking the entrance, it’s my first day and I’m a bit lost–”

“It’s fine,” Mickey mumbles, cutting the guy off. Not that he cares if he’s late to the faculty meeting, but he needs to not be here right now. But before he can make a quick exit–

“Do you know where the teacher’s lounge is?”

Huh. A new teacher. With a body like that? Probably another meathead coach, Mickey thinks. To save his ego from continuing to make a fool of himself, Mickey wordlessly nods towards the east hallway, silently signalling the man to follow him. The man does, a bit too enthusiastically, much to Mickey’s chagrin.

Mickey hopes Clifford the Big Red Dog isn’t a talker. The teacher’s lounge is at the end of the hall around the corner and there’s only so much conversation Mickey can handle early in the morning. Especially after sustaining a possible phantom head injury. Especially after almost falling flat on his face in front of someone who looks like that.

But you know what they say about hope - it breeds eternal misery.

“Never thought I’d be back at high school,” the man chuckles. “But I saw the job posting online and thought, what the hell? Might be fun.”

Fun is definitely not the word Mickey would use to describe working at a high school. The very high school he dropped out from, actually. Life has a twisted sense of humour sometimes, but he’s made his peace with his current reality a long time ago.

“Are you a teacher here?” the man presses on.

Mickey grunts as a response. Quickens his pace, but the man doesn’t take the hint.

“What do you teach?”

Only a few steps left...

“Shop class.”

“Oh cool! I’m the new–”

“There you are, Mr. Milkovich.” Ms. Tinsley, the principal, peeks her head out of the door to the teacher’s lounge. Looks behind Mickey and beams. “And Mr. Gallagher! I’m glad you’re here, I was starting to worry you might’ve gotten lost.”

Gallagher? Mickey furrows his brows. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but then again - half the Irish population in Chicago probably has the same last name.

“I was, but then I bumped into Mr. Milkovich here and he led the way.” Gallagher flashes Mickey a grin, and Mickey tries to ignore the somersault flip inside his chest. “Hope I’m not too late.”

Ms. Tinsley shakes her head. “You’re just in time, I was just about to start the meeting.” She turns to Mickey. “Mr. Gallagher here is replacing Mrs. Farris since she’s gone into early retirement. Fell down the stairs and broke her hip, the poor thing. ”

Retirement? Mickey doesn’t remember seeing any of the sports coaches being geriatric enough to retire. Or maybe he’s not paying enough attention to the stupid faculty meetings.

Seeing the confusion on his face, Ms. Tinsley adds, “Mrs. Farris, the school nurse.”

A lightbulb clicks in Mickey’s head. Must’ve been the grouchy old woman with the Q-tip head and a permanent scowl on her face he used to see roaming the halls. He just assumed it was someone’s grandma who had gotten loose from the senior home and got her rocks off yelling at anyone in her way. Did the old bat fall down the stairs or was she pushed? The latter seems more plausible.

“Anyway,” Ms. Tinsley continues, “Mr. Gallagher here will be taking over as the new school nurse. I might get him to teach a couple health classes too, god knows these crazy kids need proper sex health education!” Both she and Gallagher laugh while Mickey cringes.

“I’d be glad to,” Gallagher replies with a smile. Glances at Mickey out of the corner of his eye. “Sex education is very important.”

No. Not today. Nope. Mickey slips past the principal through the door and quickly plops down on his usual seat in the back corner, silently praying the heat he feels under his skin isn’t reflective of how red his cheeks are. What the hell has gotten into him?

And because the universe is fucking with him, the only empty seat left is directly beside him. Mickey stares straight ahead and pointedly avoids Gallagher’s gaze as the principal starts the meeting.

“First thing on the agenda: the school bake sale! Who wants to volunteer?”

“Hey,” Gallagher whispers in a low voice, so only Mickey can hear him above the surrounding chatter, “my first name’s Ian by the way.” Leans in close, hot breath fanning Mickey’s ear, sending a shiver down Mickey’s spine. “Maybe you can show me around sometime?”

Mickey should ignore him. Ian. Pretend to be fascinated by fundraisers or pep rallies or whatever the fuck Ms. Tinsley is droning on about. Definitely not focus on the hopeful tone in his voice. Tell Ian to fuck off and leave him alone, like everyone else in the school has learned to do.

But maybe Mickey woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Or the right one? Or he’s in an alternate reality? Or maybe someone drugged his coffee this morning?

Or maybe it’s his lucky day?

Because against his better judgement, Mickey angles his head to the side. Pretends to be nonchalant and shrugs in agreement. Tries to bite down his own smile from seeing the way Ian’s face entirely lights up, all eager and warm and full of light.

Maybe eternal misery isn’t the only outcome to spring from hope.

#a day late oops #i might add a lil more to this au we'll see!#gallavich fic #my words #ian x mickey #gallavich #A.U.gust 2023 #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich

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