#but maybe you were closer than you thought

[buckyseternaldoll]

on command.

this is the first story from my 707 followers' milestone event 💖

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Medic!Reader (female)

Summary: It started with a question you didn’t realize sounded filthy: “Can you come on command?” Bucky thought you were teasing. But you were just too clinical to know better. And now? He’s going to show you exactly what happens when curiosity goes too far.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v, oral sex (f receiving & m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, blowjob, face-fucking themes, size kink (mild), orgasm denial, soft dom!bucky, light power play, praise kink, slight dub-con vibes via misunderstanding, medical/clinical kink themes, slow build to climax, cockwarming (implied), cum on thighs, aftercare

Word Count: 7.1k

The med-bay smelled like antiseptic and fresh laundry—too clean for a room that had known so much blood. It was a Sunday evening, quiet and uneventful, the kind of shift where silence hummed against your ears and your thoughts wandered deeper than you intended. The kind of boredom that stretched into your ribs.

Until you heard the heavy thud of combat boots echo down the hallway.

You looked up from your tablet. He walked in with a presence that made the sterile air feel charged.

James Buchanan Barnes

Unit: Thunderbolts

Registry: Alpha-01

Notes: Vibranium prosthesis (left arm). Serum-enhanced physiology. Prior Hydra experimentation flagged in psychological history.

His combat shirt hung from one shoulder, blood soaked into the seams. His torso was bare—bruised, sweating, smeared with dried streaks of red. Deep brown hair fell in damp strands against his temples, jaw tight, body moving like something made to endure.

“Didn’t know we had new faces,” he said, voice gravel-rough as he eased himself down onto the med-bed. “Nice change.”

You nodded once and pulled on gloves. “Yes. I started this week.”

He dropped the shirt beside him, settling in like the cot was his personal recliner. The tone in his voice had suggested ease, maybe even a joke, but you didn’t react. You weren’t always sure when people were being sarcastic.

Especially not him.

You retrieved gauze, saline, antiseptic. You were focused on the wound low across his abdomen—a shallow blade graze, already clotting along the edge. As you cleaned around it, you recalled a conversation from earlier that week. Your first night shift had been filled with stories, warnings, casual gossip from the senior medics. They spoke about the team like they were walking myths. And Bucky Barnes, in particular, had been the centerpiece of several of those stories.

He can do anything if you tell him to, someone had said. Hydra programming, you know? Sit, kneel, come—just say it.

You hadn’t laughed. You’d written it down. Because you didn’t know it was a joke.

Now, he sat bare-chested in front of you, quiet, unmoving, skin warm beneath your gloved hands as you pressed sterile pads to the wound.

The question formed itself before you realized it was inappropriate.

You spoke plainly, genuinely. “I was wondering—can you get hard and ejaculate on command?”

The silence that followed was total. Not a pause. Not surprise.

It was a shift.

You didn’t notice it right away, too focused on folding gauze precisely, until the weight of his gaze pulled you back to the moment.

When you looked up, his entire body had stilled.

His eyes were on you. Unmoving. Brow low, mouth parted just slightly, as if he were still computing the words. The faint line between his brows deepened.

“Come again?” he asked, but his voice wasn’t casual. It wasn’t flirtatious either. It was something closer to caution.

You met his stare. “I asked if you’re able to achieve erection and reach orgasm on command. Based on what the other officers implied regarding your conditioning.”

He blinked once. Very slowly.

Your tone hadn’t faltered. You weren’t embarrassed. You were just curious—curious the same way you’d asked someone last week if the Hulk’s resting heart rate really was thirty-five BPM.

Bucky leaned back slightly, eyes scanning you like he was waiting for the punchline. When it didn’t come, his jaw worked, muscle flexing once under stubble.

Then he stood.

Not abruptly. But with enough weight behind the motion that you instinctively stepped back. The tray clinked behind you.

He stepped closer, enough that you felt the heat coming off his skin. Still watching you. Still trying to process.

“You’re seriously asking me that?” he said, quieter now. “Like, you’re not messing with me.”

“No,” you answered plainly. “I just wanted to understand the scope of the conditioning. Neurological control of physiological functions isn’t unheard of.”

He dragged a hand down his face. Let out a long breath through his nose. You saw the flicker in his expression—somewhere between disbelief and… something else.

“You really don’t realize how that sounded, do you.”

You tilted your head. “Should I?”

He huffed a soft, disbelieving laugh, almost under his breath.

Then he moved forward again—closer. Close enough that your hip bumped the counter edge.

“Are you asking because you want to know,” he said slowly, gaze dragging down your face, “or because you want to see?”

You stared back at him, unflinching. The intensity in his eyes didn’t register as threatening to you—just confusing. Your fingers curled slightly at your sides, still gloved. Still sterile. Still in the mindset of diagnostics and assessments, not flirtation. You weren’t sure what he meant by see, but the phrasing seemed to demand clarity.

So you gave it.

“I want to know,” you said plainly, meeting his eyes. “But if visual confirmation is possible, then yes—seeing would be helpful.”

His face didn’t move at first.

Not a blink. Not a breath.

Then his eyebrows lifted just a fraction—just enough to break the tension—but his mouth stayed parted like he’d lost his words somewhere between inhale and exhale.

You watched him, calm as ever. Not realizing that what you just said, to him, sounded like you were practically asking to watch him jerk off in the middle of med-bay.

His eyes narrowed slightly, still scanning you for a punchline. When there was none, something shifted. Not in you. In him.

Because that’s when it hit him—hard.

You weren’t fucking around.

You weren’t teasing. You weren’t flirting. You weren’t setting him up for some kind of HR trap. You were genuinely trying to understand the technical boundaries of Hydra’s physiological conditioning, like you were running through a checklist for your own notes.

He exhaled once through his nose and ran his palm over his jaw.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, half to himself. His gaze flicked to the side, like he needed to look anywhere but directly at you for a moment.

You could see it happening—the calculation behind his eyes. He was deciding whether or not to walk away. Whether to laugh. Whether to report this. But then something else moved through him, too—curiosity. You recognized the signs: pupils shifting slightly, breath shallower. He wasn’t sure either.

“I mean,” he said at last, voice rough, uncertain. “I’ve never… actually tried that. Not like—deliberately.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Would you be open to attempting it?”

His mouth parted again, like he wanted to respond but couldn’t decide which direction to take it. You sensed hesitation and tried to reassure him in the only way you knew how: by defaulting to protocol.

“If you’d prefer this be off-record,” you added, “we can skip the video documentation. I’ll log it manually.”

That did it.

His jaw dropped just a fraction further as he let out a breathless, incredulous noise. It wasn’t quite a laugh—it was something between disbelief and amusement, and it landed heavy in the air between you.

He looked back at you like you were some rare, alien creature. And maybe you were.

You hadn’t moved. You weren’t flustered. You weren’t seducing him. You were just… waiting. Like this was any other medical procedure.

Bucky dragged a hand through his hair, clearly still processing. Then his eyes returned to yours.

“You really wanna see if I can do that,” he said. It wasn’t a question. More like a final check. Like he needed to hear it in your voice one last time before he crossed the line.

“Yes,” you said simply. “For observation purposes.”

There was a long, still beat.

Then his stance shifted.

Something subtle in the way his feet planted, in the slow curl of his fingers at his side, in the way his shoulders rolled back with quiet intent. He wasn’t leaning anymore—he was centered now. Present. Watching you as something darker flickered behind his expression. Something curious. Something charged.

He nodded once. Low. Controlled.

“All right,” he said roughly, voice dipping just a bit lower than before. “Try me.”

—

You gave a short nod, already reaching back toward the tablet on the metal tray behind you, fingertips hovering to wake the screen. The chance to collect a new data point—something none of the other medics had dared ask for—was unexpectedly thrilling.

But the rustle of fabric behind you pulled your focus.

Bucky had stepped away from you again, his heavy boots padding quietly as he moved back toward the med-bed. Except this time, his fingers were already at his waistband.

You froze halfway between the tray and your chair.

He turned slightly toward you, eyes locked onto yours as his thumb worked open the button of his tactical pants. The zipper followed with a quiet rasp, slow and deliberate. He wasn’t speaking. Just watching.

And only then, only then, did your brain finally process the image forming in front of you.

His pants loosened around his hips, hung low now—unzipped and open just enough for you to see the black band of his briefs and the defined lines of his lower abdomen. The cut you’d just cleaned stretched faintly when he moved, muscles flexing subtly under the skin. His cock was still covered, but the shape of it—resting heavy against the fabric, shifting slightly as he adjusted—was impossible to miss. Still soft. Still untouched. But undeniably there. And Bucky wasn’t breaking eye contact.

Something shifted in your chest—an odd tightness you weren’t familiar with. A spike in heart rate. Not fear. Just sudden, confusing awareness. Your lips parted slightly, and your fingers fell away from the tablet screen.

Bucky let out a quiet breath. Not a laugh, not quite. A huff, amused and something darker beneath it.

“You’re realizing how bad everything looks now, huh?” he said, and his tone was different—still low, still calm, but tinged with heat. A crooked smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “Starting to piece it together?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t—not yet.

Because the tension in the air had shifted again. The weight of it wasn’t theoretical anymore. It was physical. Heavy. Warm. Centered on the space between you and the man now standing with his pants undone, cock barely covered, staring at you like this was still part of your little experiment.

You swallowed. Just once.

“I can stop,” he added, arching a brow. “But if you’re gonna ask me to do this… I need you to say it.”

“Say it?” you echoed.

He nodded, the line of his jaw tight, like something about this had challenged him in a way he wasn’t used to. “Yeah. The command. Give it. Let’s see if it works.”

You blinked, heartbeat tapping quick in your throat. Your gloves felt suddenly too tight.

It was for science.

Wasn’t it?

Except… now you were staring at the shape of a man’s cock through his briefs. At the subtle way it shifted behind fabric. At how he just stood there, open like a test subject, waiting for you to initiate the next step.

And suddenly, your carefully ordered brain started… glitching.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to look. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—warm skin, eye contact, unspoken tension stretching tight across the space between you like a surgical suture about to snap.

You tried to stay focused. Tried to categorize what was happening as neuromuscular stimulus, externally initiated. That’s all. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could repackage them more… appropriately.

“What kind of command should I say?”

Bucky’s brow arched. He shrugged one shoulder, still loose, still watching you like you were the show now. “Anything,” he said, voice smooth but quiet. “Try whatever comes naturally.”

Your brain immediately clicked into gear, cataloging possibilities, filtering for language precision. He’d said command. Singular. Direct.

“Get hard,” you said.

Bucky blinked once, slowly. “You might need to be more specific,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching. “There’s a lotta things in here that can get hard. Floors. Plastics. Steel.”

You paused. Blinked again. Fair. Logical.

Your eyes dropped to the bulge at his front, the soft outline of his cock resting slightly to the left beneath dark cotton.

So you recalibrated. Clarified.

Your voice was steady when you said it:

“I command the cock of Bucky Barnes to get hard.”

The silence that followed wasn’t quiet. It was crackling. Electric.

And then—it worked.

You watched, frozen, as the shape beneath his briefs shifted. Thickened. From a resting weight to something firmer. Fuller. The fabric tightened around him as the shaft pressed upward and outward, no longer soft, no longer passive. He twitched once—just enough to catch your eye—and then kept swelling.

Your lips parted. You didn’t move.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

It couldn’t happen.

But it had.

And Bucky… Bucky exhaled something between a scoff and a groan, and tipped his head slightly back like he couldn’t believe it either. When he looked at you again, his pupils had darkened, narrowed, and the curve of his lips had turned into something far less amused and far more interested.

“You’re kidding me,” he murmured, shaking his head. “You actually meant that.”

You nodded once, slowly, as your eyes locked onto the now very-obvious bulge straining his briefs.

He smirked, but there was a heat beneath it now—a flicker of something dangerous. His voice dropped a notch deeper.

“More.”

“What?”

“Give me another command,” he said. “Anything. Let’s test your theory.”

You hesitated. A beat too long. Then your eyes dropped again, tracking the shape beneath the black fabric. Your breath hitched—quiet, but noticeable to both of you. Your gloved hand curled reflexively at your side.

You bit your lip.

And then, softly, clinically—

“Twitch for me.”

And it did.

Just slightly. A small, visible movement under fabric. But enough.

A pulse. A response. An involuntary contraction of arousal-based musculature.

Your throat went dry.

A chill spidered down your spine, despite the warmth flooding your neck. Your mind scrambled to reframe this—to maintain control—but this no longer felt like controlled scientific inquiry. This was crossing into something else. Something biological. Something reproductive.

This wasn’t a training module anymore.

This was a live demonstration.

And you were the sole witness.

—

Bucky’s fingers curled under the waistband of his briefs.

He held your stare for a moment—something unspoken hanging in the air between you—and then he pulled them down.

Not rushed. Not coy. Just practical. Like it was necessary for the demonstration.

“You wanna learn properly, right?” he said. His voice was smooth, but edged. “Gotta see it bare if you want the full data.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because your breath caught the moment it came into view.

You choked—literally—on your own saliva.

Half-hard, and already thick. Heavy. You could see the potential of it, the way the veins curved beneath flushed skin, the slight upward tilt even in its semi state. It looked obscene without even being fully erect yet, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from tracing it, from measuring it mentally like you were still running diagnostics.

But you weren’t anymore. You knew that now.

Bucky saw your stare, the way your eyes had locked there like you forgot how to blink. His voice dropped, barely audible over the thick hum of your pulse.

“Give me another command.”

Something in your body responded before your brain did. Your feet shifted—one step forward. Then another. And another. Four in total. Just enough to bring you closer. Close enough that you didn’t have to squint to see the twitch of him. The weight of it.

Your gaze finally broke from his cock and lifted—slow, dazed—until you met his eyes again. There was something in them now. Not confusion. Not amusement.

Permission.

“Stroke it for me,” you said, voice quieter than before. Not clinical. Not innocent. Just… real.

And that was the moment the game changed.

Bucky’s breath stuttered once in his throat, just the smallest hitch. Because now, you weren’t analyzing—you were participating.

And he liked that. He liked it a lot.

He wrapped his flesh hand around the base, slow and deliberate, his thumb swiping just under the tip as he started to stroke upward in long, lazy pulls. His cock twitched again in his palm, growing harder with every pass. No sounds left his mouth. His jaw clenched. His brows pulled tight. But he didn’t moan.

He was waiting for you to tell him to.

You shifted in place, thighs pressing together with a sudden, instinctive squeeze. Your breathing went uneven, and the pressure building between your legs was no longer something you could rationalize away. Wetness pooled at the center of your panties. Your skin was hot. Your thoughts a blur of static and want.

Your eyes dropped again. His cock had grown—thicker, longer, flushed deep at the head. Veins thickened along the shaft. The slide of his hand was smooth, practiced. Deliberate.

Your mouth opened again.

“Stroke faster.”

He obeyed instantly.

The rhythm changed, tightened, faster now—fingers gliding up the length, thumb brushing the tip each time in a way that made the muscles in his stomach twitch. His breathing picked up, but still no sound. Still waiting.

You stared.

Hard. Thick. Veined. It should’ve been obscene, but you couldn’t look away. The way his cock reacted to your voice felt like an experiment gone wrong—or maybe perfectly right. And you were the one holding the data, holding the power.

Your pulse beat between your legs.

And then—a glint.

Your eyes caught it before you could process it.

A bead of pre-cum had leaked from the tip, catching the light under the bright med-bay fluorescents. It clung there, glistening.

You groaned.

Not intentionally. Not performatively.

It was raw, low, a breathy little sound dragged straight from your chest before you could clamp it down.

And when you realized what you’d done, your hand flew to your mouth.

Bucky’s fist slowed for just a moment.

Then he smirked—eyes dark, blown wide, a faint sheen of sweat forming across his collarbone.

“That wasn’t very professional,” he murmured.

—

Bucky’s fist moved faster now—stroking with a pace that was no longer lazy or exploratory. It was urgent. Determined. Testing both your commands and his own control.

His eyes flicked up to you again, and this time his voice had a rasp to it. Thicker. Needier.

“Come on,” he said lowly, just above a whisper. “What’s next, huh? Moans? Touch? You’re running the experiment, right? Gotta get all your data points.”

The words coiled low in your abdomen like a tightening wire. He was pushing you now—not resisting, not breaking the role—but tempting you to go further. Daring you.

And fuck, you were already too far gone to backpedal.

You watched the way his cock jerked in his hand, the head flushed and leaking. The pace was obscene—wet, rhythmic, fast.

“Stop,” you said, breathless but firm.

His hand froze instantly, mid-stroke.

You stepped closer, chest rising with shallow breaths.

“Now grip it tight. At the base. Like a cock ring.”

His jaw clenched. But he obeyed.

Fingers slid down, wrapped tight at the base. The moment he squeezed, his hips jolted just slightly—a tiny thrust he didn’t mean to give. The muscles in his stomach twitched. His lips parted.

A whimper escaped him. Soft. Strained. Like it had been forced through grit teeth. Not a moan. But close.

Your own breath caught.

Something about that sound—his frustration, his restraint, the way he held himself back on your order—sent a hot wave crashing through your core.

Your nipples peaked, the fabric of your bra suddenly too tight, too abrasive, like even the fibers couldn’t stand not touching you directly. Heat spread low in your belly, soaking between your thighs. You didn’t dare look down at yourself. You didn’t need to.

You already felt how soaked you were.

Your eyes didn’t leave his cock.

It twitched slightly in his grip.

Alive.

Waiting.

You swallowed, and then—

“Moan for me.”

He did.

Not a pornographic moan. Not some overdone, fake gasp. It was real.

It started low in his chest, almost like a growl — rough, full of restraint snapping open. It vibrated in his throat before it left his mouth, his jaw slackening as he let out a slow, masculine moan that sounded like it had been pent up for hours.

“F-fuck—” he gasped, voice catching. “That what you wanted?”

It was full of yearning. Of weight. Like he’d been aching to be heard, and now your voice was the only one he’d obey.

Your thighs squeezed again, tighter this time. You shifted on instinct, trying to ease the pressure building deep inside you. But it was no use.

He saw it.

Saw you squirm, saw your chest rise like you couldn’t catch your breath, saw the tremble in your fingers now clenched around the edge of the tray behind you.

And he smiled.

But this one… wasn’t mocking.

It was sharp. Almost feral.

His hand still gripped the base of his cock, skin tight and flushed. But he didn’t move. He just looked at you, pupils blown wide.

Then—his voice dropped to something darker. More commanding.

“Your turn.”

You blinked.

“What?”

His smirk widened just slightly, voice gravel-smooth, no longer soft or playful.

“Take the gloves off,” he said. “Then touch me. And let’s stop pretending this is still about Hydra.”

—

For a moment, you hesitated.

Just a breath.

Then you peeled off your gloves—one hand, then the other—fingers flexing slightly in the cool med-bay air. The sterile barrier was gone now. There was no pretending this was still clinical. This wasn’t about notes. This wasn’t about data.

This was about him. And you.

Your footsteps were slow, measured, as you stepped the last bit of distance between you and Bucky. He stood in front of the med-bed, body bare from the waist down, cock flushed and leaking, his chest rising just a little faster now.

You reached out.

Your fingers wrapped around him—replacing his own grip at the base. He let go immediately, lifting his hand away to let you take over, the breath in his throat catching as your skin made contact.

He was hot. Heavy. Alive in your palm, twitching slightly as your hand encircled the base. The skin was soft where it needed to be, velvet over steel, and the tip was slick and pulsing.

You looked up at him.

Your gaze met his, and his eyes were dark, narrowed—hungry.

His lips parted just slightly, voice rough and short.

“Stroke me. Then blow me.”

The order made your thighs clench.

You obeyed without speaking.

Your hand began to move, slow at first, adjusting to the shape and heat of him, your grip gentle, exploratory. You watched the way his stomach flexed with each pass, the subtle twitch of muscle when you passed your thumb over the tip, smearing the pre-cum slowly down the shaft.

You leaned in.

Just slightly at first, tilting your head forward, your breath skating warm over the flushed head. Bucky’s eyes dropped to your mouth.

Then your tongue slipped out—just a taste.

One slow lick, right over the tip.

He groaned. Low. Guttural. His head tipped back for a split second, throat flexing.

You licked again, bolder this time, then wrapped your lips around the head of his cock and drew him in—slowly. You hollowed your cheeks slightly, using just enough pressure to feel him respond, the weight of him dragging your mouth open more as you took him deeper.

Your hand didn’t stop moving.

You stroked while you sucked—your fist gliding up and down the base in sync with your lips pulling wetly around the top. The angle made it easy, almost natural, to slide into a steady rhythm. Before long, your knees found the cold tile beneath you, and you dropped fully down.

On your knees for him.

Bucky’s hand reached for you.

His fingers threaded through your hair—not yanking, not controlling, but guiding. His palm cradled the back of your head, gentle but firm, keeping you steady, helping you move with him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Jesus—you feel…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t need to.

You felt it—every twitch, every surge. You could taste him. Hear the sound of your mouth working over him—slick, lewd, hot. His cock throbbed under your tongue, and your hand was slick with saliva and pre-cum now, sliding faster, keeping pace.

Your thighs were soaked. You didn’t dare check.

This was no longer about commands.

This was about the way he moaned when your lips sank lower.

About how his hips gave a slow, helpless jerk when your tongue curled underneath.

About how your name—or maybe a prayer—slipped from his lips like he was giving in.

—

Bucky’s moans were getting ragged—too close. You could feel it in the way his hand tightened at the back of your head, the subtle twitch in his hips, the tremble riding down the backs of his thighs. He was losing control.

But then—he stopped.

His cock slid from your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva still clinging as he stepped back, and his hand released your hair with a gentleness that contrasted the tension still buzzing in the air.

You blinked up at him, breathless. Lips swollen, jaw slack.

Confused.

He leaned down suddenly, close, the blunt edge of his nose brushing your cheek, his mouth ghosting against your ear.

“I gotta stop,” he said, voice thick and wrecked. “If I keep going, I’m gonna come—and that’s not how I want this to end.”

Before you could speak, he inhaled sharply, slow and deliberate—right near your neck, your shoulder.

“I can smell you,” he whispered, so close you could feel his breath. “So sweet… fuck, you smell good. Like heat. Like need. It’s all I can fucking think about.”

Your throat tightened. Your thighs instinctively pressed together, but it was no use. Your panties were soaked through. You could feel it now—sticky against your skin, the telltale ache of need building deep and low.

He pulled back, eyes locking with yours.

“Get on the bed.”

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You climbed onto the med-bed, hands shaking as you laid flat, the sterile paper beneath your back crinkling under you. Your chest rose and fell too fast. Your heart was hammering.

Bucky stepped up beside you, fingers moving straight to the controls along the side panel. You watched him adjust the platform—angling it upward, shifting it higher, higher—until your hips were raised perfectly at the edge, aligned with the height of the rolling med-chair he pulled in behind him.

Then his hands went to your waist.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your uniform pants—flicking the button open, tugging down the zipper slowly.

His eyes stayed on yours the whole time.

The fabric slid down your hips, over your thighs, exposing your underwear—already ruined.

His gaze finally dropped, and the sound he made was primal. A low, breathless groan punched straight from his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at that.”

Your panties were dark with arousal, wet from center to seam, clinging to your folds. His thumb grazed the soaked cotton, dragging it along the sticky heat there.

“You’re this wet for me?” he murmured. “Just from watching me stroke my cock?”

You swallowed but didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your hips tilted slightly into his touch, searching for more.

He hooked his fingers under the waistband and peeled your panties down, slow. As he pulled them off your legs, he paused—his eyes lingering for a heartbeat too long on the soaked gusset—and groaned again under his breath.

If he brought them to his nose, you didn’t see it. You were too busy trying not to tremble as he settled between your thighs.

He grabbed the chair, dragged it forward with one hand, and sat—his eyes level with your cunt now, bare and glistening, exposed completely on the edge of the bed.

“You ever had someone eat you out?” he asked, voice deep and low.

You shook your head. Small. Honest.

A flicker of something passed over his face—dark and pleased. His pupils blew wide, tongue wetting his bottom lip.

“Good,” he said, breath ghosting hot against your inner thighs. “I want to be the first.”

Then he leaned in—and licked you.

The first pass of his tongue was slow, wide, and devastating. A drag from your entrance up to your clit in one long, shivering stroke.

You gasped, back arching. “Oh—!”

He moaned into your cunt, low and deep.

Again.

He licked you slower now, more deliberately, the slurp audible. He nosed into you, spread you with two fingers of his flesh hand and devoured you like it was the only thing he was built to do. His tongue circled, then flattened. Then flicked—messy, wet, perfect.

Your hips twitched. Your hand flew to the bed rail, fingers clenching tight.

“Bucky—” you whimpered, voice trembling.

He grunted into you—sound vibrating straight through your clit.

Then you felt it.

Cold.

His vibranium fingers slid between your folds.

One pressed at your entrance—gentle, firm. A slow stretch as he slipped it in, knuckle by knuckle, filling you in one smooth thrust.

You cried out. Your thighs jerked.

The coldness of metal inside your hot, fluttering walls was overwhelming. You clenched around it instinctively, hips rocking into the sensation.

“Shit—yeah,” Bucky rasped, pulling back enough to speak. “Clenching already? Fuck, you feel good.”

His mouth returned to your clit, tongue circling, then sucking, lips closing around it just right.

At the same time, that finger started to move. A slow, deliberate rhythm. In and out, curling just slightly.

You whimpered. Your eyes squeezed shut. The heat building between your legs was unbearable.

“More—” you gasped. “I want—”

You didn’t finish the sentence.

You didn’t have to.

Because your body had already betrayed you—back arching, hips bucking, slick dripping down to his palm.

His mouth sucked harder, tongue flicking faster, finger fucking you deeper—and you felt yourself start to unravel.

His breath hit your cunt when he spoke again.

“You want more?” His voice was rough, dark. “Say it. Tell me what you need.”

—

Your back arched as the first vibranium finger curled inside you, drawing another soft whimper from your lips. You needed more. The pressure was good—but not enough. Not yet.

Your hips rocked forward instinctively, searching, rolling toward his mouth, his hand, anything he’d give.

“Please,” you breathed, voice trembling. “Another…”

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

Another cool, sleek finger joined the first, easing in slowly with a delicious stretch that made your thighs jerk open wider. He groaned against your cunt as he watched your body react.

“That’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing against your inner thigh. “Take it. Just like that.”

Your hips rolled, desperate for more friction. The pressure was growing deeper, stronger—but it still wasn’t enough. Your moans grew softer, more frequent, broken by panting breaths. You couldn’t form words. Couldn’t ask.

But he knew.

Without needing permission, he slid a third vibranium finger inside you, and that made you cry out.

“F-fuck—” you gasped, legs shaking.

The stretch was intense—your walls clenching tight around the cool metal, fluttering with every slow curl of his fingers. You didn’t know you could feel this full from just fingers. But the pressure was perfect. Overwhelming. Too much and not enough at the same time.

Bucky groaned, his own voice ragged now.

“Fuck, look at you,” he said, voice thick and reverent. “Clenching around me like you’re starving for it.”

He set a faster rhythm, fingers pumping into you with slick, wet sounds that filled the space between your own needy moans. His thumb slid up, circling your clit while his tongue flicked beneath it, and it was too much—your thighs shaking, your breath coming in shallow, desperate bursts.

Your hands gripped the rail above your head. Your body was so close, teetering, right there—

And then he stopped.

Just like that.

You whimpered, a broken sob of air as your hips bucked forward, trying to chase the friction he just took away.

“No—” you gasped.

He didn’t answer. He just sat back slightly, eyes hooded with heat, breath heavy, fingers soaked in your arousal.

He raised his hand to his mouth.

Licked the wet off one finger.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You taste so sweet. Addictive.”

Then, to your surprise, he brought those same fingers to your lips.

You parted them without thinking.

The taste of yourself hit your tongue—salty, musky, warm. It made you moan softly, eyes fluttering closed.

Bucky’s hand dropped, and he leaned over you, one arm curling around your waist as he pulled you upright from the bed in one swift, effortless move. Your legs wrapped around him loosely, chest pressed to his, your soaked cunt still throbbing.

He kissed you.

And it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was claiming.

Slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that spoke everything his mouth couldn’t say. Tongue sliding against yours, hands anchoring you close, his cock thick and hard between your bodies.

You broke the kiss first, breath catching in your throat. A soft moan escaped you as you leaned into the crook of his neck, lips brushing his jaw, your breath hot against his ear.

“I need your cock,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Inside. Now.”

He jolted. Just slightly—but you felt it. The way his fingers dug into your hips, the way his cock twitched hard against your stomach.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice rough. “We don’t have to go that far. I can just—keep going. Oral only. Or I can stop.”

But you weren’t having that.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye.

Your voice steady now. Low. Commanding.

“It’s a command. Fuck me. Use your cock.”

Something in him broke.

His expression shifted instantly—lips parting, pupils dilating, breath punching out of him like you’d knocked the air from his lungs. And then his hands were on your hips, dragging you down the bed, adjusting your angle.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed.

—

Bucky stepped in close, hands firm on your thighs as he aligned his cock at your entrance. You were still clinging to him from the kiss—legs locked around his waist, hips tilted forward—and the tip of him slid through your slick folds, gliding right up to your clit.

You gasped. Your arms tightened around his shoulders.

He let his forehead rest against yours, breath hot between your lips.

“Gonna split you open real slow, doll,” he whispered, voice dark and low. “Wanna make sure you feel me for days. Wanna make you think of my cock when you’re sittin’ at that medic desk, squirming in that chair…”

You whimpered, breath catching hard in your throat.

He shifted his hips slightly, the fat head of his cock nudging right at your entrance. There. Warm. Heavy.

“Still okay?” he asked, eyes scanning your face.

You nodded quickly—too fast.

But Bucky didn’t move yet.

He was patient. His flesh hand slid to your lower back, supporting you. His vibranium arm cradled under your thighs. You were secure. Held. Open.

He pushed in slowly.

The stretch was immediate.

Your breath hitched. Your brows pinched tight.

It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t discomfort.

It was just—a lot.

So thick. So full. Your walls struggled to accommodate the girth of him, every inch pressing into you with that impossible, deliberate pressure.

Your fingers clawed slightly at his back, seeking grounding. Your lips parted around a breathy, trembling moan.

He stilled halfway.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. “Need me to stop?”

You shook your head. “Just—need a second. You’re…”

“I know,” he muttered, placing a soft kiss against your temple. “You’re taking it so well.”

His cock twitched inside you, and the sensation made your core flutter around him again.

You adjusted your hips subtly, trying to find that sweet angle, and he caught your eyes—dark, hungry, but still gentle.

You gave him a tiny nod.

“Okay.”

He eased forward again, the rest of him slowly sheathing inside—inch by thick inch—until his hips met yours and you were completely full.

You both paused.

You gasped softly, still trying to breathe through the stretch. He stayed still, letting you feel everything: his length, his weight, the way he filled every space inside you like he was made for it.

Then—he began to move.

His hips rolled forward, slow and deep. A drag of thick cock against tight, soaked walls. You moaned quietly into his neck, your arms around his shoulders as he rocked into you with careful, steady rhythm.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned. “Tightest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever felt. Gripping me like you don’t wanna let go.”

You didn’t. Couldn’t. Your body wrapped around him like instinct, taking everything he gave, hips jerking slightly with each push forward.

The pace stayed tender, but every thrust got a little deeper.

He lifted you slightly with each one, your thighs trembling around his waist.

But after a while, he slowed again—kissed your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

Then his voice dropped.

“Turn around for me.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “What?”

“Wanna see you bend over that bed,” he said, voice rough. “Wanna fuck you from behind. Real slow. Let you feel every inch while you arch that back for me.”

You moaned.

He slowly pulled out—slick and thick and aching—then gently set you down on the mattress.

The bed hissed slightly as he adjusted the height down, just enough to allow your knees to hit the floor if needed. You leaned forward, hands braced on the mattress, spine arching as he guided you into place.

Your cunt throbbed—open and wet, dripping for him.

“That’s it,” he muttered behind you. “Just like that.”

Then he slid back in.

Your mouth dropped open with a gasp as his cock filled you again from behind—this time deeper, the angle hitting something different, something devastating.

He kept his hands firm on your hips, pulling you back gently as he rocked forward. The rhythm wasn’t hard—but deliberate. Controlled. Every stroke sank to the hilt, then withdrew just enough to let you feel the drag before he shoved back in.

You whimpered, braced against the bed, flushed from the neck down.

And he just kept going.

“Still good, baby?” he murmured, thumb brushing over the curve of your lower back.

You nodded, nearly trembling. “S-so good…”

But the words were starting to fall apart.

So was your mind.

And neither of you had even come yet.

—

Bucky’s thrusts deepened, hips rolling into yours at a steady, dragging pace. Each stroke hit just right, and you were keening for him—barely holding yourself upright, knuckles white as you clutched the edge of the med-bed beneath you.

But then his rhythm slowed.

You gasped when he slipped out, your empty cunt fluttering at the sudden loss. Before you could speak, his hands were already guiding your hips—flipping you over with a gentleness that made your heart twist.

You landed on your back.

He hovered over you for just a beat, gaze sweeping your face.

Then he leaned down and kissed you—slow and tender. Like a thank you. Like a promise.

“Lie back,” he murmured against your lips. “Wanna see your face when you come.”

Your cheeks burned. But you obeyed.

You slid further onto the mattress until you were lying flat, arms at your sides, heart pounding in your ears. He followed—climbed onto the narrow bed, the space barely enough for him, but he made it work.

He settled between your thighs again, and without a word, lined himself up.

Then—he pushed back in.

Your body stretched around him once more, the delicious fullness making you gasp. He groaned softly above you, head dropping to your shoulder.

And then he started to move.

Still gentle—but faster now.

Deeper. The strokes came in a rhythm designed to wreck you, his hips driving into yours, the mattress squeaking faintly beneath the both of you. His mouth hovered over yours, your foreheads touching, breath shared.

You looked up at him—really looked—and something in your chest cracked open.

He was flushed. Focused. Eyes trained on every expression you made. Every gasp. Every tremble.

“You’re so close, huh?” he whispered, voice rough. “Can feel you squeezing me.”

You nodded, breath caught in your throat. Your hands gripped his shoulders now, fingers digging into his back.

“Bucky—” you choked. “I’m— I’m coming—”

His mouth found yours as you shattered beneath him.

Your entire body clenched around his cock, heat surging through you like a wave breaking. Your walls pulsed tight around him, spasming with every beat of your climax. Your legs shook. Your fingers trembled. Your voice caught somewhere between a moan and a sob.

And he kept going—just enough to help you ride it out, hips rocking in slow, shallow thrusts as your body twitched and trembled beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Just like that. You did so fucking good…”

When your spasms started to ease—when your cunt stopped fluttering and your hips finally slumped against the mattress—he pulled out, slick and twitching.

His hand wrapped around his cock, stroking hard and fast.

You could barely watch, breathless and dazed, but the sight of him, flushed and towering above you, fucking his fist with your arousal still shining on him—it was filthy in the best way.

A few strokes later, he came.

Hot ropes spilled across your lower belly, streaking your thighs in thick, warm pulses. He grunted low, teeth clenched, brows furrowed as his release overtook him.

You lay there, wrecked. Chest heaving. Skin slick with sweat.

Bucky? He panted for a moment—but that Super Soldier thing had him steadying fast. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your stomach, just above the mess he’d made.

Then he reached for the tissue box by the tray.

You flinched when the cool wipe hit your thigh, but he was gentle—careful as he cleaned the sticky remnants off your skin. His touch wasn’t sexual anymore. It was care. Quiet. Wordless.

He helped you sit up, tugging your pants back into place like it was second nature. Buttoned them for you. His fingers lingered at the waistband.

Neither of you spoke right away.

You didn’t need to.

There was no awkwardness. No guilt. Just… this unspoken truth between you.

This would happen again.

You both knew it.

Bucky looked around the room once everything was cleaned—bed straightened, gloves tossed, no trace left.

Then he turned to you, mouth tugging at one corner in a crooked grin.

“Maybe next time,” he said, voice low, “we try sex on command, too?”

You laughed softly, breath still shaky.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “For documentation purposes.”

💌: @iamthatonefangirl @sonja-blayde

[heavenlybodies333]

No Body, No Crime -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

You weren't spoiled. You were just… strategic.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

Because if your dad—Aaron Hotchner, SSA and reigning king of emotional repression—was going to bury himself in work and try to parent you like you were one of his agents, then he didn’t get to be surprised when you played the game better than he did. You didn’t ask for much. Just little things.

Like getting to “shadow” him at the BAU during your gap semester. Like choosing Quantico over Georgetown for undergrad because it kept you closer. Like getting him to increase your credit card limit when you maxed out the card. Or convincing him to overlook the tiny infraction of “borrowing” his SUV for a weekend road trip with friends.

You knew exactly how to tilt your head, how to time a tear, how to nudge just enough guilt into your smile that your dad would cave—every time. You weren’t evil. You weren’t even selfish. You were just surviving. Managing the rules of your world. And it wasn’t your fault he adored you too much to see the game for what it was.

But the one person who never seemed to fall for your act?

Dr. Spencer fucking Reid.

He always saw right through you, sharp eyes flicking up from some obscure case file or book you couldn’t pronounce, narrowed in suspicion like he was mentally cataloging your every sin. Which, knowing him, he probably was.

You noticed it the first time you visited the BAU after college started—your dad had you shadowing agents over the summer like it was some kind of behavioral bootcamp, as if watching grown men argue over blood spatter was going to build your character.

You tossed him a saccharine smile. “Hi, Spencie.”

His eyes narrowed at the nickname. “What do you want?”

“Relax.” You took a slow sip of your coffee. “Can’t I just come say hi to my dad?”

“Sure,” Spencer muttered, turning back to his paperwork. “After you manipulate him into giving you whatever you want.”

You blinked, still smiling—but your jaw tensed beneath it. There it was. You stepped closer, heels clicking deliberately against the floor. “Excuse me?”

"Shouldn’t you be at Georgetown?" he said, deadpan. "Or did you drop out to ruin your father's life full-time now?"

"Oh, Spence," you said sweetly. “Love the hostility. You been working on that in therapy?”

He exhaled slowly, lips twitching like he wanted to smile but couldn’t let himself. “I just don’t get what you’re doing here.”

“I’m taking Dad to lunch,” you said innocently, ignoring how his jaw flexed. “Thought I’d cheer him up. He’s been tense lately.”

Spencer’s eyes were sharp. "Tense because he's dealing with cartel-level stress and also trying to keep you from wrecking yourself."

You stepped closer, tilting your head, faux-thoughtful. “You always get this mean when you’re jealous?”

“You know,” he said, folding his hands on the desk like he was about to read you your psychological profile, “most narcissists hide their manipulation better. But I guess you wouldn’t need to when your dad’s too busy trying to keep you from falling apart.”

He pushed. Of course he did. He had to. It was how he coped—with rules, with logic, with little glass jabs that he didn’t even know were personal until you cracked him wide open with a look.

“Maybe if you stopped playing the victim in your own fantasy,” he snapped, “you’d actually see that you’re hurting him.”

That one stung.

So you stepped closer, toe to toe, until your perfume hit his senses and he realized too late you weren’t backing down. Your voice dropped. “And maybe if you pulled your head out of your Harvard-educated ass, you’d realize not everyone had a dad to hero worship growing up. Some of us had to learn to survive by being clever.”

His breath hitched. You were so close.

“Now if you’re done psychoanalyzing me for sport,” you whispered, “I have files to copy. And a lunch to guilt out of my father. So kindly, fuck off.”

But Spencer didn’t fuck off. Not ever.

You turned on your heel, hips swinging with righteous satisfaction, fully expecting Spencer to do what he always did: grit his teeth, stew in silence, and pretend he wasn’t dying to argue with you.

But not today. Spencer followed you—faster than expected, footfalls hot behind you—and grabbed your arm just as you stepped into the copier room. The door clicked shut behind you like it had been waiting for a showdown.

You spun, voice sharp. “Touch me again like that and I’ll scream HR.”

He scoffed. “That’d be rich, considering you’ve probably got them all under your spell too.”

“Oh, right,” you snapped. “God forbid someone actually likes me.”

Spencer’s eyes were wild now—glinting, furious. “This isn’t about being liked. This is about watching you twist the knife every time your dad tries to connect with you.”

You folded your arms. “Is that what this is? Some weird Freudian thing where you can’t stand me because I have the relationship with him you always wanted?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

You smiled like it didn’t sting. “Don’t project, Spencie.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” You leaned in close, almost smug. “You hate it?”

You were standing close enough to Spencer that you could see the gold flecks in his eyes, close enough that your voice was barely above a whisper when you hissed:

"You know what your problem is, Spencer? You're so desperate to be the smartest person in the room that you can't stand when someone else plays the game better than you. So why don't you take your three degrees and your superiority complex and shove them up your—"

"What's going on in here?" Your blood turned to ice. That voice. That tone. The one your dad used when he walked into interrogation rooms and needed immediate answers.

You spun around, and there he was. Aaron Hotchner, standing in the doorway with case files in his hand and an expression that made your stomach drop to your shoes. His eyes moved between you and Spencer—taking in the proximity, the tension, the way Spencer looked like he'd been slapped.

"Dad—" you started, but he held up one hand.

"I asked what's going on." His voice was deadly quiet. "And I'd like an answer."

Spencer cleared his throat. "We were just—"

"I wasn't talking to you, Reid." Hotch's gaze never left your face. "I was talking to my daughter, who I'm hoping can explain why she just told a federal agent to shove his degrees up his ass."

Your cheeks burned. "You didn't hear the whole—"

"What did you just say?"

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish. "I didn't—that's not—"

"You didn't what?" Hotch stepped into the small room, and suddenly the space felt suffocating. "You didn't just curse at Dr. Reid? You didn't just tell him to shove his education somewhere anatomically impossible?"

Spencer had pressed himself against the copier, looking like he wanted to disappear into the machine itself.

"Dad, you don't understand," you said, hating how young you sounded. "He was being—"

"I don't care what he was being." Hotch's expression was stone-cold professional now, the same look he gave suspects who tried to lie their way out of evidence. "What I care about is the language that just came out of my daughter's mouth."

You tried a different approach, the one that usually worked. Eyes wide, voice small. "Daddy, it wasn't what it sounded like—"

"Don't." The single word cut through the air like a blade. "Don't you dare try that with me right now."

Your stomach dropped. He'd never spoken to you like that before. Never looked at you like that—like he was seeing a stranger wearing his daughter's face.

"Apologize," he said quietly. "Right now."

"But he—"

"Right. Now."

The authority in his voice made you flinch. This wasn't your dad who let you get away with borrowed cars and extended curfews. This was SSA Aaron Hotchner, and he was not playing games.

You turned to Spencer, who looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. "Spencer, I—" Your voice caught. "I'm sorry. What I said was... it was uncalled for and rude. And you didn't deserve it."

Spencer nodded quickly, clearly uncomfortable. "It's fine—"

"No," Hotch interrupted, his voice still that terrible, unfamiliar cold. "It's not fine." He looked at you, and the disappointment in his eyes made your chest ache. "I have never—not once—seen this kind of behavior from you. The language, the disrespect, the complete lack of professionalism."

Your eyes were starting to burn. "Dad—"

"I'm talking." He stepped closer, and you automatically stepped back until you hit the wall. "I don't know who that was, but it wasn't my daughter. My daughter doesn't speak to people like that. My daughter was raised better than that."

The words hit like physical blows. You could feel tears threatening, but his expression told you they wouldn't help. Not this time.

"I hope," he continued, voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "that I never see that person again. Because if I do, we're going to have a very different conversation about respect and consequences."

You nodded mutely, not trusting your voice.

He walked out without another word, leaving the door open behind him and a silence so thick it felt like the air had turned solid. Spencer didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. The copier let out a mechanical sigh, like it too had been holding tension.

You wiped your face before the tears could fully form, dragging your palm across your cheek and hating yourself for letting any of this get under your skin.

Spencer shifted.

You turned on him before he could speak. “Don’t. Say. Anything.”

He held up his hands like he was surrendering, but his eyes didn’t lose that look—half apology, half the same sharp scrutiny that started this whole mess.

“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you,” he said quietly.

You laughed, short and bitter. “Oh, congratulations then. Mission unaccomplished.”

You were still smoothing down your skirt when your phone buzzed with a message from your dad.

Dad: “Reid needs your help pulling Rhode Island cold case files from storage. Top floor file room is incomplete. Check sublevel 3. Serial code #R-0449 through #R-0510.”

You stared at it for a second. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Spencer peered over your shoulder. His lips twitched. “Cold case hell. Sublevel three.”

You groaned. “That’s like ten miles of asbestos and dust.”

Spencer shrugged, already buttoning his shirt. “Hope you wore comfortable shoes.”

Cold case hell lived up to its name.

You followed Spencer down a staircase with cracked linoleum and flickering fluorescent lights, the walls narrowing like they were intentionally trying to squeeze all the joy from the room. It was ice-cold, the hum of neglected air systems echoing like ghosts. Filing cabinets lined the walls like a maze of bureaucratic tombstones.

“Jesus,” you muttered. “Is this where joy goes to die?”

Spencer, already scanning labels, didn’t respond. You took that as a challenge.

The first few shelves were just wide enough for one person to pass through at a time, which was—of course—why you didn’t wait your turn. Every time Spencer found a section he wanted to comb through, you slid in behind him, brushing close, your chest grazing his back or your ass brushing low and deliberate against him as you squeezed by.

The third time you did it, you felt it. He was getting hard.

You bit your lip to keep from smiling, eyes gleaming with delight as you bent to “check” a lower shelf, ass pushed back just slightly more than necessary.

Spencer hissed softly behind you. “Could you maybe not—”

“What?” You looked back over your shoulder with mock-innocence. “You’re in the way.”

“It’s a single-person aisle,” he said through gritted teeth. “You could wait.”

“But waiting’s so boring,” you whispered, brushing past him again—and this time you pressed. Hard enough to make him swear under his breath.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, voice wrecked. His hands were gripping a cabinet drawer like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You paused beside him, lips parted like you were about to apologize—but your eyes were anything but sorry. You stepped in closer, chest brushing against his arm, and leaned down low, voice a feather-light whisper against his ear.

“I know.”

He turned to face you, jaw tight, eyes scanning you like he was trying to build an FBI profile just to survive the next five minutes.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

You smiled slowly. “Doing what?”

He exhaled through his nose. Controlled. Like he was counting prime numbers in his head. “You’re not even pretending to be subtle.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Why would I pretend, Spencie? You’re clearly enjoying it.”

His eyes dropped—traitorously—to your lips, then lower, to where your shirt had ridden up just enough to flash skin. Then he clenched his jaw and looked away again.

You brushed past him again, this time even slower, your hip grazing the front of his slacks—and there it was: a low, stuttered inhale. You bit your lip to keep from moaning just at the sound of it.

You turned back around with mock concern, fingers lacing behind your back. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer, just opened another drawer. His hands were shaking a little.

You let the silence build as you stepped into another tight aisle. Then, just as he turned to join you, you stopped right in front of him, pretending to scan the file tabs with exaggerated care.

He had to halt, nearly colliding into you—and there it was again: the perfect excuse.

You bent forward painfully slow, ass grinding deliberately against the hard line you could feel pressed into the front of his pants.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

You pretended not to hear. But when you straightened up again, you didn’t move. You stood there, flush against him, your back pressed to his chest, swaying slightly like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.

And his hands—God, his hands—hovered just shy of your hips like he was one second away from giving in.

“You gonna move?” he asked, voice strained.

You turned your head slightly, letting your breath ghost against his cheek. “Are you gonna ask me to?”

“Don’t push me,” he said, barely audible.

You reached back—just enough to brush your fingers over the bulge in his pants like it was an accident.

He flinched.

You turned around slowly, chest pressed to his now, face smug. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you were so uncomfortable down here.”

“I swear to God,” he whispered, “you’re fucking playing with me.”

You tilted your head. “You haven’t stopped me.”

You reached for a box just above his head, your body stretching, back arching—fully pressing against him as you rose on tiptoe.

His hands snapped to your waist. Tight. Finally. “Enough.”

You barely had time to gasp before he had you pressed against the shelving unit, cold metal biting into your back as his hands roamed lower, greedy and impatient.

“You really want to do this here?” he rasped against your neck. “Where anyone could walk in?”

“Only if you stop talking.”

He hiked your leg around his hip and you felt the sharp edge of him through his slacks, all that brainpower suddenly laser-focused on ruining you.

“God,” he muttered, “you are so fucking infuriating.”

“And you’re still hard,” you whispered.

His laugh was low and wrecked, right against the shell of your ear. “Of course I am. You’ve been torturing me for the past twenty minutes.”

You grinned, lips grazing his jaw. “You make it too easy.”

Spencer’s grip tightened on your thigh as he rocked his hips forward, letting you feel exactly how not sorry he was.

He kissed you then—finally—mouth crashing against yours in a way that made you forget your own name. His hands tangled in your hair, his body caging yours against the shelf, and God, he kissed so well. All that precision and focus he used at work? It translated perfectly. His tongue was slow, deliberate, coaxing rather than demanding—like he was tasting you, cataloging you, memorizing every reaction.

You whimpered into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss until your head spun.

He pulled his hand away just long enough to unbuckle his belt and shove his slacks down. The second he was free, you reached between you both, fingers curling around him with a sinful smile.

“You always this hard when someone calls you Spencie?” you teased, stroking once—slow.

He bit your shoulder in retaliation, and you moaned at the sting. His hand found its way down your panties as his fingers softly teased you before sliding one through your slick. You moaned as he added a second finger.

“Shh,” he whispered, mouth at your throat, “unless you want your dad to hear.”

That shut you up fast. He curled his fingers inside you like he knew exactly what he was doing—because he did. Years of behavioral profiling, pattern recognition, hyper-observance… all of it was focused on you now. On every stuttered breath, every tremble of your thighs, every twitch of muscle.

“Say please again.”

You whimpered. “Spencer—”

“Say it.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Please.”

He pulled his fingers out and you didn’t get a chance to look—just feel as he slid in, slow and devastating, one hand braced against the wall above your head, the other gripping your hip like an anchor.

“Oh fuck—” You tried to stay quiet. Failed.

His hand slipped around to cover your mouth as the sound of skin on skin echoed in the hallway.

“If you get us caught,” he whispered into your ear, “I swear I’ll finish and leave you dripping.”

You bit his palm. He fucked you harder pulling your leg higher, adjusting the angle until he hit that perfect spot, and you gasped so sharply he had to press his hand harder to your mouth to muffle it.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he gritted out, sweat dotting his temple as he drove into you. “So goddamn tight—been teasing me like this for weeks. Thought you were so clever.”

You moaned into his palm, squeezing around him at the praise and the venom twisted into it.

Spencer chuckled darkly, breathless. “Oh, you like that? That I’m pissed off and still this deep inside you?”

You nodded frantically, thighs trembling as he hit that spot again and again. You came—hard and fast, clenching around him with a choked cry into his palm. Spencer groaned, buried deep, and followed with a stuttering curse, hips jerking once, twice more before stilling completely.

For a long, breathless second, neither of you moved.

Then Spencer let his hand fall from your mouth and pressed a kiss to your temple—soft, unexpectedly sweet.

“I still hate the nickname,” he muttered.

You snorted, breath catching on the tail end. “Sure, Spencie. Whatever you say.”

Then, slowly, carefully, he withdrew—gently fixing you up, tugging your skirt down with more care than you'd expected from someone who’d just railed you in an FBI basement.

You leaned back against the cabinet, trying to catch your breath, your pulse still skittering wildly.

“So,” you said finally, voice wrecked. “Still think I’m a narcissist?”

Spencer gave you a look that was somewhere between exhausted and exasperated.

“I hate you,” he mutters, zipping his pants with shaky hands and avoiding your victorious smirk.

“You came,” you counter sweetly, hopping off the BAU filing cabinet you’d just been railed against. “Twice, technically. So who really won?”

He gives you a glare that says this is not over —but you’re already smoothing your hair, grabbing the manila folder that started this entire mess.

You hand it to him with a grin. “C’mon, Doctor. Let’s go give Daddy the files.”

His entire body goes rigid. “Don’t say it like that.”

You’re halfway to the stairs when he groans, voice sharp with dread. “You have a hickey.”

You glance over your shoulder, wicked. “You gave it to me.”

And before he can argue, you’re already opening the conference room door.

Hotch doesn’t look up from his paperwork. “You two took a while,” he says flatly, holding out his hand for the file.

You drop it into his palm, unbothered. “We were being thorough.”

Spencer chokes beside you. Hotch flips open the folder. Doesn’t even blink. “I expect better time management in the future.”

“Yes, sir,” Spencer says, voice hoarse. He sounds like he’s about to vomit.

You turn to leave and catch your reflection in the glass wall—lipstick smeared, collar wrinkled, pupils still dilated. You wink at Spencer just as the door shuts behind you.

And that’s when Hotch glances up. “Reid.”

Spencer freezes mid-step. “Sir?”

“You missed a button.”

Spencer swears under his breath. You keep walking.

You weren’t spoiled. You were just… strategic. And damn, it worked every time.

a/n: anytime anywhere baby

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[yuwritesstuff]

You thought you'd hidden your romantasy books well enough.

They were neatly stacked on the bottom shelf of your bookcase, spines turned inward, behind a few academic-looking hardcovers. But somehow, Satoru had sniffed them out like a bloodhound with too much time and curiosity.

He was sprawled out on your bed now, flipping dramatically through one of it, a smug grin tugging at his lips.

“His stormy eyes burned into her soul as he whispered promises of forever—” he read aloud in a deep, fake-sultry voice, then looked up at you, eyes glinting. “Wow. You really read this stuff?”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “Satoru—”

He sat up. “No, no, I’m not judging! I’m just… deeply fascinated. Do these men always clench their jaws when they’re feeling things? Is that a requirement?”

“You’re impossible.”

“But am I at least as hot as this sword-wielding prince of shadows?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows as he held up the cover of the book. “Be honest.”

You shot him a half-hearted glare, but couldn’t hide the smile pulling at your lips. “Well… These are just silly, comforting books. Before I met you, I really thought those guys were the only kind of love I’d ever get.”

Satoru blinked. For a moment, he was confused by the sincerity of your confession and the vulnerability in your words.

Oh sweet thing, you just wanted to be loved so much. You were so romantic and cute, he wanted to give you everything.

When he looked at you, the cocky smile was still there, but something softer glowed beneath it. A flush touched his cheeks, almost shy if it weren’t for how boldly he asked:

“Hm… which one’s your favorite scene?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” he said, setting the book down and walking toward you with a lazy stride, “I’m wondering which one we should recreate.”

Your breath hitched.

He stopped in front of you, tall and glittering with mischief, his voice dropped lower.

“I mean, surely you’ve imagined one or two with someone better than a fictional prince?” He leaned closer. “Say, someone oh so tall, white-haired, and devastatingly charming!”

In fact, you forgot about these books when you started dating Satoru. Everything you could imagine was now connected to him and his bright personality.

You laughed nervously, your cheeks fully flushed now. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned. “Ridiculously perfect, maybe?”

His hand brushed yours — lightly, testing the waters — and he held your gaze. To see your happy, blushing face and big eyes full of excitement.

“So,” he said again, gentle this time, “tell me, princess. What should our lovemaking chapter look like?”

[foxviant]

Warm morning.

Summary: On a rare peaceful morning, Joel Miller clings to you in bed, finding comfort and refusing to let go for anything, not even coffee. Pairing: Joel miller x Reader. Word count: 1k Warning: Nothing, just fluff.

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The first thing you feel is warmth.

Not just from the sunlight spilling through the threadbare curtains, but from the heavy weight of Joel’s arm draped across your waist. He’s still asleep, breathing slow and steady, face buried somewhere in your shoulder like he’s trying to disappear into the blankets and you.

You try not to move. You’d rather stay here forever, tucked beneath the covers with the world shut out and Joel pressed against your back, solid and warm and so completely at peace that it makes your chest ache.

He doesn’t sleep much. Not really. So when he does, like this, you do everything you can not to break the moment.

Still, you can’t help the quiet smile tugging at your lips.

You shift slightly to glance at him, and that’s all it takes his arm tightens around you, pulling you even closer until your back is snug against his chest.

“Mm,” Joel grumbles, voice rough with sleep. “Where d’you think you’re goin’?”

“Didn’t say I was going anywhere,” you whisper, smiling into the pillow.

“Thought about it, though.” His voice is hoarse, slow, affectionate in that gruff, unmistakably Joel way. “Could feel it.”

You let out a soft laugh, hand reaching down to lace your fingers with his. “I was just trying to look at you. Thought you were still asleep.”

“Might’ve been,” he mumbles. “But then you moved.”

“You’re like a bear. One twitch and you wake up.”

“I ain’t that bad.”

You turn just enough to see him now his hair mussed from sleep, scruff rough along his jaw, eyes still half-lidded but warm and soft in a way he’d never admit to. You reach up and brush your fingers through his hair.

“You’re exactly that bad,” you tease gently. “But you’re cute when you’re sleepy, so I’ll allow it.”

Joel groans and presses his face into your shoulder again. “Don’t say shit like that. It’s too early.”

“You love it.”

He doesn’t answer, but you feel the smile against your skin.

The two of you stay like that for a long while, tangled in sheets, limbs knotted together like neither of you ever wants to move again. Outside, birds chirp faintly, and you hear someone shouting down the street, maybe traders setting up early. But none of it touches you here.

Here, in this bed, it’s just you and Joel. Eventually, you murmur, “You wanna get up? I could make coffee.”

He tightens his grip, pulling you impossibly closer. “Nope.”

“Joel—”

“Not movin’. Got you where I want you. Not givin’ that up for shitty instant coffee.”

You snort. “So you’re kidnapping me now?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

You shift to face him fully, your legs tangling with his, your hands resting on his chest. He lets you, watching you quietly, one hand drifting up to brush your cheek.

“Y’know,” he says after a moment, voice softer now, “never thought I’d get this again.”

You tilt your head. “What?”

“This. A bed. A quiet morning. Someone who makes me feel like…” He trails off, brow furrowing like the words are too big to say. “Like I ain’t just a survivor.”

You lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips. It’s slow, warm, and easy the kind of kiss that says I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

“You’re allowed to have good things, Joel.”

He blinks at you, then lets out a soft breath and kisses you again, this time a little deeper. His hands slide into your hair, and when he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You’re the best thing I’ve had in a long time,” he murmurs.

Your heart swells, but you try to keep your voice light. “You saying I’m better than coffee?”

“Hell yes, you are.”

You both laugh quietly, and the world outside fades a little more. He pulls you back into his chest, and this time you don’t resist. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent warm, earthy, familiar.

“Five more minutes,” you whisper.

“Take all the time you need.”

And in Joel’s arms, you do.

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 19

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language & themes, rafe refusing to refer to them cuddling as cuddling, fluff, rafe crashing out internally and also externally (standard cw atp), ANGST, mention of coke usage, rafe on coke, ruthie :)))), rafe having violent thoughts, hints at platonic rafe x kiara, verbal tension/major argument, minor violence (punch to the face), again ANGST and kindaaa s2!rafe vibes at the end (and ig some hints at bpd)

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ you updated cara after waking up (who had spent the night with jj) and she freaked out over everything, insisting that rafe liked you more than you thought, but you said you'd rather play it safe. you and rafe texted a bit. he immediately got riled up about you being in the pogue girls’ group chat, but you reassured him. he also got a bit too comfortable with his flirty pics and wording. cara ditched topper’s ride and chose to drive with john b. at lunch, your parents voiced concern over rafe’s well-being, given ward’s difficult nature. you stuided the afternoon for tomorrow’s math test. after a quick outfit check with the girls, you were picked up at 7. in the car, topper sulked about cara; molly and kelce seemed even closer. at the open air parking lot, you and rafe complimented each other. he was surprisingly gentlemanly, paying for your ticket, coat check, and snacks. after a brief chat with cara and jj, you felt a small pang of jealousy when rafe commented on cara’s nipple piercings. kelce and molly had reserved you and rafe a lounge bed next to them, which made you panic a bit. rafe seemed disappointed and hurt by your distant behavior, but you pulled yourself together and even excused your anxiety to which he reacted surprisingly sweet. a slightly awkward moment arose when he got a boner (probably bc of you) which you managed to defuse by joking around about your teacher’s buttcrack. as it got colder, you hesitantly scooted closer to rafe under the blanket. you lay really close and eventually worked up the courage to fully cuddle with him, pushing aside your fear of rejection. rafe even put your pillow away so it was just the two of you close together. deep down, it started to feel like this maybe meant more than just a newfound friendship.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 15.2k+ (SO SORRY)

✿ A / N ✿ um, yeah. not much to say about this other than AHHHHHHHH. sorry this is so long, i heavily debated if i should cut it before the last scene but i didn't wanna keep you guys on edge for no reason so guess you gotta eat all that shit up. also, hahahah, LOTS of back-and-forth but i HOPE you guys will enjoy the direction i decided to go with (especially bc i'm so anxious about the new problem i'm introducing) and PLS lmk what you think <3 ᓚᘏᗢ

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

Rafe had stopped counting how many times he’d questioned his sanity this week. The tenth, fourteenth, fiftieth, shit, probably the thousandth time.

With this moment right now? Probably the 1001st.

Because if some asshole had told him at the beginning of the week that seven days later he’d be lying on some stupid shitty lounge bed with some completely random girl back at the time, at some stupid shitty open-air event, watching fucking Barbie with a bunch of stupid shitty people, while you clung to him like a goddamn baby koala—Rafe would’ve beat the fucker right the fuck up.

After that, he probably would’ve done a fat line of coke just because hearing some dumb shit like that required it on principle, and then he’d have gone on with his life.

But now? He probably wouldn’t even beat up that bum Rob. Shit, not even fucker Chris, even if that asshole stood right in front of him talking some bullshit. Because that would mean Rafe had to get up. And that, in turn, would mean he’d have to let go of you.

Of you. Your warm body half-hugging his, your right hand resting comfortably on his upper stomach—a gesture that somehow irritated and grounded him all at once—your head that seemed to fit perfectly on the side of his chest, and fucking hell, your addicting scent mixed with the perfume you wore that was driving him absolutely crazy.

Rafe felt so at ease with you here. The lack of tension, the missing irritation that usually ran through his whole body, confused the absolute fuck out of him.

He didn’t fucking understand why he liked the way you clung to him. Why this felt like doing four lines in a row. Why this absolutely absurd position you two were in had his pulse racing. Why it made his blood rush, his nerves buzz, and his adrenaline shoot through his veins like going 140 mph down the highway with a line in his system.

And what confused him the most—what made him question absolutely everything he’d ever stood for—was why he even allowed it.

Why the actual fuck was Rafe letting some random girl get this close to him—in public, no less—where every shitty bastard and gossip bitch could see? And fucking Kelce, barely a meter away on top of it.

It made no fucking goddamn sense why this felt… normal.

As normal as paying for your ticket and snacks because Rafe had already been in line anyway and it’s not like he was hurting for cash, so he might as well save time and pay for yours too.

And for some fucked up reason, Rafe actually enjoyed doing it.

Why? He had no fucking clue. Most chicks he’d hooked up with expected him to buy them drinks, gifts, dinner, or pay for their nails or whatever the fuck. Like, did he look like a goddamn charity case to them?

But you? You even wanted to pay for yourself, which, as a matter of fact, just made him want to pay for you all the more, just out of fucking principle. No fucking way was Rafe letting himself get turned down.

Shit, seriously, since when had he started chasing after a girl?

But honestly, he didn’t even give a fuck anymore.

He’d already stopped fighting this feeling on Friday night. Because this pull he felt toward you? Simple explanation: you were a very cute girl with a pretty face that drove him absolutely fucking insane with your fucked-up brain—and somehow, Rafe liked that.

He fucked with it.

You being a little nuts, the way you always pissed him off, your weirdness, and the insane shit that ran through your head nonstop. It was like having the human version of Rick and Morty around—deranged, cracked out, and somehow still annoyingly enjoyable. Especially because you weren’t predictable.

As much as that pissed him off as well, he also liked how your reactions always surprised him. You weren’t boring.

Sometimes you were awkward and nervous for no fucking reason, just like earlier when you two had waited in line for snacks. Like what the actual fuck was that? Sometimes you snapped back like your life depended on it, like yesterday, during that stupid argument about you hanging out with Sarah. And sometimes, you even flirted the fuck back—like holy shit, did you actually have a split personality or some shit?

Then again, Rafe wasn’t entirely sure if you were flirting, or just being nice whenever you complimented his looks or had that teasing little twinkle in your eyes.

Nah. You flirting? You always looked like you were about to have a mental breakdown whenever Rafe flirted.

So, you were probably just on that sweet polite girl shit.

Shit. Why was this even taking up space in his head? See what you were doing to him? Your fucking overthinking whatever-the-fuck was rubbing off on him.

NAH, what the fuck was he even thinking? That wasn’t overthinking. Rafe was just following his thoughts a little further than usual.

He wasn’t you. He didn’t have a fucking army of little shitty-ass asshole minions in his head constantly talking shit and running around setting his brain on fire.

…Shit.

Rafe hadn’t even noticed his left hand playing with that stupid crappy bracelet on your wrist, fingers brushing over the little childish charms dangling from it. He couldn’t help it. Somehow, it scratched his brain just right.

And you actually wearing that four-dollar gas station horse-themed friendship bracelet? Stupidly hilarious. But for some goddamn reason, the fact that you wore it filled him with this weird sense of pride (the fuck) and excitement (even bigger the fuck) because you deciding to wear something he had given you? Sure. If you wanted to show off your new possession, Rafe wasn’t gonna stop you.

And as a matter of fact, you weren’t stopping him either from touching that cursed thing in the first place (Shit, why the fuck was he still messing with it?).

Oh! Speaking of touching things he probably shouldn’t be touching.

His right hand, which was resting very comfortably on your blanket-covered waist? The fact you hadn’t stopped him from doing that either really confused the fuck out of him.

Shit, the fact that you’d even initiated this whole laying-on-him-and-clinging-to-him thing in the first place? What the actual fuck. Like Rafe definitely wasn’t complaining about a cute girl like you holding onto him, but seriously—what. You making some kind of move or whatever the hell this was supposed to be? That was the craziest part of tonight.

Sure, it was also fucking insane how hot you looked in that sweet little dress of yours, or how he’d actually fucking gotten bricked up earlier when the same dress had ridden up your thighs, because that had immediately triggered a whole chain reaction of images (which—you reacting that chill about it? Fucking unreal), or the fact that right now he had to hold himself back so badly from not letting his hand wander lower because of the curve of your ass under the blanket?

Shit was driving him absolutely crazy to the point he had to pull up that cursed image you’d burned into his mind of Mr. Martin’s hairy caterpillar-ass or him in a goddamn tankini.

Like, hell no. Fuck you and bless you at the same time for that.

So Rafe kept his hand on your waist, fingers lightly drumming out a rhythm, because honestly? You’d probably freak out—well, the minions in your head would—if that hand actually wandered. And also, he didn’t wanna look like a damn liar because just yesterday he’d made it very clear (again...) that he wasn’t some perv trying to get into your pants.

Okay yeah, he wanted to bend you over, press your face into some sheets, hear those sweet little noises from your lips and—fuck, that wasn’t the point, alright? Just last night, he gave you some physical proof that he’d accepted your weird-ass conclusion that he wanted to be your friend (mainly because you practically forced him into it and, well, he kinda liked you but that also wasn’t the point either, okay?).

So yeah, Rafe definitely wasn’t about to scare you off by making a move that would have you backing away like some scared stray cat.

THEN AGAIN, why the hell had you initiated this, if you supposedly weren’t looking for anything with him, huh? You’d both been lying there pretty damn comfortably. You with your little pillow under his arm and all, and then when you'd sat up, Rafe had honestly thought you were about to have a mini panic attack again—but no.

Fucking hell. You’d actually wanted to lay down on him, and now he was back to the exact same fucking thought cycle he’d just tried to escape, and he hadn’t registered a single damn word that stupid-ass Ken was sobbing about on the screen.

Fucking fantastic.

Maybe one of your shitty little asshole minions had actually infiltrated his brain.

No, fuck that, he just had to face the facts.

You were a sweet, nice girl when you weren’t in your cracked-out mode. As far as Rafe knew, you only hung out with other girls. One of them being your insane best friend (who chose fucking swamp rat Maybank over Topper? Whatever). And Rafe remembered from Sarah and her friendship with Kie that girls didn’t really have boundaries when it came to physical closeness. Cuddling, sleepovers, sharing beds, even making out for fun, all that shit. Stuff Rafe would never in his fucking life do with Kelce or Topper.

So with that in mind, you probably saw this—you two cozied up like this—as just another normal, friendship thing (Rafe still couldn’t believe he agreed to that fucking label). That was probably exactly why it didn’t faze you.

You were used to this with your girl friends.

Fuck, and why the hell did that piss him off now?

The fact that this was just some mundane, platonic thing for you and—fuck that. Jesus Christ, fuck that. What the actual hell was going on with him?

Oh right. He hadn’t done a line since yesterday morning. No wonder his brain was going insane.

Rafe slouched deeper into the seat, this whole mental gymnastics session draining the shit out of him. Your body instinctively adjusted to his as he pulled you in a little closer by your waist and—

Fuck.

The way your hip shifted under that fuzzy blanket as your right leg moved slightly, your knee now resting on his.

Rafe bit the inside of his cheek, trying like hell to think of literally anything else besides the electric shock that movement sent up his leg. How you didn’t seem fazed at all but he was basically losing his goddamn mind.

Like, he actually had to fight off another wave of brutally suggestive thoughts and visuals and—get a fucking grip,dude. The last thing he needed was another goddamn boner within thirty minutes.

Then you’d really think he was some horny fucking bastard. And also? He never got this turned on this quick with any other girl. Did you have some crazy-ass pheromones baked into your insanely good-smelling perfume?

Shit was insane.

With the hand that had been fiddling with your bracelet, Rafe ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, trying to focus on the dumbass movie. He let his hand fall back down onto his stomach, just inches from yours.

There was this urge, this absolutely stupid pull to reach over again. Not just for the crappy bracelet but for your actual hand. Feel your skin, trace the shape of your fingers, map out the patterns of your palm.

He was just curious, okay?

But he didn’t wanna push it. He was already scared that any wrong move might make you recoil. No way you'd—

No fucking way.

Rafe’s heart actually skipped a beat as your hand reached for his. Well, not exactly his hand, but the golden ring around his middle finger, your fingers brushing over it.

“Does it have a meaning?” you asked quietly, eyes focused on the shiny object.

Rafe looked at your soft profile for a moment before saying, “Belonged to my mother.”

Something weird twisted in his chest as your fingers stopped playing with the ring, then pulling away, your hand returning to rest gently on his stomach.

“Shit’s not cursed,” he said with a smirk at your oddly weird reaction.

You let out a soft chuckle, your warm breath ghosting over his hand. “Yeah, no, I know.” After a moment, you added, “It’s really pretty.”

Like you, Rafe thought, but he didn’t dare say that shit out loud.

“Yeah, I guess,” he muttered instead, reaching back out for your bracelet and playing with a tiny dangling heart charm. Ken was whining about something in the background. “Not as pretty as this royal masterpiece, though. Must’ve belonged to some ancient queen or some shit.”

Weirdly enough, the more Rafe looked at it, the more he actually started to think it was pretty. Maybe that was just your effect though.

You let out another soft laugh and Rafe soaked it up like liquid coke. “Cersei Lannister would be jealous.”

Rafe blinked. “Who?”

For some reason, that made you shift.

Rafe’s hand slipped from your waist as you turned toward him, propping yourself up on your left elbow while your other arm rested lightly on his stomach.

“You’ve never seen Game of Thrones?” you asked like it was some kind of personal offense.

Your face was so close now, thanks to how you two had been lying, and Rafe’s eyes briefly flicked to your lips before locking back onto yours. He smiled, shaking his head. “Nah. Not my type of shit.”

You looked like he just insulted your whole family tree. “That ‘shit’ is a masterpiece,” you said, tilting your head. “Well, minus the last two seasons.”

“Oh, I’m sure the sex scenes are real cinematic works of art,” Rafe replied with a crooked grin.

Your nose scrunched up. “You’re probably one of those guys who worships American Psycho. Yeah, not taking your opinion into account.”

“Wow. Acting like you know other guys,” Rafe said, chuckling at your dramatic little scowl.

Okay but like, he did like that movie. Bateman was a cool dude.

You just kept staring at him, brows furrowed like you were trying to decipher some puzzle.

Rafe chuckled again, raising his brows at you with a grin. “What?”

His phone buzzed in his pocket but he ignored it. Probably just Kelce being a dumbass a few feet away.

“This show is a must-watch,” you said, tapping your index finger against his chest.

Oh? This sudden boldness? The way you were initiating physical contact, telling him what to do, trying to boss him around about what trashy TV show he had to watch?

Shouldn't turn him on as much as it did.

“Yeah?” he asked, smirking. “Well, shit. Then I have to watch it.” He couldn’t have said it more sarcastically, but you just nodded all serious.

"Yeah, you have to," you said, expression stern. "I’ll bring the DVDs to school tomorrow and then you’re gonna watch that shit. Two weeks max and no scratches on the discs."

No fucking way you actually insisted on this shit. Also, who the fuck even had DVDs these days?

Rafe scoffed, amused. "Or you leave that shit at home and show me there."

There. That was the reaction he’d been hoping for. That little twitch of your brows, the blink of your eyes, the way you instantly got all awkward again once the minions in your head started realizing what he’d just said.

Shit was hilarious as fuck.

Bzzrt. Seriously, could Kelce stop being so fucking annoying?

Huh.

When Rafe looked over to the right, both Kelce and Molly were cuddled up, giggling at the movie. So either it was crybaby Topper sobbing over Hall again, or Wheezie sending him another one of her weird-ass YouTube conspiracy vids.

“Well, yeah, I guess if you want to,” you said, smiling all awkward.

Rafe raised a brow. “Do you?”

Bzzrt. Rafe was gonna kill that fucker, whoever it was.

Your brows twitched, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the fabric of his polo as you let the question marinate.

A crooked smile formed on Rafe’s lips. No way the thought of watching that shit at your place made you uncomfortable but lying here with him was fine. Your brain was seriously fucked up.

But by now, he knew exactly how to shut up that one stupid minion in your head: just state the obvious. As much as it pissed Rafe off that he had to do this at all, he’d rather repeat himself a thousand times than go through another long-ass, exhausting convo with you spiraling over some completely unnecessary bullshit.

Bzzrt.

“Okay, let me say it again—” he started calm but firm, but you shook your head with a sheepish smile.

“No,” you let out a chuckle, then nodded. “I mean, yeah, I’d like that.”

That made this weird, fuzzy feeling bubble up in Rafe’s stomach, and the grin came naturally. “Okay, then—”

Bzzrt. Bzzrt.

Okay, that was fucking enough. Who the fuck was blowing up his phone like that?

“Fucking hell, wait a sec, some fucker’s spamming my phone,” he said with a frown and shifted slightly to the side, lifting his hip to grab his phone from his pocket.

Another annoying-ass bzzrt.

He lifted it to his face with his left hand but fucking Face ID bugged out, so he had to awkwardly move his right arm over your head to unlock it manually. That, in turn, made you back off slightly.

His chest clenched as your hand slid off his stomach, your head left his chest, and you shifted onto your back again, your gaze fixed back on Barbie.

Fuck. Seriously. This fucking fucker would catch hands.

Furrowing his brows, he unlocked his phone. And what. the. actual. fuck.

This fucking bitch.

What the actual fuck was she thinking, texting him this bullshit like he fucking cared? Shit. What the fuck?

Shit, hell no. This? This made his blood rush so fucking fast because not only had she chosen now to piss him off, she was also the fucking reason you’d pulled away from him. And Rafe wasn’t sure he could get you to move closer again.

But what really pushed him over the fucking edge was how she had the audacity to throw this passive-aggressive side dig at you. That was what really riled him up. This fucking bitch of all people trying to drag your name through the mud, acting like you weren’t worthy of him when it was the exact fucking—

FUCK.

Rafe could’ve thrown his phone at the screen. Why hadn’t he turned it off before this shitty-ass event? Why had he even bothered checking it?

Shit. And of all people, it was someone he didn’t give a single shit about.

Okay, no. Fuck her. He wasn’t putting up with Ruthie’s bullshit.

He sent her a middle finger emoji and made a mental note to tell that bitch off hard after the event.

He let out an annoyed breath, was about to turn off his phone and maybe try to coax you back to lying on his chest when, of course, Ruthie’s next message popped up.

Shit. He should just turn it off. But something in his gut told him something was off. That bitch lived to rile people up, but the tone of these next messages? It pissed him off too much to ignore.

Rafe shifted up higher, now sitting upright, knees pulled up, and tapped back into the chat.

Rafe stared blankly at the phone screen, fingers nearly digging into the display, pulse pounding, blood rushing through him while his chest rose and fell sharply, a vein popping in his neck as he tried to keep his fucking cool.

He was going to kill her.

He was going to fucking kill that bitch.

Because who the fuck did she think she was? Trying to toy with him like he was one of her stupid, cackling little bitches, when Ruthie’s stupid-ass family wasn’t even close to top-tier on Figure 8.

What did she—how the fuck had she even gotten a video like that? It didn’t make any fucking sense. Rafe always went into a backroom to deal AND do coke. He wasn’t a fucking idiot. He never did that shit in public.

HAH. Probably just fucking with him. Yeah. She was probably just trying to rile him up, fucking around, trying to ruin his moment with you.

Nah, it was probably just one dumb troll videos, fucking around like she always did. Joking, messing with people. Now she thought she could pull that same bullshit with Rafe.

He made sure his phone was muted and clicked on the video, pulse skyrocketing.

Come on. Fucking load.

Oh, that bitch was gonna catch hands for whatever troll video she’d sent. For whatever—

How.

He didn’t—

That didn’t make sense. That was—

No. Fucking shit, NO.

And yet, there it was. Some shaky video starting with Gracie’s front camera, that drunk bitch realizing she was filming herself. The POV switched to the back camera, focusing on two other girls in the kitchen, giggling and waving at the camera before downing shots.

The fucking video wasn’t even about Rafe. Except that it was.

Because in the background, you could see his back—him reaching into his pocket, prepping a line on the kitchen counter, and snorting it right off.

It could’ve been anybody if he hadn’t turned around at the last fucking second and rubbed his nose, the video cutting off as his full face came into frame.

FUCK.

Rafe didn’t even fucking remember that. He knew he’d done some lines that night—like two or three, okay maybe five—but all of them had been in the bathroom or Kelce’s guest room with nobody else around but himself, that fucker Chris, and some other losers.

Fucking hell.

He definitely didn’t remember being in the kitchen alone with Gracie of all people—the girl he’d dumped after a week of hooking up because she annoyed the living fuck out of him. Always clinging to Ruthie’s ass, always babbling about Ruthie. Ruthie this, Ruthie that. Like her whole life revolved around that bitch.

Shit, even during sex, she’d once asked to try a position because it was Ruthie’s favorite. Like—Jesus fuck—what the hell?

That had been the last straw. He’d packed his shit and left. Sure, Gracie had some insane mouth and hand game, but that? That had been beyond fucked.

That had been—

Shit. He remembered now.

He’d gone into the kitchen to look for you after doing lines with Chris and his loser crew in the guest room. But when he came back, you weren’t where he'd left you. Then he’d texted you and you’d replied you were in the bathroom with some guy which later turned out to be a typo for Molly’s name and FUCK.

Rafe had been so on edge, he hadn’t thought, and straight-up done a line in the kitchen.

Shit. Fucking shit.

And of all people, Ruthie had gotten her hands on the video.

Fuck. If she actually released that—

He didn’t give a shit what the school would think. They could kick him out, whatever. Even the cops, what could they do? They had a video, sure, but no real proof of it being coke. It showed him doing white line of something. Could've been flour. So what? Maybe an investigation, a fine. Whatever.

But his dad.

If his dad saw this video, Rafe was fucked. So fucking fucked. He’d—

He’d fucking kill that bitch.

Rafe didn’t even think. Rage and fury flooded his brain.

He set his phone aside, tossed his part of the blanket over your legs, and sat at the edge of the lounge bed, blood boiling as he reached for his shoes.

Oh, that bitch was lucky she wasn’t a guy. So fucking lucky. He would’ve knocked the fuck out of her, wiped that stupid grin off her face, knocked a few teeth loose and—

“Everything okay?”

Rafe stopped.

The turmoil inside him only worsened as he glanced back over his shoulder and met your pretty eyes, that soft glimmer in them. You had sat up too, hugging the blanket around your stomach.

Rafe just wanted to kick off his shoes again and slip right back under the blanket to your warm body. Feel your hand on his stomach, your head on his chest, breathe in your sweet perfume.

Then he remembered he'd only done that cursed line at the party because of you. Because you’d messed with his head with your cryptic-ass texts and your whole vibe and just—

Fuck.

You were the reason Ruthie had him in a fucking chokehold now. You were the reason Rafe had lost his goddamn mind to the point he’d done a stupid fucking line of coke right in the middle of some giggling girls filming him.

Rafe furrowed his brows, jaw clenched tight.

This anger toward you confused him because it clashed hard with that light feeling he’d had just seconds ago, lying there next to you.

"I’ll be right back," was all he said, his voice distant, and it pissed him off, even though he couldn’t stop it.

Your brows twitched and that just fueled his irritation and—

Shit. He could see it in your eyes. Little minions running around, confused and overwhelmed. Fuck, he really didn’t have time for that shit right now.

Rafe had to leave. If he didn’t find Ruthie soon, that fucking video would get out and he’d be fucked. He couldn’t deal with your anxiety spiral right now.

That was something you had to handle on your own now.

Once he’d gotten his other shoe on, he grabbed his phone and stood up, that familiar itch to snort a line crawling into his fingers.

And with that, he walked off, gaze fixed straight ahead, because he couldn’t bear to meet your sad eyes again.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

A girl. He’d been texting another girl.

You hadn’t seen who it was, hadn’t caught her name or profile pic, only the red heart at the bottom of the chat before he’d snatched his phone off the lounge bed and stormed off.

And now you were left alone.

The bed that had felt too small for the two of you earlier now looked way too big and empty. A deep clenching in your chest, a horrible twist in your stomach, and a storm of racing thoughts threatening to suffocate you.

You pulled the fluffy pink blanket higher, hugging your knees to your chest, staring straight ahead and clinging to the traces of warmth and scent he’d left on the fabric.

You didn’t even know what to think or feel. You two had just been so close moments ago—cuddling, the air light and sweet, Rafe actually relaxed.

But now? He’d looked so angry, so pissed off and mad, and you even got the sense that some of it had been directed at you, the way his voice had been so cold.

The fact that he’d even checked his phone to answer some girl while you two had been lying there so cozily... it hurt more than you wanted to admit. And you felt so stupid for feeling like this.

It’s not like he’s my boyfriend or anything.

Shit. And yet. Deep disappointment and irritation were bubbling up inside you. But even more than that: the question of who that girl was.

Who the hell was she to be sending Rafe little hearts? Who was she that he’d leave you behind to go chase after her? Who the fuck was she that he couldn’t even look at you as he stormed off?

Fuck. Now you were angry? This was so embarrassing and dumb. So many questions and wild theories gathering in your brain, each one worse than the last.

There were a lot of girls at the event tonight. You could rule out some random touron girl or a Pogue for obvious reasons. That just didn’t add up.

So... probably someone from school.

Maybe some ex-fwb who got jealous seeing you two together, or someone hoping to get back with him. Or maybe—

Ruthie was here. Cara had said she'd seen her with Topper. And where Ruthie was, Gracie usually wasn’t far.

Your heart sank.

She’d been one of his recent fwb situations. Sure, that had been a few months ago and hadn’t lasted long, as far as you could remember, but... could she be the one texting him?

Although, she hadn’t seemed particularly interested in Rafe at the party, or even at school, really. Even during the Truth or Dare game Friday night—she had sat on his right, yeah—but you remembered she hadn’t paid him any attention if you were being honest. Just giggling about Ruthie leading the game.

Besides, Gracie was pretty reserved and passive. Ruthie was the mouth of the duo, the one holding the whip.

So... maybe Ruthie had told Gracie to text Rafe? Just to mess with you two.

Okay, no. Wait. That’s... jesus christ. That’s borderline insane.

AHHHHH, were you really putting that much importance on yourself that you thought Ruthie would go out of her way to ruin something between you and Rafe? Which, what even was there to ruin?? Like it’s not like you two were a couple or anything, it was just this maybe kind of vibe, this budding friendship—

Ughhhhhhhh, strong secondhand embarrassment right here.

Sure, Ruthie didn’t seem to like you but to be fair, the feeling was mutual. But you clearly weren’t a threat to her. She had never paid you any attention before, so why would she now?

Okay ew, no. Scratch that thought immediately and pretend it never happened.

And besides—hello?? Rafe cuddled with you. CUDDLED.

No way he’d just throw that away to go make out with some random girl. Especially not when he’d seemed so at ease and relaxed with you. Like, come on. You didn’t want to act all full of yourself or anything but no way some ex-whatever-girl was more interesting than you right now.

HAH. That’s exactly what Cara would say. First she’d screech like a banshee at the fact that you and Rafe had cuddled, and then she’d say something like "Girl, no way he’s trading the comfort and safety of your boobs pressed to him for some dry-ass blowie from a rando bitch."

Wow. Thanks, imaginary Cara. #actuallyschizophrenic

Also, you kind of forgot the most important detail: Rafe had looked furious. Not just annoyed or moody, no, full-on I’m gonna beat someone up energy.

So maybe it wasn’t a girl at all. Maybe it was a guy texting him and the heart was some passive-aggressive way to piss him off.

Ohhhh, yeah, that would make sense.

You hadn’t seen Chris around, so maybe some other frat guy? Or maybe even a customer?

OH YEAH. Rafe dealt coke. Let’s not forget that. Maybe it was just some very urgent “business” emergency or whatever.

HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAH SURE PROBABLY THAT.

Then again, hahahahha, why would he go deal coke NOW, right in the middle of cuddling and watching a movie?? Like?????

UGH. Why couldn’t he have just told you why he was leaving? Then you wouldn’t be sitting here spiraling over something that was probably nothing. Maybe he was just taking a piss and the texts weren’t even related to why he'd left at all.

AHHHHHH so many possibilities, GONNA GO INSANE NOW HAHAHAHHA

No seriously. Chill. The minions in your brain were just going crazy for no reason (oh god am I actually adopting Rafe’s metaphors now welp).

AND ALSO, Rafe had said he’d be right back. No point spiraling over this right now, RIGHT?

You exhaled slowly and pulled the blanket up to your shoulders. Your left hand reached for the bracelet on your wrist, playing with the little dangling charms.

He’d come back soon. And then you could enjoy the rest of the movie, cuddled up with him again.

Except… he didn’t.

You spent the next thirty minutes alone on that lounge bed, hugging your blanket close, trying not to think about how humiliating and embarrassing you felt surrounded by all these other people who were sharing their lounge beds with someone else. Some of them had even watched Rafe leave, and now you looked like some stupid girl who just got ghosted.

And that’s exactly how you felt.

You didn’t even dare to look around, especially not to the right where Molly and Kelce were cuddling barely a meter away. This was just...

I'm so fucking stupid for believing this could’ve meant ANYTHING at all. That in some dumb, pathetic way you’d actually thought you meant something to Rafe after yesterday.

Am I just being angry for no reason?

You furrowed your brows, pulling your legs in even closer, tears threatening to rise, especially now that America Ferrera’s character was delivering this insanely powerful and gut-punching speech about women in the modern world.

And then the anger hit you at how right she was, at how fucking mistreated women were (not like that was news but right now it just hit differently), at the fact that Rafe had left you again, like he’d done at Kelce’s party to go deal coke, and now he was maybe balls deep in some girl in one of the toilet stalls while you were lying here alone like some stupid, naive idiot.

And now Ferrera was preaching about how women shouldn’t settle for less, how you should know your self-worth, about how society always expected you to be grateful for even the tiniest crumbs, even if they were against you.

LIKE NO. Fuck that. Fuck this. Fuck Rafe and his stupid—

The cushion beside you dipped. Startled, you looked away from the screen, expecting to see Rafe but instead, big brown eyes and a furrowed brow greeted you.

“You okay?” Kie asked, her tone laced with anger, though it didn’t feel directed at you.

You blinked, completely taken off guard seeing her here—and then realized, shit, you actually were crying.

You instinctively wiped your tears away, feeling ridiculously stupid and pathetic and gave her a forced smile.

“Yeah, yeah, all good,” you said, scooting a little to the right so she could sit properly.

But Kie didn’t move.

“Do you wanna come join us?” she asked, hesitating a bit before carefully adding, “I doubt he’s coming back.”

Your stomach twisted at hearing what you already knew deep down.

But facing everyone like this now? No way. You didn’t want their pity or well-meaning sympathy right now. So you shook your head, forcing another smile.

“No, I… it’s fine. I’m good here,” you said, and you both knew you were lying.

Kie held your gaze for a moment, her expression stern. Then she moved away from the edge and sat down next to you in the spot that had been Rafe’s.

Somehow that made your chest tighten.

“It’s not fine,” Kie said quietly, shaking her head. “Rafe doesn’t get to play the asshole whenever he feels like it.”

You knew she was right, and yet…

“I don’t think he means it badly,” you said and immediately questioned yourself for saying that.

Kie clearly thought the same, judging by the way she looked at you. “He left you here. Don’t tell me you’re defending his shitty behavior.”

“No, but—” You blinked. How did she even know he’d been gone in the first place? “Did you see him?”

For a brief second, an image of Kie and Rafe together somewhere on the event grounds popped into your head but you quickly pushed that absurd thought away.

“He almost walked me and Cleo over when we came back from the snack bar,” Kie explained. “Seemed like he’d just come from the toilet stalls.” She furrowed her brows. “Then he pretty much stormed off toward the exit. Looked like he was about to kill someone.”

…

Oh.

He left.

Not just for 30 minutes. No, he actually left.

The feeling that rose in your chest… you couldn’t even describe it. It just felt hollow. Like a deep, deep hole that had just gotten even deeper after hearing Kie’s words.

You didn’t even— what the hell was going on with him? You didn’t understand. This just seemed off. Sure, his mood swings were completely unpredictable but going from cuddling straight to ditching the entire event?

Maybe something had happened? Like a family emergency? But then again, Sarah was still here. If something had happened, wouldn’t she have been alerted too?

All of it felt so strange. And somehow, your gut was telling you something bad must’ve happened, something that had rattled Rafe enough to make him bolt like that. And now you felt bad for thinking all those horrible things about him earlier.

“Did you see if anyone was with him?” you asked anyway, dreading the answer.

Kie curled her lips and shook her head. “To be honest, I just came straight here. I figured he didn’t tell you he'd leave. He’s an ignorant asshole.”

God, Kie was way sweeter than you’d initially thought.

“I don’t get why he’d leave without at least saying something,” you said, brows furrowing. “That’s just… I don’t get it.”

Kie made a bitter grimace. “There’s nothing to get. He’s always been like that. There’s no changing him. Trust me, okay?”

That… didn’t sound like someone who just disliked a guy. It sounded like someone who had history with him. Which made you feel all kinds of weird. Like you were talking to some ex of his, even though you didn’t actually know what had gone down between them. If anything had even gone down.

And because you didn’t want to make assumptions, you just said it straight out: “That sounds like you two used to be close.”

Kie’s brows twitched and she looked away for a second, as if debating whether to open up. In the background, the Barbies were currently executing their plan to take back Barbieland.

“Not in the way you might think,” she finally said, hugging her knees up to her chest. “When I first became friends with Sarah as kids, Rafe was always hanging around too. Back then he wasn’t such a massive asshole. More like a friendless loser, honestly.” She let out a small laugh. “He’d always crash our hangouts, trying to annoy us—me especially—but once I put him in his place, he was… actually kind of okay to be around.” A distant smile touched her lips. “I’m an only child but I guess he was the closest thing I had to an older brother.”

Her smile faded quickly, that stern expression returning. “And when their mom died, everything just… changed. I mean, of course it did. But Rafe… he suddenly seemed to hate Sarah. He got more aggressive. More distant. But she was my best friend, so obviously I stuck by her when it felt like he wanted me to pick sides. It only got worse when I joined the KA in ninth grade.” Kie grimaced. “He grew almost obsessed with trying to turn me against her. So I put a stop to it. Eventually, he backed off. But it’s Rafe,” she said bitterly, “if he can ruin someone’s day, he will.”

She held your gaze, a kind of bittersweetness behind her eyes. “I’m not saying he’s toying with you. Actually, I’m pretty convinced he’s horribly into you and just doesn’t know how to deal with that because it freaks him out.” A small, frowning shake of her head. “Still doesn’t excuse his shitty behavior.”

You just stared at her, kind of baffled. Only the sound of Ryan Gosling’s Ken singing “Push” while playing guitar in the background grounded you, which, disturbingly, kinda described Rafe's dynamic with you a little too well.

The fact that she and Rafe had been kind of sibling-like once… that was unexpected, but honestly very sweet. And the idea that the three of them—Kie, Sarah, Rafe—had once been some little trio? That hit in a way you hadn’t expected.

And here you’d been feeling jealous like some stupid crazy bitch.

But what really threw you off were her last words. Hearing her say—she, who had been so skeptical just the day before, clearly judging your whole thing with Rafe—that she actually believed he might actually…

GOD, YOU COULDN’T EVEN THINK IT. Didn’t want to. Scared it might jinx it.

Kie's features softened slightly when she saw your expression, letting out a sigh. “I can tell you genuinely seem to like him, and I think you could actually be really good for him in the long run.” She raised her brows, amused. “JJ said Rafe only almost decked him earlier when you'd talked.”

That made you chuckle too.

“That’s why my only advice to you is,” she continued, her expression turning serious again, “Don’t let his bullshit slide. Ever. Rafe is a very difficult person but whatever he’s dealing with doesn’t excuse being an asshole.” Her features softened again as her eyes landed on your bracelet. “Still, I believe he has so much to give to the right person.” She met your gaze again. “Maybe it's you.”

JESUS CHRIST. This was just... A LOT.

Her spilling some crazy backstory about their past, the bittersweet tone in her voice when she talked about him, the fucking fact that she thought Rafe might actually have caught feelings for you AND HOLY FUCKING SHIT, her thinking YOU might actually be good for him?

God, and on top of that, her still seeming to care about him even after their falling out, despite how much she’d learned to dislike him…

It just hurt even more because it felt like she didn’t want you to go through what she had, and AHHHHHH I CANNOT.

You hugged your legs closer, eyeing her, completely stunned. “That... I don’t even…” you started, but nothing felt more fitting right now than: “Thank you.” You smiled, genuinely. “For making me feel better and… for sharing this with me.” You let out a sheepish little laugh, playing with the charms on your bracelet. “And for looking out for me in the first place.”

Kie’s mouth twitched into a smile, her gaze flicking away from yours for a second. “To be honest, I didn’t know what to make of it—how you seemed to actually like Rafe. It’s just… he’s turned into this cocky, pushy, aggressive guy, and I couldn’t really believe someone like you would hang out with him willingly.”

She shook her head and met your eyes again. “But then I saw you two together on the event field earlier, and there was this calmness to him.” A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. “It’s like he lets himself relax when he’s around you.”

OKAY BYE. THAT WAS THE FINAL BLOW. HOLY SHIT.

All of this spilling out of Kie, It was just... a lot to process.

Not to mention the entire situation in the first place, and as much as you appreciated her words, her presence, everything, all you could think about was how badly you wanted to go after Rafe now. Check the parking lot or wherever he’d gone because he definitely hadn’t gone home. You all arrived with Topper’s car.

But you stayed put.

As much as your heart was aching to run after him, to find out what was going on, to understand why he’d left you like that, hell, even just to talk it out, you didn’t want to leave Kie behind.

She didn’t seem like the type to just open up easily or willingly to some girl she’d known for a day, so this felt like a rare moment—something real between you two. And you definitely didn’t want to pull a Rafe move on her.

“I can’t believe I’m putting up with his bullshit either,” you finally said, a smile tugging at your lips. “But I guess... part of me also relaxes around him. I don’t know, he just… helps me get out of my head.” You chuckled softly. “Even if he does it in the worst way possible.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, thinking about how hurt he’d looked earlier. “And I’m far from a saint either. I have a huge overthinking problem, and it messes with my relationships a lot. Honestly, I’m surprised he still sticks around, considering I drive him up the wall most of the time.”

That got a genuine laugh out of Kie and she shook her head. “Sounds like you’re handling him just right then.”

You smiled, the heaviness in your chest easing a little. Grateful for Kie’s honesty and her presence.

And when you noticed the goosebumps on her arms, a soft breeze blowing through her brown locks, you immediately reached for the fluffy pink blanket and held it up for her.

Shit, you hadn’t even noticed she was probably freezing. Oops.

Kie eyed you for a second, something like hesitation in her gaze, but then she smiled and scooted closer, grabbing one end of the blanket and pulling it up to her chest.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, adjusting into a more comfortable position, her shoulder now resting against yours.

That somehow marked the end of the whole Rafe conversation.

The next twenty minutes were spent snuggled up under the blanket, sharing warmth, giggling about how pathetic Ken had been at the end (Kie compared him to Rafe which just made you laugh harder), snacking on Rafe’s leftover nachos and your own snacks, and almost (definitely) crying during the crazy emotional montage of Barbie experiencing girlhood and humanity in a speedrun. You were pretty sure you even heard Kelce sobbing next to you.

No better way to bond than over Barbie.

After the movie ended, the screen showed a 45-minute countdown until Transformers would start. In the meantime, most people got up to stretch, run to the restroom, grab new snacks and drinks, and some even left—they’d only come for Barbie.

You and Kie had left the blanket on your seats and headed straight to the stalls (you made sure to take a wide detour around Kelce and Molly because the last thing you needed was them asking questions about Rafe or making comments about you two cuddling).

Inside the stall, you pushed down all your anger and confusion and decided to send Rafe a quick text because, more than anything, you were actually worried.

Ughhh, is that too clingy? PROBABLY.

But you didn’t care. He’d spammed your entire phone this afternoon with cursed and suggestive pics, so you could definitely drop one little concerned text. Besides, it had been almost an hour since he'd left, and the fact that he hadn’t sent even a small update was kind of weird.

Rude. Ignorant. Definitely an asshole move. But somehow Kie had eased your thoughts so much that it didn’t feel like he left because he regretted cuddling with you, or ran off to find another girl, no, it felt like something must’ve happened. Something serious.

And your gut told you that if Rafe was spooked enough to leave like that, it had to be bad (And you had your dad’s gut and his was never wrong. So that had to mean something, at least)

Outside the toilet stalls, girls were giggling and chatting about the movie, laughing about the Kens, quoting America Ferrera’s monologue, and praising the message of the film.

You even recognized Cara’s voice when you stepped out to wash your hands.

“I swear, I dated a guy exactly like that once,” she said. “He literally played the same song and stared at me the exact same way. Most horrendous moment of my life.”

More laughter followed.

You chuckled to yourself, shouldered your bag, and took a deep breath. This was going to be the most awkward and interrogative interaction of your life.

As you made your way through the crowd of girls still in line, stepping out of the restroom cabin, all eyes snapped toward you the second you joined the group.

Legitimately everyone was there. The Pogues, Cara, even Kelce and Molly. Surprised Topper wasn’t there too.

Great.

Everyone was here—except the one person you desperately wanted to see.

Just smile. Prepare for some horrible question like Where’s Rafe?, Did you guys fight?, Why’d he leave?, Kelce said he saw you cuddling, blah blah blah.

UGHHHHH.

But to your surprise, they stayed quiet. Smiling in that way that said we know what happened but we’re not gonna overwhelm you.

And worst of all? Every single face was filled with pity. The last thing you wanted.

Except Kie's. She had this genuine smile, one that said don’t worry, I made sure they wouldn’t bombard you with questions.

“Alriiiight,” JJ said, clapping his hands. “Shots?”

Everyone seemed to agree.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“…and then he left,” you finished your little recap of tonight’s events as you and the girls were sitting at a high table on barstools near the bar at the edge of the event venue.

The boys were sitting a few tables down, laughing loudly at some nonsense. Kelce and JJ had clicked immediately. Not surprising at all, considering both of them were party animals with the same extroverted energy.

Anyway. You hadn’t really had a choice not to tell the girls about your night with Rafe because they’d been staring at you for the past ten minutes like you were a bomb about to explode. And also, they’d tried acting normal in a painfully awkward way. Failed miserably.

You’d asked them to just listen first and not interrupt, though, because otherwise it would turn into an endless back-and-forth, and you hadn’t even wanted to talk about this in the first place.

All five of them stared at you blankly.

And then Cara exploded. “YOU FUCKING CUDDLED?!”

Jesus Christ—that was probably loud enough for half of the North Side to hear.

“Did you not hear the part where he just left her?” Cleo said with an amused expression.

Cara nodded wildly. “Absolute asshole move, yeah, I’m definitely gonna kill him next time I see him but—” She shook her head and gestured her hands in your direction, nearly knocking over Kie’s drink. “YOU CUDDLED. I—That’s—Someone call 911, I think I’m having a heart attack.”

You and Sarah chuckled while Cleo and Kie just shook their heads.

“He wasn’t even watching the movie,” Molly said with a smile, playing with the straw in her mojito. “Every time I looked over, he was just gazing at her.”

WHAT.

Cara shrieked and almost fell off her barstool.

“And yet he still left,” Kie said dryly, shaking her head with a grimace. “Can we please not gloss over that.”

Molly nodded. “I’m really sorry about that. I wanted you to come over and join me and Kelce, but he insisted Rafe would be back soon. And when I did want to get up, Kiara was already with you.”

Um... yeah, you were pretty glad you hadn’t joined Molly and Kelce. That lounge bed was definitely too small for three people, and you absolutely didn’t feel like third-wheeling like some loser.

Still, the thought counted.

“Thanks, but it’s all good,” you said with a smile.

Sarah shifted in her seat, brows furrowed. “I just can’t believe he’d leave you like that. And you really didn’t see who messaged him?”

You shook your head. “No. Just that most of the texts seemed to be from the one texting him, and at the end I just saw a red heart in one of the messages. That’s it.”

“That’s so weird,” Sarah said. “I honestly can’t think of anyone that could’ve been. Maybe Wheeze needed to be picked up from Theo’s? He does live pretty far from Tannyhill. Maybe Dad or Sasha couldn’t go. That could explain why he looked so pissed, like you said. Maybe he was just mad the night got ruined.”

You assumed Sasha was the Camerons’ housekeeper.

You tilted your head. “But then why wouldn’t he just say that? Like, that wouldn’t even have been a problem. And besides, he said he’d be right back.”

“And also, how would he even have left?” Cara added. “They all arrived with Topper's car."

Sarah nodded. “Oh right.” She tilted her head. “Did he maybe ask him for the keys?”

Cara shook her head with a nope look. “It’s his mom’s Range Rover. I’m surprised he even got to drive it. No way he’d let Rafe take it.”

You all just stared at her.

“What?” she said. “He whined to me about it at the party on Friday, okay?”

Uh-huh.

“Well, have you texted him?” Cleo asked you, crossing her arms on the table. “Seems like the easiest way to find out what’s going on.”

You nodded. “Yeah, but he hasn’t answered yet.”

And right on cue, your phone buzzed in your purse.

Your heart skipped a beat, pulse shooting up, everyone watched you expectantly as you pulled your phone out but that feeling quickly faded.

“Topper,” you said, disappointment leaking into your voice. Then you picked up. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey,” he said on the other end, voice sounding weird. “Do you have a minute?”

Aaaand your heart was back in the race. “Uh… sure, I guess. Where are you? Everything okay?” Is Rafe with you? you almost asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, but he didn’t sound convincing. “I’m at the archway.”

You blinked and looked over your shoulder, spotting his silhouette—at least you thought it was him—at the far end of the venue. He seemed to be alone.

“Okay, uh, we’re at the bar,” you said, turning back around. “Don’t you wanna come over? Kelce is here too.”

A pause. Then: “Cara’s with you, right?”

Instinctively, your eyes met hers. “Yeah.”

“Um,” he gave a strained chuckle, “I’d rather not then.”

You nearly frowned. Was he seriously still sulking because she didn’t accept his ride offer?

Whatever.

“Alright, I’ll be right there,” you said, and the girls shot you weird looks.

You could practically hear Topper exhale in relief. “Thanks.”

With that, you hung up and shouldered your bag.

“What?” Cara asked, frowning. “He’s afraid of coming over here or what?”

Sarah and Molly chuckled.

You shrugged and slid off the stool. “No idea. I’ll be right back. Maybe he knows something about Rafe.”

Cara was already about to protest, making a move to join you, but you shook your head with an amused smile. “Stay here. I got this.”

“Tell him his drama queen behavior is such a turn-off,” she muttered, and the others laughed in agreement.

As you made your way across the venue, you gripped the strap of your bag tighter. Your hands were clammy with nerves, unsure what exactly Topper needed to talk to you about. And now that you were away from the fireplace at the bar, a cold night breeze whipped across your bare arms and you just now realized how much the temperature had dropped.

Great. And Rafe had the ticket for your jacket at the coat check.

Even though you were cold, kinda annoyed that Topper hadn’t come over himself, and hadn’t even said what this was about, you still managed a smile as you finally reached him at the archway.

“Hey,” you said. “Everything okay? What’s going on?”

Why was he standing here alone? Hadn’t he spent the whole evening with Ruthie’s girl squad? And most importantly: Did something happen to Rafe? Because the tension in his smile definitely hinted at something serious.

Topper nodded. “Yeah, uh, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, no.” He pressed his lips together and sighed. “I feel stupid for even asking you to come over here. I mean I don’t wanna drag you into something you’re not really involved in.”

Again, you almost frowned. So this wasn’t about Rafe. It was about Cara.

Great :)

“But,” he continued, “I’m just… I’m confused. About Cara, I mean. Her whole vibe.”

Then why don’t you just talk to her??? (Okay girl, calm down, no need to take it out on the poor guy who’s probably just looking for some clarity. Just like you.)

You hugged yourself from the cold and tilted your head. “I get why you're irritated, but honestly, I think it’s best if you just talk to her yourself. I’m really not in a position to speak for her.”

Topper nodded. “I know and I—I wanted to but she’s either been with Sarah or Maybank the whole night, and I didn’t wanna approach her with those two around.”

Okay, JJ you understood, but Sarah? That just seemed like a lame excuse. Oh, wait— didn’t Rafe mention during his little hate speech yesterday that Sarah tried to turn Topper against him too? So maybe there was some history between them.

“Well, she’s free now,” you said, rubbing your arms. “Want me to go get her?”

Please say yes, it’s freezing out here.

Topper’s brows twitched and he scratched his chin. “You think she’d even wanna talk to me?”

If you keep being this self-pitying, then probably not. Holy shit, girl, calm the fuck down. This was Rafe infiltrating your brain.

Wait—

RAFE!

Your heart stopped when you spotted him a few meters away, coming from the parking lot with the biggest scowl known to man. He made a quick stop at the register, probably because the cashier had called him over. Probably wanted to check his ticket.

Your gaze flicked back to Topper, pulse racing now, adrenaline shooting high. You nodded quickly.

“Yeah, yeah! Sure,” you said, probably grinning like a maniac. "Actually, I think she’d really love it if you went up to her. I mean, Cara likes it when guys take initiative.”

UGHHHH that sounded so stupid, no way he would—

“You think so? I don’t—”

Another quick nod. “Yeah, definitely. You can trust me on this.”

PLEASE JUST GO, NEED TO TALK TO RAFE.

Topper hesitated, then nodded with a somewhat relieved smile. “Yeah, okay.” He took a step forward, but then paused, eyeing you in confusion. “Aren’t you also—”

“Yo, Top!”

Both you and Topper turned, and your heart plummeted as you saw the furious look on Rafe’s face while he marched toward you. His expression twisted into an irritated, almost maniacal grin locked solely on Topper.

Topper didn’t even get the chance to react before Rafe shoved him in the chest. “You’re a fucking shitface,” Rafe hissed, not even sparing you a glance.

“Hey, man, what—what’s going on?” Topper looked totally confused, rubbing his chest after stumbling back a step.

Rafe scoffed, tapping his chest with both hands. “You trying to fuck me over or some shit, huh? Trying to act like some little backstabbing piece of shit?”

You just stood there, frozen, completely stunned by the whole situation. A few people nearby had already started glancing over.

Topper shook his head, brows furrowed. “What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“Oh, real funny.” Rafe clicked his tongue, shaking his head slightly. Then, without warning, he stepped forward, grabbing Topper by the collar and towering over him. “I think you know damn well what the fuck I’m talking about.”

Topper blinked, clearly completely thrown. “No, dude. I have no idea what you—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Rafe said, nodding, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. There was something seriously unsettling about his tone. He gave Topper a hard shake and raised his voice: “You think I’m fucking stupid, huh? You think I—”

“Get the fuck off me,” Topper snapped, shoving Rafe’s hands off. “You’re coked up, dude. I don’t even fucking know what you’re on about—”

Rafe’s fist connected with Topper’s face with a sickening crack. A pained groan escaped Topper as he stumbled sideways, his hand flying to his cheek. “What the fuck?!”

Horrified, you gasped. A few girls nearby even shrieked.

But Rafe didn’t stop. He stepped forward again, looking like he was about to beat Topper to a pulp but instead grabbed his collar once more, just about to open his mouth when:

“Rafe!”

Kelce’s voice rang out suddenly, with John B and Sarah right behind him.

Rafe’s head snapped up and he scoffed, shaking his head. “Shiiit. Is this some kind of fucking joke?” He shoved Topper away and threw a mocking gesture toward Kelce. “You too now, huh?” He let out something like a chuckle but it sounded more like a disbelieved scoff. Tapping his chest again, he said, “Both of you trying to fuck with me, huh?”

“Dude, you need to chill out,” Kelce said, and it was wild how weird his voice sounded when he was serious. "What's going on?"

Rafe tilted his head, and everything about him screamed danger. “Chill, yeah? Just like you’re chillin’ with fucking pogue rats now, huh?”

“Rafe,” Sarah said, and his head immediately snapped toward her. “Seriously, you need to—”

“Oh, don’t you fucking dare tell me what to do,” Rafe snapped, stepping toward her with a shake of his head.

John B stepped in front of Sarah, chin raised, and Rafe stopped in his tracks with another scoff, rubbing over his nose with a sniff. He nodded. “Sweet. Yeah. That’s fucking sweet. Y’all a big happy fucking family now or what?”

“Dude,” Kelce said, stepping in and grabbing Rafe’s shoulder but Rafe immediately shoved his hand away.

Kelce raised his hands and backed off. “You need to get your shit together, bro.”

Two mean-looking security guys were already heading straight toward the commotion. The whole nearby area had quieted down, all eyes on you.

Rafe didn’t give a damn. His gaze was now locked back on John B.

Oh god—and the security guys looked like the kind who’d knock someone out first and ask questions later. They were heading straight for Rafe.

“Step back! Now!” one of them yelled.

Jesus Christ, and that idiot just turned to them with a provocative smile on his face, clearly ready to stir up more shit but you couldn’t bear to watch him get beat up again.

Heart pounding like mad, you stepped up to Rafe, hesitantly reaching for his arm. Your heart sank to your stomach when he grabbed your wrist tightly with his other hand, probably thinking it was Topper or Kelce.

“Rafe,” you said, voice shaking.

His head snapped toward you, and for a second, you thought he’d push you away but the moment his blown-wide pupils met your eyes, his grip immediately loosened, his brows twitching as he stared at you.

One of the security guards was about to grab Rafe, but you quickly shook your head, letting go of his arm and stepping halfway in front of him, giving the grim-looking guy a nervous smile. “It’s okay, he—we’re leaving.”

“No, the fuck, we’re not.”

You turned back to Rafe, planting your hands firmly on his chest as he tried to step forward again. You looked up at him, pleading, hoping he’d have some shred of sense left.

“Please,” you whispered, your heart hammering at the fury in his eyes. “If they call the cops, and they see you like this…”

They’d know immediately he was on something. They’d run tests—oh god, and if he had a baggie on him, it’d be over. He’d be arrested, charged, investigated, and—

You felt the warmth of his chest slip from beneath your hands as he took a step back. With a big, crooked grin, he threw his hands up for a second, gaze still locked on the security behind you.

“Chill the fuck out, aight?” he said, then let his hands drop, his expression twisting into a scowl as he looked first at Topper, then Kelce, then Sarah. He shook his head, his voice full of scorn and detachment—almost not even sounding like him when he said: “Fucking backstabbing rats. All of you. You fit right into this little play-pretend family.”

Everyone just watched him storm off in stunned silence, completely speechless.

“If your friend comes back again, he’s getting more than a warning,” one of the security guards said.

John B mumbled something in response, but you didn’t even register it, the blood was rushing in your ears too loud, your heart pounding wildly, eyes fixed on Rafe’s back as he disappeared through the entrance.

Kelce stepped forward and said something like “I’ll go after him,” but you were faster.

You didn’t think. Didn’t give yourself the chance to second-guess. Didn’t even hear Kelce call after you as you took off after Rafe.

Gripping the strap of your bag tightly, you rushed through the archway, past the entrance and register. Your cheeks flushed with adrenaline as you stepped into the gravel parking lot, scanning frantically for his familiar silhouette.

The warm lights of the lanterns and the cool milky hue of the moon mixed together, bathing the parked cars in a spectacle of gold and silver surfaces.

And then—there!

Just straight ahead, a silhouette walking off.

You rushed after him, feet hitting the gravel path, every step in sync with the pounding of your heartbeat.

“Rafe,” you called after him, a weird feeling spreading in your chest as he didn’t stop.

You pushed down the anxiety and doubts and called his name again. “Wait. Please.”

The silhouette came to a halt.

Broad shoulders lit by the golden glow of the streetlamp hanging directly above him. His whole posture tense, defiant and alert all at once. You could see his strained breathing in the way his upper body moved.

You pressed your lips together, nerves buzzing with unease. You’d never seen him like this. All coked-up and furious. Even punching his friend in the face.

The fear of what he might do if you said the wrong thing clashed hard with your concern and the aching need to reach out to him.

Heart hammering, you forced yourself to shove all of that down and stepped closer, half-circling him, knuckles white from how tightly you clutched your purse strap.

Your heart sank straight through the ground when you stepped around him and saw his face, expecting a frown, a deep scowl, rage and irritation in his gaze but instead:

Tired, red eyes. Glossy. Pupils so wide they seemed to choke out the blue of his irises. And adding to the heart-wrenching sight was the purple bruise blooming on his right cheek, still fresh enough to be illuminated like a spotlight in the streetlamp’s golden glow.

Physically and mentally, Rafe looked completely wrecked.

“What happened?” you asked quietly, a silent whisper, scared that even the smallest push might make him crash out. “Are you okay?”

Your chest tightened as he looked at you with such cold distance it almost resembled contempt.

Rafe scoffed, more a tired exhale than anything. “Do me a fucking favor and go back inside. I’ve had enough of fake bitches tonight.”

Your brows twitched, the words hitting like a punch to the gut but you swallowed the sting and the anger. You knew he didn’t mean it like that. He was just pushing you away.

“Rafe, what’s going on?” you asked again, a little more confident now, voice soft, searching his cold eyes for some kind of answer.

He let out an annoyed breath, rolling his eyes so hard you saw the whites. As his gaze locked with yours again, it was sharp and unsettling. He tapped his temples with his fingers. “I’m serious. I have zero patience for your anxiety bullshit right now.”

You blinked, stunned. Did he seriously think you came out here for some kind of reassurance? And what the fuck did he mean by ‘anxiety bullshit’?

“I don’t—I’m not here because of that,” you said with furrowed brows, unable to keep the edge out of your voice. You hugged your arms tightly around yourself, partly from the cold, partly just to soothe yourself. “I just... You left so suddenly, and I—what happened?”

Rafe shook his head and raised his chin, face twisted in irritation. “Okay, what the fuck is this? Some pathetic attempt to squeeze gossip out of me? Did Sarah send you here so you can giggle with your new little girl squad later?”

“What?” You stared at him, baffled. What the actual fuck was going on with him? “No! I’m just worried. This is—I mean, I’m just trying to understand what's going on.”

Rafe let out a bitter laugh, gesturing back toward the event hall. “Why don’t you go back inside to Topper then and ask that fucker, huh? Looked like you two were getting real cozy right now.”

Seriously, what the actual fuck.

You didn’t even let your brain begin to process what that implied. You just blinked at him, stunned, brows knitting together as your own frustration started to rise.

“We were just talking,” you said, voice tight. “He asked me—”

“Yeah, talking alone far from everyone else,” Rafe cut in, tapping his chest with an angry hand. “Does everyone think I’m some fucking—”

“He was whining to me about Cara, okay!” you snapped, totally done with his deflections and accusations. “He called me over because he was scared to join us at the bar or whatever, I don’t know.” You shook your head in disbelief. “I—do I look like—I mean what does that even have to do with Topper?”

“Nothing that fucking concerns you,” Rafe shot back with a scowl, eyes so cold it was like he didn’t even recognize you.

Why couldn’t he just say what was wrong?

Instead, he threw all his anger at you for no damn reason. Almost like...

Now you tapped your chest. “It does fucking concern me because it feels like I’m the reason you left.”

Shit.

Your lips clamped shut the second the words left your mouth. Fuck. You really didn’t mean to make this about you. Fuckfuckfuck.

“I’m just—” you started again, but stopped as Rafe’s face twisted into full-blown irritation and disbelief.

“You think this is about you?” His voice was razor sharp, slicing down your spine. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, scoffing. "Seriously, this constant whining and need for fucking reassurance is pissing me the fuck off.”

He spat the last words like venom, making you flinch at his sudden shift toward you. Just an hour ago you’d been curled up together, laughing. Now he was a completely different person.

His brows twitched as he stared at your shocked expression, mouth opening, probably to throw more shit at you, but you’d had enough. Your conversation with Kie flashed through your mind.

“You know what,” you snapped. “Yeah, this is about me. Because you don’t get to treat me however the fuck you want just because you feel like it. First all sweet and affectionate and now whatever the hell this is.” You let out a shaky breath, tapping your temples. “You call me crazy but what the fuck is going on with you? It's fucked getting me to cozy up to you and then vanishing without a word. I just—it's fucking humiliating getting left behind like that.”

Rafe grimaced, voice low. “I fucking came back, didn’t I?”

Was he for fucking real?

“Yeah, sure,” you said dryly. “You came back all coked-up and then punched your friend. Like, did you seriously dip just to snort something? If your addiction is—”

“You better shut your fucking mouth now,” Rafe snapped, eyes narrowed, taking a step forward. His stare was so intense, real fear prickled down your spine. But he just shook his head. “You have no fucking clue what the fuck you’re talking about.”

You had to fight the urge to step back, clutching your arms tighter. Despite the fear and irritation swelling in your chest, your next words came out quiet, shaky around the edges. “I’m just worried, okay? Something clearly happened in the last hour that set you off. I’m not trying to be nosy—”

“You are,” Rafe barked, pupils blown wide like black discs. He grimaced, brows tight. “This has nothing to do with you, alright?” His voice cracked into something almost desperate. “Now stop pissing me off and get your ass back inside.” His hand went into his pants pocket for a second, then shoved a tag with the number 69 into your view. “And take that shit too.”

“No.”

Rafe’s scowl deepened so much you genuinely thought he might throw the tag at your face. “You really wanna test my fucking patience right now?”

You didn’t move. Didn’t even look at the tag. Just stared at him, shaking your head softly. “Something happened. And you don’t look okay at all. You don’t have to tell me what it was, but—”

“Jesus Christ, do you ever stop talking?” Rafe cut in, shaking his head with a bitter laugh, tapping his temples again with a crooked smile. “Shit up here can’t be that bad.”

Fuck. That.

"You're an asshole," you snapped, fury taking over your voice. "And being on drugs doesn’t excuse your shitty behavior."

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off, brows furrowed deep. "And attacking my insecurities and issues is disgusting and pathetic, especially when all I was trying to do was understand what's going on with you."

You shook your head with a scowl, stepping closer and pointing at his chest, voice furious. "And I’m so sick of your constant mood swings. I get it if you’re having a bad day, but I’m not letting you take it out on me." You hugged your arms around yourself again, stepping back, heart clenching painfully at the shift in his expression—genuine irritation written all over his face. "So if that’s your idea of what a friendship is supposed to look like, then I sure as hell don’t wanna be part of it."

You didn’t even wait for a reply, too afraid you’d start crying at whatever awful, hurtful comment he’d throw at you next. So you grabbed your bag strap tight, heart pounding and screaming, and turned around to go rejoin the others, doing everything you could not to let the tears fall.

I’m so stupid. So, so stupid for thinking I could handle him. So fucking stupid for running after him and—

"Don’t leave."

You froze in your tracks as those two small words hit the air, his voice shaky and desperate, laced with fear and frustration. It felt like someone had just reached into your chest and torn your heart right out.

And then the second bullet hit, even harder and more painful, as it followed the first one with a quiet "Please."

The final blow hit you as you turned around. Standing under the soft glow of the streetlamp was the shilouette of a boy, looking so deeply wrecked and broken, it cut right through your ripped-out heart.

Wide eyes staring back at you, desperation etched into every line of his face as he rubbed his forehead with a fist.

"I… I just can’t help it, okay," he said, frustrated, his expression twisted in pain as he tapped his temples aggressively. "My head, it’s— I know something’s wrong up here, I just…" Now rubbing his temples, hands clenched into fists, eyes shut tight. "It’s like my body’s… like it's always two steps ahead of my brain, and it's out of my control what I say or do."

His face contorted as he let his hands drop and gestured to his chest, gravel crunching under his shoes as he stepped closer. "I’m not a bad guy, okay?" he said, desperation bleeding into his voice and his expression, hands now motioning to you. "I’m just— it’s just… I need you to understand I didn’t mean to hurt or attack you. Or lash out at you. In moments like these I just…" Palm rubbing one eye with a grimace, then tapped one finger at his head. "It’s like someone else's taking over. And this whole fucked-up situation has me so on edge anyway, and I—I know I shouldn’t have taken it out on you and I don’t—"

"Rafe."

Your voice was as soft as it could be, and yet he still looked like he was bracing for impact.

"It’s okay. Really," you said with a sad smile, shaken to your core by what had just spilled out of this boy (again). "I know what it’s like to have a messy head. You don’t need to—"

"No, you don’t understand," he interrupted, shaking his head in frustration, tapping his temple again. "It’s not like your little minions running around spreading bullshit. It’s--it's more like there’s just two of them, and when one knocks the other out, I’ve got zero control over what he does." He shook his head again, face twisting as he rubbed one temple with his knuckles. "And I don’t want you to leave just because I can’t keep that fucker’s mouth shut."

A tiny smile tugged at your lips at the comparison, though it pained you deeply to see how much he was struggling inside his own mind. Even worse was the fear of being left behind that was written all over his face.

"I’m not leaving," you finally said quietly, chest aching as his eyes widened. "Like I said, I know what it’s like not feeling safe in your own head. I don’t care about this ‘issue’ you think you have going on. I’ve handled you this far, haven’t I?" You let out a strained chuckle before your expression grew serious again. "But I need you to talk to me. Whenever you feel like this… asshole minion of yours is about to take the lead, you need to say so." You raised your brows just a little, letting out another soft chuckle. "Maybe I can send over one of my own to knock some sense into that idiot."

"And I also need you to know," you continued, "whatever’s bothering you, or whatever’s weighing you down, you can share with me. You don’t have to let it eat you up just because you’re too proud or scared to let someone else in. That’s what friends are for. To help carry the load." You tilted your head with a troubled smile. "And clearly whatever happened in the past hour is weighing heavy on you, the way it’s got you so shaken."

Rafe just stared at you for a moment. Big blue eyes watching you like he couldn’t decide whether to actually let you in or shove you away.

Your heart ached deeply for this angry, broken boy.

Finally he shook his head, brows drawn into a bitter grimace. "This shit… no one can help me with. It’s fucked, it’s so fucking FUCKED." His face scrunched up, both palms pressing against his temples. "Shit's so bad I was this close to beating that bitch up."

Your brows twitched.

"Ruthie?" Somehow you already knew who he meant, and a bad, bad feeling settled in your stomach.

Rafe nodded with a bitter smile. "Of course fucking Ruthie." In a swift motion he gestured angrily toward the event venue. "I would’ve never gotten up and left if that bitch hadn’t pushed me to it."

Somehow that was both relieving and deeply concerning. Because if Rafe let Ruthie mess with his head, then shit must be really bad.

"Why? What did she want from you?" you asked, hugging your arms tightly as the cold breeze hit your bare skin.

Rafe frowned. "Doesn’t matter. Get back inside, you’re freezing."

Yeah, no shit. Been freezing since I came over to talk to Topper.

"It does matter," you said anyway, mirroring his expression. "What did she want?"

Rafe let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "That crazy bitch is blackmailing me, alright? Got a fucking video of me snorting coke at Kelce’s shitty-ass party and now she’s trying to make me do her bidding."

Your frown deepened. "Who—"

"Gracie took some dumb video of her bitch friends in the kitchen and I’m seen in the background. Clear shot of my face and everything," he said, pissed off and deeply frustrated. "Now fucking psycho Ruthie’s threatening to post it online if I don’t convince my dad to accept her father’s dumb-ass joint venture deal."

He shook his head hard, rubbing his temples like he was trying to physically to hold himself back from crashing out again. "But my dad’s already said no because it’s a shit offer. Only an idiot would agree to those terms." His face twisted into a pained grimace. "Already tried calling him but Wheezie said he’s at some corporate dinner tonight. It’s a fucking lost cause anyway, my dad will never say yes to that bullshit."

Jesus Christ.

That was seriously fucked. Like, next-level fucked.

Sure, everyone knew Ruthie was nuts, but blackmailing someone? Using Rafe’s addiction against him? Backing him into a corner until he had to numb the desperation and frustratioi with more coke?

FUCK. THAT.

"Fuck that bitch," you said, and Rafe’s head snapped up, clearly caught off guard. "You got proof of her blackmailing you?"

Rafe frowned. "Yeah, but it’s all in the same damn chat as the fucking video. If I showed that to the cops, I’d be turning myself in with it."

"Isn’t Topper’s mom a lawyer?" you asked, voice sharp with focus. "Maybe she could find a way around that."

"Shit, no," Rafe replied with furrowed brows, scratching his jaw. "Don’t need that crazy woman getting involved. She’d go straight to my dad, and it’d be the same fucking outcome." He rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. "Can’t even stand to see Topper right now anyway. Fucker’s been glued to Ruthie and her little bitch squad all night. Probably even involved in this bullshit game."

You gave him a deadpan look. "Topper might be gullible and stupid when it comes to girls but he’d never stab his best friend in the back."

"He’s not my fucking best friend," Rafe snapped with a scowl.

"No, you’re right. That title definitely goes to Kelce," you said with a little chuckle before your face turned serious again. "But my point still stands. Topper would never do anything that would really hurt you."

Rafe rubbed at his eye, clearly worn out. "Doesn’t fucking matter. No matter what I do, I’m fucked. Only option’s getting my dad to accept that garbage deal."

Fuck no. Ruthie getting to pull off her little game and win? No fucking way. Just—no. Absolutely not.

"Even if you succeed, she still has that video," you pointed out. "She’ll just keep playing the same game. So you gotta beat her at it." You raised your brows. "Meaning: We need to get our hands on something worse than what she’s got on you and make sure that video gets deleted from her possession."

For the first time since Rafe’s crashout, his face lit up with an amused smile. He raised his brows. “‘We’?”

You nodded. “I meant it when I said you don’t have to deal with shit like this on your own.” A cheeky smile tugged at your lips. “Also, she kinda ruined our bonding moment, so I kinda feel like getting back at her.”

Rafe let out a disbelieving breath, that boyish smile spreading across his face. “Bonding moment.”

“Well, yeah. We were all cozied up and cuddling. I’d say that counts as bonding,” you replied, cheeks heating up, surprised you even dared to say it out loud.

And the chuckle that left Rafe’s lips was so sweetly boyish, it felt like a win in itself. He stepped closer with a lopsided smile and gently grabbed your shoulders, nudging you to turn around. “Aight then. Let’s get back inside and continue bonding.”

NJDHWANDJKHla WHAT.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words and the feel of his hands on your shoulders. Still, you didn’t move, turning your head to look back at him with raised brows. “But the Ruthie situation.”

Rafe shook his head. “Bitch gave me until the Gloaming. I’ll figure that shit out later. Can't change shit right now anyway.”

“We,” you corrected him.

“Yeah, we are gonna go back inside and get you back under the blanket,” he said, nudging you forward. “I can feel the goosebumps through the fabric of your dress.”

You could swear he glanced at your ass for a second and that alone made your cheeks burn even hotter.

This guy was a menace.

His hand settled on your upper back as he guided you toward the entrance, his touch sending shivers up your spine.

“What?” he asked, clearly amused, as you stopped again.

You smiled sheepishly. “Uhm, pretty sure I heard one of the security guards say they’re gonna knock you out if you come back in.”

Also, his pupils were still blown but one could argue that’s just a natural reaction of eyes toward darkness.

Rafe scoffed, totally unfazed, and nudged you forward again. “My dad knows both of them. They’re not gonna do shit if they don’t wanna end up jobless for the rest of their lives.”

Not him flexing his dad like Draco Malfoy. Help.

“Jesus Christ, what now?” he frowned as you stopped again.

“Promise you won’t be mad at Topper,” you said, brows raised, waiting.

Rafe’s face twisted into a dramatic scowl. “That fucker—”

“Topper probably didn’t even do anything wrong,” you cut in. “Other than maybe seeing Ruthie as a potential love interest, but I guess that was just him trying to cope with Cara rejecting him.”

A sigh left Rafe’s lips. “Alright, alright. Now move. This shitty-ass car robot movie’s already starting.”

Transformers, dude.

“And you’re gonna apologize for punching him,” you added. “Because THAT was actually uncalled for.”

Rafe looked like you just insulted his entire existence. “Fuck that. I’m not about to crawl up that loser’s ass.”

Seriously.

“That’s not crawling up anyone’s ass,” you said with a frown. “It’s called being a decent human being. And a good friend.”

Rafe scoffed. “A good friend would beat his ass again just for talking to Ruthie in the first place. Might knock some damn sense into him.”

You stared at him deadpan. “I’d love to knock some sense into you."

Ah, shit. Here we go again.

Rafe’s lips curled into that cocky fucking grin but you beat him to it with a scowl.

“First of all: no to whatever you were gonna say,” you said dryly. “Second: stop trying to change the subject.”

He chuckled. “Okay, okay. I won’t beat him up again.”

You didn’t move a muscle, just stared at him expectantly.

Rafe frowned. “I’m not saying sorry.”

“You will. Otherwise, you can expect some bonding time with Cara and JJ cause that’s who we’ll be sitting with then.”

He looked at you like you’d grown another head.

“Fuck that,” he muttered, brows furrowed. “I’m not cozying up with some pogue rat.”

You shrugged. “Then have fun having the lounge bed to yourself because I will."

I won’t. And I don’t want to. No way I’m getting caught up in whatever they’d do under that blanket.

Rafe stared at you for a good ten seconds before sighing and rubbing a hand over his chin. “Fine. I might say I shouldn’t have punched him. Still not saying sorry.”

Better than nothing, you thought.

You raised your brows. “Promise?”

A dramatic sigh. Then: “Promise.”

With that, he placed his hand on your back again and nudged you forward one last time. Only this time, it had settled a little lower than before—dangerously close to your butt, for someone who’d agreed to a friendship yesterday.

But you didn’t complain. Didn’t flinch. Because maybe that was exactly where you wanted it to be.

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[pitchsidestories]

Swedish summer nights II Fridolina Rolfö x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1326

summary: Fridolina brings her Spanish girlfriend and their Barcelona teammates home to experience the charm of a Swedish summer.

author's note: hi, we hope you like the fanfic, do let us know what you think.🤍🤍

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

You stared out at the deep blue of the lake, the surface glistening in the sunshine like a million tiny diamonds. It was calm and peaceful, almost too beautiful to be real. A whole lake right in front of the charming Swedish summer house that Fridolina had taken you to.

“Amor, you want us to do what?”, you asked again.

Fridolina rolled her eyes with a fond smile on her lips: “You heard exactly what I said.”

Kika appeared on the porch in jeans shorts and a neon bikini top. It looked cute but you were immediately reminded of Ibiza, not of Sweden.

“We’re ready!”, she beamed.

“Perfect, let’s go then.”, Fridolina said, taking the picnic basket, she had packed earlier with one hand and a stack of fluffy white towels in the other hand. You followed with blanket and a thermos of coffee.

You all settled on the dock, spreading out the blanket and setting everything down as the rest of the Barcelona girls joined.

Even Ingrid, a fellow Scandinavian like Frido, was absolutely in awe: “Oh, the lake is gorgeous.”

Ellie sat down on the picnic blanket, closing her eyes for a moment to soak up the sun: “This is heaven.”

“It is.”, you agreed, letting your feet dangle in the cool clear water.

“I could get used to this Scandi summer thing.”, Kika giggled.

You were used to the Spanish summers. In fact, you didn’t know anything else until you met Fridolina. And she was determined to prove that Scandinavian summers could be just as perfect.

So far, she might have a point.

“So, who wants to go in first? Älskling?”, Fridolina asked suddenly.

You looked up in surprise: “Uhm…”

Before you could even form a coherent thought, you felt a slight push on your shoulder. Suddenly, you hit the water. It was colder than you had anticipated. You resurfaced with a gasp and splashed water towards your girlfriend.

“Hey!”, you laughed.

Fridolina shrugged innocently: “Someone had to start.”

“It’s freezing!”, you complained as you swam over to the edge of the dock.

“That’s Sweden, darling.”, she grinned.

You knew this was revenge for all the times you dismissed her complaints about the heat back in Barcelona.

“Frido, amor, come a bit closer.”, you said, blinking up at her with big, pleading eyes.

“Why?”

“Please.”, you drew out the word dramatically.

“Okay, fine.” She sat down right at the edge, clearly expecting you to climb up and kiss her.

“Gracias.”, you said sweetly but instead, you grabbed her head and pulled into the water.

The blonde blinked, her hair slick with water, shining like melted gold in the sun. “No.”, she said quietly, half-laughing.

“Sorry.”, you murmured, kissing her face cheeks, nose, forehead.

Ingrid’s girlfriend smiled from the dock, feet in the lake, a half-finished crossword resting on her thighs. “Can’t believe you fell for that.”

“It was obvious.”, Kika grinned, slipping into the water with the others. Ripples spread around them.

Fridolina tilted her head, the corners of her mouth turning up. “Maybe I let it happen.”

“Oh, did you?”, you teased, drifting closer.

She floated beside you, soft-eyed: “You know I can’t say no to you.”

“Spaniards are hard to resist.”, Ingrid called, joining her Spanish partner on the dock, leaning in, arm around her waist.

“She knows what she’s talking about.”, the older woman remarked with a warm grin.

You smiled back, then looked around. The lake was still. Laughter echoed across the water Kika, Ellie, and Esmee tossing a water ball between them.

Fridolina wrapped her arms around you from behind, her voice low near your ear: “She’s right.”

“Girls?”, Ellie asked, turning toward you.

“Yes?”, you answered, shading your eyes from the sun.

Fridolina’s brows drew together slightly: “What is it?”

“Can we go back inside?”, Ellie requested, her voice quiet.

Fridolina nodded: “Of course.”

“Are you alright, Ellie?”, you asked gently.

She nodded back, quickly: “I am.”

Slowly, you all packed away the things you’d brought to the lake. Towels were folded, sandals slipped on, laughter fading gently into the calm of early evening. The walk back to the summer house was quiet, the air cooling slightly, the scent of pine and water hanging in the light breeze.

You held your girlfriend’s hand as you walked, surrounded by the soft chatter of your friends. Looking up at her, you said: “We could watch the sunset on the patio. We’ve got enough blankets, haven’t we, Frido?”

She nodded, smiling: “I’ll bring them out.”

Candles were lit and placed in small glass lanterns, casting a warm glow as everyone settled into the wooden chairs. The patio overlooked the lake, still and golden beneath the setting sun.

Esmee’s eyes were on the horizon. The sky was streaked with soft orange and lilac, melting into the water. “Even the best painter couldn’t have done this,” she thought. Out loud the defender observed: “It’s the perfect start to summer.”

Ellie, sitting beside her, leaned back: “We can’t just let the day end like this, though.”

You looked over: “How would you end it?”

Ewa was already smiling: “A recap of the season’s highlights.”

You liked that. She’d had a brilliant first year at Barcelona and with her by your side, you'd almost been unstoppable.

But before any of you could get to the recap, Ellie jumped up and disappeared back into the house.

“Yeah, but can’t forget the snacks.”, she called out.

“Never, they are the best part.”, you smiled, sliding down onto Fridolina’s lap, ignoring the empty chair beside her.

She watched you with gentle eyes, her hand slowly running through your hair, flipping it softly over your shoulder.

“I agree.”, your girlfriend said.

“Could you two be a little less cute?”, Ewa asked, grimacing in mock disgust.

Without missing a beat, you and Fridolina replied in unison: “No.”

“Don’t be mean to them, Ewa.”, Ingrid laughed.

You gave the Polish striker a playful, pitying pout: “We’ll find you a girl too in no time.”

“What? That wasn’t what I meant!”, she said quickly, her cheeks flushing.

Fridolina raised her eyebrows: “But maybe what you need.”

“No.”, she replied a little too fast.

Before the teasing could go any further, you swiftly changed the subject, nodding toward the lake. The sun hung low but hadn’t quite disappeared yet. Dusk was settling in, casting a warm reddish-orange glow over the water. Dark silhouettes of pine trees framed the view in the distance.

“What do we think of the view from here?”

“It’s beautiful.”, Ingrid said, her black hair catching the colours of the sky.

You nodded, resting your head against the nape of Fridolina’s neck.

The season’s highlights were quickly forgotten as you all sat outside late into the night, talking about everything and nothing.

One by one, your friends slowly headed off to bed.

You and Fridolina followed soon after.

Your bedroom was upstairs, right under the roof. It was small but incredibly cozy. Through the open window, you could hear the crickets chirping outside and something splash in the water of the lake.

You lay on the bed, turning to Fridolina: “It’s after midnight and it’s still light outside, Frido.”

“I told you. That’s the Swedish summer.”, she chuckled softly, her eyes already half-closed but one arm wrapped around you.

You couldn’t help but smile at how peaceful it all felt: “It’s really magical.”

“You like it?”

“I do.”

She blinked her eyes open again, studying your face: “I was worried you and the others wouldn’t enjoy it as much as Spain.”

“Maybe we all needed a change of scenery before the Euros though… So, thanks for taking us to this place, it’s perfect.”

Despite the mild air, you cuddled closer into her side.

She pressed a kiss to the top of your head: “My pleasure. I’m happy you all got to experience Sweden.”

You smiled: “I love seeing it through your eyes.”

“And I love sharing it with you.”

image sources: pinterest, https://www.instagram.com/p/C7umxuzswv8/

[vividseoultales]

Me or You? ( Haewon x Male Reader )

tags : fluff smut

"You can't be serious," you said, trying to hold back a chuckle. Haewon looked at you with a mix of frustration and hope. She had been hinting at this for a while now, but you had never thought she'd bring it up so directly.

"I am," she replied, her voice firm yet slightly trembling. "I just want us to explore new things, to spice up our relationship."

Her eyes searched yours for a hint of understanding, but all you could do was shake your head. The thought of her as a dominant in the bedroom was amusing, almost comical, given her usual gentle and caring nature. But you could see this was something she was genuinely interested in, something that meant a lot to her. You didn't want to dismiss her feelings, so you took a deep breath and tried to approach the subject more seriously.

"Okay baby" you began, "I'm willing to listen. But why do you want to do this?"

Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink as she fiddled with her fingers. "I've read about it, and…I think it could bring us closer, or at least add some excitement."

You nodded, stroking her hair to comfort her. "Alright, tell me more."

"Well," Haewon started, her voice growing a bit steadier, "I've always been the one who's more passive in the relationship. I want to feel in charge for a change, to see you vulnerable and open to me in a way you've never been before."

You could feel the tension in the room as she spoke. This was a side of her you hadn't seen before, but you were willing to give it a shot. "What does being a sub entail?" you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral.

"Well, it's about submission, letting go of control," she explained, her eyes meeting yours with a newfound determination. "You'd have to do as I say, follow my commands, and trust me completely."

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "So, you want to boss me around in bed?" You couldn't help but tease her, hoping to lighten the mood.

"I'm not joking," she said with a playful glare, though a hint of a smile played on her lips. "But yes, I want to see how it feels to take control."

You leaned back on the couch, considering the idea. "Okay, so let's say we do this. What exactly do you have in mind? Will I have to wear a collar and call you mistress?"

Her cheeks grew redder, but she held your gaze. "No, nothing so…extreme. Just simple commands and gestures. I'd like to tie you up, maybe blindfold you, and explore your body without you knowing what's coming next."

You studied her for a moment, trying to gauge if she was okay with this or if it was just something she felt she had to do to satisfy a curiosity. "Baby," you said gently, "you want this for me or for you?"

Her eyes searched yours, and she bit her lip, a gesture that was usually reserved for when she was more aroused than usual. This time, however, it seemed like she was more aroused at the idea of being the sub. It was a revelation that made your heart race.

"You know what, baby?" You leaned in closer, your voice a low murmur. "I think you're the one who's more curious about this than you're letting on." You reached out and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Do you actually want me to do all of that to you?"

Haewon's eyes widened, and she tried to hide her arousal, but the way she swallowed hard and her pupils dilated was a dead giveaway. She took a deep breath before finally admitting, "Yes, I do. I want to feel…dominated."

You couldn't resist the urge to roll your eyes, a smirk playing on your lips. "Why the whole charade, baby?" you teased. "You could've just told me you wanted me to take control."

She pouted at you, her full bottom lip pushing out in a way that was so cute, it was almost comical. But it also had a hint of that sweet, innocent vulnerability that you found utterly irresistible. "Because," she mumbled, "I didn't know how to say it."

You leaned closer to her, your breath warm against her cheek. "Say it," you whispered, your voice a soft command. "Tell me what you really want."

Her eyes searched yours for a brief moment before she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I…I want you to fuck me, baby. I want you to take control, to do whatever you want to me."

You couldn't help the smirk that curled up your lips. "Say it again," you told her, your voice low and commanding. "But this time, on your knees."

With a look of surprise and a hint of excitement, Haewon slid off the couch and onto her knees before you, her eyes never leaving yours. The sight was unexpectedly hot, and you felt a stirring in your lower regions that you hadn't anticipated.

"I…I want you to fuck me," she repeated, her voice a bit shaky, but the words came out with more conviction this time. You could see the desire in her eyes, a raw hunger that was new and thrilling. It was clear that the idea of you being in control was turning her on more than you had ever seen before.

Without saying another word, you stood up and took a step back. "Good girl," you said, your voice a soft purr. "Now, I want you to make me hard, but you're not allowed to touch my cock with your hands."

Her eyes widened, and she looked up at you, clearly surprised by your sudden dominance. But the excitement on her face was undeniable. She took a deep breath and leaned forward, her hands resting on her thighs. You could see her mind racing, trying to figure out how to proceed.

"Use your mouth, your nose, your cheeks," you instructed, your voice firm and commanding. "Rub your face all over me until I'm hard as a rock."

Her pupils dilated, and she swallowed hard before tentatively leaning forward. You watched as she brought her face closer to your crotch, her breath hot against the fabric of your pants. The anticipation was killing you, but you remained stoic, allowing her to take the lead.

With a shaky start, Haewon began to rub her cheek against your growing erection, the roughness of your jeans a stark contrast to the softness of her skin. Her breathing grew heavier, and she closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of your cock growing harder with every pass of her face. You could feel her warm breath through the fabric, making you throb with desire.

"Good," you praised, the single word sending a shiver down her spine. "Now, take it out. But remember, no hands."

Her eyes sparkled with challenge as she leaned in closer, her mouth mere inches from the zipper of your pants. With a coy smile, she nuzzled against the bulge, her nose tracing the outline of your cock. You could feel her breath hot and wet through the fabric, and you had to clench your fists to keep from reaching out to touch her.

With a soft moan, Haewon began to nibble at the zipper, her teeth grazing the metal. You felt the zipper slowly give way, the sound of it descending echoing in the quiet room. She looked up at you, her eyes half-lidded with desire, and you nodded in approval. She had taken the hint, understanding the game you were playing.

Her hands remained firmly on her thighs as she leaned in closer, her tongue flicking out to trace the path her teeth had made. The anticipation was exhilarating, watching her explore this newfound boldness. As she reached the top of your jeans, she paused, her breath hot against your skin.

"How do you expect me to do that without hands?" she asked, a playful lilt in her voice. You smirked, enjoying the challenge she presented.

"Use your teeth," you ordered, your voice firm and commanding.

Her eyes lit up with a mischievous glint as she took the challenge, her teeth delicately gripping the fabric of your underwear. With a gentle tug, she managed to free your cock from its confines. You watched, entranced, as she licked her lips, her eyes never leaving yours. The power dynamic was shifting, and it was surprisingly intoxicating.

"Now, suck," you commanded, the words coming out more forcefully than you had intended. But the look of excitement in Haewon's eyes told you she liked it. She leaned in, her tongue tracing a line from the base of your shaft to the tip. You felt a jolt of pleasure at her touch, and you had to remind yourself to stay in control.

Her eyes remained locked on yours as she took the head of your cock into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing out as she began to suck. It was clear she was enjoying herself, her movements eager and hungry. You couldn't help but let out a groan of pleasure, the sound echoing through the room.

"Harder," you instructed, your voice a gruff whisper. Haewon complied, taking you deeper, her teeth lightly scraping against the sensitive skin. Your hands found their way into her hair, gripping it tightly as she bobbed her head. The sensation was exquisite, a mix of pleasure and pain that sent shivers down your spine.

You could feel yourself losing control, but you held onto it by a thread, reminding yourself that this was her moment to shine. You watched her, her eyes closed in concentration, her cheeks flushed with excitement. It was clear she was enjoying herself, her body moving with an enthusiasm that was both surprising and incredibly arousing.

But as much as you wanted to let her continue, you knew you needed to assert your dominance, to show her what it truly meant to submit. So, with a firm grip on her hair, you gently pulled her head back, her mouth popping off your cock with a wet sound that filled the room. Her eyes snapped open, looking up at you with a mix of confusion and excitement.

"Beg for it," you said, your voice a low growl. Haewon's eyes widened, but she didn't hesitate. "Please," she whispered, her voice thick with need.

You smirked and took your cock in your hand, pulling it away from her face. It glistened with her saliva, and the sight of it made your heart race. You brought it closer to her, letting it hover just out of reach. "Beg louder," you instructed, your grip tightening.

Her eyes searched yours, and you could see the struggle within her - the part that wanted to protest and the part that wanted to submit. Finally, she opened her mouth, and the words came out in a rush. "Please, baby," she moaned, "please let me suck you off."

But you had other plans. You moved your cock closer to her eager lips, watching the desperation in her eyes as she leaned in. Just as she was about to take it into her mouth, you stopped her, pulling it away and smearing the saliva across her cheeks and nose instead. Haewon's eyes widened in surprise, and she gasped, her breathing becoming shallower as you painted her face with your desire.

"Not yet," you murmured, enjoying the power play. "First, I want to see how well you can follow orders."

With a smirk, you grabbed the base of your cock and held it firmly, pressing the tip against her cheek. Haewon's eyes went wide with excitement and a touch of fear, but she didn't protest. You began to rub her face against your shaft, feeling the wetness from her mouth smeared along the length of it. Her breath was hot and ragged, and you could see the way she was trying to keep her hands still, her fingers twitching with the need to touch you.

"Good girl," you praised, watching her carefully. "You're doing so well." The more you rubbed, the redder her cheeks grew, and you knew she was feeling both humiliated and incredibly turned on by the sensation. It was a heady mix of emotions that was driving her wild, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill of dominance at the sight of her submission.

You could see the struggle in her eyes, the part of her that was fighting against the urge to touch you, to take control. But she remained still, her breath coming in shallow gasps as you continued to smear your precum across her face. "Look at me," you said, your voice a low command.

Her eyes snapped back to yours, and you watched as she tried to focus, the pleasure and submission fighting for dominance. "That's it," you whispered, your hand still guiding her face against your shaft. "Keep looking at me."

The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Haewon's eyes were practically rolled back in her head as she moaned, the sound muffled against your cock. Her body trembled with anticipation, and you could feel her breath hitch as you continued to rub her face against your length. The smear of your precum on her cheeks and nose was a stark reminder of her submissive role, and she found it strangely erotic.

"Now," you murmured, your grip on her hair tightening, "make me cum, but only with your face."

Her eyes widened, but she didn't argue. Instead, she leaned in closer, her cheeks already wet with your desire. She began to rub her face against your cock more vigorously, her breath hitching as she took in the scent of your arousal. You watched her, the power in the moment making your chest tighten with excitement.

Her movements grew more desperate, her moans louder. You could see the desperation in her eyes, the hunger that was consuming her. This was a side of Haewon you had never seen before, and it was more intoxicating than you could have imagined. The way she submitted to you was like watching a beautiful creature being unleashed, all inhibitions forgotten in the pursuit of pleasure.

As she rubbed her face harder and faster against your cock, you could feel your orgasm building. The way she moved, the sounds she made, the absolute surrender in her eyes—it was all too much. You had to clench your fists to keep from grabbing her and fucking her mouth like you wanted to. But this was her moment, her chance to explore her newfound submissiveness.

With a few more firm strokes of her face, you felt the tension in your body coil tighter. Your hips jerked slightly, and you warned her, "I'm going to cum, baby." Her eyes widened even more, and she leaned in closer, eager for it. The anticipation was unbearable, your cock throbbing with the need to release.

The moment came, and you couldn't hold back any longer. You let out a roar as hot ropes of cum shot out, coating her cheeks, nose, and even reaching her forehead. Haewon's eyes closed instinctively, but she remained still, allowing you to paint her face with your seed. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of relief and power that had you seeing stars.

As the last drops fell from your cock, you pulled away from her. She remained kneeling, her face a mess of your desire, and you could see her tongue darting out, trying to catch any lingering traces of your cum. But before she could swipe a taste, you gripped her chin firmly, forcing her to look up at you.

"Not yet," you said, a wicked smile playing on your lips. "You don't get to decide when or if you get to taste it." Her eyes widened in surprise and a flicker of something that could only be described as excitement. The power exchange was thrilling, and she was clearly eager to see where this new dynamic would take them.

With a gentle yet firm grip, you lifted her chin, making her look up at you. Her eyes were glazed over with lust, and the sight was enough to make you even harder. "Ask nicely," you whispered, enjoying the way she squirmed under your control.

"Please," Haewon whimpered, her voice small and needy. "Please, may I taste your cum?"

You couldn't help but smirk at her begging. It was a side of her you hadn't seen before, and it was incredibly hot. "Beg like you mean it," you ordered, your grip on her chin tightening.

Her eyes searched yours, the desire in them burning like a wildfire. "Please," she gasped, her voice trembling. "Please, let me taste your cum."

With a smirk, you released her chin, watching as she leaned in, her tongue darting out to catch the first drops that had fallen on her cheek. The sight of her eagerly lapping up your cum was more than you could handle. "Good girl," you murmured, watching her every move. "Now, don't waste any of it."

Haewon's eyes never left yours as she began to clean her face, her tongue swirling around to capture every last bit of your essence. She took her time, savoring the taste, her cheeks hollowing with each swipe. It was a sight that made your cock throb with the need to be back in her mouth, but you held back, enjoying the moment of power.

"Good girl," you murmured, your voice thick with lust. You reached down and gently stroked her face, feeling the stickiness of your cum on her skin. "Look at you, so eager to please me."

Her eyes never left yours as she continued to clean herself off, her tongue moving with a hunger that was palpable. You couldn't help but notice that she was quite literally dripping wet, her juices leaving a small pool on the floor beneath her knees. The sight sent a jolt of desire through you, making your cock throb with renewed vigor.

"What's that?" you asked, pointing to the growing wet spot on the floor. Haewon's cheeks reddened even further, and she remained silent, her eyes darting down to the floor and back up to yours. You knew she was embarrassed, but you couldn't help the smirk that spread across your face.

"Looks like you're enjoying yourself," you said, your voice filled with amusement. "You're so fucking wet, you're practically pissing out vagina fluid."

The crudeness of your words made her blush even more, but she didn't protest. Instead, she licked her lips, her eyes never leaving yours. You knew she was desperate for you to take her, to show her what it truly meant to be a sub. But you weren't done playing yet.

"Clean it up," you smirked, pointing to the floor. She looked up at you with a mix of surprise and excitement, her pupils dilating even further. It was clear that the idea of being ordered around was pushing all the right buttons for her.

Without a word, Haewon leaned forward, her tongue darting out to lick at the sticky wetness that had pooled on the floor. The sight of her, so eager to follow your command, had your cock pulsing with need. You couldn't help but stroke yourself, watching her every move as she lapped up the evidence of her arousal. Her movements were slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours as she cleaned the floor with her tongue.

The sight was more than you could bear, and you felt your own orgasm building again. You whispered to yourself that you could cum just from watching her, but you held back, savoring the moment. You wanted to prolong this newfound power, to enjoy the way she looked up at you with such submission.

"What do you want, baby?" you asked her, your voice a low rumble of desire. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

Her eyes searched yours, the desire in them so intense it was almost painful. "I want you to fuck me," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Hard. I want to feel you take me, like you own me."

A shiver of excitement ran down your spine at her words. The power you held over her was intoxicating, and the way she begged for your touch was like nothing you had ever experienced before. You stepped closer, your cock now fully erect again, and placed your hand on the back of her neck, pushing her face closer to your crotch.

"Get up," you ordered, your voice low and commanding.

Her eyes widened, but she didn't hesitate. Haewon slowly rose to her feet, her knees wobbling slightly from being in the submissive pose for so long. She kept her eyes on the floor, a blush spreading across her cheeks that was almost painfully adorable. You could see the excitement in her body language, the way she held her breath as she awaited your next move.

"Take off your clothes," you tell her, your voice a soft growl. She nodded, her hands shaking as she reached for the hem of her shirt. She lifted it up, revealing her lacy black bra and the smooth, pale skin of her stomach. With trembling fingers, she unclipped the clasp, letting the fabric fall away to expose her perfect breasts. They bounced slightly as she let the shirt drop to the floor, and you couldn't help but admire the way the light played across her nipples, which were already hard with arousal.

"Good girl," you praised, watching her intently as she reached for her pants. She slid them down, her panties following, leaving her naked before you. You took a step closer, taking in the sight of her. Haewon's body was a work of art, and the way she looked at you—like you were the only person in the world who mattered—was intoxicating.

"Now, bend over the couch," you instructed, your voice still firm but with a hint of excitement. She complied without hesitation, her ass in the air, her cheeks red with both arousal and embarrassment. You stepped behind her, taking a moment to admire the way her back arched and her breasts pressed against the cool leather of the couch.

You leaned down, your breath hot against her skin as you whispered, "Spread your legs wider." Haewon's body responded instantly, her legs parting to give you a full view of her glistening pussy. The sight of her wetness was almost too much to handle, and you had to fight the urge to bury your cock in her right then and there.

Instead, you positioned yourself behind her, the head of your erection teasing at the entrance to her core. You watched as she squirmed, her body begging for you to fill her. But you weren't ready to give in just yet. You pulled back slightly, dragging your wet tip through her folds, collecting her arousal like a brush painting a canvas. She moaned, her hips pushing back in a silent plea for more contact.

With a smirk, you pushed forward, feeling the resistance of her tight pussy as it stretched to accommodate you. Haewon let out a sharp squeal, her body tensing up as you entered her with a single, firm thrust. Her wetness made the initial penetration easier, but the grip of her inner muscles was still surprisingly tight. You could feel her tremble beneath you, the sudden intrusion a mix of pain and pleasure that was written all over her face.

But before she could adjust fully to your size, you reached back and slapped her ass—hard. The sound echoed through the room, and Haewon's body jerked in response, her pussy clamping down around you like a vice. The shock of the impact sent a bolt of pleasure through her, and she came immediately, her body convulsing as a wave of orgasm crashed over her.

You had never seen her like this before. In all the times you've been together, in all the moments of shared passion, this was something new. Her eyes squeezed shut tightly, her mouth a silent 'O' of surprise and pleasure. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she moaned in a way that was almost animalistic. Her whole body was shaking, and you felt her muscles tighten around you as she came.

But you didn't give her time to recover. Your desire was too great, the power exchange too thrilling to stop now. With a firm grip on her hips, you started to move, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into her. She gasped, her eyes flying open to look back at you over her shoulder, a mix of shock and excitement on her face.

"Is this what you want?" you growled, driving into her again and again. "To be used by me?"

Her response was a whimper, her body still trembling from the force of her orgasm. "Yes," she managed to choke out, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, baby, use me."

That was all the encouragement you needed. You began to fuck her in earnest, your hips slamming into her ass with a ferocity that left her breathless. Each thrust was punctuated by a slap against her skin, the sound of skin on skin music to your ears. Haewon's moans grew louder, her body moving in time with yours as you claimed her in a way that was both brutal and beautiful.

Her pussy was soaking wet, making it easier for you to slide in and out of her with every pump of your hips. You reached around to her clit, feeling it pulse beneath your fingers as you began to rub it in rhythm with your thrusts. She was so close, her body begging for release, but you weren't ready to give it to her just yet.

"Beg for it," you demanded, your voice gruff with desire.

Her eyes widened, and she bit her lip, trying to hold back the moan that was threatening to spill out. "Please," she whimpered, her voice cracking with need. "Please, let me come."

You smirked, enjoying the way her body responded to your control. "Not yet," you said, your voice low and firm. "You'll come when I say so."

Her eyes pleaded with you, and you knew she was close. The muscles in her pussy clenched around your cock, and she was panting heavily, her entire body trembling with need. You felt a thrill at the power you held over her, the way she was willing to submit to your every whim. It was a heady sensation that made you want to push her even further.

You reached up and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back as you drove into her even deeper. "Who do you belong to?" you demanded, your voice a low growl.

"I belong to you," she gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head. The pain from your grip only added to the pleasure, and she knew you could see it on her face.

Your pace grew even more frenzied, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room along with Haewon's cries of pleasure. Her pussy was clamping down around your cock, trying to milk you dry, but you were in control. You knew exactly when to ease off and when to push harder, when to rub her clit in just the right way to send her over the edge.

"Now," you finally ordered, your hand moving away from her hair to give her neck a gentle squeeze. "Come for me, baby. Show me how much you like being my little slut."

Her eyes rolled back, and with a scream of pleasure, Haewon's body convulsed as another powerful orgasm ripped through her. Her pussy spasmed around your cock, her juices flooding out to mix with the sweat on her thighs. You watched her, the sight of her total submission sending another jolt of lust through your body.

Your grip on her hips tightened as you felt your own release approaching. Each slap of your skin against her ass grew wetter, and the sound grew more pronounced. You could feel the tension building in your balls, and with one final, deep thrust, you emptied yourself inside her, filling her up with your cum. The feeling was indescribable, the heat of your release mixing with her own, creating a symphony of pleasure that had you groaning with satisfaction.

For a moment, you remained there, buried deep inside her, your chest heaving with exertion. Then, you slowly pulled out, watching as your cum trickled down her legs, mixing with the wetness of her pussy. Haewon's body was still trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at the effect you had on her.

With a gentle tug, you helped her up, her legs wobbly as she leaned into you. You both stumbled over to the couch, collapsing onto it with a laugh. She snuggled into you, her head on your chest, and you wrapped your arms around her, holding her tight. Her breathing was still ragged, her heart racing from the intense experience you'd just shared.

For a few moments, you just enjoyed the quiet, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against yours. Then she looked up at you with a shy smile. "That was… intense," she murmured, her voice still thick with lust. You couldn't help but chuckle at her understatement.

"You liked it?" you asked, already knowing the answer.

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, but she nodded. "I liked it more than I thought I would," she admitted, her voice small but earnest. You felt a surge of satisfaction at her response. You had never seen Haewon this way—so raw and vulnerable—and it was incredibly arousing.

"Do you want to switch next time?" you asked her, your voice a low murmur as you stroked her hair. Haewon's smile grew wider, but she shook her head. "No, I like this" she whispered, her eyes never leaving yours. "I want to be yours, to do whatever you want."

You leaned down and kissed her, feeling her melt into your embrace. Her submission was like a drug, and you were already craving more. But for now, you were content to hold her close, the warmth of her body seeping into yours as you both came down from the intense high.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Correction, Baby

Pairing: Suagr mommy turned gf!Nika Mühl x sugar baby turned gf!Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Seattle Storm

Summary: maybe it’s all too much at once

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsavg

There are few things more exhausting than a double shift with barely any tips and a throbbing lower back. But that’s what I signed up for when I picked up extra hours at the restaurant. School fees don’t pay themselves, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna ask Nika.

Especially not after Croatia.

A dream of a vacation—five-star hotels, private boat tours, designer boutiques in every major city we hit, and a suitcase I could barely zip because Nika kept stuffing it with things she thought would look good on me.

I didn’t even ask for half the things she bought, and yet she dropped money like it was nothing.

Like I was nothing.

I heard the little jingle of the bell above the restaurant door and didn’t even need to turn around to know it was her.

My spine straightened on instinct.

She always had that effect—commanding without even trying.

Even when dressed in joggers and a tee, she looked like she stepped out of a fashion editorial.

“Hey, your hot mafia wife’s here,” my coworker Aisha whispered with a smirk.

I laughed under my breath, tired and sore, the weight of tuition hanging over my shoulders. “I’m not asking her for it,” I mumbled, wiping down the counter. “We just got back from vacation. It feels wrong.”

“Y/N, you’re literally her girlfriend. And for like… a year now? Ask her.”

“I don’t want her to think I’m still in sugar baby mode.”

“Girl, she lives to spoil you.”

I didn’t notice Nika standing just behind the pastry case. But she definitely heard that.

She didn’t say a word the entire car ride to her place.

Not a single word.

Her jaw was tight, hands on the wheel a little too firmly, and her silence was louder than anything she could’ve said.

I hated it.

I hated the guilt clawing at my stomach and the ache in my chest. I also hated that I knew I was partially wrong, and partially not.

Once we were inside her place—the condo she kept telling me was ours even though I still hadn’t moved in fully—she tossed her keys on the table and leaned against the kitchen island.

“You really weren’t gonna ask me?” she finally said, voice low, even.

“Nika…”

“No,” she interrupted, standing straight. “You weren’t going to ask me for help with your tuition because you think I do too much?”

My arms crossed defensively, even though I hated when I got like that with her. “We just got back from a vacation where you spent—what—like ten thousand dollars minimum on me? You bought me shoes I didn’t even say I liked, and then you saw me glancing at a bracelet and got it in two colors.”

“And?”

“And before we even left for Croatia, you bought me a new laptop, clothes for the trip, skincare, a carry-on—Nika, you spoiled the hell out of me. And it was… beautiful. But it was a lot. It started feeling like I was just a sugar baby again.”

Her jaw twitched, but she didn’t raise her voice. She just came closer, her hands gentle as they reached up to cradle my face. “Baby. Love. That’s kind of the point.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Whether you’re my sugar baby or my girlfriend—or both, like you are now—my job is to spend a shit ton of money on you. No matter how ridiculous or important it is. You need something for school? You ask me. You wanna set up a date? I’ll pay for it. I don’t care how much Croatia cost me. You’re not an expense. You’re an investment. My investment. My girl.”

It should’ve melted me.

And it did… until she really started getting petty.

The first time I paid for dinner, she didn’t even say a word.

Next morning? A blush-pink LV bag set on my bed. Wallet, phone case, cardholder, tote. Custom monogrammed. I wanted to scream.

Then I paid for her coffee on a random Tuesday. That weekend, she sent three crates of my favorite drinks to the apartment. THREE. C R A T E S. Of little canned lattes and obscure matcha blends that cost more than groceries.

I tried to outdo her once—set up this elaborate, romantic, expensive date night for her. I planned it down to the lighting and the playlist.

She stole my phone while I was in the bathroom, removed my cards, added hers, went into my shopping apps… and BOUGHT EVERYTHING in my cart.

Skincare.

Lingerie.

A random kitchen appliance I’d been debating for months.

Everything.

Packages started showing up like it was Prime Day for a week straight.

I confronted her. Furious, overwhelmed, borderline humiliated.

“Is this some kind of punishment?” I asked.

She laughed. Laughed. “Punishment? Babe, this is normal. You’re just not used to being treated right.”

But it wasn’t normal for me.

So I stopped.

Stopped going out. “Wanna go on a date?” she’d ask. I’d say no.

“Wanna grab coffee?” Nope.

Stopped replying to her ‘what do you need today?’ texts. Ignored the packages. Politely asked our doorman to return anything in Nika’s handwriting.

And for the first time in a year, she stopped sending gifts.

Our relationship shifted. Became… off.

She’d stare at me from across the room, confused and frustrated, like she was waiting for me to come back to her. And I was trying.

I was.

But she didn’t hear me.

Until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sit.”

I looked up from my laptop, sitting at her kitchen island with homework sprawled out. “What?”

“Sit your ass on the couch. We’re talking. Now.”

Her tone didn’t leave room for argument. So I went.

She sat next to me, close but not touching. “I know you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad, I just—”

“Let me finish.”

I shut my mouth.

“I thought I was being a good girlfriend. A good… whatever we are. You said you needed something, and I fix shit. That’s what I do. That’s what I did from the beginning. I don’t know how to stop. But when you pulled back, it felt like you were punishing me. And I didn’t understand why. Not until I realized… you were scared.”

My throat closed a little.

“You think I’m trying to make you dependent on me.”

I nodded slowly.

“I’m not.” Her voice broke a little. “I just want to love you the only way I know how. And yeah, maybe it’s through buying you dumb shit and sending you drinks I know you like. But I never want you to feel like you owe me. Or like you’re just a sugar baby again. I want to be your girlfriend first. And if you need space, I’ll give you that. But don’t shut me out.”

I didn’t even realize I was crying until her thumb brushed a tear from my cheek.

“I felt like I was losing myself,” I whispered. “Like I was slipping into someone who only existed because you funded her. I love you for how you love me, Nika. But I need to know that even if I couldn’t accept a dime from you… you’d still want me.”

She pulled me into her arms like she was afraid I’d disappear.

“I’d want you broke, rich, in debt, or even if you made me split a salad on date night.”

I laughed through the tears. “You’d never split a salad.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t,” she grinned. “But you get my point.”

I pulled back just enough to look at her. “You promise to let me pay for things sometimes?”

“Not even a little.”

“Nika.”

“Okay, fine,” she sighed. “Only if you let me add stupid shit to your cart after.”

I kissed her softly, then grinned. “Deal.”

But the next day, I paid for her lunch.

That night, I came home to find a car key on the counter.

“Nika!”

“You paid. I punished.”

“YOU SAID IT WASN’T PUNISHMENT!”

“It’s correction, baby.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[orellazalonia]

Hey!! I would like to request a Bucky Barnes x reader fic where their daughter shows up from the future. Bucky and Reader aren’t dating or really even know each other that well yet (maybe they share mutual friends on the team or are friends but just dancing around each other a bit??), so this could be a surprise to them. You could have it that she keeps saying she can’t share information about the future but then accidentally drops information like they have a pet cat named alpine and she has three siblings (Bucky deserves a big loving family) without even totally realizing it. Idk if this is even a great idea, but I like your writing and thought this could be a fun request. Thank you for sharing your writings with us!! <3

Hello there, dear! This was such a cute request, thank you for it! I do admit it was a challenge figuring out how to seamlessly combine each element. So, I hope I did well and that you enjoy! Happy reading!!! ♡

Out of Time, Into Our Lives

Summary: A teen girl suddenly appears at the Avengers compound claiming to be from the future. While she tries to avoid revealing too much, she accidentally and subtly drops hints about her life, her siblings, and the deep bond she shares with you and Bucky Barnes both. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 2.7k+

Main Masterlist

It started like any other morning at the Avengers compound. Quiet, a little too quiet. You were nursing your first real cup of coffee, leaning against the counter in the common room kitchen while chatting lazily with Wanda about her latest attempt at baking banana bread.

Bucky entered halfway through your sentence, nodding politely at you before making a beeline for the fridge. You and he had been doing this little dance for a while now. Friendly, respectful, always a step or two away from crossing into something more. You liked his dry humor, the way his voice softened when he asked how your day was. But neither of you had made a move. Not yet.

Just as you took a sip, FRIDAY’s calm, robotic voice interrupted:

“Alert. Temporal breach detected. Unauthorized presence in the compound.”

You and Bucky both straightened at the same time.

“Temporal breach?” He muttered, already halfway to the hall. You followed.

It wasn’t often something genuinely strange happened anymore, but what you found in the hallway outside one of the research wings made your breath catch in your throat.

A girl stood there, around seventeen. Messy hair pulled into a loose braid. Her clothes didn’t look particularly futuristic, but there was something… off. Like she didn’t belong. She wasn’t panicking, wasn’t aggressive. She was just staring at a portrait of the original Avengers lining the corridor wall, head tilted slightly.

When she noticed you, her eyes widened but it wasn’t fear that passed over her face. It was recognition.

Her gaze locked onto Bucky first. Then shifted to you. And something in her face softened.

“Oh,” She breathed. “It’s earlier than I thought.”

You frowned. “Do we know you?”

“I’m… not supposed to say anything,” She said quickly, straightening. “I mean, I can’t. It would mess with… everything. I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I didn’t mean to come through. The rift just kind of… swallowed me.”

“Rift?” Bucky echoed, stepping closer.

The girl put her hands up, showing no threat. “I know how this sounds. But I swear, I’m not dangerous. I’m not here to hurt anyone. I just need help getting back.”

You gave her a once-over; she didn’t seem injured, but she looked like she hadn’t slept in a while. Underneath the brave exterior, she seemed a little lost.

“Okay,” You said gently. “We believe you. Let’s just take this slow. What’s your name?”

She hesitated. “I can’t tell you that.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“I’m serious,” She insisted. “If I tell you who I am, it could screw up the timeline. I mean, it already is screwed up if I’m standing here. But I really can’t afford to make it worse.”

Wanda appeared in the doorway, her expression unreadable. “She’s not lying,” She said quietly. “She’s scared. But not of us.”

The girl nodded quickly. “Thank you. I’m just… trying to wait it out. The breach will reverse itself. Probably. Eventually.”

You crossed your arms. “So what are we supposed to call you?”

“Uh. I don’t know. You can give me a fake name?” She offered with a shrug. “That feels safer.”

There was a long pause, awkward. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but she beat you to it:

“Is Alpine here?”

You blinked. “Alpine?”

Bucky looked up sharply. “How do you know about Alpine?”

The girl’s face went pale. “I mean. I—uh—I read about her? In the files. Maybe. Probably.”

Bucky’s frown deepened.

She let out a tiny groan and rubbed her face. “I told myself not to say anything specific. Ugh. Okay. Look. I’m just going to sit in a corner, be very quiet, and not ruin anything else, okay?”

You sat beside her, slowly, noting how carefully she avoided looking at Bucky too long. Not out of fear, but something heavier.

She tugged her sleeves down over her hands. “This was easier when you were already married.” The words slipped out of her mouth like a quiet sigh, too casual for how much they weighed.

You and Bucky both stiffened.

He stared at her. You weren’t sure he was even breathing. “What did you just say?”

She blinked, realizing. “Oh. I mean, I didn’t mean it like that. I shouldn’t have said anything. Please ignore that.”

You frowned. “Wait… what do you mean, already married?”

“I’m not answering that.” Her voice sharpened slightly now, trying to backtrack. “Sorry. I really can’t say anything else. Like, actually can’t. This isn’t just me being dramatic, it's literally against every single future protocol. I’ve already said too much.”

Bucky stepped forward slowly, his tone low but steady. “You said you came through a rift. Do you know how that happened?”

She looked grateful for the change in subject, nodding. “I was working with someone back there, on uh, stabilizing temporal energy. I wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the live field, but things got weird. And loud. And then everything just… cracked.”

“Cracked?” You asked.

“Yeah.” She hugged her arms around herself. “Like a window splintering. I fell through. And now I’m here. Too early. Way too early.”

You tilted your head. “Too early for what?”

She looked at you, then at Bucky, and something softened in her expression. Like she knew the two of you better than you knew yourselves. Like there was something unspoken that pained her to keep secret.

But she didn’t answer. Instead, she whispered, “I shouldn’t even be talking to you yet.”

FRIDAY’s voice interrupted gently. “Should I notify Director Fury?”

“No,” Bucky said sharply. Too quickly. Then he glanced at you. “…Not yet.”

The girl looked surprised. “You’re not sending me to a cell?”

You offered a faint smile. “We’re not monsters.”

“And you’re not dangerous,” Bucky added, quieter now. “At least not yet.”

She snorted. “Wow. Thanks, I guess.”

Wanda stepped closer, watching her closely. “You’re scared,” She murmured. “But you’re also… relieved. Why?”

The girl didn’t answer right away. She just looked back at the wall, where a photo of the original team hung in a dusty frame. After a long silence, she whispered, “Because I missed this. Seeing it again. Seeing you all… before everything changes.”

Her voice cracked on that last word. You saw it, just barely: the tension in her jaw, the sheen in her eyes she was trying to blink away.

“I can’t stay long,” She said, turning her face away like she didn’t want either of you to see the emotion creeping in. “So just… let me be here until the breach resets. Then I’ll be gone, and this’ll be nothing more than a strange footnote in someone’s mission report.”

You looked over at Bucky. His brow was furrowed, mouth slightly open like he had a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue but no idea how to ask any of them.

She noticed, smiled a little, sadly. “You always look like that when you’re overwhelmed.”

His lips parted, but she cut in quickly, raising a hand. “Nope. Not answering anything. I’m very good at not answering.”

A long silence settled between the three of you.

Then she yawned. A real one. Unfiltered. She rubbed her eyes like a kid, her exhaustion finally catching up.

“Can I… take a nap somewhere not surrounded by broken lab equipment?”

You smiled despite yourself. “Yeah. We’ll figure something out.”

Bucky’s voice was low. “You hungry?”

She paused, like she hadn’t considered that. “Kinda. Do you still make those-“ She caught herself. Froze. “…Never mind.”

But the warmth in her eyes didn’t fade. She didn’t say it. But it was already there, written in every look she gave the two of you:

She knew you. And she loved you both.

Even if she couldn’t say it.

-

The girl slept for twelve hours straight. You'd offered her the spare room near the east wing, technically meant for visiting guests, but it had soft blankets and a window view, which she seemed to appreciate.

You sat outside her door for most of the first hour, just in case she tried to run or vanished the way she arrived. But she didn’t.

Bucky checked in at least three times too, though he pretended he was just “walking by.”

When she finally emerged the next morning, hair sticking out in wild directions and wearing one of your old sweatshirts you’d left folded on the chair, she looked younger. More like a kid playing dress-up than a displaced anomaly from the future.

She padded into the kitchen barefoot and blinked at you, rubbing her eyes. “You’re making eggs.”

“Good morning to you too,” You said with a grin. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” She yawned and flopped down at the counter like she’d done it a hundred times.

Bucky entered a moment later, nodding to you both. “Morning.”

She perked up when she saw him, then quickly forced her face back into something neutral, like she’d caught herself.

You passed her a plate. “Toast, scrambled eggs, hash browns.”

She dug in immediately. “Thank you. Food here’s just as good as I remember- I mean, as I hoped it’d be.”

You bit back a smile. “Smooth.”

She glanced at Bucky nervously, but he didn’t press. He just poured himself coffee and sat across from her, watching her with quiet curiosity.

“So,” you said lightly, “What should we call you?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Call me…” She looked around the room, clearly stalling. “Jules?”

You tilted your head. “Is that your real name?”

“Nope.” She smiled a little too innocently. “Which makes it perfect.”

Bucky took a sip of coffee, eyes never leaving her. “Alright, Jules. Mind if we ask a few things?”

“As long as it’s not timeline-altering, catastrophic, or classified by future standards, maybe.”

You exchanged a glance with Bucky. “Okay,” You said slowly. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” She answered, mid-bite. “Chronologically. Time-wise… eh. Don’t ask.”

Bucky leaned forward slightly. “Do you have a family? In your… original timeline?”

Her chewing slowed just a little. Her expression flickered. Then she nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

Silence fell again. After a moment, she added, “It’s… a big family. Messy. Loud. Someone’s always yelling, someone’s always drawing on the walls, and someone’s always pretending they didn’t start it.”

You smiled softly. “Siblings?”

She paused, eyes widening like she just realized what she said. “I didn’t—wait. That wasn’t—I mean—”

Bucky raised a brow. “You have siblings?”

She groaned and put her face in her hands. “Dang it.”

“How many?” You asked, voice careful.

She peeked through her fingers. “Three.” Then flopped back dramatically in her seat. “Ugh. I knew I’d slip up. You two are too nice. It’s disarming.”

Bucky chuckled quietly. “You don’t have to tell us anything else.”

“No, it’s fine,” she mumbled. “At this rate I’ll blurt out the entire family tree before lunch.”

“Do you like them?” You asked, curious.

A slow smile spread across her face. “Yeah. I love them. They're chaos. But the kind you miss when it's quiet.”

Bucky studied her like she was a riddle. “Are they older than you?”

She looked down at her plate. “Some. Some younger.”

And that was it. She shut down after that, turning her attention fully back to her breakfast. You let her. The moment felt like something private, like she’d tugged back a curtain for just a second and now needed it closed again.

But later, when she wandered into the rec room to find Alpine curled in a sunbeam, she sank to the floor and whispered something to the cat that made Bucky freeze in the doorway.

You didn’t catch the words. But you caught the tone: nostalgic, fond, like she’d said it a thousand times before.

And when Alpine, notoriously selective, climbed into her lap without hesitation, she just stroked her fur like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she belonged.

-

The days that followed were strangely easy.

She, Jules, settled in like a half-remembered song. Not quite a stranger, not quite someone you knew, but comfortable. Familiar. You found her sitting on the kitchen counter in the mornings, legs swinging as she ate cereal straight from the box. You caught her once talking softly to FRIDAY, as if the AI were an old friend she’d grown up with.

Bucky never said much. But he was there. Quietly hovering, checking if she was eating enough, if she was sleeping okay. They started watching movies in the common room, not speaking much, but it was something. The space between them had stopped feeling like distance. It was anticipation now. Recognition.

And then there was the night Bucky found her on the roof.

You followed the scent of cold air and firewood up the metal stairs and found them sitting side by side, backs against the railing, stars overhead. Jules was hugging her knees, wearing one of Bucky’s jackets now. It was too big for her, sleeves past her fingertips. But she looked warm. Safe.

You stayed back, watching quietly from the door. Listening.

“I didn’t think I’d meet you like this,” She admitted softly. “This early. I wasn’t ready.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away. Just nodded once, slow and heavy.

“You remind me of her,” She glanced up at the stars. “Not just the way you look at people, but the way you don’t. The way you… hold back. Like you’re always waiting for someone to decide you’re worth staying for.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “And did they?”

She looked at him. “Mmm, maybe.”

He turned toward her. “Did I?”

There was a heartbeat’s pause before she whispered, “You never left.”

Then she flinched, realizing again what she’d said. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

But Bucky didn’t press. He didn’t need to.

The silence that followed was full of things neither of them could say.

You all started tiptoeing around the inevitable after that. Jules hadn’t poofed back yet, but every hour felt borrowed. She stopped sleeping as much. Kept checking corners for changes in the air. Listening for that hum she said she’d felt right before the breach opened.

On the fourth day, it happened.

You were in the kitchen, scrambling eggs again, same as the first day. She was mid-laugh, telling you something vague and harmless about a prank her “friend’s little brother” pulled once involving holograms and Steve’s shield. You didn’t even notice the shimmer at first.

Then Bucky’s face changed.

You turned and saw it. A distortion in the center of the room. Like heat rising off pavement, but colder. The air around it began to swirl. And her smile fell away.

“It’s happening,” She said quietly. Not surprised. Just… resigned.

“No.” You stepped forward. “Wait! We didn’t get to-“

“It’s okay,” She said, standing quickly. “It’s time. I knew I couldn’t stay long.”

Bucky took a step forward, fists clenched at his sides. “You said it would reset eventually. You didn’t say it would be this fast.”

She smiled at him, eyes glassy. “You never like goodbyes.”

You were about to speak, to say something, anything, but the light started pulling at her edges. Dust and static flickering around her limbs.

She looked at you both, eyes shining now.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I just… I wanted to see you. Before everything.”

“Before what?” You asked, your voice trembling. “What changes?”

But she only gave a tiny, knowing smile. And this time, she didn’t say anything else.

She just looked at Bucky one last time and softly said, “Don’t wait too long.”

And then she was gone. No flash, no thunder, just a breath pulled from the room. One second she was there. The next, empty air.

You stood frozen in place.

The bowl she’d left still sat on the table, cereal soggy in milk. Her mug still half full of cocoa. One of Alpine’s toys, she’d apparently been hoarding them in her pockets, sat on the floor near the couch, a little mouse with a frayed string tail.

Bucky picked it up slowly, didn’t say a word. You looked over at him and could see it in his face now, what she saw in him. The cracks. The strength beneath them.

Later that night, you and Bucky hadn’t said much since she vanished. There wasn’t much that needed saying. But the silence wasn’t empty anymore. It was full of what came next. Neither of you quite knew what the future held. But now, you both knew who it held. And someday sooner, maybe, than either of you thought, you’d meet her again; for the first time.

[mattsangelbaby]

⋆.˚✮ please please please . . chris sturn.

𝜗᭪ warnings ! smut, p in v (unprotected), slight angst, etc.

in which . . fratboy!chris proves to you he’s the one, and will be the only one.

SHORT N’ SWEET writing marathon . . fic #2

the loud bass rings through your ears, along with the crowded bodies surrounding you. the air reeks of alcohol and weed — your nostrils flaring at the burning stench. frat house parties were never your favorite. the overwhelming amount of people was enough to make you want to leave. but you only came here for one thing and one thing only — chris.

you and chris are.. well you don’t really know exactly. you and chris met in this exact location about five months ago. from that time to now, you and him have had a crazy relationship one could say, from friends to benefits to basically dating. chris was a great guy. in some aspects.

he’s so sweet to you, and treats you like you both are dating. makes you feel like you’re the only girl in the world. until your not there. the minute your gone, another girl is already in his bed. you knew what you were signing up for when starting something with chris, you just thought in some way maybe he’d be different — prove you wrong.

but clearly you were right, and you were done. officially done. you move your way past people as you slightly push them out of the way finding the one person you need, going to where he always is. man spread on the couch with a joint in his mouth, with his signature smirk he always has.

you both lock eyes as chris’s eyebrows raise slightly, titling his head at you. you make your way over to him until your body is standing in between his legs, your arms crossed over your chest.

chris looks up at you, his hands making there way to your hips pulling you closer into him. “wassup’ ma,” you slightly scoff your eyes meeting anywhere but his. “got a problem?”

your eyes meet his red rimmed droopy ones, and you can’t help but stare knowing he looks way too good. “you’re my problem,” you mumble slightly moving out of his grasp. he smirks at that, letting out a slight chuckle before bringing his joint towards you, offering you some. “hm? so what’d i do this time, huh?”

you give him a dirty look, your emotions getting hard to keep at bay, before shaking your head at his offer. “what’d you do? what haven’t you done. chris i’m so tired of this, so tired of you.” he tilts your head farther at you before letting out a scoff, shaking his head slightly at your actions.

“we really gonna do this here?” you sigh quietly as you reach for his hand pulling him up from the couch. chris’s hand laces with yours, giving you a slight squeeze, letting you lead the way to his bedroom.

you both walk up the stairs to his bedroom, passing and pushing your way through. as you open his door your met with the familiar room you know so well. so many good memories spent here, and some more than others definitely for the books. chris shuts the door behind him before putting his joint out. he leans on the door, staring at you — looking you up and down. “you gonna tell me what’s up w’you, or just keep standin’ there?”

“don’t talk to me like that,” you declare desperately trying to keep yourself calm. “i can’t keep doing this anymore, chris. seriously. how are you gonna act like i’m the only girl for you then the second i’m gone, another girl is here? right in this exact room.”

his eyes widen at your statement before slightly softening at your sad expression, the glassy look in your eyes. “baby, i mean it when i say it. they mean nothin’ to me, nothin’ at all,” chris reassures you as he walks closer up to you. “that doesn’t mean anything chris. just because they mean “nothing” doesn’t mean it won’t hurt me. you don’t get to act like you love me then fuck another girl.”

chris stands right in front of you — his arms moving to wrap loosely around your waist while one hand moves up to your cheek wiping away a stray tear. “sweetheart, m’sorry. i really am my sweet girl, you’re the only girl f’me always,” he coos taking in your sad expression. “what’d i gotta do to prove it, hm?”

you shrug, your eyes looking everywhere but his. you hate how right it feels to be in his arms, you hate how much small words from him comfort you. you hate it. “i don’t know, i just want you to prove me wrong. show me i really am the only one.”

chris hums, rubbing up and down on your hips before his lips make their way to your neck. “i think i know how,” he mumbles between wet soft kisses, “jus’ gotta let me show you.”

you softly sigh as chris pushes you down gently onto the bed, his body which reeks of alcohol, weed and his cologne you know all too well, climbs ontop of yours. “chris,” you gasp as his mouth sucks and licks at the skin of your collarbone.

“shh, gotta prove to my girl she’s the only one, yeah?” chris continues to make his way down your body, kissing and touching you wherever he can. his hands make there way to the bottom of your tank top, pulling it up and over your head, your white laced bra now on display.

you reach behind your back as you unclasp your bra, dropping it onto the floor next to you. chris groans slightly at the sight of you, his mouth already kissing around your nipple. “look at my girl, prettiest one i know. my beautiful girl,” chris purrs before attaching his mouth onto your nipple, you letting out a moan as your hands lace through his brown locks.

“chris— please,” you whimper while your legs wrap around his waist, your hips beginning to buck into his trying to get the friction you need. chris pulls off with a small pop before moving to give your other boob the same attention. “i’ll give ya’ want you want ma, i promise.”

you push his head farther onto your chest, chris’s mouth feeling nothing but heaven on your needy body. he pulls off leaving a soft kiss on your nipple before beginning to kiss his way down your body. leaving a wet kiss above your shorts, his fingers find the sides of your shorts, pulling them down slowly down your legs along with your panties.

chris is met with your soaked pussy — legs spread and wide ready just for him. “you’re soaked huh? jus’ from my mouth?” you nod as your hands grip onto his biceps pulling him up towards you, slotting your lips between his. your lips harshly meet with his, your tongue sliding into chris’s mouth as he begins to pull down his shorts and boxers.

one of his hands move down to grip his cock pumping himself a few times before sliding into you with one quick thrust, your walls clenching around his length. “god this pussy was made f’me, wasn’t it?”

you nod as you begin to hold onto his shoulders as chris moves in and out of you at an intense pace, hitting that spot so so deep inside of you. “my girl, my sweet baby all mine— yeah. all mine.” his hips continue to snap against yours, one hand making it down between you two, rubbing fast circles onto your sensitive bud.

“the only one for me aren’t you? my pussy forever, hm?” you moan loudly, the feeling of him so deep inside you making you absolutely dumb on his cock. “yes! — god yes.”

chris continues to pound into you— your cries and moans filling the air as your a complete mess. no matter what chris might do you know nothing could ever beat how he makes you feel, how amazing he makes you feel every single time.

you begin to clench around chris’s cock as you arch into his movements, chasing your high your so close to reaching. “ya’ close, baby?” chris pants as he speeds up his actions, chasing his own high while you nod below him, loud pornagraphic moans leaving you.

“cum for me my girl. show me how i proved you wrong, yeah?”

© mattsangelbaby

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ·˚ ༘ ꒱ i’m sorry this is so ass and so long but hi!

ꪆৎ˚ marathon concept and all other credits go to @delilahsturniolo :)

[twdfemmefetal]

Who was that? pt. 1

Summary: After years of Daryl shrugging off your advances to him, you decide to move on for your own sanity, Daryl realizes he doesn’t like the idea of sharing you.

Era: quarry, CDC, farm, prison, and Alexandria.

Warnings: Age Gap, physical agression, suggestive content, mean! Daryl, Alcohol, swearing, MDNI, Jealously, anger, some fluff.

Divider by: @puppizai

(Quarry)

"Hey Daryl..." You're heart's pace quickened when you walked closer to him.

Daryl's gaze met yours, and suddenly your confidence faltered, you were nervous.

He hummed as a response, carefully watching your movements with a bit of curiosity waiting to see what you planned on doing next.

"Was wondering, if I could maybe come hunting with you." You smiled sheepishly at him, hoping for him to drag you with.

"Nah, don' need no one holdin' me back." He grunted, tone laced with annoyance.

'ouch', you thought to yourself as you bit your lip, hoping to not show him how much the response had affected you.

"I'll be quiet, I promise not to get in your way" You suggested, eyes beaming up at him in admiration, hoping he would say yes.

Daryl looked back at you just before scoffing, "m'good." He picked up his crossbow and brushed right past you, softly grazing your shoulder. You sighed in defeat as you watched the archer's back. Yet again, another embrassing rejection.

You wondered if daryl knew you liked him, how could he not realize, you had a huge crush on him? Everyone seemed to tease you about it, even if he was a couple decades older than you, you couldn't help but yearn for his return. Daryl was the only man you saw worthy of your love, and attention. You've seen Daryl's softer spot, how he's kind to people but in his own subtle ways, how he make's sure everyone is fed with the food he bring to the camp and gives me or the kids some of his extra rations saying 'he already ate' as an excuse. Daryl had a heart a gold; just had a funny way of showing it.

(CDC)

Waking up this morning you would have never guessed in a million years that you would wake up with daryl's arm wrapped around you, snuggling you, with his head tucked into your neck.

earlier that night..

"Booyah!!' Daryl yelled, cheering up Jenner with his wine bottle. As he brought the bottle to his lips daryl's gaze landed on you. You felt like time had stopped in the moment he stared at you. You both shared quick glances throughout the night, followed with soft smiles. At some point, Daryl had sat right by you and handed you the wine bottle he had in his hand to offer you a swig. You graciously accepted his offer and soon enough got tipsy enough to enjoy the night with the others, not worrying about what was outside the walls of the CDC.

This was the most attention Daryl had given you. Usually he would turn you down or avoid you as often as possible but tonight felt different. Tonight felt special, maybe he was swooning over you like you were him.

After taking a nice warm shower you slipped into your tight sleeping shorts and crop top. You stumbled on your way out of the shower rooms as you made your way down the long corridor, hoping to find a room no one claimed.

Your ears perked up when you saw a familiar figure who appeared to be looking for a room himself. You smirked, and walked toward him, feeling the alcohol increase your confidence with each stride you took.

You softly placed your hands around his neck catching him offguard, making him turn around and pin you to the wall.

"oww." you let out softly, too buzzed to feel how hard your back hit the wall.

Daryl wanted to give you back a snark reply on how you shouldn't sneak up on people but his jaw slacked and his eyes softened once he saw you... and your sleeping attire.

Daryl's heart leapt in his chest as he realized just how close he was to you. He hadn't even realized he still had you pinned up to the wall.

His eyes widen and slightly blushed at the sight of your tight clothes, not leaving much to his imagination. You giggled, feeling the whole situation was comedic, the wine taking away any reason or you to be able to think rationally.

Daryl retracted his hands from your body like you had burned him. Leaving your skin tingling at the sensation his fingertips left on you. You couldnt help but smile softly at him.

"w-what're ya doin?" daryl asked as you walked toward him, softly putting your arms around his neck.

"something i've always wanted to do, if that's okay with you?." Daryl tensed up, but didn't say a word as he looked down to your lips, his face flushed when he saw you softly lean into him. You'r hot breathe was now on his face, as he felt your nose brush against his, he braced himself.

The soft feeling of your lips on his made his head spin. Daryl wanted nothing but to touch every part of exposed flesh you had to offer, but every fiber in his being was raging against his thoughts..no feelings about you. He wanted you, craved you, but in the end, knew he couldn't corupt you, not with his thoughts, and fantasies of soemthing more.

So, he did what he thought best; he pulled away and cleared his throat, feeling awkward. Your eyes widen slightly, immediately sobering up at the feeling of his rejection.

Your eyes glossened slightly, embarassed to be put in such a vulnerable positon, only to be pushed away.

"Im sorry, I dont know what I was thinking...you can take this room, ill sleep somewhere else." with a quick mutter you brushed past him softly and made your way down the corridor to find an empty room.

Daryl didn't move nor utter another word to you as you walked away from him.

After a few minutes of not being able to find a vacant room, you stumbled into the recreation room. "Guess im not the only one up huh?" You jumped slightly as you saw Shane looking through some books on the shelf nearby.

"Fuck.. you scared me." You let out a nervous laugh, your eyebrows furrowed when you saw the scratches on his face. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself with something?" You asked concerned as you took a seat on the coach. " Yea... I scratched myself earlier." You saw the darkness behind his eyes as he answered you. Not wanting to push it any further you nodded in understanding.

"What are you doing here sweetie?" Shane asked as he took a seat on the coach, sitting too close to you for comfort.

"Oh, not many places to sleep so I figured id just take this coach." Shane smirked up at you and bit his lip, "Ya can sleep in my room if you'd like? I can take the couch in the room?" You chuckled nervously, "Oh no its okay, I swear."

He scooted closer to you, "Seriously, its no bother at all sweetie." You gulped nervously as you felt his arm rest on your shoulder."I-im not sure-"

"Y/N ya in here?, I found a room for ya." Your ears perked up as soon as you heard Daryls sweet voice causing you to rise up form your seat quickly.

"Oh goodie, thanks anyways for your offer shane." you quickly shrugged him off as your gaze connected with Daryl's. He softly put a hand on the small of your back, guiding you out of the room.

"Thank god you found a room, Shane was being such a fuckin' creep." Daryl just grunted in response. Once we reached the vacant room, my eyes widen seeing Daryl's crossbow and belongings on the table in the room. "Wait, this is your room? I thought you found a vacant one?"

"Don' be stupid, only room left, sleep er' with me." You felt yourself clam up at his dominance, realizing why you had fallen in love with the archer once more.

It was either Shanes room or Daryls, there is such an obvious answer to those two options.

As you and daryl fully entered the room you saw him about to sleep on the couch but you were quick to disrupt his swift actions.

"Daryl, come on sleep with me.. when was the last time you slept on an actual bed huh?" You playfully smirked at him and saw the sides of his lips quirk up into a smile. "A'ight, but don' be to touchy with me woman." You giggled and climbed into the bed.

Not much had been shared between you and daryl that night, you tried your best to not invade his space anymore than you had already and as did he, but all you really wanted was to be held by him.

Later that night while you both were in deep sleep, Daryl had instinctivley thrown an arm around you pulled you closer to him, with your back pressed up against his chest and your head laid softly on his extened arm, he had managed to bury his head in the crook of your neck and inhaled your scent. Daryl had, had the best sleep of his life cuddled up next to you.

(Greene Farm)

After the CDC, and waking up in Daryl's arms, you thought you had maybe reached a point in your relationship where you both could progress. But as you both woke up, Daryl was quick to leave the room and avoid you for the remainder of the time. Yeah, it hurt. You assumed he just felt bad for you, pitied you, but you tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach.

One of your last attempts to make Daryl yours was when Andrea had grazed him with a bullet. You were beyond sick, restless, and exhausted of the emotions you were feeling, waiting for Daryl to wake up.

Once his eyes fluttered open you couldn't contain yourself as you burst out in tears while softly kissing the back of his hand. Daryl's gaze landed on you, instinctivley getting up only to wince at the bandage wrapped on his head.

You saw confusion on his face as he gazed upon you for answers. "what happened?" he asked softly retracting his hand from your grasp, you didn't think much of it.

"Andrea thought you were a walker, grazed you, you know you're lucky she's a terrible shot or she would have killed you." He took in the information, his lips forming into a thin line. His gaze turning into a harden gaze.

"You must be thirstly, here." You softy tried handing him the glass of water by the nightstand but were met with reluctance.

"Im a'ight, don' need no babysitter." Your eyes widen a bit at his words, you bit your lip anxiously and put the water back on the stand while hesitantly getting up. You couldn't keep this act up, you had to tell him. You cleared out the nervous lump from your throat and spoke.

"Daryl, do you realize how much I like you?" He averted his eyes at your words, but you were in no position to take your words back now. You have bottled your feelings of his rejections for so long, you were sick of it, sick of chasing. You needed hope, hope that he would someday be yours.

"Don' talk like that, yer confused, don' know what you want." Being slightly taken aback by his harsh words, you couldn't help but grasp at his hands once more, moving closer to him, "Daryl, I know exactly what I want, I want you, don't you get it! Why can't you get that through your head? Now, I'd like to ask you if you feel the same way. I can't keep chasing you, Daryl, not anymore, not like this." Daryl searched your eyes for any hint of dishonesty that you might hold in your confession.

As much as Daryl wanted you, he couldn't let himself love you. He didn't know how to love, how to trust. He knew he was a goner the second he laid his eyes on you, but he couldn't let himself surrender, not now, not like this.

"Look, whatever ya think is gonna happen, it ain't gonna work, no matter what you feel. y/n, ya gotta know when to give up." You inhaled a sharp breath, finally you felt almost a weight be lifted off your shoulders. As you got up, Daryl refused to watch you leave. Not realizing, that he might have lost you forever.

(Prison: Now)

Daryl couldn't help but feel his blood boil as he saw the way a Woodbury resident was chatting you up. You didn't notice the scowl on his face, the deep resentment Daryl held for every single man who decided to take a new interest in you. He was jealous; he knew he was wrong for thinking this, but he felt like he still owned you, owned your heart. Your confession had rung in his head over and over again, and the regret of not giving in made him feel guilty for not letting you in.

He knew you were done, over him, since the farm, you refused to really talk to Daryl, you kept conversations with him a minimum, strictly keeping it on the topic of runs and what your next move was. He noticed your stoic features and nonchalant expressions you held around him. He missed the look of admiration you held for him, your beautiful smile and giggles you made everytime you thought he said something funny.

Sure you were beyond heartbroken by the rejection but Daryl was right… You had to know when to move on. He didn’t feel the same way, you knew better than to chase after a heart that didn’t belong to you, or so you thought....

The Woodbury men whom you would casually see came and went, but nothing seemed to satisfy your heart the way it ached for Daryl. No matter how hard you tried, you knew you were done; you would never be able to find anyone remotely similar to Daryl, no matter how hard you tried. It was starting to get ridiculous —the number of men who would come in and out of your life nowadays. It was never anything too serious, just something to get your mind off things—they understood.

You didn’t give it much thought but your actions had pushed daryl past his breaking point. He was done seeing these guys come in and out of your cell at night, clothes not even decently on and hair messy, Daryl couldn’t stand the way he would see you with marks on your neck from your nights with the shitty guys you would bring around.

He was tired of hearing about the stories from the Woodbury men of how good you were in bed, how great your head game was and the way your curves and flesh felt under their hands. He was sick of it.

“Dude you should have seen the way she looked up at me, on her knees like a good girl, fuck dude I’m telling you, she’s got it all, honestly I’ve been thinking of asking her out ya know? Like seriously taking it to the next step, fuck I think I like her-“ Daryl rolled his eyes and quickly got up from seat in the common area. His blood boiled once he heard the way your latest hookup talk about you.

He had enough, Daryl was sick and tired of standing back, he wanted you, and he wanted you bad...

[cheol-e-kat]

𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐟𝐭. 𝐤.𝐦𝐠

> the one where ur situationship was always lwk dating

warnings: explicit language, flirting, mentions of drug use (just pot), and alcohol

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader

summary: you’re used to mingyu messaging for hookups, but your ‘hookups’ are always cuter and more involved than they have any right to be, some might even say that it’s more like you’re ‘dating’ him

word count: 1k

[gyu]

you around

[y/n]

at a party why

[gyu] 

come hang out w me

[y/n]

srry u mean leave free booze ??

[gyu]

have weed […]

and that part of me u seem to like so much

You grinned to yourself as you replied. 

[y/n]

which part is that again

[gyu]

so funny […]

come smoke with me […]

let me eat you 

You stared at the message for a moment too long. 

“What happened?” Your roommate was suddenly very close and trying to read your phone over your shoulder, “You have that look!” She giggled. “You’re about to make some bullshit excuse to leave.”

You were quick to lock your phone. “Nothing - and no, I’m not about to do that at all…” you trailed off. 

She laughed. “Don’t be annoying, just tell me who he is,” she whined and pulled your arm like a small kid trying to get their way. 

You rolled your eyes and tried to push her away. She giggled and lunged for your phone. “Tell me!” She pleaded, making a pouting face.

You hugged your phone closer. “No, it’s a secret,” you whispered, kind of loudly.

You barely made it out without giving her Mingyu’s name. Even though she’d guessed it was him weeks before. The way she’d stared at you when she guessed “that lab partner - the one you clearly didn’t hate.” She’d been so certain. 

And you’d manage to lie to her, convincingly enough, anyway. 

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[y/n]

okayyyy omw

[gyu]

fr

[y/n]

yess […]

in uber now

[gyu]

send me a pin thing […]

so i know where u r

[y/n]

worried?

[find my location shared with gyu]

[gyu]

is that not allowed?

You sighed and looked out the window as you rode to his place. He lived in a cute part of one of the old art districts. You liked seeing the buildings passing by, the old architecture - you maybe loved when he asked you over. 

You knew your way to his door despite the random flow of the building’s hallways. You barely knocked before the door was being opened. You held back a grin because you had the feeling Mingyu had been waiting for you just on the other side of the door, pretending he wasn’t of course. 

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“Hi,” you whispered as he pulled you inside his apartment. You grinned as he slid his arms around you so he could kiss you, his soft lips working sweetly against yours. You reached up, winding your arms around his neck as you returned his kisses. You loved the soft sounds he made - he was always noisy and needy and so cute. 

He squeezed you close and picked you up, your legs wrapping automatically around his waist. You smiled at him, smoothing his hair from his face. “So big and strong,” you said as you traced a finger along his lower lip, loving the way his eyes gleamed in the low light as he looked up at you, soaking in all your compliments. 

“So pretty too,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him again, licking into him, tasting him. 

You moaned softly when your back hit the wall. He rolled his hips against you, needy and wanton. You pulled his hair gently, leaning up again to breathe, to look at him. It was like surfacing after diving into water. 

“Thought you wanted to eat me,” you whispered with a smirk. 

He grinned in response, barely biting his lip. “That’s always true, though,” he murmured, squeezing your ass gently. 

You smiled because he was painfully cute this way. “Are we actually going to smoke this time?” You asked, voice soft, fingers twining in his hair. 

He nodded. “Yes,” he whispered, “probably,” he giggled. 

You grinned, knowing he’d already smoked at least a bowl.  Which was just fine, since you were still buzzing from whatever mixed drink you’d had. 

You sighed softly. “Mmmh, ‘probably’?” You asked softly, “hmm, maybe we should skip to the part where we play Mario Kart, and I’ll actually let you be Princess Peach,” you offered. 

He watched your lips as you spoke, glancing up suddenly. “I’m always Princess Peach,” he said with a pout. 

You’d seen him purposefully avoid playing as his favorite character when anyone was around too many times to fall for this propaganda. 

“Really? You?” You said in mock surprise. “Because last time I saw you”—

He rolled his eyes. “Okay,” he whined, “fine, I’m not Princess Peach when I play in public,” he corrected. “I’m just Princess Peach when I’m alone or with you - happy?” he asked sulkily. 

You nodded, still running your fingers through his hair, loving how soft it was. “Very,” you admitted with a small smile. How could you not be happy with him, you wondered. 

He hummed in response as he leaned in for another kiss. You loved how easy it was to be with him, how soft he could be. He was definitely in a cute mood. 

You broke the kiss just to look at him. He groaned softly. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “Sorry, you’re just so…” you trailed off, tilting your head to the side to stare at him. 

He leaned close, kissing your cheek. “We aren’t fucking are we?”

You giggled, feeling like he’d read your mind. “No, I don’t think so,” you whispered. “But who knows,” you said as you kissed him again. 

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

You didn’t fuck before bed. 

You played Mario Kart and ordered food. You borrowed his clothes to sleep in and curled up happily next to him, while he picked some movie to play while you both fell asleep. It was perfect when he finally settled on something, and was lying next to you, arms around your waist, his face buried in your hair. 

Besides, you didn’t always need to fuck. Sometimes you just wanted to see him be ridiculously happy when Princess Peach took out Bowser in Mario Kart. And maybe sometimes you let him win just so you could see him be that happy. 

And that was probably some kind of something beyond just two people hooking up, right, you wondered as you fell asleep in his warm embrace.

a/n: okay so sometimes i'm deep in my mingyu-feels and other times i'm just not - rn i am and maybe i'm working on other fics for him like mingyuAI..omg finally, some more of that - fr i just have to be in the mood to write him, i can't explain it :/

tbh i read my mingyu hanahaki fic and was like 'oh yeahhhh i do love him for reasons'

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒌𝒂𝒕

♡ master list & tag list

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ complete mingyu master list

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐮 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞

mingyu x noona agenda: praise + worship kink | vehicle sex + oral fixation | ceo/boss + big flirt x easily flustered + age difference | 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉 |

teasers: mingyuAI [ teaser i ] [ teaser ii ] |୨୧| all but break your heart |୨୧| tonight tonight

drabbles: summer coworker | happy hour | soft dom | kinky puppy | sex toy play | valentine's day | puppy play gyu | morning mingyu (cute / fluff) | the one here you hate him | #kat_drabbles

angst: no blueberries master list (college au)

fluff: waiting to feel foolish (college au) |୨୧| never happened before (magical realism au) |୨୧| hoodies & candy (college au) |୨୧| no strings (magical realm au) [pt. 1]

smut: playing hearts (college au | camboy au) |୨୧| leave it open (monster!mingyu au) |୨୧| openly pining (stepbrother au) |୨୧| 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉

series: my familiar (magical realism au) [pt. 1 f] [pt. 2 - coming soon]

mingyu bingo [ all s ]: lingerie + praise kink | bed sharing + big dick | praise + worship kink | vehicle sex + oral fixation | drunk pda + no underwear | enemies to lovers + tentacles | internet friends + blind date + size kink | ceo/boss + big flirt x easily flustered + age difference |

[ mingyu drabble tag list ]

☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @coupsbestleader [e] ☁︎ @fleurloovin [e] ☁︎ @babybae-shisui [e] ☁︎ @asyre [e] ☁︎ @dcrlingyou [e] ☁︎ @yeosayang [e] ☁︎ @nanabananananabatman ☁︎ @yoongznme [e] ☁︎ @gyuhao365 [e] ☁︎ @jeonghnie [e] ☁︎ @armycarat2612 [e] ☁︎ @shuas-winnie30 [e] ☁︎ @famouspoetrydinosaur [e] ☁︎ @ateezaddict24 [e] ☁︎

☁︎ @aaronwarners69thwife [e + wips] ☁︎ @daisymbin [e + wips] ☁︎ @babilou-pov [e + wips] ☁︎ @sseungcheols [ e + wips ] ☁︎ @keyrecsfics [ e + one/multi & wips] ☁︎

☁︎ @ninigyuuu [k.mg - e, b.f. priv]

[maskedbyghost]

Hiii

Can you write simon teaching 141 medic!reader shooting, shes doing another sidequest of hers and doing a sniper seminar so she’d be more qualified?

thank you for the request, hope you enjoy it <33 +18, mdni

You were only doing this because Price signed off on your little “extra training.” That’s what you kept telling yourself, anyway. He’d signed the paperwork with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, like he knew exactly what you were up to but wasn’t going to say a word about it. Maybe he did know. Perhaps they all did. But no one said anything, and you didn’t offer an explanation.

Because the truth was, you’d already been trained to shoot. You weren’t helpless. But this? This was sniper training. This was one-on-one sessions with Simon Riley, Captain Price’s most trusted weapon, and the walking, breathing, six-foot-something problem who lived rent-free in your brain.

And maybe you had a bit of a thing for the way he handled a rifle. Or the way he stood behind you like his entire body was built to take up space, or the way he always spoke low and slow like his words were meant for you and only you. Or the fact that every time he adjusted your stance or your grip, your skin burned for hours after, like your body couldn’t forget where he’d touched it.

“‘S not that different,” he said, standing beside you now, boots crunching lightly in the gravel, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows, and forearms flexing as he guided your hands into position. “Just longer range. More control.”

Of course he would say that. As if anything was that simple. As if your brain wasn’t short-circuiting every time his fingers skimmed over yours or his arm brushed your side. As if you weren’t biting down on your own tongue to keep from making a sound when he leaned in a little closer to fix your elbow, his body hovering just behind yours.

“Mmhmm,” you managed to let out a noise that was safer than actual words, because if you opened your mouth right now, you weren’t sure what might come out. You gonna keep touching me like that, or are you gonna take me to dinner first? was one of the many thoughts bouncing around your head, but you kept that one tucked away.

You’d handled weapons before. That wasn’t the problem. You knew how to shoot, and you could defend yourself. You’d seen blood and bullets and screaming, and you could handle all of that without flinching. But this? This was different. This was him. His hands, rough and warm, settling over yours like he’d done it a thousand times. His voice sends a ripple down your spine every time it hits your ear. His breath brushing your neck in the worst and best way possible—distracting, hot, intimate. Like he was doing it on purpose. Like he wanted you to squirm.

And God help you, you were starting to want him to do a lot more than that.

“Loosen your shoulders,” he muttered, barely above a whisper, as he leaned down closer behind you. “You’re too tense.”

You could feel his breath against the shell of your ear, the heat of it sending a shiver straight down your spine. You didn't move right away, and not because you didn't hear him, but because your entire body had locked up the second his voice dropped like that. He always spoke low during training, but this time it felt intentional. Like he knew exactly what it did to you.

“I wonder why,” you mumbled, not even trying to hide the edge in your voice as your cheek twitched with the effort of staying still.

He chuckled, barely a breath of sound, but it rattled you anyway. It wasn’t just the noise. It was the way he didn’t back off. He always stayed just close enough to toe that invisible line between professional and something else entirely.

He had to know; there was no way he didn’t. Not with the way he hovered behind you now, his shadow practically cast over your whole damn body, his chest close enough that if you moved back just slightly, your shoulders would be flush with him. You could feel his warmth, feel how solid he was, and your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it if he leaned in just a little more.

Then his hand slid around you to correct your grip. You didn’t breathe.

He could’ve done it quickly, efficiently, like it was just part of the routine. But no. He took his time. His fingers slid over yours, warm and rough in a way that made your stomach twist and your throat tighten. You could feel every ridge of his skin, the way his thumb pressed lightly into your knuckles, adjusting your hold like he’d done this a hundred times before. But you knew he was lingering. He didn’t need to keep his hand there that long. He just did.

“Try now,” he said, voice still right at your ear, almost too low to hear.

You swallowed hard and pulled the trigger, heart pounding, mouth dry.

The bullet hit dead center.

“Atta girl,” he said, and the way he said it proudly, like you’d done something so much bigger than just hit a damn target, made your whole body flush with heat. You swore to god, your knees almost gave out right there, which would’ve been impressive considering you were already on the ground.

You didn’t dare look at him. You couldn’t. Not with the way your body was reacting. Not with the heat still buzzing in your chest and your hands still tingling from his touch. If you looked at him now, you knew you'd do something reckless. Say something you couldn't take back. Reach for him.

Instead, you kept your eyes forward, jaw tight, fingers still clenched around the rifle, trying to act like you weren’t about to crawl out of your own skin just from a single fucking training correction. Trying to breathe like you weren’t one second away from turning over, grabbing him by the collar, and pulling his mouth down onto yours just to shut him up.

You didn’t look. But you could feel his eyes on you. And that was almost worse.

Every training session was like that, too much and never enough, and you kept signing up for more like a glutton for punishment.

You told yourself it was about improvement, about getting more qualified. Building your skill set so you’d be just as valuable in a firefight as you were in a med tent. You told yourself you were just trying to pull your weight on the field. Being useful. That’s what you wrote on the form, and that’s what you told Price. That’s what you repeated to yourself every time you ended up flat on your stomach with a sniper rifle under your hands and Simon Riley kneeling behind you.

But it wasn’t that. It was him.

It was the way he leaned over your shoulder, not even touching you but close enough that the heat of his body wrapped around yours. It was the way he spoke quietly near your ear, letting his breath skim your skin. It was the way his hand always found yours, firm and patient, guiding you, correcting you, and lingering longer than necessary.

And God, it was the way he looked at you.

His eyes were always unreadable to you. But they would drift, just for a second, and always to your mouth. He didn’t do it every time, but often enough that you noticed. Often enough that it left you restless and sweating and fucked up for hours afterward, stuck replaying every glance, every inch of contact, trying to decide if you were imagining it. But you weren’t, you knew you weren’t.

You wanted him to do something. Anything.

Push you up against the nearest wall... grab your throat... pull your hair. Drag you somewhere dark and quiet and take you apart until your body forgets what it was like to be not touched by him. You wanted his hands everywhere. His mouth on your neck, on your chest, between your legs. All. Of. It.

You felt it in every session.

And he felt it too. You knew he did. There was no way he didn’t. You caught it in the way his voice would go lower when you got something right. In the way his hand would hover at your lower back like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you there, or maybe he wanted to and was trying not to. In the way he looked at you when you weren’t looking at him, his gaze was almost possessive, like he was trying to keep something locked up.

But nothing ever happened.

Not once.

Because neither of you said a word. Not about the glances. Not about the touches. Not about the fucking firestorm brewing every time you were within arm’s reach of each other.

You told yourself it would ruin everything.

The work, the team, and this rhythm you’d found with him, this delicate little balance of silence and heat and what-ifs.

You told yourself that so many times it started to sound like the truth.

But it wasn’t. Not really.

It was fear. It was control. It was both of you pretending like it wasn’t killing you just to be around each other and do nothing about it.

And eventually?

Something had to give.

It happened on the range, after hours, late enough that the rest of the base was quiet, the lights dimmed low, and the air had suddenly turned colder than it was all day, and it was just the two of you standing there in the open, no one else around for miles, the whole field stretching out in front of you.

You had just missed a shot, and not because you didn’t know how to hold the rifle steady or how to aim, but because he was behind you again, standing way too close and way too warm against your back, and your body couldn’t just act like it didn’t feel it anymore.

He hadn’t said a word this time, he just moved his hand slowly down the middle of your spine to fix your posture, like he’d done it a dozen times before during training, like it didn’t make your heart pound faster and your breath catch sharp in your throat.

That sharp breath slipped out of you, and suddenly his hand froze on your back, right between your shoulder blades, and neither of you moved for what felt like forever, because it was like all the tension that had been building between you for weeks, finally turned into something you could feel pressing on your skin, impossible to ignore.

You didn’t say anything, because you didn’t have to, he felt it too, and you could tell by the little twitch of his fingers on your skin and the way his breathing shifted just enough to make your whole body tighten with anticipation, you were both standing on the edge of something you couldn’t back away from anymore.

And then, faster than you could even blink, he moved, spinning you around so your back slammed against the edge of the table behind you hard enough to make the breath whoosh out of you, and before you could say a single word, his hands were tangled in your hair, pulling you close, and his mouth crashed onto yours without hesitation, full of hunger like he’d been holding back too long and finally decided he didn’t care about anything except tasting you.

His kiss was rough and desperate and messy, full of everything he’d been keeping inside, and it just exploded all at once.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping him like you needed to anchor yourself because your head was spinning and your heart was racing too fast to think straight, and you kissed him back with everything you’d been trying to hold in.

He groaned low in his throat, as one hand slid down to your hip, pulling you against him, trying to erase every last inch of space between you, and you felt his thigh press hard between your legs, lifting you up against the table more, and the sharp little gasp you couldn’t stop yourself from making got swallowed up by his mouth again as he chased the sound.

It was just him, finally giving in—his hands everywhere, his mouth on you, nothing else mattered, and you didn’t even try to stop him.

You opened your legs wider, grabbed at the front of his shirt, pulling him closer because this was what you’d been waiting for, what you’d been wanting without ever saying it out loud, and now it was real, and there was no turning back.

His hands slid from your hips to your waist, fingers digging in like he was trying to memorize every curve, every inch of you, and he pulled you flush against him, voice low and rough as he whispered, “God, you don’t know what you do to me.”

You bit your lip, trying to catch your breath, your hands trembling slightly as they gripped his shirt tighter, and you managed to murmur back, “Neither do you.”

He smiled against your lips, just for a second, before crashing back down to kiss you harder. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, pulling him closer until you could feel his heartbeat pounding right next to yours, and you whispered, “Then don’t stop.”

He groaned and moved his hands to your thighs, lifting you just enough to push you back onto the table, the cold metal biting into your skin, but you barely noticed because every nerve ending was on fire. His mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear, his breath hot and heavy as he said, “Not a chance.”

You gasped when he pressed his body harder against you, and for a moment, the only sound was your breaths mingling, harsh and uneven, and then you said, voice shaky, “Simon, please.”

He paused for just a second, eyes dark as they locked onto yours, like he was reading every hidden thought and wanting to hear the words one more time, his breath catching just slightly before he whispered, “That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

His hands moved slowly down your thighs, tracing fire along your skin, and you felt the tension building so thick you could hardly think straight, every nerve alive and screaming as his fingers pressed harder.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling around the edge of the table as he leaned down, his mouth trailing slow kisses along your jawline, every touch setting off sparks that made your whole body shiver.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against your skin.

You bit your lip again, heart pounding so fast you were sure he could hear it, and you whispered, “I want you. I want you here, right now.”

A rough smile tugged at his lips as he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes burning with something raw, and said, “You’ve got me. Every inch.”

Then, without breaking eye contact, he slid his hands beneath your shirt, fingers warm and sure as they roamed over your skin, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you.

You gasped softly when his lips found yours again, slower this time, deeper, savoring every second, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you gave yourself over to the moment you’d both been holding back for so long.

There was no rush, no holding back anymore, just the two of you, caught in a storm of need and everything you’d been too scared to admit out loud, finally crashing down all at once.

“Tell me if I’m moving too fast,” he said between kisses, voice low, almost cautious despite everything. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

You shook your head, breathless and desperate. “No. Don’t stop. Just... keep going.”

His hands were already fumbling at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up slowly like he was afraid to rush, but you didn’t care about slow or fast anymore, you just wanted him. You helped him, lifting the shirt over your head, and then his hands moved to the buckle of your belt, fingers working it loose while your own hands started unbuttoning his shirt, your fingers trembling a little but steady enough.

The cold air hit your bare skin as your clothes came off piece by piece, until it was just you two, skin to skin, breath mixing in the quiet night.

He pushed your pants down, then you stepped out of them, heart hammering in your chest like a drum, while he peeled off his own shirt and pants, revealing skin that looked even warmer under the dim lights. You shivered, not from cold, but because the moment was real and so close to breaking apart the hold you’d both kept for too long.

His hands found your hips again, and he looked at you like he was trying to memorize every inch before he moved.

Then, without any hesitation, he pressed himself against you, sliding inside slowly, giving you just enough time to catch your breath before he started moving. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your nails digging into his shoulders as the fire inside you both built higher and higher.

His breath was hot against your skin as he groaned in your ear, voice rough like he was barely keeping it together when he whispered, “Fuck, you feel so damn good.”

You gasped, the sharp rush of pleasure making your chest tighten and your breath catch, and you started to move with him, hips pressing up, grinding against the heat of him as you couldn’t get enough, your fingers digging into the muscle of his back, pulling him impossibly closer until it felt like you were both melting into each other.

“Simon,” you whispered, voice shaking from the need and the sudden rush of everything crashing over you, “Don’t stop. Please.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement, his hands tangled in your hair, holding you steady while his hips started to move faster, harder, every thrust sending waves of fire shooting through you, and the feeling of him inside you like this, deep and relentless, was overwhelming, making you cry out loud, your nails raking down his back as the tension inside you twisted tighter and tighter.

You could hear his breath hitch in a ragged groan, the raw edge in his voice when he murmured, “You’re driving me crazy, yeah? You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

You shivered, your whole body trembling with need as your legs locked around his waist tighter, pulling him deeper, matching his pace because you never wanted this to stop, not even for a second, and then the coil in your stomach snapped, sending a wave of heat crashing over you so powerful you thought you might shatter, screaming his name like it was the only thing you could say.

He grunted deep in your ear, voice thick with his own release, burying himself deeper inside you, hands gripping your hips so hard you felt the bruises forming already, but you didn’t care, because you were both trembling and gasping, bodies shaking with everything you’d been holding in for so long finally pouring out in one furious, desperate moment.

You held onto him like your life depended on it, breath ragged, heart pounding so loud it was a drum in your ears, and he whispered against your skin, “Fuck, you’re mine.”

You smiled, dizzy with everything, and wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, voice soft as you said, “Yeah... I know.”

And there was nothing left to say because you were both there, tangled up in each other on that cold table with the whole world shut out, everything finally right.

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

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides

[earlysunshines]

flower girl

danielle marsh x fem!florist!reader

synopsis: you never expect much from your job at the flower shop but then the most beautiful girl you’ve ever laid your eyes on stumbles in

warnings: litcherslly none i don’t think anything rly ; very fluffy ; reader is awkward and loser and dorky ; danielle’s gorgeous and bubbly and cutesy and dorky too ; two dorky idiots that want each other i fear ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: my writing is so much worse now it’s actually so bad and this is bc i haven’t written in a bit but also haven’t been reading like anthrjng (other than textbooks for class)… ooh.. ALSO heavily based off this song!!!

most people would assume that working at the towns flower shop is all sunshine’s and rainbows—the atmosphere is littered with beautiful arrangements, vibrant colors, and the gorgeous interior always has light seeping in through the windows just right. 

working at the flower shop would be perfect if it weren’t for the fact that you were single. maybe if a lovely girl was waiting for you to clock out, ready to give you a soft kiss to the lips you’d enjoy your shifts more—but no. 

today isn’t different from the others. when is it ever? 

“babe, babeeee~” a girl whines in an uncomfortably high pitched voice that it makes you cringe a bit. your brows scrunch in a bit when you hear her, “pumpkin stop— haha— th-that tickles!” 

pumpkin? gosh, you might throw up into the flowers you’re fixing up. 

the couple that had walked in wasted no time getting all touchy and displaying the pda that no one asked for. 

(“no one” being you and only you because your manager is taking orders in the comfort of her office while you suffer out in the main area) 

the boyfriend pulls her closer, his chest pressing against her back as he peppers kisses on her neck, giggling like an idiot. you have to redirect your attention completely to block them from your peripheral, trying to endure only the sound now. 

“love bug, i can’t help it.” he tries to say quietly, but you’re the only people in the shop, making it increasingly difficult to put up with this. 

you sigh. the only way to get them to stop sooner is to go up to them, put on your customer service voice, flash a friendly smile, and hope for the best.

“hi! did you guys need any help with anything?” he’s still holding on to her when he looks over at you and nods. 

“yeah, yeah. just wanted to buy my girl some flowers. which ones are the prettiest? she likes pink.”

this job tests you everyday.

why would you buy flowers with her here? is it not usually a surprise? why are you using half of your singular braincell to think of a choice for your lover?

you criticize him knowing that he doesn’t really care what you give him, and judging by his tone—plus his ignorance and lack of interest for the vast options surrounding him—you could probably hand him polyester flowers and he wouldn’t think twice about the fact that they wouldn’t deteriorate at all in the next few years.

instead of giving in to your thoughts, your smile grows again. “right. well, a popular selection of pink flowers would be the classic rose bouquet, but we can also do a smaller bouquet of three.” you explain before poining across the shop to another arrangement. “and those are our tulips—another popular choice. as you can see, there’s a variety of colors, but depending on how many you need i’m able to provide a bouquet of pink.”

“okay, cool, cool.” he says, looking around. without thinking twice, he shrugs, then points to the roses. “i’ll take like, five? i don’t know how you do it. just pop ‘em in those little things so we can hold it and that should be it. it’s date night—need something nice for my girl.”

“oh stop it pumpkin… you’re so sweet.” the girl gushes, moving over to peck his lips.

your purse your lips into a forced smile, nodding at them. “right, i can hand you a bouquet of five. give me a few minutes.” 

they nod and offer a “thank you,” before going back to being all loving and everything that manages to make you throw up in your mouth. a groan leaves your lips as you get to work.

once you’re done, you hand the man the bouquet. “these are pretty fresh, so i’d say they’ll last a week if you care for them nicely. make sure the vase you store them in has clean water and whatnot.”

he nods and offers a friendly smile before giving the flowers to his girlfriend. she kisses him on the cheek and says thank you to him like this is the best gift in the world, but you beg to differ. you also don’t get paid enough to judge boyfriends doing the bare minimum, so you simply wave at them and say, “thank you for purchasing!”

once they leave, the comforting hum of your jazz playlist fills the silence. you’re left relieved. 

you sort out a few more flowers, pick up petals that fell on the ground, and clean up other messes from the day before the bell above the door rings.

a “welcome in!” leaves your mouth before you turn around to see who’s decided to stop by. you assume it’s a couple, or maybe the rare occasion that it’s someone elderly or the rarer occasion: a group of teenagers browsing around.

after fixing your hair, you turn around and are immediately met with pretty brown eyes that land right on your gaze.

a girl, the very pretty girl, looks around your age—probably a student like you. she lets the door close behind her and a small flush of wind brushes her hair across her face perfectly.

there’s a shiver that runs down your whole body. the way her lashes flutter when she blinks is like some sort of mind-blowing cinematic movie scene. she smiles, waving at you and tucking a strand of hair behind her ears which somehow renders you speechless.

“hi! how are you?” she greets. her voice is bright and cheery.

you’re already impressed considering no customer has asked how you were today—or at all this week.

(it’s only wednesday, but it still means something to you.)

you smile easily, not a forced one, a genuine smile.

“i’m doing well, and you?” 

“great now that i’m here,” she says, her eyes wandering around the mildly cluttered area. “it’s beautiful inside. must be nice working here, i bet.”

“it is.” you respond, “i never get tired of the scenery.”

“who would?” she says sweetly, her eyes molding into crescents as she smiles again. “i can’t believe i haven’t stopped by… i walk pass this place almost everyday.”

“is that so?”

“mhm,” she nods, “it’s on the way to my work.”

“well, feel free to stop by anytime—even if you’re not purchasing.” you assure, “can i help you with anything?”

she nods again. “i wanted to surprise my friend with flowers, but i wanted it to be special. i needed some expert opinions.”

dusting off your apron, you chuckle quietly, “i can help you with that. is there anything you have in mind?”

she shifts her gaze, the expression on her face that signature “i’m thinking” look—like in the movies but somehow more dorky. 

“my friend has a strong personality… something bright and vibrant would be good. it matches her.” she begins, then walks over to the marigolds and brushes her finger over a petal, “her birthday is in october, so i looked into her birth flowers too.”

“marigold,” you almost whisper, “you did your research?”

“she’s one of my good friends.” the girl shrugs. “i want to get her something meaningful.”

a warmth spreads through your body, maybe from relief and surprise since this is the first time anyone has put any thought into what they’ve asked you to arrange.

“that’s cute.” you smile, giggling lightly, “your friend is lucky to have you.”

she smiles back—you're unsure if the smile ever left but now she’s smiling at you like that and you could really care less—and you make your way over to some marigolds and cosmos. 

“i think, in my opinion, some fall colored flowers and her birth flowers would be good.”

“i trust you, miss…” she trails off, looking at your nametag, squinting at your handwriting, and meeting your eyes again. “miss y/n.” 

your name, from that voice of hers and that dorky grin, sends another shiver down your spine. 

“i’m glad you have that much faith in me.” you joke.

the girl walks around the shop while you fix up her bouquet. the shop isn’t too big, but enough to fit a wide variety of flowers, excluding the special exceptions that decorate the shop outside. occasionally you’ll glance over at her and she’ll be immersed in observing the flowers. she takes pictures, brushes her fingers over the petals, and appreciates them for the same amount of time until she’s decided to stop at the area where you arrange the gift for her friend.

she simply watches. there’s a curiosity that you catch in her eyes, they seem to add a slight sparkle. she watches until you’re finished with the bouquet, eyes on your nimble fingers fixing each petal and adjusting the position to be just right.

“there we go,” you mumble to yourself. you’re too busy eyeing the flowers from each angle to notice the smile of admiration on the girls lips.

you hand her the bouquet, dusting your apron off and fixing your rolled-up sleeves. she holds the bouquet without saying a word, just staring at you for a few seconds before she stops studying every feature on your face like it’s the last time she’ll see you.

“thank you so much. they’re so beautiful.” she says, sniffing the flowers lightly. “you’re so talented!”

“thank you.” you chuckle, “i’m just doing my job, really. i hope your friend likes them.”

you tap at the screen of the register in front of you, calculating the price of the bouquet and feeling yourself shrink in your spot at the feeling of her gaze. you can’t remember the last time someone made you this nervous—warm in the cheeks, fidgety with your fingers, and an idiot fighting back any awkward rambling. this girl manages to do it without trying and it’s awfully humiliating, but also embarrassingly exciting.

before you can tell her the total of her bouquet, she rids of any professionalism you have with one single comment.

“you smell really good.” she says, earning a raised brow from you. “i hope it’s not weird.” she laughs lightly and it works at easing the tension in your shoulders. you feel yourself relax as she continues, “you smell like… well considering you work here i guess flowers would make sense, but you smell like pear and something refreshing. it’s strong, but not too strong. it’s noticeable—but it’s nice! very nice. sorry.”

“i–” how do you even respond to that? your heart is in your throat because she’s flashing an awkward smile—maybe because she’s realized what she’s said or maybe because it’s just the two of you and the room squeezing in—you mirror her expression and bite the inside of your lip before responding, “it’s jo malone. thank you. i, i um, it was a gift from someone. i really like the way it smells. it pairs well with the jasmine.“

what were you even saying? you want to disappear right then and there right after you say it, but you don’t. you don’t because she’s giggling and pulling out her credit card that’s on her phone screen.

you gulp and add, “oh, yeah— um, your total is twenty-five dollars and seventy cents.”

“jo malone… expensive.” she says as she scans her card. “thank you for everything, by the way. they’re beautiful. i have to stop by again.”

“well, i’ll look forward to it.” the ounce of confidence you have in your body seems to spill from your lips and reach your eyes from the way you’re looking at her. your eyes narrowed just barely while simultaneously softening up just for her. “come by anytime.”

“thank you—” she glances at your nametag once more, then puts her hand on your forearm. you feel like you’re in a simulation and being toyed with, or worse: a romance movie and you’re the desperate fool who’s been chosen as the main character. “---y/n.”

she waves and you wave back, then leaves, making the doorbell ring and even that sounds like something from a movie. the bell has never rung that cheerfully.

—

on your way back home, and for the rest of the week, you think about the girl. you’re an idiot for not asking for her name, so you’ve resulted to calling her “flower girl” for the time being.

your friends are also on to you, catching you smiling to yourself out of nowhere. you tell them you were thinking about the events of the multiple corny couples stumbling into your work, the utter embarrassment you feel from witnessing their pda making you smile, but they never believe it.

if you ever told them about “flower girl,” they’d shred you to pieces—verbally, of course—and poke fun at you for at least a week or two. 

what makes it worse is that you’ve been smiling more and thinking more and hoping she’d come back into work, but she doesn’t. a week passes and she still doesn’t, but two days after your one week anniversary of meeting (your friends would seriously tease you to death for what you call it), she shows up again.

the bell rings differently than normal. your ears twitch and you turn your head to see her. your eyes meet hers and so does your smile.

“y/n!” she beams, “happy friday!”

“hi.” you try to sound calm, composed—anything to play cool and hide how delusional you are. “it’s nice to see you again. happy friday.” you greet, continuing on when the silence stretches on for a mere two seconds, “need another bouquet?”

“no, just wanted to browse.” she shrugs.

and so she does, walking around and even crouching to match her level with a few of the shorter flowers. you pretend to go back to work, tending to the flowers and whatnot, really anything to keep yourself from staring at her. 

“how have you been?” she asks out of nowhere, catching you by surprise as you water some dandelions. 

“oh, i’ve been uh, i’ve been good. and you?”

“great. my friend really liked the flowers, by the way.”

“i’m glad. i was really fond of that arrangement. i thought about it the whole week.” and her, you’ve been thinking about more than just that gorgeous arrangement you completely forgot to get a picture of. 

“really? wow, i’m so happy that you liked it as much as i did! gosh, it was so pretty and everyone we met up with was amazed by the vibrant colors and everything. i referred them to you.”

you laugh, fully facing her now after setting down the water can. “thanks for helping out the business. my boss will be thrilled.”

“i hope your boss knows they have the best on their team!”

you laugh again, stepping a little closer to the flowers in front of you. “i’ll let her know, i hope it’ll convince her if it comes from me.” you joke.

she giggles and asks you about the flowers next to her. they’re chrysanthemums, a beautiful shade of yellow. you tell her a brief summary of the meaning, how popular they are, and that there’s a shipment for a different shade. the girl focuses on you the whole time, you catch her eyes scanning each feature of your face unless you specifically point to the flower. you never thought your job would come with the stress of meeting a pretty girl at your workplace who’s oddly eager to talk to you.

“yeah, i really like chrysanthemums, my mom does too. they’re a nice flower, pretty popular.” you shrug, lightly brushing your pointer over the edges of a few petals.

“what are your favorites then?” the girl questions, tilting her head ever so slightly to display her curiosity.

“oh, um.” you think to yourself, then glance around the room. 

there’s way too many to count and so many that you admire—which is why you decided to take this part-time job. 

you respond with the first two flowers that come to your mind. “lilies and daisies, probably.” you nod.

the girl looks over at the lilies in the room, grinning as she says, “i see why. gosh, the one’s you have here are so pretty.”

“yeah, i take care of them extra nicely.” you admit.

“is that so? i might have to invest in some eventually.”

“i’ll make sure they’re well-kept then.”

“hopefully they’ll be as pretty as the person handling them.” 

you blink. a blush blooms over your cheeks and your heartbeat picks up. 

before you can respond, she brushes over her compliment and continues, “i really like sunflowers. they’re so pretty, and they’re a classic.” she looks over to the sunflowers near the window. “my friends always compare me to them too.”

“i’m not surprised.” you mutter, and she catches it. her brows raise ever so slightly as if she’s waiting for an explanation. you catch her eyes with yours again while nervously adding, “you’re bright and… nice to look at.”

you swallow shallowly in the next five seconds that pass by without any response from her. you’re hoping she doesn’t notice how you tense your jaw while you try to hold up the composed act, but it’s really hard to keep it up when her lips curl into an even wider smile of amusement.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

the door rings suddenly, though not in the cheery tune that follows after your “flower girl” walks in. a couple, one that’s showing way too much affection for your liking, stumbles in and looks around curiously. 

a soft sigh leaves your mouth and “flower girl” giggles. she places her hand on your forearm—light and brief, but you’re thinking about it real hard in the two seconds that it happens—then presses her lips together to suppress how giddy she is.

“i have to get going, and i believe you have more company?”

“yeah,” you nearly groan, “excuse me, i have to um, assist them.”

“alright.” she studies the subtle shift of your expression and nods. “i’ll see you again, y/n.”

“yeah, see you.” you respond, watching her brush past the couple and toward the door.

before you make your way to the couple, you pinch your eyes shut and bite the inside of your lip; you forgot to get her name again. 

—-

you catch a few of your friends for lunch after a particularly draining shift. there were multiple people that needed help with picking flowers, which wouldn’t have been odd if it weren’t for the fact that most of them were for birthdays.

(it just had to be everyone’s birthday that day—or week.)

sohee, one of your closest friends, sits in front of you and pretends to look innocent after stealing one of your fries. chaewon and soobin giggle at the playful punch you throw at his shoulder, which makes him groan with the stolen fry still in his mouth.

“ask nicely next time.” you warn.

“you’re such a hypocrite! you took the fruit gummies from my apartment literally last—”

“okay? are you saying you want me to be malnourished? wow…”

“but—

“no.” you quickly shut him down while simultaneously trying to fight back a laugh. “you’re a man, you can’t be doing all that.”

chaewon rolls her eyes at your antics, then steals a fry without a complaint coming from you. soobin chuckles and sohee looks at all of you defeatedly.

throughout the rest of lunch you all catch-up with what’s been going on through the week. sohee’s been trying to convince his roommate to invest in a mini-fridge and chaewon groans as she explains how she’s been considering taking an extra class the next semester.

and while soobin goes over his chaotic month, you start smiling to yourself as you accidentally tune out his voice. your thoughts shift over to your encounter with “flower girl” two days ago. 

it’s incredibly odd how you’re eager to clock in to work now. it’s not that you hated your job, you truly loved it, but the customers were always iffy. now, you have something to look forward to, someone to keep yourself going when it’s slow or dreadful on certain days. 

chaewon flicks your forehead, snapping you out of a replay of her hand on your forearm.

“what the hell are you smiling about?” she asks, “did you hear what soobin just said?”

“uh,” absolutely nothing had processed in the past minute. “sorry.”

soobin nudges your shoulder. “damn… so you hate me.”

“well, yes.” you joke. “sorry, ‘binnie, i was just… thinking about work.”

“i thought you hated your job…?” he responds.

sohee joins in, “yeah, you were just complaining to the group chat about a couple that forgot to stop making out when you came back with their bouquet.”

“oh my god, i forgot about that, ugh… and that was literally a month ago.” the memory makes you cringe. “and no i do not hate my job! i love it.”

“something is up then.” sohee says, pointing at you dramatically. “what’s up with work? did something happen? is this why you’ve been so… giddy?”

“giddy?” you try to laugh off his accusation. “it’s not— i– it’s nothing!”

“she stuttered,” chaewon points out.

“that doesn’t mean shit!” you groan, “i’ve just… okay, works been better. look, there’s this new regular. she’s kind of a regular.”

“oh my god, this girl must be cute then.” soobin chuckles, raising his brows at you. “what, you’ve got yourself some type of flower girl?”

you’re baffled that he somehow read your mind and matched frequencies enough to know that you also call her flower girl. you want to scold him for jumping to the conclusion that you’re happier at work because of a pretty girl—but he’s quite on point, so you can’t really defend yourself.

“oh my god she’s blushing,” sohee mumbles, laughing with chaewon.

“oh shut up i hate you guys.” you groan, “she’s just nice and actually talks to me. i mean yeah she’s gorgeous but that’s not even the point. she’s different than usual customers and… i guess it’s a nice change.”

“so you want her,” soobin says before sipping on his tea. “pretty girl vs. y/n and she’s already losing.”

“i—”

okay maybe he’s right, but you’d never admit that. 

the rest of lunch consists of you getting teased until the topic switches into chaewon talking about kazuha and sakura, who have apparently been way too loud when playing video games late at night. soobin, however, manages to throw in one more teasing comment before you all depart, which earns a few more remarks from chaewon throughout the car ride home.

“everything used to soil your mood,” soobin’s words replayed in your mind over and over, “seems like this ‘flower girl’ is making you bloom.” 

his words were corny mainly because it was him saying it, but he wasn’t wrong. and it doesn’t help that chaewon keeps telling you that she supports whatever you have going on, saying that you’re “not as cranky” and “smiling like an idiot all the time.”

you blush the whole way home thinking about her and it’s ridiculous. this girl that’s shown up twice has you malfunctioning even outside of work.

—

“y/n, could you grab the shipments from the back? i unloaded them, they just need to be restocked. it’s a few boxes, nothing much.” your boss asks. 

“yeah, sure.” you respond, immediately heading to the back and looking around for the boxes she mentioned.

you have exactly one hour until work ends and the only thing on your mind is a nice big lunch since you only had time to eat a banana for breakfast. you feel the energy leaving your body as you carry the boxes, guessing they’re mainly seeds and supplies for the bouquets. the boxes shfit and a subtle sound hints that there’s some pots for people who end up buying something to display their flowers.

with a light thud, you place the boxes on the counter in the front and find the box cutter nearby. just as you suspected—there are a few packets of seeds, tools, and pots inside that you pull out and start restocking.

but in the corner of your eye you catch two people conversing outside. you’d brush it off if it weren’t for the fact that one of them was flower girl, who’s talking to your boss while pointing at the tulips.

your heart beats faster in your chest and a surge of urgency to finish restocking.

you jump at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder not too long later. turning your head, you catch your manager grinning at you.

“hey, i’ve got the rest. there’s a customer that you should help.” she tells you, but the look in her eyes screams something mischievous.

you nod, setting the pot in your hand back into the box before turning to meet the same big brown eyes that never fail to light up your day.

“y/n!”

“flower girl,” you mutter, though very quietly, just under your breath. “hi,” you greet, clear and professionally.

“how are you?” she asks, and it flows like last time; conversation with her is light and easy to ease into.

you tell her it’s a little slower today considering it’s tuesday, and you even drop a little “i’m glad you’re here to keep some brief company,” which earns a smile and a “i find stopping by the highlight of my week, it’s nothing.”

now you’re both trying not to blush and it’s impossible. it’s impossible because you notice that shade of blush she has on matches the carnations that you had to fix up yesterday. and on her end, she can’t help but notice that your hair is a little messier than usual, which adds to how cute she thinks you are.

you two converse in between her questions about flowers. she finds your anecdotes about each and every one interesting, interesting enough that she asks,

“hey, what are you doing later today?”

the question catches you off guard. “oh, um. probably nothing… maybe i’ll go on a walk or visit a friend… i don’t know… why do you ask?”

you can’t curb the blush that heats your face, so you pray it’s not noticeable.

“well, i’m off today and my schedule is pretty empty… i was hoping you’d let me pencil you in?”

you giggle at her response, hoping your manager doesn’t hear any of it because she’s also one to tease you like crazy.

“i’d… yeah, i’d like that.” you sound like an idiot. your mind runs in circles and your heart beats faster than it usually does—even faster than the time she (you’d hope) flirted with you. “i um, i get off in less than an hour… i hope you don’t mind waiting.”

she bites the inside of her lip and it feels like it’s just the two of you in the shop, with daisies sprouting around (metaphorically speaking, of course) to feed the fire that burns in your chest. 

“that’s perfect. do you like sandwiches?”

“i love them.”

“perfect. there’s a place not too far that i love—”

“down the block near the park?”

“yes! how did you—?”

“i go there all the time.” wow, this is perfect, you think to yourself. “we could grab lunch… maybe walk around…?”

she laughs and your whole body relaxes. 

“you’re really cute, you know?”

“i think you’re cuter.” you say without thinking. “and i feel unbelievably stupid that i’ve been calling the cute girl that stops by every week ‘flower girl.’ my friends keep teasing me because i never got your name.”

“you talk to me about your friends?’ she questions with a growing smirk.

“i— maybe.” 

“well, i’m glad i’m not the only one.”she breaks eye contact to look at the ground bashfully. “my friends have been… trying to help me build up the courage to ask you out.”

“really?”

“mhm.” she nods.

“well, i’d love to tell my friends more about you…” you trail off, remembering that you don’t even know her name.

“if i give you my name… would you give me your number?” she asks cheekily.

you chuckle. “i’ll consider it.”

her hand brushes the petal of a flower nearby—a pink hibiscus—before saying, “my name is danielle.”

“danielle,” her name trickles off your tongue with curiosity and wonder. her name isn’t uncommon, but it’s beautiful and a perfect fit for someone bright like her.

her smile grows along with yours.

“i guess i should give you my number then, danielle.” you test the way her name sounds coming from you and are just as content the second time around. it’s better than flower girl, but that’s not stopping you from calling her that again and again in the future.

“i’d need your number just in case i want to see you again,” she says with a light-hearted, teasing tone. “just in case you charm me well enough.”

“i’ll do my best then, flower girl.”

[y3sterdaysproblem]

stuck with u - c.s.

takes place after this

cw: smut, angst, chris being toxic, p!link

wc: 2.8k

part of the toxic!fwb!chris series

he’s here again, just like you knew he would be.

he blows you off, hurts you more than you ever thought he’d be able to and then once you’re ready to walk away, he comes crawling back and begs for forgiveness, tells you that he just needs a little more time to figure things out.

it never made sense to you. you were under the impression you’d both stopped sleeping with other people, you spent time together without sex being involved and he did things for you that he never used to do before he knew how you felt.

he’d rub your feet after a long day at work, hold you close when your emotions got the best of you, even make you food to the best of his abilities if you were too lazy to get up.

why wouldn’t he just bite the bullet and tell you how he feels, too? part of you desperately hoped that things would change this time, that this would be the moment that he finally gets the balls to admit what you both know is true.

sure, you had your issues, your own toxic traits like sleeping around when things got hard, looking for comfort in a man when you couldn’t face reality, deflecting when you couldn’t win an argument, acting like you could never be wrong. all of this extended so far past chris, it seeped into your every day life, relationships that meant even more to you than this one, but being around him felt like maybe it would be worth it to try and not be so bitter, so awful.

chris texts you to tell you he’s arrived and you’re at your door in the next ten seconds, pulling it open to reveal him on the other side.

you’re beyond shocked when you see a bouquet of flowers in his hand, your favorites, held out as he grinned sheepishly. “hi,” he says, stepping into the threshold. “hi…” you answer breathlessly as you watch him come closer.

he looked good, exactly how he knew you liked him. baggy, blue jeans, knees ripped up slightly, dirty air force ones on his feet, black hoodie zipped up halfway on top of a black t-shirt and a snapback flipped around on his head, curly hair peeking out the bottom.

he steps into your apartment and immediately presses his lips to your cheek, letting them linger while his hand pushed the door shut behind him. “i’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, wrapping his arms around you, bouquet resting against your back.

you sigh, wanting to melt into him but needing to hold your ground. “for what?” you ask, stepping out of his grasp to turn and walk away, heading to your bedroom to curl up in bed while he inevitably tried to save things again.

chris follows you, setting the flowers down on your table as he passes it. when you guys get into the bedroom, he looks around, noticing that it looked slightly more disheveled than it usually did. “for last night,” he says like it’s obvious, watching you move to sit on the edge of the bed. “for ditching you when i said i’d be there. i don’t mean to make you feel like you’re not important.”

here he goes, his typical spiel when it comes to gluing things back together. you stare up at him, expression blank. you’re exhausted, all the back and forth finally catching up with you. you didn’t understand how he wasn’t tired of all of this, too.

“chris,” you sigh, shaking your head as you scratch at your scalp, messy bun wobbling with your actions. “i think it might be time we call this.”

he looks taken aback, head pulling back slightly in shock. “what are you talking about?” he asks, coming closer until he can sit next to you in bed. “why would we do that?”

you don’t want to look at him but his presence is so demanding any time he’s around you that it’s like your eyes are just drawn to him, your body turning to face his. “because it’s exhausting, chris. i can’t keep doing this and acting like it doesn’t fucking suck. you act like my boyfriend and then turn around and do some shit that fucks me up so bad i feel like i’m crazy! i let my guard down and then you do some shit like go hang out with girls you don’t even know when you’re supposed to be with me.”

“i didn’t know there were gonna be more girls there,” chris groans, knowing exactly what this was about to turn into. but you didn’t want an argument, you just wanted to be done. “come on, it’s not like i did anything with them.”

you stare at chris, not quite believing him and he senses this. “you were drunk around girls and you didn’t do anything?” you ask him, raising your eyebrows slightly, tone flat. “would matt say the same thing?”

“yes,” chris says instantly and his answer shocks you. he sounded so confident that matt would corroborate his story. “i thought about you the whole fucking night. i felt terrible. i was sitting in the corner of the room by myself texting you, trying to call you, waiting for you to just text me back.”

his hand comes out to rest on your thigh that faced him and you knew you should’ve pushed him off, but something about the way he spoke to you had you believing him, a mistake you seemed to make every time you found yourself in this position.

“chris-“ you start, but he interrupts you, turning his body to face yours as well. “i know you don’t believe me, but you can ask him. you know matt would never lie to you.” he sighs, seemingly distressed.

you’ve never seen him like this, this worried. “you know how hard all of this is for me but i’m trying,” chris continues, his other hand coming out to grab one of yours. “i’m trying. i want… fuck, i don’t know. i want you in a way i’ve never wanted anybody else before and that scares me. i’m used to fucking things up, ruining anything good that happens to me but i talk about you all the time, even when i don’t realize i’m doing it. you’re constantly on my mind.”

you stare at him, your eyes searching his for a thread of honesty, and it terrified you how truthful and remorseful he looked. “chris…” you sigh again, and once more he scoots closer, tightening his grip on your thigh. “i can’t do this-“

“stop,” he interrupts, dropping your hand from his to reach up and tuck a fallen piece of hair behind your ear, wanting to take in your full appearance no matter how disheveled you seemed. “you don’t mean that, you’re just mad at me. listen when i tell you that i’m sorry and it won’t happen again.”

“but it will happen again!” you huff as you push his hand away from your face. “that’s the problem. it’ll always happen again with you and i’m sick of it. all this back and forth, all these emotions that come with being around you, it’s exhausting. i never know what version of you i’m going to get, and sure, it’s been a lot better recently but for what? you’re never gonna be my boyfriend, so why waste my time falling for you more and more when you’re just gonna run off some day?”

chris seems taken aback at your words, his hand that rubbed over your skin pausing for a few moments as he thought of what to say. “why… why do we have to label anything? we enjoy being around each other, we’re not sleeping with anybody else, can’t you just give me time to figure out what it is that i want?”

you sigh, expecting nothing more than to hear him say those words. time. that’s all he ever asked for was time. “i’ve given you time,” you say quietly, defeated. “i’m out of time. i can’t do this.”

he shakes his head, not accepting this answer and he moves quicker than you can stop him, pinning your body down to your bed, his hips settling between your thighs familiarly. “don’t push me away,” chris breathes out, voice full of desperation as he looks down at your wide eyed expression. “come on, you don’t mean this. i’ll get better, i swear. give me another chance.”

you’re about to speak, about to push him away and tell him to fuck off, that you’re serious this time, but when his lips come down and start pressing against your jaw, kissing down to your neck the way he knows you love, the only sound that comes out of you is a whiny breath, head tilting away from him as your eyes flutter.

“there’s my girl,” he whispers against your skin, one of his hands sliding up underneath your tank top, his cold fingers triggering goosebumps on your stomach. “i know you don’t want me to leave. you’d just embarrass yourself anyway when you beg me to come back, tellin’ me nobody else can make you feel like i can. just let me stick around and i’ll make it worth it.”

you reach up to hold onto his biceps, torn between pushing him away and just pulling him closer, but you were never strong enough to push him off of you, especially not right now when it’s been so long, when you craved him so badly. “chris,” you breathe out and you feel his lips curl up as they kiss against your collarbone now, teeth nipping gently at your skin.

“what, baby?” he coos, tone almost mocking as he pushes your tank top over your tits, moving his mouth down to wrap his lips around one of your nipples, moaning as he flattened his tongue against you. he craved you just as badly as you craved him if not more.

chris pops his lips off of you, staring down at spit slicked skin. every part of you always tasted so good, whether you had just gotten out of the shower or were covered in a sheen of sweat, he loved having his mouth whenever he could on you, but now as he looked at you, chest already rising and falling as you watched him, too, he needed more.

chris scoots down the bed and wastes no time in slipping your shorts and panties down your legs with your help, throwing them onto the floor haphazardly. you instinctively spread your legs for him the second you were unrestricted, not missing the slight smirk on his face when he saw the slightest glisten in your folds.

“shut up,” you say sternly, wanting nothing more than to smack the look right off of his face. “i didn’t say anything,” chris hums with a prideful shrug, taking off his hoodie and throwing it somewhere as well before he grabs both of your thighs and pushes them up, leaning in and immediately attaching his lips to your pussy.

filthy moans slip from both of your mouths, yours a sound of relief at the feeling of him finally settling where you needed him most and his a hungry groan of desire. despite how toxic things always got between you two, you’d always give into him, unable to stand your ground very long when you would tell him things needed to change.

he ate you out like a man starved, loud slurping noises filling the air as his fingers dug into your skin, holding your thighs apart to keep you spread underneath him.

you reach down and pull the hat off of his head, your fingers tangling in his hair immediately like they always do, holding his face close and refusing to let him move away as he devoured you, deep groans of satisfaction rolling from his lips with every taste.

“f-fuck, chris, i’m not letting you off this easy,” you choke out, voice strained as you throw your head back into your pillow. he doesn’t answer, only hums and slides one hand up until he’s able to dip two fingers inside of you, forcing your thoughts even further back in your head. “oh my- yes, right there.”

his fingers curl and twist inside of you just like he knows you love, tongue still working tirelessly on your clit, bringing you close to the edge faster than anyone else has ever been able to do. chris has always been so good at making you feel good, his tongue, fingers, his dick always taking you to heights you’d never even been able to imagine prior to him, and that fact didn’t change now, even as you tried to cut him off and end things, he was still the only one that could make you feel like this.

just as you’re approaching your climax, chris pulls off and slips his fingers out of you, sliding up the bed between your legs. his free hand comes up to grip your jaw, forcing you to peel your eyes open and look at him as he presses his two middle fingers against your clit and starts rubbing back and forth quickly, soaking in your desperate moans.

“you gonna cum for me?” he rasps, staring into your eyes as your face contorts from the pleasure, your thighs trying to close on either side of him. all you can do is nod while you grip onto the sheets, your orgasm plowing into you violently, entire body trembling.

chris coaxes you through it, only pulling his hand away when you started whimpering from overstimulation, but he only moves away to undo his belt and the button on his jeans, pushing them down just enough to pull his cock from his briefs.

“gonna run your mouth ‘n sound all pathetic and whiny just to fall apart for me, huh?” he teases ruthlessly, wasting no time in burying himself to the hilt inside of you, groaning at the feeling of your walls still twitching from your orgasm.

“fuuuck,” chris breathes, his own eyes fluttering shut for a moment before reopening. you stare up at him helplessly, completely surrendered to him. he was right and you knew it. you’d always give it up to him.

chris reaches his hand for yours and untangles it from your bed sheets, pressing it into the pillow next to your head as he laces your fingers together, holding you tightly as he starts to fuck into you slowly.

“i’m not going anywhere. i’m right where i belong, buried inside this pussy made for me, ruining you for anybody else.” he’s babbling mindlessly as his hips rock back and forth, your slick walls dragging obscenely over his length.

chris leans down and presses his lips to your jaw again, kissing your skin as he continued to whisper in your ear. “you want me to stay, don’t you? keep making you feel like this? i’m right here, baby, you can’t get rid of me. i’ll say whatever you wanna hear just so i can keep tasting you, keeping fucking you like you need me to so bad.”

tears prick at the corners of your eyes as he speaks, his words soft but harsh at the same time, his fingers interlocked with yours overwhelming your senses. you were so close to having the relationship you wanted with him, but it felt so out of reach. you just needed him to be vulnerable and trust you.

chris pulls back and looks down at you, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek, fingers still slick with your arousal, the scent filling your nostrils as you sucked in a deep breath. “you look so fucking pretty when you cry,” he taunts, thumb brushing over your skin as a tear slips out. “just give me time, yeah? you know that’s all i need. you know exactly who i belong to.”

he emphasizes his sentence with a sharp thrust and the gasp that leaves your lips is all he needs for a switch to be flipped, his movements changing from soft and gentle to rough and fast, hips snapping in and out of you as he chased his orgasm now.

“come on, beautiful, give me another one before i show you who this pussy really belongs to.”

you’re completely at his mercy when his fingers work on your clit again, another orgasm cascading over you and triggering chris’s, a loud moan ripping out of him as he spills deep inside you, filling you up like he always does.

you lay there for a few moments, chest heaving as you come down, your hand still wrapped tight around chris’s as he does the same, his face dropping into your neck.

“still want me to go?” he asks, voice muffled by your skin and you can’t help but laugh breathlessly, your other hand coming up to smack the back of his head.

“shut the fuck up.”

a/n: yall fed??? or u need more. lmk. (i already know the answer)

[sofiskin]

ok so can you write a fic where art is like the trainer? he’s training a girl on how to play tennis and he starts getting touchy grindin all up in her space?

right thanks ok

training season

— dilf!art x reader

as part of your scholarship at the academy, you were offered free lessons from any of the alumni of the school. considering this academy kinda sucks, options were limited, making art donaldson an obvious choice. at first, you wore tights to lessons, the seasons were shifting as you were just coming out of fall, leaving you shivering just before warming up before all your lessons. you dressed modestly. obviously. you hadn’t spoken to art much… you hadn’t felt his charm. however, times were changing; breezes passed and the sun came out as the sweat of summer shone on your skin in the open daylight. you started (gladly, at this point) wearing your skimpy little tennis skirts and dresses, ditching your lululemon tight zip-up tops for bra tops and tanks. this also meant the loss of grey sweatpant season for art… a terribly saddening realisation for you, who had spent the fall season staring at his bulge while you wished he wasn’t looking. does he even wear fucking underwear???

being trained by art was easier than you thought it’d be. with his ex-wife’s reputation, you expected hard work and minimal breaks from him.. but maybe he took a liking to you…? he was a very hands-on learner. he made sure to correct your form when you needed it, making direct eye contact as he gripped your wrists firmly, moving your arms in the direction of a perfected backhand.

on one hot night, you were trying and failing with a specific move art wanted you to practice with him. “you’re missing the bended knees, you’re too stiff in your shoulders… get down a bit lower, don’t be afraid to lean forward if you need…” he continued to serve the bright green balls at you as your sweat accumulated at your forehead and top lip. you fumble once more, causing art to sigh deeply, rushing to stand behind you. “i told you, lean forward…” he lets out puffs of hot air by your ear as he pushes you forward, your tennis skirt riding up. suddenly you can’t find the air to breathe properly. the warmth of Mr. Art Donaldson overwhelms you, traps you in his fleeting arms, forces you into submission.

is it possible to get drunk on a man’s temperature?

art notices. like always. he notices your knees buckling and your chest tightening and he moves closer and closer to your awaiting entrance. “here,” he starts, pulling back only his upper half, leaving his hips close to joined to yours, placing his large, sweaty hands on each side of your lower back, pushing you torso forward juuuuust ever so slightly. you let out a harsh gasp as you feel a certain someone against your ass. and, from what you can tell, god, he’s big. getting distracted, you feel around a bit, letting your behind slide up and down only a little bit, purely to satiate your curiosity. suddenly, art pushes further into you, grinding against you. still holding your hips, he leans his head forward, “i didn’t realise you were naughty like this, doll,” he fucking groans into your ear as he theoretically fucks your clothed ass, moaning and groaning right up against your ears.

aaaaand once again idk how to finish/continue this. plz send in asks to help meeeeeeee i want to complete something for onceeee!!!!! thx for reading 💗💗💗