#but she could never erase the girl she was to her best friend

[castdust]

⤷ wish that i could !

yn, a part-time barista, and daniela, a busy university student, have never crossed paths despite frequenting the same cafe. their schedules have always kept them apart--until finals season at ADMU forces daniela to adjust her routine. as late-night study sessions and caffeine cravings bring her to yn's shift.

⤷ bleed by The Kid LAROI

16. pain and loss + written (1550 words)

pain and loss became yn’s best friend at an early age.

it came in the way her ex-girlfriend had smiled at her that first night—soft, tentative, the kind of smile that seemed to carry a question. yn had thought it was love back then, the way the girl had looked at her like she was something worth figuring out. but now, as she sat frozen in her seat across the gymnasium, she realized how cruel that smile had been. It hadn’t been a promise. It had been a test.

that she had failed.

or the way her mother’s hands trembled as she packed away the remnants of her father’s things after the divorce. the quiet rustle of cardboard boxes being taped shut, the hum of a vacuum cleaner erasing the last traces of his presence. loss didn’t scream—it whispered, insidious and sharp, sinking its claws into the fragile parts of her heart.

pain and loss was a lesson yn learned early, in ways both big and small. a broken toy, a pet goldfish floating lifeless in its bowl, the fading warmth of her grandmother’s hugs. but nothing had prepared her for the hollow ache that came with losing the people who promised to stay.

now, as she sat on the cold bleachers of the packed arena, the weight of it all pressed down on her chest. the cacophony of cheers and chants from rival schools felt like static in her ears. her gaze was locked on daniela, whose lithe figure moved with precision and grace across the gym floor, the lights catching the sheen of sweat on her forehead. her smile was radiant, infectious, and utterly unreachable.

yn couldn’t look away, even though every second of watching felt like swallowing shards of glass. she had memorized every expression on daniela’s face—the determined set of her jaw, the playful glint in her eyes during the routine, the way her cheeks dimpled when she laughed with her teammates. yn had dared to believe that smile was hers to hold, once.

the performance ended with a deafening roar from the crowd, but the ache in yn’s chest only grew heavier. she watched as daniela and her teammates hugged, jumping up and down in celebration. it should’ve been a beautiful moment, one to cheer for, to be proud of, but all yn could feel was the sharp sting of what she could never have.

it wasn’t until after the winners were announced that the world seemed to tilt. daniela, still glowing from the high of the performance, from her spot on the other side of the court, yn saw him—a tall, broad-shouldered DLSU basketball player, his jersey casually slung over his shoulder. he approached daniela with the kind of confidence that made yn’s stomach churn. his smile was easy, charming, and when he leaned in to talk to her, daniela laughed.

it was like being thrown into a memory she didn’t want to relive.

her ex-girlfriend had laughed like that too.

yn’s grip on the edge of the bleachers tightened as she watched the scene unfold. the basketball player handed daniela his phone, and she hesitated for only a moment before typing something into it. she handed it back to him with a smile, and he grinned wide, his hand brushing hers briefly before he turned to leave.

a lump rose in yn’s throat, hot and suffocating. the sound of the gym seemed to grow louder, the cheering crowd, the announcements, the celebratory music—all of it crashing over her like waves, drowning her in her own thoughts.

had she been wrong about daniela?

she had known daniela was questioning, and had thought they were navigating this labyrinth of emotions together. but now, it felt like she had been walking blindfolded while daniela had found the exit. had she discovered her truth, leaving yn as nothing more than an experiment? a fleeting phase?

it was like being sixteen again, watching her ex-girlfriend flirt with another boy at a party, laughing and touching his arm in the way she used to touch yn. it was the same hollow ache, the same sinking realization that she had never been enough—not for her ex, and now, not for daniela.

she thought about all the moments they’d shared—the late nights spent studying together, daniela’s sleepy voice on the phone when she’d call yn just to say goodnight, the way she’d light up when yn brought her coffee during practice. had yn made it all up in her head? had she imagined the way daniela’s eyes softened when they met hers? the way she seemed to lean into yn’s presence like it was the only thing keeping her steady?

or worse, was she just another experiment?

the thought clawed at her chest, sharp and unrelenting. it was the same fear she’d carried since her ex-girlfriend had admitted, tearfully, that yn had been her way of figuring things out. “i’m sorry,” she’d said, her voice breaking. “i thought I loved you, but I was just confused.”

confused.

the word made yn’s chest tighten, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts.

she blinked rapidly, she watched daniela laugh with her teammates, completely unaware of the storm brewing on the other side of the gym. how did I not see this before? the question clawed at her, bitter and accusatory.

yn wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything to stop the hurt from consuming her, but all she could do was sit there, frozen. 

her mind betrayed her, pulling her back to memories of her ex-girlfriend. the way she’d used yn to confirm her own identity, only to discard her when the answer became clear. the hollow excuses, the tears that never felt real, the way yn had been left to pick up the shattered pieces of her heart alone. now, she saw her ex in daniela’s position, and the resemblance was too much to bear.

yn’s chest felt hollow, her breaths shallow and uneven. she pressed her palms against her knees, willing herself to move, to stand, to leave before daniela saw her. but her legs felt like lead, her heart weighed down by the unbearable weight of what could have been.

for a moment, she allowed herself to imagine a different ending—one where daniela turned around, saw yn sitting there, and ran to her. one where she didn’t give her number to the basketball player, where she chose yn without hesitation, without question.

but that wasn’t reality.

in reality, yn was just the girl who sat on the sidelines, watching as the person she loved slipped through her fingers.

“yn?” jungwon’s voice cut through the noise, concerned but hesitant. he and minji exchanged worried glances, but yn barely registered them. her legs moved before her mind could catch up, carrying her down the stairs and out of the arena.

she wouldn’t cry here—not where anyone could see.

the cool evening air hit her like a slap, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the suffocating weight in her chest. she stumbled into the parking lot, her vision swimming as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. her breaths came in ragged gasps, her hands trembling as she clutched at her chest, trying to hold herself together.

she felt pathetic. stupid. delusional for ever believing daniela’s lingering touches and soft smiles meant anything more than fleeting affection. for thinking she was different.

Special.

“i’m such an idiot,” she choked out, her voice breaking on the last word. the sound echoed in the empty lot, swallowed by the darkness.

memories of daniela flooded her mind unbidden—her laughter, her warmth, the way she’d once brushed a stray strand of hair from yn’s face with a tenderness that had made her heart stutter. was any of it real? the question burned in her throat, acidic and sharp.

a sob tore from her lips, raw and guttural, as she sank to her knees on the pavement. the world around her felt too big, too cold, too empty. she wrapped her arms around herself, desperate for a semblance of comfort, but it wasn’t enough. nothing could fill the void daniela had left.

she didn’t know how long she stayed there, crying into the night, before jungwon and minji found her. they didn’t say anything, didn’t ask questions. jungwon knelt beside her, his hand warm and steady on yn’s shoulder, while minji crouched in front of her, offering a tissue.

“it’s okay,” jungwon murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm against the rawness of yn’s pain. “you don’t have to say anything. we’re here.”

but yn couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to explain the storm raging inside her. all she could do was lean into their presence, letting their quiet support ground her as the pieces of her heart lay scattered around her.

for now, she let herself grieve—grieve for the love she thought she had, for the future she had dared to imagine. she didn’t know if she’d ever feel whole again, but for tonight, she let herself break.

this was heartbreak. 

raw.

unrelenting.

all-consuming.

and as much as she wanted to stop it, to push the pain away, she knew she couldn’t. she’d have to carry it, just like she always did.

because that was love.

and love, she had learned, was never kind.

° ༘🎧⋆🖇₊˚ෆ masterlist next

taglist: @gtfoiydlyj @saysirhc @artrizzler19 @jellaaa @taikabui @spongebobtentacles @hwonnrinji @sunshinez4 @fillthwvoid

a/n: special thanks to only on camera by cinnamanz (especially the angst chapters cuz it helped me a lot by writing this part :p)

[righteousbreakfast]

the fact that the only evidence of sasha wire ever existed after she wiped out all the personal data was a fucking tasha connector-cable makes me want to scream it's so goddamn funny and stupidly tragic

[crescenthistory]

have you ever had something so significant and impactful happen to you but it’s in a really niche area that you can’t really tell anyone in your general life about, so you’re just left imploding and silently screaming???? it’s hell 😭😭

very long story made semi-short; my found family and i have attended and contributed to a live action role play camp twice a year for almost a decade now that’s based on hogwarts/the hp universe and really fucking well made by a skilled team. and you get really fucking attached to these characters because for a few weeks every year you live as them and make friends as them and it’s REAL even though it’s not. my last character was so fucking devastating and important to me, and she had this epic tragic love story with my best friend’s character. we haven’t played them since we finished their storyline in 2023. AND MY BEST FRIEND WAS JUST ASKED TO RETURN AS THAT CHARACTER FOR THIS YEAR’S CAMP????? that’s HUGE, the game masters never make requests like that and it’s super secret but he told me (because it would be cruel not to with our characters’ backstories) and i’m just reeling with shock and excitement and fear. like i’m left REELING at the fact that i get to see him again (him being my bsf’s old character) (bc when you finish playing someone you never get to “see” them again uknow? it’s a whole thing) and also at what this means and all the wounds from the two of them are opening up again and we’re just DYING. we have no idea why he was asked back or what will happen it’s INSANE YOU DONT UNDERSTAND. to deal with it all i’m knitting and crocheting him a bunch of different things that my character has made for his (they live together on her family farm and she uses crafts and art to cope</33) and we’re just literally crying. i love them, they’re sunshine x sunshine and literal soulmates — i made that character based on the concept of what would happen if a sensitive, creative child had the most gentle and accepting parents who cultivated kindness. and then there was a war and her parents were fucking killed offfffff and it was such a huge thing. she lost her leg, her boyfriend lost his eye. it was a whole thing. i’m jittery with emotion and handcrafting at god’s speed because this camp is in three weeks and i’m just. dying. and screaming. my poor wife. (dw she attends the camp too and is screaming with me)

[orcelito]

I'm at the painful "confession" scene during the kage summit arc. It really is so emotional, but also... hm.

When I was younger, like 13 or so, I was a big Sakura and Naruto shipper. They were the first pairing I read fanfic for even. And in a way, I do still enjoy the two of them together... but it's moments like these that really drive home the fact that it Doesn't really work in canon. Not the way that it's set up.

As Sakura puts it, "Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke! That's all you think about!"

She's told that Naruto has feelings for her and decides to use it to convince him to stop going after Sasuke. She does love him, but not in the way she's trying to confess. The love they share is one of comradery, not necessarily romantic. The love of two people who have gone through such pain together, and who have leaned on each other throughout it all. And the fact that she's turning around and saying she loves him "simply like everyone else", now... it's trivializing. And the fact that she's trying to convince him of this, the fact that she thinks she Can convince him of this, is pretty hurtful. They've come a long way from when they were kids, Naruto the goofball vying for her attention while she yelled at him for being stupid. Sakura respects Naruto so much more than before, and Naruto respects her too. So the fact that she's still doing this... She's desperate, really. She thinks the promise he made to her to bring Sasuke home is what's driving him to let himself be hurt over and over and over again in the pursuit and protection of Sasuke.

But she's wrong.

That may be part of it, but it's only part. Naruto wants Sasuke back for himself, too. He let himself be beat up to avoid selling him out. He chases after him with single minded determination. Sasuke is his entire drive to get stronger, to catch up, to bring him home. Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke indeed.

As it is, Naruto knows she's lying to herself. And no matter what she says, he will keep going after Sasuke. Because that's just the person that Naruto is.

[etheraltides]

Burning the Line

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x best friend!Reader

Summary: What started as a no-strings-attachment is quickly spiraling out of control. You and Rafe Cameron had rules, but rules were meant to be broken. As jealousy ignites, emotions boils over, and fists fly, you’re left questioning if you’re ready to risk your friendship for something neither of you can ignore anymore.

Warning(s): SMUT – oral sex, p in v penetration (wrap before you tap it, y’all), dirty talk, a bit of degrading kink. Substance use, jealousy, possessiveness, violence, toxic dynamic. Minors do not interact, please! 18+ ONLY!

Word count: 7.5k

A/N: I’ve used Grammarly to correct things so if there’s anything weird, blame it on that bot. Don’t forget to check my masterlist and maybe show your girl some feedback. Love y’all!

Rafe’s new place was alive with music, laughter, and the buzz of expensive liquor. The air inside was stifling, a haze of cigarette smoke and sweat from too many bodies crammed into the space. You nursed your drink, eyes scanning the crowd for no one in particular. Well, maybe someone in particular. But you’d rather die than admit it.

Rafe had been making the rounds all night, charming the crowd in that cocky, effortless way he had. His arm had been slung around Sofia’s shoulders not too long ago, and you’d tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter.

You’d known they were hooking up. It wasn’t a secret — not that Rafe had ever been shy about the girls he entertained. But this? This felt different. Too comfortable. Too prolonged. Rafe Cameron didn’t go back to the same person more than twice, three times max. Except for you.

That thought had always given you a strange sense of pride, something you’d never admit out loud. He’d been with you more times than you could count, and while you’d both sworn it didn’t mean anything, part of you had held onto the idea that it was different with you. That you were different.

But seeing Sofia press herself closer to him, her lips lingering on his ear as she whispered something only for him, made your stomach churn. It wasn’t just casual flirting — it had an air of possession, like she thought she had him. And the worst part? He didn’t seem to mind.

When Sofia kissed him, it was the final blow.

Her lips captured his like it was the most natural thing in the world, her hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. And Rafe didn’t just let it happen — he kissed her back. His hand tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against him, his other hand resting on the back of her neck as though he was guiding her.

You swallowed hard, the burn of jealousy clawing at your chest. You told yourself it was just Rafe being Rafe, that he’d get bored of her eventually. But the kiss felt like it was lasting too long. Too intimate. Too much.

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, the sight of them together too much to handle. You gripped your drink tighter, the cold glass digging into your palm as if it could ground you, but it didn’t help. The ache in your chest only grew, and before you could think twice, you tipped the rest of your drink back, letting the alcohol burn its way down your throat.

Slamming the empty glass onto the nearest table, you forced yourself to move, the heat of the room and the weight of their kiss suffocating you. Without a word to anyone, you pushed your way down the hallway and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

You leaned against it, your breathing shallow as you tried to compose yourself. But no amount of deep breaths could erase the image burned into your mind — Rafe’s hand on Sofia’s waist, his lips moving against hers like she was the only person in the room.

Staring into the mirror, you barely recognized the frustrated, jealous girl looking back at you. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to care who he kissed or how many times he went back to her.

But you did. And that truth was harder to swallow than the drink still burning in your throat.

You weren’t his girlfriend, not even close. Just… friends. Friends who had been tangled up in bedsheets more times than you cared to count, friends who couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other after a few too many drinks. That was it. That was all.

It wasn’t long before it swung open and before you could shout that the bathroom was already taken, there he was.

���Been looking for you,” Rafe said, shutting the door behind him with a subtle smirk.

“Why? Thought Sofia had you busy.” The words left your lips with venom, barely able to hide it.

He smirked, stepping closer, and you hated the way your body reacted to his presence, like it was wired to his every move. “She’s not my type. You know that.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the counter. “Then why were you all over her?”

He took another step, close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “What, you jealous?”

You scoffed, but it came out weaker than you intended. “Shut up, Rafe.”

His smirk widened, and before you could say another word, his hands were on your hips, his lips crashing against yours.

It was all heat and desperation, months of tension spilling out as he pressed you against the counter, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you might disappear.

“Admit it,” he murmured against your lips. “This is about her, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” you snapped, pulling him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re so full of shit, you know that? You care who I’m with.”

“I don’t,” you lied, pushing him back slightly, though your hands stayed on his chest. “We’re just friends, Rafe. Friends who—”

“Friends who what?” he interrupted, his voice sharp now, his blue eyes blazing as they locked onto yours. “Friends who fuck? Friends who can’t go a week without tearing each other’s clothes off? That’s not friendship, and you fucking know it.”

Your heart was pounding, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts. “You’re drunk,” you muttered, though the words felt hollow even as you said them.

“And you’re a coward,” he shot back, his hands gripping the counter on either side of you, caging you in. The air between you felt thick, electric, like the room itself was alive with the tension crackling between you.

“Rafe—”

“You feel it too,” he said, his voice softer now, though no less intense. “You can pretend all you want, but you’re lying to yourself if you think this is nothing.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The party, the music, the laughter – it all faded into the background as his words hung heavy in the air.

You wanted to argue, to push him away, to deny it all. But instead, you pulled him closer, your lips finding his again in a kiss that was equal parts frustration and surrender.

Maybe you were lying to yourself. Maybe you had been for a long time. But in that moment, with his hands on your skin and his breath mixing with yours, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

His grip on your hips was bruising, pulling you flush against him, leaving no room for air or thought.

“Admit it,” Rafe growled against your lips, his voice rough, raw. His hands slid up your sides, pushing your shirt higher, fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to ground himself – or break you.

“Admit what?” you bit back, shoving at his chest even as your legs locked around his waist, holding him in place. “That you’re a smug asshole? That you think you can push me around?”

He grabbed your wrists, pinning them against the counter behind you with one hand, his lips curling into a dangerous smirk. “You’re so full of shit,” he said, his breath fanning over your face, his free hand trailing up your thigh. “You think you don’t care? You think I don’t see it? That I don’t know you?”

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you hissed, though the words came out weaker than you wanted, trembling with the electricity coursing between you.

“Make me,” he shot back, his voice dark, taunting. His lips crashed against yours again, his hand leaving your thigh to grip the back of your neck, forcing you to meet his intensity head-on.

You twisted your wrists, trying to break free, but his grip held firm. You hated the way your body betrayed you, heat pooling in your stomach even as you told yourself you wanted to push him away.

“Why do you always have to ruin everything?” you spat when you finally managed to pull back, your chest heaving as you glared at him.

“Me?” he barked out a bitter laugh, his forehead pressing against yours. “You’re the one who keeps lying. To me. To yourself. You think I’m ruining this? Newsflash, sweetheart, you’re the one fucking things up.”

Your jaw tightened, the words hitting too close to home. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

His grip on your wrists loosened, but only so he could grab your face, tilting it up so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. “Don’t I?” he challenged, his eyes blazing. “Then why are you still here? Why are you letting me touch you like this?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he kissed you again before you could get a word out, his lips moving against yours with a ferocity that stole your breath. His hands were everywhere — your waist, your thighs, your neck — gripping, holding, demanding.

You hated him for being right, for knowing exactly how to dismantle every wall you’d built. You hated yourself more for letting him.

“Say it,” he growled against your lips, his hands tightening on your hips as he pushed you harder against the counter. “Say you don’t care, and I’ll walk out that door right now.”

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into his shoulders as you glared at him, your anger and frustration bubbling over. “And then will you do what? Go back to miss pogue? Didn’t know you were into charity, Cameron.”

His smirk was sharp, cruel, as his hands slid to your thighs, pulling you even closer. “I’m trying new things,” he admitted, his voice dropping an octave. “But that was rude even for you, Y/N.”

Your breath caught, his words hitting like a slap, and you hated how much you wanted to kiss him again, to shut him up, to drown in the chaos of him.

So you did.

Your lips crashed into his with a force that left your teeth clashing, your hands gripping his hair, pulling hard enough to make him groan against your mouth. His hands were rough, sliding under your shirt, his touch possessive, searing.

The tension was suffocating, the air thick with everything unspoken between you. Every kiss, every touch, every desperate gasp was a battle —a clash of frustration, anger, and the kind of want that left you both teetering on the edge of destruction.

When you pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, your faces inches apart. His hands were still on your thighs, his thumbs brushing against your skin, grounding you in a way that made you want to scream.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you said, your voice shaking, though whether it was from anger or the sheer force of what just happened, you weren’t sure.

Rafe’s laugh was low, bitter, as he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “Keep telling yourself that,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “But we both know the truth, don’t we?”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Not when the weight of his words hung so heavy between you. Instead, you grabbed his collar, pulling him back to you, your lips crashing against his once more in a kiss that was equal parts anger and surrender.

Because maybe he was right. Maybe you did know the truth. But for now, this was all you could give.

The air in the bathroom was stifling, filled with the heady mix of alcohol, sweat, and lust. Your back slammed against the counter as Rafe’s mouth claimed yours, all heat and rawness. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get close enough.

“Admit it,” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough and demanding.

“Admit what?” you snapped back, tugging at his shirt, your anger and desire bleeding into every movement. “That you’re an insufferable prick?”

He growled low in his throat, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he kissed you harder, swallowing the gasp that escaped you. His hands slid under your shirt, fingers digging into your bare skin, leaving a burning trail in their wake.

“You think this doesn’t mean anything?” he asked, his voice a mix of frustration and disbelief as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes blazing.

“It doesn’t,” you lied, even as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. “It’s just sex, Rafe. That’s all it’s ever been.”

He laughed, dark and humorless, his grip tightening. “You’re such a horrible liar,” he said, his lips crashing against yours again, his kiss rough, punishing. “You feel it, just like I do.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Not when his hands were sliding down your thighs, lifting you onto the counter. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer as he kissed his way down your neck, biting just hard enough to leave marks.

The sound of the party outside was distant now, a dull thrum that faded into nothing as he pushed up your skirt, his hands rough, desperate.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low, almost daring.

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, your nails dug into his shoulders, urging him closer, silently begging for more. Rafe took the invitation, lifting your shirt with a fervor that spoke of his own desperation. Your breasts spilled out of your bra, the lacy confines no match for his greedy hands. He cupped them, squeezing gently before his thumbs found your erect nipples. He rolled them between his fingers, eliciting a whimper that you couldn’t hold back. The sensation shot straight to your core, making you wetter, needier.

Then his mouth was there, sucking one of your tits into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive flesh as he worked on the other with his hand. You arched your back, pressing your chest closer to him, silently demanding more. He gave it to you without hesitation, his teeth grazing your sensitive peak before soothing the sting with a soft lick. You moaned, the sound muffled by his mouth, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt yourself falling into the abyss of pleasure he so expertly created.

While he feasted on your breasts, Rafe’s hand slithered up your thigh, the fabric of your panties already damp with your arousal. He hooked his finger under the elastic, pulling it aside to expose your swollen folds. His touch was feather-light at first, teasing, making you squirm and grip his shoulders. Then, his fingers were inside you, pushing deep and curling just so, making your eyes fly open wide with a gasp. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had you trembling on the edge of the counter.

“You’re so wet for me,” Rafe murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Does it feel good, baby?”

With a feral growl, Rafe ripped your panties away, the fabric giving way to the strength of his desire. The sudden exposure made you gasp, your legs trembling as he positioned himself between your thighs. He didn’t wait for your response, instead plunging his face between your legs to taste your sweetness. Your hands clutched the counter, knuckles white from the intensity as his tongue delved deep, lapping up your arousal as if it were the sweetest nectar.

“Oh, God, Rafe!” you moaned, your voice echoing off the tiles, raw and unbridled. It was a sound that didn’t belong in the hallowed halls of friendship, but here you were, straddling that blurry line, your body begging for more of what he offered. His tongue swirled around your clit, flicking and stroking in a rhythm that sent shockwaves through your core. Your moans grew louder, filling the small space, a symphony of pleasure that you couldn’t hold back.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmured against your sex, his breath hot and heavy. “Tell me this isn’t what you crave every time you think of me, every time you touch yourself in the dark of your room.”

“Fuck you,” you gritted out, the words muffled by the moan that followed, a testament to the way his tongue was working its magic on your clit. It was a declaration of war, a challenge, but the way your body responded was anything but adversarial. Your hips bucked upwards, meeting his mouth with a desperate rhythm that spoke volumes.

Rafe arched a brow, adding a finger to the mix, sliding it into your soaking wet pussy alongside his tongue. The dual sensation was overwhelming, his finger curling inside you, stroking that perfect spot while his mouth feasted on your clit. You bit down on your lip to keep from screaming, the pressure building, your orgasm cresting like a wave about to break.

But then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled away, leaving you panting and desperate. “What the fuck?” you gasped, your eyes snapping open to find him smirking up at you, his pants quickly unbuckled and on the floor.

“Turn around,” he instructed, his voice a deep rumble of authority that sent a shiver down your spine. You didn’t argue, you couldn’t. The need was too intense, the desire too overpowering. You spun around, gripping the edge of the counter as he bent you over it. The cool marble sent a jolt through your overheated body, heightening the sensation as he positioned himself behind you.

He didn’t waste any time, his cock sliding into you in one swift, hard thrust that made you cry out. The angle was just right, hitting deep, sending pleasure and a hint of pain spiraling through you. Rafe’s hands dug into your hips, his grip bruising as he began to fuck you with an aggression that bordered on feral. “You like it rough, don’t you?” he growled, his breath hot on your neck. “You’re such a dirty little slut for me, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t deny it, not when his words sent a thrill through you, making your pussy clench around his thick cock. You pushed back into him, meeting each thrust with an eager moan. His words were a balm to the anger that simmered between you, a reminder that this was what you both wanted, what you both needed.

“Shit, just like that,” you breathed, your voice ragged with need. The words were barely out of your mouth before Rafe’s hand came down with a sharp slap on your ass, the sting of pain mixing with the pleasure that already had you teetering on the edge.

He chuckled darkly, his voice thick with desire as he leaned over you, his breath hot on your neck. “You like getting it rough, don’t you?” he murmured, his free hand reaching around to squeeze your breast, twisting the nipple just enough to make you gasp.

“I’m going to make you cum so hard you won’t be able to walk out of here without everyone knowing what a slut you are for me,” he said, his voice a low, seductive taunt that had you clenching around him even tighter. The orgasm was building, coiling deep in your belly, a pressure that grew with every thrust, every slap of his body against yours.

“Oh, fuck, Rafe,” you panted, your forehead resting against the cool marble as he pounded into you relentlessly. The sound of skin on skin filled the bathroom, punctuated by your ragged gasps and his grunts of pleasure. You felt so exposed, so vulnerable in this position, and yet, it only added to the thrill.

“I’m close,” you managed to choke out, your voice shaking with the effort of holding back your orgasm. His grip on your hips tightened, his strokes becoming even more punishing, pushing you closer to the brink.

The tension coiled in your belly, a tight, unyielding knot that grew with every thrust. Then, with a final slap to your ass and a hard, deep drive of his cock, the dam broke. You screamed, the sound echoing off the bathroom tiles as your orgasm crashed over you, a wave of pleasure so intense it was almost painful. Your body convulsed around him, muscles clenching and releasing in a symphony of ecstasy that left you trembling.

But Rafe wasn’t done. He pulled out just as he felt himself reaching the edge, his cock glistening with your juices. You whimpered, the sudden emptiness making your legs wobble. Before you could protest, he spun you around and gently but firmly pushed you to your knees, his eyes never leaving yours. The look in them was one of hunger and possession, a silent demand that sent a fresh wave of arousal through your veins.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice strained, and you complied without thought, your eyes locked onto his. He positioned the head of his cock at your lips, the tip brushing against your bottom lip. You could feel the heat of him, see the veins pulsing with need. He was close, so close, and the power to bring him to climax was intoxicating.

As soon as your lips parted, Rafe grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you closer. The sting of pain made your eyes water, but you welcomed it, the sensation only adding to the intensity of the moment. You took him deep into your mouth, the muscles in your throat contracting around his thickness, the taste of him salty and addictive.

Rafe’s eyes rolled back in his head as you worked your mouth over him, your tongue swirling around the tip with every pull back, tracing the underside of his cock with each descent. His hand in your hair tightened, guiding your movements, setting the pace. You could feel his thighs tremble beneath your grasp, his breath hitching with every stroke of your tongue.

“Fuck, yes, like that,” he groaned, his voice a raw, guttural sound that only spurred you on. His hand tightened into a fist, tugging on your hair, and you moaned around his length, the pain mixing with the pleasure of pleasuring him. His other hand came to rest on the back of your head, pressing you closer, urging you to take more of him. You obliged, your nose brushing against his pelvis, your throat stretched around his cock.

The head of his dick hit the back of your throat and you gagged, your eyes watering, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you swallowed around him, the sensation sending a shiver of arousal down your spine. Rafe’s body grew taut, his hips jerking as he fought for control.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he moaned, the words coming out as a strangled groan. You could feel his orgasm approaching, his cock swelling in your mouth. And when he finally came, it was with a roar, his cum spurting down your throat in hot, thick jets. You swallowed around him, eagerly taking every drop, your own desire spiraling out of control. His hand in your hair tightened, holding you in place as he fucked your mouth through his climax, his hips thrusting erratically.

When he finally pulled out, you sat back on your heels, wiping at the corner of your mouth with a trembling hand. You didn’t dare look up at him, not yet. The silence in the room was deafening, the only sound the harshness of your own breathing and the distant throb of music from the party outside.

Rafe stepped back, his chest heaving, and you took the opportunity to stand, smoothing down your skirt and fixing your shirt as best you could. The fabric was wrinkled, the buttons askew, but it was the best you could manage with shaking hands. You avoided his gaze as you bent down to pick up your panties, the shredded lace a sad testament to the ferocity of your encounter.

The silence in the bathroom was palpable, the tension thick as you both took stock of the situation. The anger was back, simmering just beneath the surface, a potent reminder of the unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings that had brought you to this point. Without looking at him, you straightened up, tucking the ruined underwear into your purse.

Rafe let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. “Seriously?” he said, his voice still thick with arousal. “You’re just gonna go back out there without panties?”

You shot him a glare, your cheeks flaming with both anger and embarrassment. “What the fuck do you expect me to do? You tore them off, remember?”

Rafe’s couldn’t help the smirk on his lips, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’ll get you new ones,” he offered, his tone mockingly sweet.

You rolled your eyes and turned to the sink, running cold water over your wrists in an attempt to cool down. “Just leave me alone, Rafe,” you said, your voice tight. “Go worry about your little party fling, Sofia, or whatever her name is. I’m sure she’s waiting for you.”

Rafe’s smirk fell away, replaced by a look of annoyance. “Don’t do that,” he said, his voice low and warning.

“Don’t do what?” you shot back, turning to face him, your hands planted firmly on your hips.

But before you could say another word, Rafe’s face contorted in a snarl of anger. “You know what!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the wall. Plaster rained down, the sudden violence making you flinch.

He stepped closer, his body a tower of rage, his eyes piercing yours with a ferocity that stole your breath. “You want to act like this doesn’t mean anything?” he yelled, his voice echoing in the small space. “You want to pretend like you don’t feel anything different?”

You stared at him for a long moment, your chest heaving with the effort of holding in the words that threatened to spill out. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when the truth was a knife that would cut too deep, a wound that might never heal the friendship you cherished.

With a shaky breath, you stepped around him, reaching for the bathroom door. His hand shot out, catching your wrist in a vise-like grip. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growled.

But you didn’t cower. Instead, you yanked free, turning to face him with a look of cold determination. “Let go of me, Rafe,” you said, your voice shaking with barely restrained anger.

He took a step back, his eyes searching yours, looking for something, anything to hold onto. But you were tired, tired of pretending that the earth didn’t quake beneath you every time he touched you. So you pushed past him, the door slamming shut behind you as you stormed out of the bathroom, leaving him standing there.

You needed air. You needed to get away from him before you hazy mind let something slip.

You couldn’t loose Rafe. Couldn’t even entertain the thought of losing your best friend because neither of you could keep it in your pants.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind you, and you stumbled into the hallway, your breathing unsteady. You didn’t look at Rafe as he passed you, his expression hard, unreadable. The weight of what had just happened hung heavy between you, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

You made your way back into the party, grabbing the first drink you could find and downing it in one go. The burn of the alcohol did little to dull the mess of emotions swirling inside you.

“Where’ve you been?” Topper’s voice cut through the chaos, and you turned to see him holding a tray of shots.

“Nowhere,” you said quickly, forcing a grin. “Let’s do this.”

The atmosphere in the house was suffocating, the music pounding in your ears like a second heartbeat. You hadn’t noticed Rafe at first, but the air shifted when he entered the room. Your skin prickled, and every nerve felt attuned to him, even if you couldn’t see him yet. When your gaze finally found him across the room, your chest tightened.

He was standing near the bar, Sofia pressed against him. Her laugh, shrill and fake, echoed above the noise, and your stomach churned. You told yourself he didn’t mean anything by it — he wouldn’t. But then her fingers curled into his shirt, and your breath caught as you watched him tilt his head down with the cockiest smile, his lips brushing hers.

Your stomach twisted, and heat rushed to your face, equal parts humiliation and rage. You felt your heart drop before your emotions boiled into something sharper, hotter. If that’s how he wants to play it, fine. You downed the tequila in your glass in one burning gulp, then reached for another shot.

Your fingers tightened around the glass as the scene replayed in your head, fueling your every irrational thought. He doesn’t care. He’s never cared.

You slammed the shot glass onto the counter and turned, searching for anything—anyone—to pull you out of this spiral. Your eyes landed on the stranger who had been watching you, his smirk practically begging for trouble. Normally, you’d ignore someone like him, but tonight, his attention felt like exactly the kind of distraction you needed.

You stalked over, your steps deliberate, your chin held high. His grin widened when you stopped in front of him, your face set in a mask of forced confidence.

“You look like you could use some company,” he said, his voice smooth and self-assured.

“Maybe I could,” you replied, leaning in with syrupy sweetness. Without giving it another thought, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss was messy, clumsy, your mind clouded with tequila and spite. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you let him. For those few seconds, you weren’t thinking about Rafe — about the way his lips had brushed Sofia’s, the way he hadn’t even tried to stop her.

But the illusion shattered when you felt a strong, unyielding hand grab the stranger’s shoulder and yank him away from you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Rafe’s voice was low, lethal, his eyes blazing with an anger that sent chills down your spine. His jaw was set so tightly it looked like it might snap, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to explode.

The stranger stumbled but quickly regained his footing, shoving Rafe’s hand off with a sneer. “Seriously, man?” he spat. “Back off. She’s not yours.”

Rafe’s nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling with short, controlled breaths. His eyes darted to you for the briefest second, and the flicker of pain there was almost enough to stop your heart. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by something far darker — jealousy, rage, frustration.

“Say that again,” Rafe growled, stepping forward, his voice deadly quiet.

“I said, she’s not yours.” The stranger smirked, glancing at you. “Though I wouldn’t mind if she was. She was clearly needing some.”

That was it. Rafe snapped.

The first punch landed square on the man’s jaw, a sickening crack echoing through the room. The stranger reeled back, clutching his face, but he wasn’t out. He lunged at Rafe, his fist connecting with Rafe’s cheekbone hard enough to split the skin. Blood dripped down his face, but it didn’t stop him.

Rafe’s expression was feral, his teeth gritted, his eyes burning with something raw and uncontrollable. He moved with precision, landing blows to the man’s ribs, his stomach, his face. The stranger staggered but fought back, catching Rafe in the stomach, then swinging wildly again. The crowd around them screamed, phones raised, some yelling for them to stop and others cheering them on.

“Rafe, stop!” you shouted, panic clawing at your throat, but your voice was lost in the chaos.

The scene spiraled out of control faster than you could have imagined. Rafe’s punches were relentless, his fists slamming into the stranger with a precision that made your stomach churn. The stranger fought back, landing blows of his own, but Rafe didn’t falter. His eyes were wild, blazing with fury, and you knew he wouldn’t stop until someone stopped him.

“Rafe, stop it!” you screamed, your voice drowned out by the shouts and chaos of the crowd forming around them. You tried to push through, but the bodies pressing in made it impossible to get close enough.

Desperation clawed at your chest as you scanned the room, your heart pounding. Then you spotted him — Topper, standing near the edge of the crowd with a beer in his hand, his eyes wide as he watched the fight unfold.

“Topper!” you yelled, your voice cracking with panic. “Topper, do something! Get him off!”

He blinked, startled, before realizing you were talking to him. “What the hell—” he started, but you cut him off.

“Now, Topper! Fucking help me!” you shouted, shoving someone aside as you struggled to get closer to the fight.

Topper cursed under his breath and shoved his drink into someone’s hands before rushing forward. “Rafe! Man, stop! You’re gonna kill him!” he barked, grabbing Rafe by the shoulders and trying to yank him back.

But Rafe barely reacted, his body tensing as he shook Topper off like he was nothing. “Stay out of it, Top!” he growled, his voice low and venomous, his fists still clenched and ready to swing again.

“Rafe, enough!” Topper shouted, throwing his weight into pulling Rafe back. “You’re gonna get yourself arrested, you idiot!”

With Topper’s help, you finally managed to push your way between them, your hands pressing hard against Rafe’s chest. His bloodied knuckles hovered in the air, trembling with the force of restraint as his gaze locked onto yours. His breaths were ragged, his chest heaving against your palms.

“Enough,” you repeated, your voice breaking, your hands shaking as you held him back. Topper stood just behind you, ready to step in again if Rafe tried to lunge.

The stranger coughed, staggering to his feet, blood dripping from his split lip. “You’re fucking insane,” he spat, glaring at Rafe before stumbling toward the door.

The crowd began to disperse after that, the tension slowly bleeding out of the room thanks to Topper helping send everyone away. But Rafe didn’t move, his burning gaze fixed on you, his chest still heaving beneath your hands.

Neither of you said anything after that. His fists were still clenched at his sides, the tension in his body radiating like heat. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything else, not when everything you wanted to scream was too raw, too real, too dangerous.

Rafe sat on the edge of the couch, his knuckles bloodied, his cheekbone swelling. You slammed the first aid kit onto the table, your hands trembling with a mix of anger and adrenaline.

“You’re such a fucking idiot!” you snapped, grabbing a clean towel and wetting it.

He didn’t respond, just watched you with that same infuriating, unreadable expression. His jaw clenched.

“What were you thinking?” you demanded, pressing the towel to his knuckles harder than necessary.

He winced but didn’t pull away. “He shouldn’t have touched you.”

You turned to him slowly, your head tilting in disbelief as you stared at him. Your lips parted, but no words came out at first, your thoughts racing too fast to catch. A bitter laugh finally bubbled up from your chest, and you shook your head, your eyebrows raising as if to ask are you serious right now?

“What the hell is your problem?” your voice sharp and incredulous. Your hands trembled at your sides, but you clenched them into fists, trying to steady yourself. It felt like your entire body was caught between rage and disbelief, your heart pounding as you searched his face for any hint that he realized how insane he sounded.

Rafe’s jaw was tight, his chest still heaving from the fight. His eyes dark and burning with something wild. “What’s my problem?” he snapped, his voice rough, practically vibrating with anger. “What the fuck were you doing, letting some asshole put his hands on you?!”

Your eyes widened, your brows shooting up as if his words had physically struck you. Letting some asshole? Your breath hitched in your throat, your body stiffening. For a moment, you didn’t even know how to respond, the audacity of his accusation knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Are you—” you started, your voice faltering as you let out another disbelieving laugh as you tried to wrap your head around the sheer hypocrisy. He cannot be serious.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, so you get to shove your tongue down Sofia’s throat, but I can’t kiss someone else?”

His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “That’s different. You did that to get under my skin.”

“Bullshit,” you shot back, tossing the towel onto the table and grabbing an antiseptic wipe. “You were trying to piss me off too, and congratulations — it worked. But that doesn’t mean you get to play the jealous boyfriend when I turn the tables.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” he said, though the lie was so transparent it almost made you laugh.

“Sure, you weren’t,” you said sarcastically, dabbing at the cut on his cheek.

His hand shot up, grabbing your wrist and stilling your movements. “Why does it bother you so much, then?”

You froze, your breath catching as his eyes bore into yours.

“It doesn’t,” you said weakly, but even you didn’t believe it.

His grip tightened, his voice dropping to a near-growl. “Liar.”

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you said, your voice trembling.

“Not until you stop running,” he shot back, his frustration boiling over. “You think this is just about sex? You think I’d care who you kissed if I didn’t give a shit about you?”

Your chest tightened, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“This—us—it’s a mess,” you said finally, your voice breaking. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”

Rafe sighed, his grip loosening as he leaned back, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe we don’t need to fix it,” he said quietly. “Maybe we just need to stop pretending it doesn’t matter.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew he was right.

A week had passed, but the tension hadn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it had grown heavier, thicker, stretching between you and Rafe like an unspoken dare. You’d avoided him since the party, throwing yourself into anything that would keep your mind off the bruises on his knuckles and the heat in his eyes when he’d pinned you with that question: Why does it bother you so much?

But Rafe was impossible to ignore. He always had been.

You were perched on a lounge chair by the pool at another Kook party – this one at Kelce’s place – pretending to listen to Topper as he rambled on about some stupid surf trip. The music thudded in the background, people laughing and shouting, but your focus was elsewhere.

Because Rafe was here.

He was leaning against the bar, a beer in hand, his expression unreadable as his gaze flicked to you for what had to be the tenth time that night. He looked the same as always — perfectly put together, the bruises from the fight almost faded. But there was something different in the way he was watching you.

It wasn’t just casual interest or playful teasing. It was heat. Frustration. Possession.

You looked away quickly, your stomach twisting.

“You okay?” Topper asked, raising a brow.

“Fine,” you lied, forcing a smile.

“Good, because we’re doing shots.” He grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the bar before you could protest. Topper and his damn shots.

And just like that, you were standing next to Rafe, the air between you charged and suffocating. You had to bite your tongue to don’t ask where his new pogue pet was. You had inflamed his ego just enough last time.

“Want one, Cameron?” Topper asked, oblivious to the way you and Rafe were studiously avoiding looking at each other.

Rafe smirked, his eyes flicking to you briefly before he grabbed a shot. “Why not?”

You reached for yours, your hand brushing his briefly. It was enough to send a jolt through you, and you hated the way your body reacted, even after everything.

“Cheers!” Topper shouted, and you all knocked back the shots.

The burn of tequila was a welcome distraction, but it wasn’t enough to dull the way Rafe’s eyes stayed on you, even as you turned away.

Later that night, you found yourself alone in the kitchen, searching for water to ease the heat in your chest. The party was still going strong, the chaos outside muffled by the thick glass doors.

“Can’t stay away, can you?”

The sound of his voice made you freeze, your hand tightening around the water bottle you’d just grabbed. You didn’t have to turn around to know he was standing in the doorway, his presence filling the room like it always did.

“What do you want, Rafe?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended as you turned to face him.

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? What do you want?”

Your jaw tightened, your frustration bubbling over. “I want you to stop playing these stupid games,” you snapped. “You act like you care, but then you go around kissing Sofia or picking fights with random guys like some jealous psycho.”

His smirk faded, his expression hardening. “And you act like you don’t care at all,” he shot back, stepping closer. “Like none of this matters. Like I don’t matter.”

“You’re my best friend. Of course you matter,” you said, the words felt wrong even as they left your mouth. He wasn’t just your best friend at this point — you were sure friends didn’t do half of the things you’ve done.

“Bullshit,” he said, his voice low and dangerous as he crowded into your space.

You glared up at him, your chest heaving. “What do you want me to say, Rafe? That I’m scared? That I don’t know what the hell I’m doing? That I don’t want to lose the only person who—”

You cut yourself off, swallowing the rest of the sentence, but it was too late. The words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

His jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides like he was holding himself back. “You’re not gonna lose me,” he said finally, his voice softer but no less intense. “But you’re gonna drive me fucking insane if you keep pushing me away.”

“I’m not pushing you away,” you argued, though the words felt weak even to you.

“You are,” he said, his voice rising. “Every time I get close, you run. And I’m done chasing you, alright? You want this to mean nothing? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you don’t feel it, because I know you do.”

You stared at him, your pulse racing, your walls crumbling under the weight of his words.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes softened, his hand reaching out to cup your face. “Then let me show you,” he said, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

You didn’t respond, but you didn’t pull away either. And when he kissed you, it wasn’t rough or angry like before. It was slow, deliberate, filled with all the things neither of you had been able to say.

And for the first time, you let yourself kiss him back without fear or worry. Just you and him, in the quiet chaos of everything you couldn’t run from anymore.

[traveler-at-heart]

Movie Afternoon

Nerd!Natasha has been on my mind so much lately and this post was just so perfect I had to be horny on main, so there's that.

Warnings: Smut, G!P Natasha

The weekend was finally here. Exams had been a drag all week and as much as you loved the school paper, there was only so much reporting one could do about the new production of Wizard of Oz.

As usual, your brother’s friends were throwing a party and you were invited, but going to your girlfriend’s house for a movie marathon was the best plan.

You knocked on the Romanoff residence, waiting for Melina or Alexei to open up. Instead, Natasha herself was at the door, wearing grey sweatpants and a hoodie.

“Hi” she said, smiling as soon as she saw you.

“Hi, love” you stood up on your toes to peck her lips. “Where’s your fam? You never open the door”

“They went to get some groceries. I think mom’s making lasagna toni…” she explained, mumbling against your lips when you leaned forward again, this time your tongue asking for permission to enter.

Natasha let you deepen the kiss with a sigh, her hands holding on to your waist for dear life.

“Can we… go to my room?”

“For a movie, or something more?” you said, kissing down her neck and biting the skin.

“Mo-vie. I’m sorry, I’d love to, but they’ll be back any minute”

“That’s ok, baby” you said against her ear, pulling apart. You were a little evil, always testing how much you could tease Natasha. Shy, bashful and beautiful Natasha.

You reached for her hand and led her up the stairs, knowing the way to her room.

“What do you want to watch?” she said, as you laid in her bed and she got her computer.

“Anything you want”

“What about the new Dungeons and Dragons movie?”

“Sure” you agreed, remembering Natasha had missed it on the theater because she was ill.

“Ok, here we go” she placed the computer at your feet, and you made yourself at home in her arms, leaning on her chest.

She smelled so nice, as usual. As the movie progressed, you ran your hands up and down her abdomen, in what you thought was a soothing manner.

That is, until you heard Natasha stiffle what sounded like a groan.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you straightened up, looking at her. “Sorry, did your arm fall asleep,? I’ll move”

“No, it’s not that” she said, her eyes on the ceiling.

“Well, then, what is…” your eyes scanned the rest of her body, and you finally saw the tent at her pants. “Oh, baby”

“It’s ok, it’ll come down in a minute” she said, more to herself than to you. Your girlfriend was about to grab a pillow to cover her erection when you intercepted her hand.

“Let me…”

“Y/N…”

“What? I caused this. I should be the one to fix it… don’t you think?”

“If they come back and see us” she was trying to come up with excuses not to do it and you smiled, straddling her lap.

“Honey, your mom already knows. Didn’t you catch the look she gave us the other day when we were late from the library?”

Of course, you had left the library on time, but an intense make out session led to you sucking Natasha’s dick on the school parking lot. What a shame your car was too small to fit you both on the backseat.

“You don’t have to”

“Of course I don’t have to. I want to, Natasha”

Those words seemed to have a magic effect on her, erasing any other objections. Her hands came to hold your waist as you kissed her passionately, grinding against her hard dick.

You mentally congratulated yourself for wearing a skirt, that would give her easy access to your pussy.

“Where are the condoms?” you said against her lips and her hand reached for the nighstand drawer. “Let me”

You leaned forward, still straddling her. The position made your chest go up to her face and Natasha wasn’t able to resist the temptation of squeezing your breasts, hardened nipples showing through the fabric of your shirt.

“Like what you see?” you teased and the girl nodded dumbly. “Maybe you can cum on them later”

The words made her jolt her hips forward, her dick crashing against your clothed pussy. You couldn’t resist the moan that left your lips and you moved down, fighting with the waistband of her pants.

“Here” she lifted her hips and you were able to take off her pants and briefs, her cock springing free in all its 9 inch glory.

“So big” you muttered, your mouth watering.  You were supposed to only put on the condom… but who could resist? Your tongue licked her entire shaft, starting from the balls all the way to the tip. Natasha let out a loud moan, buckling her hips in the air. You let her move, while your mouth covered her tip and inch by inch, you took all of her.

“Baby, you feel so fucking good…” she said, her mind a haze of pleasure and lust. The curse word only fueled the fire in your belly, knowing Natasha never said anything like that. You took as much as you could, until it hit the back of your throat, and then you began to move, up and down, strings of saliva running down the corners of your mouth.

Natasha fisted the comforter of her bed, and once her hips began an erratic rythm you knew she was close.

To her dismay, you didn’t let her finish, her cock leaving your mouth, still standing painfully hard.

“What… why...” she practically whined, desperate for release.

“Wouldn’t be fair if you had all the fun, now would it, baby?” you teased, and your hands placing the condom distracted her enough. Feeling your touch was the only way to relieve the coil in her stomach.

You went back up, allowing her to taste herself on your lips. She moaned against your tongue, and knowing she was distracted by the kiss, you grabbed her dick and lined it up with your pussy.

You were sure the neighbours had heard her moan as soon as she entered you, breaking the kiss apart.

“Y/N” she begged, and you weren’t sure if she wanted you to move or hold still.

“Talk to me, baby”

“Can you… move? Yes, just like that”

You began grinding your hips, up and down, feeling her cock almost hit your cervix. You really ought to get on birth control, imagining how amazing it would feel to have Natasha fill you with her cum.

“What did you…?”

Oh. You were probably thinking out loud.

“I want you… to fill my pussy with all your cum, Natasha” you said between breaths, bouncing harder on her dick. “God, your cock is so fucking big, it ruined me, no one can fuck me as good as you, baby”

You moved your hips faster and Natasha tried to match your pace, but you could tell she was close.

Two things happened at once.

You heard her family pull up the driveway and the next minute, Natasha was coming hard. You had to cover her mouth to stiffle her moan.

“Did you…?” she asked after a second, her breath still laboured.

“It’s ok, baby” you said, kissing her softly. “Come on, clean up, they’ll come check on us any minute now”

The redhead nodded, getting up to discard the condom and put on her boxers and pants. For your part, you fixed your hair as best as you could, as well as your shirt, that had ridden up all the way to your midsection.

Sure enough, Natasha’s mother came up minutes later. By that time, you were both leaning against the headboard, pretending to watch the movie.

“Y/N, how were exams this week?”

“All good, Mrs. Romanoff. Just have to practice my Spanish a bit” you smiled, sounding as composed as you could.

The woman nodded and turned to her daughter.

Natasha was… well, she looked flustered, to be honest. Melina said something in Russian, making her daughter blush madly.

“You’re welcome to stay over for dinner” Melina said, this time to you and you nodded.

“Thank you”

As soon as the door was shut, you turned to Natasha.

“You were right. She knows” Natasha mumbled, turning red.

You let out a laugh at that.

“Told ya”

“You’re gonna kill me one day”

“Preferably while we’re fucking hard” you said, unable to help yourself around your girlfriend. Without caring about her family downstairs, you began to kiss her once again, and you felt strong hands holding your waist and traveling down to squeeze your ass.

“Hey, Natasha… ah!!” Yelena walked in, covering her eyes and exiting dramatically.

“Knock next time!” Natasha yelled after her. “She’s so gonna snitch on me”

“My house is free tomorrow” you said against her ear and she shivered. “So, drink lots of fluids and come ready. We’re leveling the score, baby”

[rafeandonlyrafe]

another chance

words: 2.3k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, ex!bf rafe, female receiving oral, p in v sex, unprotected sex, drinking/partying, mentions of drugs

“have you noticed his new girl is y/n’s twin?” kelce whispers to topper, who just nods in response. rafe claims that he’s completely over you, that he’s glad you broke up with him and he’s not harboring any sort of resentment over the fact that you left him.

“its so weird.” kelce continues, taking a sip of his drink, watching as rafe holds the new girl around the waist, but he barely looks at her, like if he keeps her in his peripheral vision that he can pretend its you, instead of the first girl he found whose features resemble yours.

“hes getting fucked up all the time now too. he showed up for golf the other day completely strung out.” topper informs kelce, who frowns.

they both know that there is nothing they can do, they don’t want to force you to get back with rafe if you don’t want to, especially with the state he’s in. rafe grabs the bottle of booze he was pouring into his cup repeatedly, forgoing the plastic solo cup in favor of drinking straight out of the bottle.

“rafey, are you gonna take me up to your bed?” the girl asks, no so subtly begging to be fucked by him.

“don’t call me that.” rafe grunts. only you can call him by that nickname, even if you did break his heart.

“are you going to fuck me or not, cameron?” she questions.

“not.” rafe says honestly. he thought it would help, to get it out of his system, to take a new girl to bed, but when he tried to kiss someone at the first party he attended after you, it made him so sick he had to leave. she didn’t look like you, she didn’t smell like you, she didn’t act like you. she wasn’t what rafe wanted.

“fine, then im leaving.” the girl stomps away, like anything could compare to you leaving. rafe finishes the rest of the bottle before flopping down on the couch, letting the alcohol flowing through his system lull him into unconsciousness.

--

“you deserve to go out and party as much as he does y/n.” stephanie sighs, trying to convince you to join her tonight at the huge beach bash, but you don’t want to risk running into rafe.

“i know, i just don't want to see him with another girl.” you sigh. you may have been the one to break it off with rafe, but you weren't fully over him yet.

“maybe you need to get with one of the turons.” stephanie shrugs. “you know what they say, to get over you gotta get under…”

“that actually might not be a bad idea.” you admit. maybe it's what you need to get rafe out of your system. a random hookup with someone you'll never see again to erase the memory of his touch from your body.

“so does that mean you're coming?” stephanie asks hopefully.

you nod, already planning what you're going to where tonight. “it does.”

--

“shit, remind me to take you out for ice cream or something to thank you for convincing me to come out tonight.” you tell stephanie, stumbling away from the main dance area with your best friend.

“girl, i knew you needed this!” she exclaims, taking a sip of her cup before frowning, realizing it's empty.

“ill go get us refills, hold on.” you are a lot less drunk than stephanie, so you guide her to sit down before heading to find more alcohol to fill both your cups, wanting to enjoy tonight as much as possible.

you finally find a plastic folding table with some bottles on it, and quickly refill both your drinks before turning, gasping when you run right into someone.

“y/n.” rafe gasps out, his eyes bloodshot like he's been crying. he drops to his knees before before you, making you raise your eyebrows. “i miss you so much. please take me back, ill do anything, ill-” rafe begins to beg, his words slurred as it's obvious he's been drinking.

“rafe.” you cut him off eventually. rafe stops speaking, hands coming to rest on the back of your calves as he looks up at you with pleading eyes. “you're drunk.”

“no, no, no.” rafes head drops, leaning to press kisses along your knees. “im drunk but im serious. please, just give me another chance, ill do anything.”

you frown, hating seeing rafe this way. you broke up with him because you thought he spent too much time getting high and needed to get control of his temper, and didn't know what you could do to help that beside let him work through it by himself. 

“anything, y/n.” rafe continues, his hands gripping your legs so tightly. you glance up, looking at all the people at the party staring at you, probably shocked that rafe would get on his knees and beg for anyone to come back.

“you need to stop doing drugs as often.” you state to rafe, making sure to keep your voice low enough to not have it in earshot. “and you gotta work on not getting so angry at the pogues. i don't care that you hate them but you can't constantly be getting into fights.”

“done.” rafe says, nodding his head. “i just need you. ive been a mess without you.”

“we can give it another shot.” you say, and rafes shoots to his feet, his lips pressing against yours. you set the cups down on the table next to you before kissing back, hearing a smattering of whoops and cheers as you make out, your head turning dizzy like the alcohol on rafes tongue is affecting your own.

“i need you, please.” rafe says, and you know exactly what he's asking for. it's what you've been desperately craving from him as well. your bodies were beyond compatible, and you know no boy would compare, so even in the period that you were broken up, you didn't even bother trying to sleep with anyone.

“i have to find stephanie.” you tell rafe, knowing you need to check your friend is good before doing anything, but you loop your fingers through rafes and tug him behind you until you get back to the main dance area, seeing topper with his arm slung around stephanies waist while she grinds against him.

“see she's good.” rafe says, his voice husky, and you know that he's already getting turned on just from the thought of having you again.

you let rafe lead you to his truck, parked in a somewhat isolated spot, but you don't care at this point if people see you as you both climb into the back seat.

“thank you for giving me another chance.” rafe says, his eyes shiny in the low lighting. “i missed you so much. i was such a wreck, but i didn't sleep with anyone else even though we were broken up. i only wanted you.”

“rafe.” you coo, pressing your lips against his, stroking your fingertips over his jaw. “i missed you too.”

“wanna show you how much it means to me.” rafe says, guiding you backwards until your back is against the seat. “that you're giving me a second chance.” his lips skim over yours before he moves lower, schooching down the seat until he's resting between your legs. he takes the bottom of your skirt and pushes it up, revealing your panties.

“you really do gotta-” your speech is cut off with a gasp when rafe presses his lips against your underwear, kissing your cunt through the fabric. 

“gotta what baby?” rafe asks, moving to kiss along your thighs as well, his teeth occasionally making an appearance as he drags them against your skin, nipping when you open your mouth to reply.

“gotta get your shit together since im giving you a second chance.” you finally finish your sentence.

“oh, i will baby.” rafe says, rubbing his fingertip over your center, smirking to himself when he sees the fabric dampened with your wetness. “i went so crazy without you, id do anything to not lose you again.”

“take them off, please.” you whine. rafe tugs at your panties, sliding them down your legs until he has to guide them over your heels. he takes the material and scrunches it up, tossing it onto his drivers seat. “i’m keeping those.” he informs you.

“whatever.” you roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile, reaching down to rub your thumb against his cheekbone. 

rafe sighs with relief into your touch, leaning his head against your hand. “i’ve missed your taste.” he licks his lips, eyes on your core.

you spread your legs as much as you can in the back of the truck, wishing momentarily that you were having this reunion in a bed, but you know rafe wouldn’t be able to wait that long.

rafe doesn’t hesitate to lean forward, burying his head between your legs. his wide tongue flicks through your folds, licking over your cunt before swirling around your clit.

“god, you’re so good at this.” you moan out, moving your hand to rafes hair, taking the strands between your fingers to keep his face shoved into your cunt, not that he plans on stopping any time soon.

rafe sucks at your clit, feeling rewarded by coaxing moans out of you. his hands grip your thighs, squeezing your delicate flesh between his fingertips.

rafe moves his mouth lower, letting out obscene sounds as he slurps the wetness away from your hole before pushing his tongue against the ring of muscle. he begins to thrust immediately, pushing his tongue in and out of your entrance, giving you the first stimulation you’ve had since you broke up.

“the sweetest taste.” rafe says when he pulls away slightly to kiss along your inner thighs. “i don’t know how i lived without it.”

“you know what my plan was for tonight?” you hum, needing more from rafe, even as his mouth drops back around your clit. “to get with a random turon to help myself get over you.”

you feel rafe pause, his entire body stilling before his eyes raise to make contact with yours. “you were going to sleep with someone else?”

“i couldn’t get over you, i had to do something.” you say, knowing exactly what rafes reaction will be as he rises, wanting to draw that fire and passion out in him. it didn’t matter that you were the one who broke up with rafe, you thought at the time it would be better for both of you, but now you know you can’t live without him.

rafe moves quickly, his strong hands gripping your hips and turning you over. you quickly adjust, pushing up on your elbows as you place your knees on the seat, arching your back to show off your cunt.

rafe releases himself from his shorts, tugging them down his thighs before he lines himself up, sinking in with one quick stroke. your walls meld to his cock, still feeling like you were made for him.

“imagining me sleeping with another guy has really got you worked up, huh?” you question, breath coming out in a pant as rafe instantly begins to thrust.

“shut up.” rafe groans, hips snapping forward into yours. “you’re mine. you’re never leaving me again.”

“yeah?” you question, bringing your ass back to meet rafes thrusts. “gonna get clean for me? gonna get it together?”

“anything for you.” rafe vows, glancing out the windows to make sure no one is looking as he takes you from behind, not that they would be able to see through the tint anyways.

you moan as rafe grabs your ass, relieved to finally have him inside of you again as his cock repeatedly enters you. rafe knows he can’t last very long, having been so desperate for you that he can’t hold himself back as your cunt clenches around him.

“feels so good rafey.” you whine.

“call me that again.” rafe says, needing to hear the nickname slip from between your lips again.

“rafey.” you call out. rafe flips you yet again, this time onto your back as he immediately reenters you, moving too fast for you to comprehend until his mouth is pressed against yours in a searing kiss.

“again, please.” rafe mumbles against your lips, bringing a hand to your clit and rubbing it with his thumb as he thrusts rapidly, knowing your next moan is going to send him over the edge.

you place your hands on the back of his head, giving him a strong kiss as he plays with your clit, your orgasm building as well. you pull away when you can’t hold back the moan anymore, “oh god, yes, rafey.” rafe groans, burying his head in your shoulder as he cums, pumping into you throughout his high as his thumb finally brings you to orgasm as well, clit pulsing as you both pant, letting out low moans and groans as your bodies come down.

rafe presses kisses to your cheeks, your jaw slackened open, still recovering. “i’ve missed your pussy so much.” rafe says before looking down, watching himself pull out.

“come here.” you whine, hating that he’s pulled away. rafe quickly tucks himself back into his pants before hovering over your body again, cuddling into your shoulder. it’s an awkward position, legs askew and body parts pressing against the doors of the truck.

“can i take you home? i want to hold you while i sleep, make sure i don’t let you go again.” rafe says, willing to beg if he needs to.

“of course.” you stretch out your sore muscles, eyelids already feeling heavy, but you know you just have to wait for rafe to drive you home before you can sleep.

it’s not awkward despite the time away from each other as you move to the front seat, making sure to text stephanie, who quickly responds with a picture of herself in toppers bed, making you giggle.

“i love you.” rafe blurts out, unable to not tell you when hearing your laugh.

“i love you too.” you lean over to kiss rafe on the cheek as he drives you back to his house, but you are already home as his fingers link with yours.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld

[svndaysaweek]

You Don’t Even Know My Name, Do You? — {Feat. Minji}

3.1k words

A/N: Hi! It’s me, back in 6 months! I had the idea for this one since last summer, but never really made it a fic. But now I post it…! It’s a rushed fic, no editing, I’m sorry for any grammatical errors or typos. Thank you @praeluxius for help and advice in making the conversation better and more natural! Thanks for 1.6k followers and most importantly 1k notes for ‘Niche’!!! Enjoy reading this and luv you all…!

******

Subways late at night are dangerous, and you can’t deny it’s because of you. Drunken bodies swaying along the rail, left and right, back and forth, grasping up on their wasted balance not to embarrass themselves by falling on the floor. Less than an hour left from waving away the day, you can tell where others in the train came from—bars, karaokes, or anywhere with entertainment and alcohol. Returning home after having some fun to wrap up the day and live the following day. Victims of society, some say, but that’s what all people are. We work, get paid. Victims don’t get to enjoy themselves, do they? But to be honest, you’re not the one to care for them, the victims, when you’re one of the victimizers.

You’re standing next to the door, the best position to scan the people in and out, empirically certified by yourself. There are quite a few people in the car—only a few seats available and half of the people chose to spare the seats empty. You’re holding onto a steel bar and slightly leaning your weight on it, eyeing thoroughly for your prey. But there’s no one yet to suit your taste, no one looking good and wealthy.

The mechanical female voice informs the next stop and a few dozens of seconds later the train halts for another group of people to be added to your menu.

“Alright, alright! I’m not that stupid to let someone just, like, snatch my purse away, huh?”

You hear a girl talking to her phone, laughing like she just heard the dumbest advice ever. A crop top for her defined belly to be open, relatively baggy jeans hinting the sculpted curve of her hips and full-blown outlines of legs. Within a second that girl has made everyone in the car latch their eyes on her doing nothing.

“What the fuck? I didn’t drink that much tonight I swear, and fuck, even an alcoholic won’t forget his own name,”

The girl, however, certainly looks drunk, sounds drunk, and acts drunk. Her eyes barely stay open, her tongue hardly makes her words clear. You can even smell how much she poured down her throat. It’s becoming more and more fit for your ideal condition.

Her talk goes on for a few more minutes then she puts her phone in her handbag and looks into the dark, mirror-like window. Her blinks become lazier and slower by the second, alcohol weighing her eyelids, but she does her best to stay up. She looks around to shake off the fatigue and meets your eyes, which have been on her since the moment she walked in. Three seconds is enough to make her look away in shyness, but it isn’t enough for her to examine you as her eyes lock with yours again.

She lets her eyes travel down your body to your toes slowly through(in) the window, alcohol erasing the fact that the subway is public. You pretend to neglect as she keeps eyeing you, head to toe several times, and the next stop the stumbly girl is forced to stand next to you by the crowd gushing in. Unavoidable contacts add leads to your eyes awkwardly meeting, which draws out mirrored smiles from each.

“Sorr-oh!”

A slight rattle of the train almost tackles her down but your arms are there to hold her from meeting the floor. 

"Careful, you almost hit your head, could have ended up like our friend over there." You nod and gesture at old man asleep at the other end of the carriage

"He looks peaceful though."

"You think you can stand up by yourself now?"

"Of Course! I'm not even that drunk."

"The last time my friend said that, he ended up face down in a bush." As soon as you’re done talking she stumbles again to her embarrassment. And of course you keep her standing.

"So you didn't catch him?"

"He's not as cute as you." She laughs and blushes, palm on her mouth and the tone a bit too high for a laughter in a subway. 

“Where do you live?” Change of topic, and you’re surprised that it’s her asking you, not the other way around as it used to be.

“Two stops before the terminus.” She checks where the train currently is, and stares at the map for a few dozen seconds as if her brain is still soaked with drinks, before looking back at you and pointing to the map.

“I’m getting off two stops later,” She blushes again, this time there’s even an awkward smile on her face. As if trying to say something shameful.

“And…” Her fidgety fingers dig into the arm of your shirt and her eyes are fixed on your shoes to never climb up. “And?” You repeat her, grin on your face because of her being so bashful and how overt her real intention is.

“And my name’s Minji by the way. Kim Minji.” It's trickery. A decoy. You almost burst into laughter but keep it down to a debonair ‘mhmm’ instead, hoping to bail Minji out of her own struggle to let the real words out.

And her phone rings. “No, not yet. Only two stops left. No, I don’t sound slurry at all, thanks. Oh my god, Hanni. I said I’m not that drunk! Yeah, I met a guy and maybe he’s taking me to my place-oh my god.” A brief moment of soberness washes through her body but her face is even rosier than ever. Over her phone you hear a woman shouting ‘hey’s and her name, but soon Minji hangs up. The train halts, and she just rushes between the crowd to get off out of shame but you catch her arm.

“Hey, it’s the wrong station.” She can’t look at your smirking face even facing you, face still red and fumbles the hem of her top. “Sorry for that… That was a total mistake.”

“It’s okay,” Minji raises her head, looks at you. “You’re drunk like hell, and you were going to say that anyways.” She's left speechless for a moment, then she opens her mouth to say something but frowns ignorantly.

“Why are you laughing? I was so embarrassed!” She's overtly trying to act cute and it's so working on you. With drunken red cheeks, slurry, lethargic pronunciation and on top of everything, her mesmerizing face. Even your most prior purpose is being threatened to melt by her exhilarating cuteness. 

“It’s nothing.” But your lips just can’t hide your smile, and there is more than one reason; Minji’s being so clingy, which is what usually happens when alcohol infiltrates people’s brains, and it is an aid for you as always. And when the announcement informs you of the next stop, her babyish grumbles are gone and shyness permeates again.

“So… Are you going to take me to my place…?” You hold out our arms and guide the groggy girl out of the train. “After you.” Minji can’t subdue the chuckles from the dizzy liquor, how sensible you are, at least in her opinion, and the fact that you two are going to stay the night together in her place. 

On the other hand, for you the reasons are somewhat different; it’s because tonight you made it, will see some pennies in your pocket and will be able to keep your stomach filled for a few more days. And she’s completely blind for that, giggling so innocently like what she’d do with her lover.

It must be her first time flirting with a guy. She can’t just follow anybody she likes. It’s dangerous. She can’t just trust anybody because he’s amiable. There could be a vice in his mind, transgressions at the tips of his fingers. Somebody should warn her about this, you think. How paradoxical. Maybe you won’t be doing this for long. But that’s something to worry about later.

All these thoughts pass through your mind in less than a second, and when you look back at her you see the green, innocent girl fluttered with excitement. “Lead the way please.” And she does.

******

“This is my place, it might be a little bit messy but-“ Minji opens the door and you close. “It’s okay. No one cares.” She sounds like the soberness has returned, but when you catch her ridiculously stumbling changing her shoes into slippers, ask if she’s okay, and she answers back that she’s alright, you just find yourself tentative about what’s in your mind.

“Are we going to kiss?” You know it’s a tipsy whim. You know she might not know what she’s doing. But it’s her asking you, not the opposite, she has no one to blame but herself, and you also know that she won’t. So you give it a go.

Her lips feel soft. You kiss her lips in a gingerly manner, eyes closed to focus all your senses to your lips. It feels like forever, but it’s obviously provisional so you do your best to find the perfect angle of your head, the right position of your hands, and the exact moment for your tongue to engage. A brief detach and then smoothly latch onto again, and a several times more, and in no time you two are completely submerged in the sensation, in the atmosphere and the feeling.

You open her lips with your tongue, and the key works so well you don’t even have to put any more effort to meet hers; she’s been waiting for it. When you taste her mouth, the alcoholic air hits your gustation and the olfactory sense—Jesus, how many glasses did she empty?—and you swallow it down to your body. Her tongue jockeys in your mouth, on your palate, around your tongue, everywhere it can reach. She’s so needy that when you try to withdraw for some air her arms lock you up and pull you in for a longer liplock.

But that doesn’t last long, before Minji herself pulls back to breathe.

“Minji,” Gasping, you call her name. She doesn’t respond. She takes your hand and drags you to her bedroom. It’s tidied up well unlike what she warned you about, but you don’t have any time to be infatuated with how neat her bedroom is, when her hasty tongue knocks on your lips to open up.

She really can’t hold it back as she redoubles the whirl inside your mouth. At this point you’re a bit shocked at how aggressive she has become—or, she might’ve been like this from the very start—but god, what a joy to reciprocate. But this desire is not a genital one, rather more like a sheer indulgence of the feeling itself as if it’s her first time.

“Minji, no one’s chasing you. You don’t have to rush.” Hands on her shoulders you say, in an assuring tone, to the panting girl in front of you. Regardless she dives in yet again, this time her hands dragging her jeans down, totally ignoring what you said. She doesn’t feel sorry, but neither do you when you can in fact enjoy what’s going to unfold.

You find it kinda cute to see that talkative girl in the subway all silent and busy with her hands with heavy breaths. It’s as if you have unbound her from the straitjacket—or the alcohol did—and her actual self inside was in need of some rabid lovemaking. No denial that she’s getting what she wants.

It’s hammy but a pleasure to watch. Her hands move to your top and hastily take it off of you, a sigh when it blocks the kiss. You’re overwhelmed as you take your pants yourself but Minji pulls it down to your ankles. Stepping out of them you push her onto her bed and crawl up to be parallel with her, eyes to eyes. When your erect cock brushes on her tummy she squints her eyes with a flinch. Her nerves are so worked up, whether it be from the intoxication she’s been in for hours or the anticipation. Or both.

“Minji, are you alright?” Her face is so red, her breaths are shallow and her teeth keep on biting her own fist. She just nods, eyes still filled with unrest; in fact you can’t tell if it’s concern or anticipation, but either way it’s your job to relax her. 

And putting her hand off of her mouth and replacing it with your lips is what you come up with as a solution. As if you want to absorb the turmoil out of her. When your tongues meet and intertwine her hands climb up to the back of your head and pull you deeper into the trance. Time passes like that. Minji’s so lost in the sensation, and when you lightly put your hand on her breasts she moans into your mouth. The size is just unblemished for you to leisurely fondle, so you keep doing that until she detaches from the kiss, asks you to take her top off with a coo.

“You look so beautiful. Just relax, Minji.” She bites on your under lip when your hand softly squeezes her breast and plays with her nipple. The pain is an approval you’d gratefully take.

You slide down to her neck, collarbone, chest, stomach and finally to her crotch, peppering everywhere on your way with pecks and licks and making it glisten. And oh, her pussy lips are already glistening—dripping, soaking wet—with her own water, nectar so dense with desire. You glimpse at her and she nods desperately, underside of her lips bitten hard, as if when you latch your tongue on her sex it’ll bleed. 

And when you do she yelps, sharp yet gutty, with her back involuntarily arching upward. “Ah, please…!” Is what follows her scream when you flick your tongue on her sensitive nub. You cherish her response and repeat it, eyeing her facial expressions and enjoying every furrow of her brows, every grasp on your hair and every squish of her thighs on your ears. It doesn’t take a while to reach the point where she loses control of herself. Where she loses her mind and cums with a scream. Your skull gets crushed between Minji’s fleshy thighs and your tongue drowns in her juices gushing into your mouth. It’s too saccharine, too flashy, beyond what you expected from her. 

“You’re so good at that… I’ve never squirted like that before.” Minji looks spent. Chest heaving up and down quickly, eyes almost teary and her tongue barely pronouncing correctly. You climb up again and lock lips with her, letting her taste her own liquid.

“Nngh…” You coat your cock with her prevailing girlcum, scrub it on her entrance a few times and slowly, slowly enter her first with only the head. That summons the clingy girl into her again as her arms lock around your neck and she screams into your shoulder. It’s enrapturing to feel the head of your cock slowly discover deeper parts of her, to hear her material moans permeating into your bones.

“God, you feel amazing!” Is what she says when you are halfway inside her. You withdraw a little bit, and put in even more, to make your entire cock disappear inside her. Her arms almost choke you when she hugs you tighter and shouts ‘yes’s and ‘oh my god’s right next to your ear.

“Minji, I’m going to move. I’m going to fuck you.” You groan. It’s finally the time to unleash everything in you, all too stacked up from the agonizing foreplays. “Yes, fuck me. Make me cum please-oh my god it feels so good!” You’re not going slow at all. The smacking sound is music to your ears, and her moans melt your brain. So you go brainless. Hitting the right spot and making her cry every time. It's soft no more, and Minji finds it crazy. Her arms can't settle down but intermittently darts about on the bed.

“Minji, fuck…” You doubt that she can hear you in the room full of her orgasmic yelps and moans. “Fuck, I love it! So deep inside me, don't stop…!” Her legs flutter, eyes roll back and fingers dig into your arms helplessly when she cums on your cock hard. “God, I can't… I can't-” The girl shyly asking for a kiss is now gone, beautifully degraded to a girl enjoying, loving and getting overtaken by the pleasure teeming into her. 

Overstimulated, Minji wriggles as if the sensations are throttling her. A few minutes you were caring about her more than you, but now your priorities are reset; you’re reminded of your purpose here, it's not for her sake, it's for you. And regardless of her condition you just push in, harder and deeper than each thrust, to the finish line. Her torso is turned red and at some point she's looking into your eyes, those subtle muscles beckoning for you to go for it, to cum.

“Minji, I'm cumming…! Fuck!” You splatter your seed all over her tummy and tits. The icing on the cake, an eye candy you're never going to be tired looking at.

“It was… Incredible.” Minji has a satisfied smile on her face. “Good to know you enjoyed it.” You nestle on the bed next to her, rearranging the wet strands of her hair out of her face.

******

Minji is asleep. Like nothing happened a few minutes ago. Like you're not in the bed with her. That's not an unexpected thing for you. You dress up, wipe your cum off her body. She's so pretty when sleeping, you think to yourself.

But right after that you take her purse; there are a few bucks and a credit card. And in the dressing table you find some fancy jewelry boxes.

It's bad, immoral. It's what you do for a living. Can't say you feel proud but not much of a guilt in your mind either. Maybe a little though. But only for this time. You actually liked Minji. Not that much, but you felt something different. Maybe you two can run into each other someday. And maybe you're hoping that happens, even though you know it won't help you in any ways. You can't explain it but there's something in your mind about what happened tonight. 

But you carry on, find a pen and a post-it, write something down and stick it on her empty purse on the nightstand.

‘You don't even know my name, do you?’

******

[sceletaflores]

"Dependence Is Weakness, Darling."

pairing: older!patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: it wasn’t just the cigarettes or the lighters. it was the way you still find yourself thinking about him. patrick, with his tangled emotions and overwhelming presence, had left an inescapable mark on your life. and as much as you wished it, he wasn’t someone you could easily erase from yourself.

—or: it's been a little over twelve years since you've seen patrick zweig.

word count: 7.8k (hopefully this is long enough lol)

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex but in a loving way, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), semi-public sex (fucking in a car, you know i had to...), angst, swearing, cigarette smoking as a love language, slight mommy issues lmao, hints of mean!reader cause i still live for that shit, love confessions, rain scene cause i'm corny as hell, porn with SOOOO much plot, no use of y/n.

author's note: this might me the filthiest thing i've ever written lols. i actually DID get a couple asks for some more angsty patrick fics and ofc i love writing angst i'm just a girl i live for that shit. look at me doing what was asked of me and not just whatever i wanted! i'm a giver, what can i say. this fic was revived because of a few anon's who demanded it and i'm so glad they did. you guys got me to give this a second chance and i'm so proud of how it turned out. extra special shout out to @bii-aan-ckaa who fiercely advocated and waited very patiently for this! i'm so obsessed with you and your beautiful kind words. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

Fifteen minutes. 

That’s how long you can stomach sitting in the sticky booth of the bar watching Patrick Zweig flirt with a woman you don't recognize across the dimly lit room. Fifteen measly minutes until you were giving your friends some lame excuse of needing fresh air and leaving the table to escape out into the alley.

It’s been a little over twelve years since you’ve seen Patrick. A little over twelve years since you turned your back on him with tears spilling down your cheeks and your favorite racket a mangled, smashed mess gripped tightly in your shaking hand as you walked out of his life forever. 

Or at least what you thought was forever, you guess you were wrong.

To put it lightly, your relationship with Patrick was…complicated. You met him the summer before you started at Stanford. He was tall with green eyes and curly hair and he was kind of an asshole but he made you laugh, so you let him fuck you anyway. At the time, you thought that was it. One really good fuck with a really hot guy you’d never see again.

You thought you were hallucinating when you saw him on the campus courts two months later, when he sauntered up to you with an unmistakable “I know what you look like naked” smirk on his face. He was just as tall and had the same green eyes and the same curly hair and was an even bigger asshole than he was before. You still let him fuck you anyway.

You never thought you’d get sucked into the storm that was whatever the fuck was going on between Art, Patrick and Tashi. Never thought that it would completely ruin your self esteem, your tennis, your everything.

You weren’t particularly close to Art or Tashi in college. Sure, you were all in the same circle. That didn’t make you best friends. Art was nice enough, but he never went out of his way to talk to you. You and Tashi were on the same team but that didn’t mean anything. You respected the hell out of her and her game, and you could tell she felt the same. Even with that respect, there was still a tiny part of you that resented her. 

She was number one, the pride and joy of Stanford, had a constant slew of brands and scouts up to her ears. It seemed like no matter how hard you worked that she would always be number one. It felt like you were always just inches behind her.

Clawing and scratching your way through the ranks since you were twelve to be second best was never the plan. Your mother made sure to remind you of that every chance she got.

Then slowly, she started beating you at more than just tennis. Patrick wanted her, it was more than obvious. At first you didn’t care, he wasn't your boyfriend. He was just a guy you fucked, he could do whatever he wanted. You were friends. There wasn’t a problem.

When you realized you knew more about Patrick than just how he worked dick, then there was a problem. 

At first, all the things you knew about him were boiled down to the vulgar little tidbits you’d notice when he fucked you. You know that he has a birthmark on his lower back. You know when he’d be close because he’d always bite your shoulder before he came. You know his favorite position was really missionary even though he told everyone it was doggy.

Knowing all that was fine.

You also know that he’s allergic to kiwi. You know that he only holds his cigarettes with his thumb and his pointer finger. You’d always know when he was nervous because he’d start tapping his fingers on his thigh. You know that when he’d listen to music he loved, that his right hand would drum along to the beat just a little bit faster than his left would.

You knew all those things because you were falling in love with him, and Patrick Zweig is not someone you fall in love with. Especially not with Tashi Duncan in the picture.

You tried your best to push it down, to pretend you weren’t hurt every time Patrick chose Tashi over you. When he’d miss your games because he was with Tashi, when he’d blow you off to go meet Tashi, when he started to stop returning your calls or replying to your texts. All things you never cared about before started slowly eating at you. You felt awful most days, holed up in your room wallowing in self-pity. Your GPA was steadily dropping as the semester went on. Even your tennis started slipping, and you lost your winning streak to a fucking scrub. When you finally cracked and broke down to your mother over the phone one night she just scoffed.

“Well what did you think would happen when you started to depend on that boy? Dependence is weakness, darling.”

Dependence is weakness. You blocked Patrick’s number that same night.

It all came to a head when he blew up at you after Tashi’s injury. Everyone was pretty shaken up about it. You’d never forget the way it buckled, the way the sharp snap rang through the court, the way she fell to the ground screaming. You’d never seen her cry before. 

Patrick found you later that night, all alone on the practice courts trying to burn the day out of your mind by serving balls till you collapsed. It was the first time he talked to you in weeks. He was pissed. Screaming at you, calling you every nasty thing he could think of, getting up in your face. It was a fucking mess. You both said some things that should have never been said, but it ended when Patrick accused you of somehow being the cause of all of it.

“You hate Tashi, fucking hate her. You wanted something like this to happen. I bet you’re just over the fucking moon that she’s finally out and you can take her place. You can finally be number one seed and you're fucking ecstatic, aren't you? You’re so fucking pathetic, so desperate for validation. Maybe if mommy paid attention to you for once, you wouldn’t be so fucking needy. You're just a sad, delusional fucking runner-up, grasping at whatever shreds of importance you think you still have.”

You stood there, stunned by his outburst, each word hitting you like a physical blow. It was insane, nothing but Patrick blowing things way out of proportion in the midst of his anger.

You wanted to scream, to deny it vehemently, but the hurt and frustration choked off your words. Tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of anger and heartbreak swirling in you. Vision blurring out everything but Patrick's face twisted up with rage as he glared at you, his words lingering in the air like poison. 

You told him about your mother because you thought you could trust him. You thought he was the only person that really understood you, his dad was a piece of shit too. Him using something so delicate as material to hit you where it hurts was the last straw.

You blew up, all the things you’d been keeping bottled up for months finally boiled over in you swinging your racket down on the green concrete over and over until there was nothing left of it to break. You didn’t even look at Patrick as you walked away. You never saw him again.

You’d love to say it was also the last time you thought about him, but that would be a lie. As much as he hurt you, and as much as you hated him for it, your mind refused to let you forget him.

You still smoke Camel Blues because that was your guys’ brand, even when you should have quit years ago anyway. You still buy the same color lighter, pink. You tell yourself it’s nothing more than an easy choice, that it’s a good color. It’s not at all because you can still hear Patrick’s teasing voice in the back of your head bitching, “I can’t believe you make me use a pink lighter.” when he always forgot his and had to borrow yours. 

It’s not based on a compulsive need to be reminded of him every single time you use it. It’s just convenient, okay.

You know deep down that they were the only remnants of a past that you still couldn’t fully let go of. As much as you tried to bury those memories, they lingered, melded into the corners of your mind like stubborn stains. 

It wasn’t just the cigarettes or the lighters. It was the way you still find yourself thinking about him. Patrick, with his tangled emotions and overwhelming presence, had left an inescapable mark on your life. And as much as you wished it, he wasn’t someone you could easily erase from yourself.

Even twelve years later you’re still trying to convince yourself that dependence is weakness, that you were better off without him. But sometimes, in the quiet moments like this when the smoke curls from your cigarette and the pink lighter flickers in your hand, you wonder if he ever thinks of you, if he regrets how things ended between the two of you.

Maybe it's not that you can't escape Patrick's grip on you after all these years, it's that you just won't.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you don't hear the heavy door to the bar swinging open, or the sound of gravel crunching underneath approaching footsteps.

“Holy shit,” a deep voice rings out from your right, “someone pinch me.”

Your whole body tenses, your cigarette freezing a few inches away from your lips. Something like fight or flight starts to quietly buzz beneath your skin. You’d recognize that voice anywhere, even despite the gruffer, more grown up tone that wasn’t there the last time you heard it.

Your heart’s already kicking into overdrive when you finally start to hesitantly turn your head, time almost slowing down as your eyes sweep over the alley. You kind of don’t want to believe that your luck is this shitty. That maybe it was all in your imagination, that you were thinking about him so much you were starting to hear things that weren’t really there, that he was still back in the bar feeling up that blonde girl. But it can never be that easy, and sure enough, there he is.

Patrick Zweig is standing a few feet away from you with both hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and a wide, achingly familiar grin lighting up his face.

You’re quiet for a few long moments, completely shocked into silence. Your mind races with a million different things you want to say but can’t find the voice to. You should be causing a scene. You should be losing it, screaming, crying, throwing things, slapping him hard across his unfairly handsome face. But you don’t, too surprised to even move. 

Patrick speaks again, taking several steps towards you. “It is really you, right?” he asks, eyes wide and mouth pulling into an easy, lopsided grin. To anyone else, the laid back, carefree tone he was going for would sound genuine. You can barely pick up on the stunned, almost breathless edge lacing his words, like he also can’t believe you’re standing right in front of him.

He steps into the light shining from a dingy lamp above the door, it basks around him in a yellow orange glow.

Same eyes, same ears, same Patrick.

For years you’ve thought about this exact moment, what you’d say if you ever saw him. You lose all of that practice the closer he gets. He’s less than a foot away from you now, an expectant look on his face. He’s waiting for you to say something. 

You feel like running, like stubbing your cigarette on the pavement and making a break for the door. You already ran from him once, but old habits die hard. 

You don’t run, you refuse to take the easy way out. You’re a grown woman, you’re stronger than you were in college, you’re going to the goddamn Olympics. It’s only Patrick for Christ’s sake.

“What are you doing here?” It sounds harsher than you meant, but that’s probably for the best. He doesn’t deserve kindness from you. 

“Tennis.” Is all he says, fishing out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Camel blues. “What are you doing here?” He parrots back, smacking the bottom of the carton, plucking the one that shakes out between his long fingers. “I’d think that Miss. Team USA would be too busy for bar crawls.”

You bristle, eyes narrowing skeptically. You can’t tell if he’s making fun of you or not. “It’s not a bar crawl,” you shoot back childishly, feeling defensive under his heavy gaze. “We’re celebrating.”

Patrick just nods, letting out a small hum in lieu of replying. He's close enough now that you can see gray strands streaked through his hair. He looks older, a few barely there wrinkles creasing his skin as he pops his cigarette between his lips. “Got a light?” he asks around the filter, holding his hand out expectantly before you even answer.

It’s still just as annoying. You roll your eyes, sighing dramatically as you fish your lighter out of your skirts pocket. You place it in the open palm of his hand, ignoring the fireworks that go off at the base of your spine when his fingers catch on your wrist as you pull away.

He mumbles out a half-assed thanks, cupping his hand around the flame to shield it from the wind. If he notices the color, he doesn’t say anything. It feels wrong that he doesn’t tease you about it, staying silent as he tosses it back to you when his cigarette finally lights. You ignore the hurt blooming in your chest as you pocket it.

Patrick takes a deep inhale, the tip of his cigarette burns bright red. The way his lips wrap around the filter has heat spreading through you. “Shocked you’re still smoking,” he waves his free hand at you vaguely, smoke flowing from his lips as he speaks. “It’s not super admirable.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s really how you want to start this?

“Start what?” he asks coyly, leaning his shoulder too close to you against the brick. He’s playing dumb, the smirk on his face gives him away. 

You say nothing, not trusting yourself to speak. He has a beard now, sort of patchy and fairly new looking. You wrinkle your nose up at it. 

It doesn’t surprise you that he’s acting like this. All calm and collected like he’s catching up with an old friend, like he didn’t say all those horrible things to you. As if every single word he said that night isn’t still engraved in your mind and carried with you through your whole career. 

Patrick’s quiet for a bit, taking another slow drag. “Have you seen either of them?” His voice is hesitant, like he’s treading the water of your boundaries by bringing this up. “Or am I your first?” He lets the innuendo hang in the air, trying to joke his way through something neither of you really want to talk about.

You don’t look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the part of the street you can see through the alleys opening.

You don’t need to ask who “them” is.

You just shake your head no, not wanting to have to say anything out loud and make this into a whole thing. The smoke from your cigarette swirls through your lungs, warm and familiar. 

You’ve seen them both at multiple tennis events. Things like matches, and galas, and charity auctions. Hell, they watched from the stands when you won Wimbledon for the first time. You just make sure and avoid them like the plague, always running the other direction the second you see a short bob and cropped blonde hair.

You’ve been in the same room with them countless times over the years but you might as well have been in separate worlds. The only “contact” you’ve had with them since you all graduated was weirdly ominous.

Art followed you on Instagram after you got your third career slam, but he doesn’t like any of your posts. You’re one of the mere twenty accounts in his following. You never followed him back. 

Then, when your career first started taking off, the press somehow learned about your past with Tashi. They started using it to their advantage when picking headlines for any pieces written about you. “The only woman in the world to beat Tashi Duncan!” It pissed you off to no end. It was stupid, a way to get clicks on their sad little gossip sites. And it wasn’t even fucking true.

They finally stopped when you threatened to sue their asses. Apparently, Tashi noticed.

She sent you flowers. You threw them out.

Patrick nods back, taking his own slow drag. The sound of traffic hums in the background, the music from the bar bleeding through the wall mutely. 

“Congrats on that,” he says casually, looking you up and down slowly. You fight not to squirm under his gaze. “On making the team. That’s some serious shit. I always knew it’d be you, out of all of us.”

It’s a blatant lie. You were always four out of four in college, the one person in the group with the least potential for stardom. If it wasn’t for Tashi’s injury, she’d definitely be in your place — on top of the world.

He’s trying to pacify you, to butter you up. All it does is grate on your nerves and leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

“Did you just come out here to interrogate me? To mess with me?” you ask sharply, frustration starting to get the better of you. “Do you want a fucking autograph or something?”

Patrick laughs, throwing his head back. “Nope, I wanted to catch up. It's been a while.” he shrugs, eyes darkening ever so slightly. “I just know how much you like talking about yourself, that’s all.”

You pause, picking up on the clear implication of his words. “Excuse me?” you question, turning towards him.

“Just saying,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “When we were younger everyone always thought I was this arrogant, cocky, self obsessed prick…” he trails off, an infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. It does nothing to soothe you, only adding fuel to the fire of your anger. “And they were all right, I was. But, that’s also exactly what you are right now.” he finishes, tapping the ash off his cigarette.

You feel it, all the emotions swirling inside you of at seeing Patrick again threatening to burst. Anger and misery waging a war in your stomach. The wind is starting to pick up around you, making goosebumps break out over your skin. The fabric of your skirt swishes around your thighs. You feel clammy, but it has nothing to do with the temperature drop. 

“Was?” you ask, condescending and mean, crossing your arms across your chest defensively. “You really don’t think you’re still all of those things?”

Patrick chuckles, shoulders shaking with amusement. He goes to say something, but you beat him to it. “I’ve changed, Patrick.” you say sternly, brows furrowing in displeasure. Your tone is hard, frustration seeping into your words. Considering the last time the two of you spoke, this was almost going well. It’s just like Patrick to ruin something before he needs to.

You know distantly that you could deescalate the situation, but maybe you’re more alike than you thought. Maybe you’re just too greedy to keep the peace. “So fucking sorry that I’m not the same person I was in college, but I actually chose to grow up.”

Patrick snorts, exhaling a plume of smoke through his nose. “Yeah, clearly.” he mutters under his breath, it’s condescending and sarcastic. It pisses you off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask sharply, cigarette now forgotten and steadily burning away at your side. 

Patrick shrugs, like it’s obvious. “You’re still so lost. I sure as shit don’t have a red, white, and blue track suit hanging in my closet, but at least I know who I am.” He doesn't sound angry, only sure of himself, like he may have been thinking about this for a while. His face is passive, body relaxed as he leans against the hard brick.

Your jaw clenches, anger running hot through your veins. He doesn’t know anything about you, hasn’t for over ten years. He doesn’t have the right to try and talk down to you, not after all the hard work you put in to get to where you are.

“My wrist alone is worth ten million. What are you worth now, Patrick?” You’ll be embarrassed about bringing up status later, you always try to stay as humble as possible, but you’re too mad to care. You just need to hurt him, to hurt him like he hurt you. You’d heard from a friend of a friend that Patrick’s parents cut him off a while ago, that he’s been slumming it ever since. “I know exactly who I am, I’m a fucking Olympian.”

The venom in your tone is sharp, each word from your lips like a knife stabbing through the tense air trying to draw blood. “You’re a fucking nobody, Patrick. You’re irrelevant. Washed up. Buried. Forgotten.” You pause when your voice starts to shake, taking a deep inhale of smoke to try and calm yourself. Your hand is shaking too, ash falls from the burnt out tip down to the gravel. Patrick just watches you, his expression doesn’t change. Smoke billows from between your lips, blowing away with the wind. “We’re not on the same level, not anymore.” 

Patrick’s unfazed, staring back at you with his cigarette dangling from his lips. He takes it between his fingers, letting his arm drop to hang at his side. “I’ve been thinking about you.” he says casually, head lolling to the side lazily. He looks at you through his lashes, eyes sweeping over your face slowly. “I was just thinking about you, and now you’re here. Right fucking in front of me.” he shakes his head with a dry laugh. “You look…” he trails off, green eyes taking in every inch of you. “You look amazing.”

Your pulse flutters wildly, you feel so light headed, like you could pass out any second. “I’ve missed you, missed you everyday since that night.” His expression is that same half cocked grin from before, all smooth bravado and easy smiles as if he’s not staring at you like you’re the very blood coursing through his veins. All the air drains from your lungs, mind racing what feels like a thousand miles per second. 

He sounds like he means it. He looks like he means it. He can’t possibly mean it.

A loud chant ringing through your skull is the only coherent thing screaming through all the mess. Don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it, don’t fucking fall for it–

“Well I don’t miss you.” A lie. “You were nothing to me, Patrick.” Another lie. “You were just easy dick.” Your stomach twists painfully, like your body is physically trying to stop you from lying to yourself any further.

His face stays neutral, it frustrates you to no end that you can’t tell what he’s thinking. Patrick had a terrible poker face in college, you could read him like a book with a single glance. It was one of your favorite things about him, how expressive his face always was.

Now he’s just staring down the bridge of his nose at you passively, the picture of indifference. It’s another reminder of how long it’s been, that he’s lived a whole life without you in all that time. He takes a long drag off his cigarette, never breaking eye contact with you as he does.

His lips are slick and pink, just how you remember them. The beard isn’t so bad, it makes him look more rugged, more like a man. It’s the most drastic change in his appearance, far different from the smooth skinned pretty boy he was before.

He exhales, a long stream of smoke blowing past your ear. “What are you still doing here then?” he muses with a small shrug. He leans in even closer, slowly, like you were a cornered animal he didn’t want to spook. You can smell him, something woodsy with a hint of musk. You can see the clusters of freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose, almost completely faded. “If I’m nothing,” he clarifies, simple, easy. “Why are you here?”

It’s a loaded question, one he obviously knows the answer to. It’s a dick move, forcing you to confront what you’re really feeling. Your eyes start to sting, complicated emotions welling up in your throat. “Fuck you Patrick.” you whisper weakly, all the bite in your tone getting lost in your dejection. Your lip wobbles warningly, you try your best to stifle it. You refuse to cry in front of him.

Patrick’s face does something funny, turning his eyes to the sidewalk. “I need someone like that again. Someone that isn’t afraid to fucking check me, that wants me to do better and not because they just see a check or a legacy or whatever the fuck else my parents expected from me. Someone that wants me to do better because they actually believe in me.”

The honesty in his voice takes you by surprise. He gets more worked up the longer he talks, chest rising and falling a lot faster than before. Rare vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his hardened exterior.  “I fucked up that night, I know. Now my life’s a fucking mess, and I need someone to help make it make sense again.“ 

You scoff thickly, shaking your head in disbelief as you fight back tears. “And I’m that person?” you ask skeptically, brow raised in question.

“You always were,” he replies easily, his face forming into a sad smile. He almost sounds like his old self. Your brain flashes the image of Patrick leaning outside the door of your science lecture, waiting to walk you back to your dorm. He’s smiling wide enough to show teeth, looking down at you with brilliant green eyes, just like he is right now.

Suddenly, he wasn’t the boy that broke your heart on a tennis court twelve years ago. 

He was the boy that held your hair back when you threw up after drinking too much at a frat party and still stayed the night even though you didn’t hook up, his chest pressed against your back like a security blanket the whole night. He was the boy that let you make friendship bracelets on the handle of his favorite racket, and secretly kept the one you made for him braided around the neck for weeks until you finally noticed the fraying blue strings still in place when he forgot his tennis bag at your dorm room one night.

Suddenly he wasn’t anything but the boy you fell in love with when you were eighteen years old.

You swallow hard, heart pounding against your ribcage. Your cigarette falls from the slack grip of your fingers, plummeting to your feet where it burns out on the pavement. 

It’s like you lose control of yourself, like all your morals get shot out of a cannon into the sun. You’re lunging forward before you know what you’re doing, fisting the fabric of Patrick’s shirt and pulling him down to meet you halfway. Your first kiss with Patrick in twelve years.

It’s a mess of teeth clashing together roughly, with way too much tongue and spit to be classified as romantic. It’s desperate. It’s angry. It’s fucking filthy and it’s exactly what you need.

Your tongue forces its way between Patrick’s lips when he gasps in shock, mapping out the familiar territory of his mouth like muscle memory. His big hands fly up to hold onto your hips as he eagerly returns your kiss, pressing you up against the brick and sucking your tongue lewdly. He tastes like smoke and bottom shelf whiskey. You moan into his mouth, wetness starting to seep through the thin material of your panties.

You stay like that for a while, just kissing until Patrick slides the hard line of his cock against your hip strategically. You moan at the size of it pressing onto you through his jeans, breaking the kiss to inhale a couple lungfuls of air. “You’re not fucking me in an alley.” You say bluntly as he trails wet kisses down the side of your throat.

He laughs, nipping at your collarbone teasingly. “My car’s a block away,” he offers between kisses.

You think about it for a second. Deciding on whether or not you’re going to let Patrick fuck you in the backseat of his car like you’re two horny teenagers and not full grown adults.

“Lead the way.” Is all you say, finally letting yourself smile when Patrick starts to drag you away from the bar. 

You shoot your friends a quick text letting them know you decided to head home early, already in the uber you ordered when you’re actually letting Patrick drag you across a blessedly empty parking lot to an old SUV parked in the middle. A completely one-eighty from the Porsche he used to drive.

He takes a second to press you against the door, capturing your lips with his again. It’s a slower kiss, sweeter than the one you shared outside the bar. You feel butterflies erupt in your stomach when he cups your face, gently rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. He fumbles blindly for the car door with his other hand, pulling it open and pushing you into the back. He follows closely, climbing in and shutting the door behind him.

Patrick’s back on you in less than a second, yanking at the buttons of your shirt impatiently, fingers too big to work them through the holes as fast as he wants to. He lets out a frustrated growl, grabbing both sides and pulling hard. The buttons all go flying in different directions, landing in different spots around you.

“That was three hundred dollars,” you mumble against his lips, not wanting to stop kissing him for even a second. He looms over you, broad and all encompassing. He sits up to yank his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside and popping open the button of his jeans.

“You can buy another one,” he says simply, shucking his jeans and boxers off all in one go. His dick is long and lovely, tip red and drooling pre-cum that drips all the way down to his balls. Your mouth waters, desperate to taste it, to feel the weight of it on your tongue and down your throat. You push it to the back of your mind. There’s no time for that, both of you too keyed up to do anything other than fuck.

Patrick leans down, biting your bottom lip hard enough to make you moan. He turns his attention to your pulling skirt down, panties going with it and getting tossed onto the floorboard carelessly. His eyes zero in on your bare pussy, wet and on display. The cool air shocks your system, making you want to press your thighs together but Patrick’s hands keep you spread open.

“Fuck,” he whispers quietly, moving to roll the knuckle of his right index finger over your slick entrance, just barely rocking it into you. You gasp, your whole body trembling with need. “Just like I remember.” He mutters to himself, pushing in the smallest bit deeper. 

Your leg kicks out, patience starting to wear thin. “C’mon, Pat.” you mewl sweetly, bucking your hips up in a clear invitation. “Fuck me.”

Patrick shifts up onto his knees, silently shuffling closer to your spread thighs. His cock juts out from his body, so thick and heavy that it doesn’t point straight up, instead hangs angry and red between his legs. His big hands slide halfway up your thighs, you shiver at the way they skirt across your skin lightly. He presses you backwards by them, leaning over you with your legs slung across his shoulders.

His cock drags across your inner thigh, trailing a sloppy line of pre-come as it does. You nearly wail, wrapping your arms around Patrick’s broad shoulders as you beg for him to give you what you want.

“God Patrick! Put it in. Please, put it in. Let me have it, please, fuck–,” you beg frantically, arms tightening around his shoulders like you’re trying to drag him impossibly closer to you. He goes willingly, burying his nose in the soft skin of your neck. He presses a small kiss directly over your pulse.

“I’m gonna give you this cock, baby.” he whispers lowly, hot lips brushing against your skin with every word. He slides the head of his cock through your wet folds, stopping to rub it over your swollen clit a few times. “Gonna get all up inside you and fuck you exactly how you like.” He slides the length down, letting his tip catch on your empty, clenching hole.

You’re so damn worked up, writhing and pushing back and begging Patrick to just fuck you already, that you can’t take anymore teasing. Your hole contracts around the tip of his dick like it’s trying to suck him in. He sinks in deeper, slowly feeding every thick inch into your aching cunt.

“God,” Your name falls from his lips in a shuddery breath that fans over your fluttering pulse. “You still smell the same.” It’s the same stunned, breathless tone from when he first saw you. He presses his face cheek to cheek with yours, the rough texture of his beard scraping against your skin. 

Patrick moves his hips against you slowly, deep strokes that drag every thick inch of him against the walls of your cunt. The tip of his cock stabbing that sweet spot inside you that makes stars glow bright on the ceiling of his car each time you blink. The angle has his balls pressing against your cunt as he fucks into you, the excessive pre-come leaking from his tip mixing with the sticky wetness of your juices leaves an obscene ring of creamy white around the spread hole of your cunt. It sticks wetly to the base of Patrick’s cock with each thrust, shining back at you on his skin when he pulls out.

The slow thrusts feel amazing, but you know it’s not enough. You need him to pound into you, to bully his big cock into your cunt like he’s getting back at you for shutting him out. You need him to fuck you. 

“Harder, Pat…” you whine breathlessly, clawing desperately at the polyester seats.

He groans loudly, hips immediately speeding up, getting rougher, meaner. He leans up to get more power behind his thrusts, breaking your tight hold on his shoulders. “This is where you belong,” he grits out, sweat dripping from his forehead to fall onto your heaving chest. The sharp smack smack smack of his hips bruising your ass gets louder, the lewd noise filling the car. “Where you should have been this whole fucking time, spread open on my cock.”

The only thing you can even get out anymore are pleading whines and loud moans of Patrick’s name as he pounds into you like he’s trying to kill you. The harsh snap of his hips inching you further up the backseat until your head’s knocking against the doors handle on each mean thrust. Your feet bounce by his ears, body almost completely folded in half so all you can do is lie there and take it.

The car rocks steadily, anyone who spares a glance at the SUV will know what’s going on inside. 

Patrick sneaks a hand between your legs, fingers sliding over your swollen clit. You scream, throwing your head back in pleasure as the calloused tips over his fingers work you over. “Fuck yeah,” Patrick mutters, turning his head to lick and bite at your ankle. “You’re so fucking sexy, so fucking beautiful. I missed you so much, missed this pussy.” His voice is pinched, hips fucking into you impossible faster.

The wet squelching noise of your cunt is filthy, splattering against Patrick’s heavy balls with each thrust. “I know she missed me too, didn’t she baby?” he taunts, eyes wild and blown out. “Taking my cock so well, squeezing me so fucking good.”

“Close,” you gasp out. Patrick pitches forward, licking into your parted lips as he rubs tight circles over your clit faster. He kisses you sloppily, smearing spit all over your lips and chin. His sweat drips onto your face and mixes with your own, it should be gross, but it makes you even wetter. The primal part of your brain overjoyed to be claimed by him. He lifts his fingers up the tiniest bit, smacking them over your clit with the smallest amount of force.

Your orgasm hits you suddenly, back arching off the seat wildly as you gush around his cock. You claw at his back desperately, nails raking down his skin hard enough to leave angry red welts in their wake.

“Shit– that’s good, milk it out of me baby, work for this fucking load.” he groans, hips not slowing down as he chases his own release. His breath puffs over your skin, the rhythm of his hips starting to falter the closer he gets. You whine, trying your best focus on clenching your cunt over his cock in your fucked out state. “That’s it, baby– God – you’re gonna make me come, squeezing me so tight I can barely fucking move…” he growls, teeth sinking into your neck hard.

You hiss sharply, nails digging into his skin as the pleasure starts to become too much. He licks over the bite mark, like he’s apologizing. “Gonna fucking come inside you, fill you up so good, fuck–”

His rambling dissolves into a loud groan, hips giving one last thrust as he buries himself as deep in your cunt as he can. You feel rope after rope of warm come flood your insides, painting your walls with it. It feels like hours, him unloading into you with cut off moans and grunts. 

You're still desperately trying to catch your breath when he finally starts to pull out of you as gently as he can. The red tip of his cock popping free lets the river of his come leak out from your abused hole, spilling out of you to drip onto the car’s seat.

Patrick curses at the sight, scooping the white, creamy mess onto his fingers so he can fuck it back into you. You hiss at the over stimulation, thighs squeezing together around his hand. Your chest is still heaving, breathing erratic as you slowly come down from your orgasm. Patrick tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, smiling warmly as he takes you into his arms and shifts around until he’s sitting up against the door with you curled into his chest.

The windows are steamy, melting all the streetlights outside into a swamp of warm colors on the glass. They shine through the car like sunlight piercing through a stained glass window. You feel light and hazy, like you’re in a dream. Patrick’s body grounds you, firm and familiar against your back. It’s quiet for a long time, only the sound of soft breathing fills the car. You're scratching your nails through the hair on Patrick’s chest when he finally breaks the silence.

“There’s…” he says into your hair, trailing off near the end. He’s idly tracing shapes on your lower back. A circle, a square, a circle, a diamond, a square, a heart. “There’s this challenger in New Rochelle in a couple weeks, I’m entering it. You should come.” 

Your heart drops, the delicate cloud encompassing you and Patrick forcefully ripped away in less than a second. You’ve already heard of this challenger, seen all the publicity it’s been getting since Art’s name came up in the conversation surrounding it. The ‘Phil’s Tire Town Challenger’ is all anyone can talk about. 

If Art’s there, she will be too. Sitting in the stands in a classy Ralph Lauren two piece, watching her husband and Patrick on the court, looming over the two of them for the first time in years. You can’t stomach the thought of seeing her. You can’t stomach the thought of Patrick seeing her, terrified that the second she spares him a glance you’ll be right back where you were in college, an afterthought left in the dust for something better.

Your stomach lurches violently, you feel nauseous. The heat of Patrick’s backseat becomes almost unbearable, making it harder to breathe. You rip yourself away from him, tearing through the backseat to find your clothes. 

Patrick startles, sitting up with a concerned look on his face. “Jesus, what's wrong?” You can feel the warmth of his hands hovering over your back, not sure if he should touch. “What did I do?”

You don’t say anything, you can’t. Your throat feels tight, chest constricted and heavy as you try to take in lungfuls of air. You tug on your skirt and panties haphazardly, grabbing the first shirt you find strewn across the car's floor and yanking it on. You know it’s not yours but you don’t care, too busy trying to shove your shoes back onto your feet and push open the door all at once.

Patrick questions you the entire time, voice confused and insistent as you tumble out into the parking lot. The cool air feels like a life jacket, the smell of rain fills your nose as you try to steady your erratic breathing. You’re still trying to tug your right shoe on as you start to speed walk away from his car.

You can hear the sound of feet slapping behind you on the pavement as you walk. A strong hand wraps around your bicep, whipping you around. Patrick only has his pants on, shirtless and barefoot in his haste to catch up with you.

“What the fuck are you doing? What’s wrong?” He sounds genuinely concerned, his eyes searching your face closely. It makes tears burn hot at your waterline, blurring your vision and falling to trickle down your cheeks when you try to blink them away.

“This was a mistake, Patrick.” your voice is thick with emotion, you try to wrench your arm out of his grip. He doesn’t let go, not squeezing tight enough to hurt but to try and keep you in place. You need to leave, to get as far away from Patrick as you can before you’re in too deep. “Please, let go.” Your voice is small, shaky and weak and so unlike you. The panic from the car is still wrapped around you, growing tighter every second you spend with him.

Patrick shakes his head wildly, raindrops slowly start to fall onto his bare shoulders. “No, fuck no! We can talk about this. We just need to talk–”

“Patrick stop!” Your voice cracks embarrassingly, loud and desperate as you double your efforts to free your arm. “Please just let me go!”

You don’t know if it’s the way you said it or the look on your face, maybe it’s a bit of both, but something makes Patrick let you go. Dropping your arm from his grip and letting his own hang limply at his side.

Rain starts to come down all around you, large drops hitting your skin and soaking the cotton of your shirt. You let yourself meet his eyes, they're sad in a way you’ve never seen before. The green turned dull and lifeless. It looks wrong on him.

When you can’t stand the hurt look on his face any longer, you leave. Walking away deeper into the rain, small puddles splashing up around your shoes with every step. You hope Patrick doesn’t follow you, that he lets you go. You’re doing him a favor by making the choice for him, it’s easier this way.

“You know, I think I really loved you.” He calls from behind you as the rain really starts to pick up. His voice almost gets swallowed by the thunder, you wish it would have. 

Against your better judgment, you look back. Patrick hasn't moved, still standing in the middle of the parking lot. The rain is making his hair stick to his forehead, starting to seep into the denim of his jeans to darken the gray. 

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, voice tiny and pathetic. Patrick probably couldn’t even hear you over the wind whipping through the air. He stares back at you, there's too much distance for you to see the look on his face. You turn on your heels and keep walking.

It’s nostalgia in its sickest form, the dark familiarity of the situation washing over you with the rain as you walk away from Patrick again. Ignoring every call of your name and desperate pleas for you to come back is new, you can’t tell if it hurts more or less than the silence of last time.

You wrap your arms around yourself, tears mixing with the trails of rain running down your cheeks. It’ll make it easier to convince yourself later on that you weren’t really crying, that it was just the rain. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and this will all be behind you. Patrick will be fine, he doesn’t really love you. In a few weeks he’ll go to the challenger and forget all about you. 

You hear your mothers voice ring out in the back of your head as you walk.

"It's for the best, my love. Dependence is weakness."

You hope to God that she's right.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[perlelune]

Sippy Cup | Coriolanus Snow

The war never left you, so you find a way to cope. One where you never lost your childhood. One where the world is still pure and safe. And Coriolanus can't resist that innocence.

Warnings: NON-CON, Dd/lg, Little!Reader, Innocence Kink, Mentions of war, PTSD, Manipulation, Age Regression, Capitol!Reader

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

The first time Coriolanus catches you and Tigris playing Tea Party, you expect to find disdain in his eyes, mockery perhaps. Instead, another emotion blooms in the blond’s cerulean gaze. Curiosity.

It happens on a sweltering Tuesday afternoon, the sizzling summer rays spilling through the half-drawn lace curtains of your bedroom. As usual, you and Tigris are sitting across from each other with Teddy occupying the third seat between the two of you. He is being his sassy self, of course, complaining about the sitting arrangement and wanting more tea cakes on his plate. You scold him, reminding him what happened the last time he went on a sugar high. Teddy’s eyes are much bigger than his stomach.

Nervousness slithered through you when you confessed your secret to Tigris. You didn’t want to, initially. You missed several days of class at the Capitol University in a row and your best friend grew concerned enough to show up at your house unannounced. She found you right here, playing with your dolls and chatting with your bear.

You explained to her that the pressure to be big is too much sometimes, that instead of shaking and crying on the floor of the girls’ bathroom, you come here. Once you enter your bedroom, every single woe vanishes. Your head is empty and your heart is full. You’re a carefree, happy little girl once more.

To your surprise, there isn’t a shred of judgment in Tigris’ eyes when you tell her. She never utters a single bad word about the neat rows of dolls and plushies adorning your shelves, your soft pink walls, your frilly dresses or the ribbons in your hair. When you reveal your little secret to her, what you did to ward off the nightmares, she simply listens, hands on her chest as her blue eyes fill with tears. You tell her the pink helps erase the red. The same red that splattered across the pavement when your parents and brother’s bodies hit the ground during the First Rebellion. You were still holding your brother’s hand when he fell. You held it even as his palm grew cold and stiff against yours. If it weren’t for the Snow cousins prying your weeping form off his that day, you might have stayed there and met the same fate.

Tigris gave you the warmest hug. Then she asked if she could play with you, if that’d cheer you up. You were ecstatic. Since that day, Tigris would play dolls with you, attend your tea parties and even fill out your coloring books with you sometimes. You never have to pretend with Tigris. Don’t have to pretend to be a big girl. Or speak long, complicated words. Or care about big, important things. You can just be a princess in her pink castle.

It’s why ice scatters in your veins when Coriolanus watches you and Tigris from the ajar door. 

“You weren’t coming home, so I came to check on you,” he mumbles as he takes in the scene before him. Your face heats beneath Coriolanus’ wide-eyed stare.

Alarm flickers over Tigris’ face.

“You need to learn to knock, Coryo,” she chides. She whispers a gentle apology to you before getting to her feet. She nudges Coriolanus outside of your bedroom and they head to the bottom of the stairs.

Eavesdropping is bad; you know it. Good little girls don’t peep or listen through the door. But you can’t help it. Heart in your throat, you try to hear the whispered conversation between Tigris and her cousin. You only catch snippets. Your best friend’s voice is a little harsher than you’re used to, like she’s a bit upset.

Don’t you dare make fun of her.

She needs this, Coryo.

Stark blue eyes lock with yours from afar. Your heart slams against your ribcage. You hastily shove the door closed, rushing back to your pink wooden chair.

You pick up Teddy and cradle him against your chest. “Coryo is our friend,” you remind him. “He wouldn’t make fun of us.” Teddy is uncharacteristically quiet. You feel tears rush to your eyes, your bear’s doubts starting to creep into you.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

The deep voice rolling over you yanks you from your thoughts. Your head whips up. Coriolanus’ hunkering at your side, his head tilted in inquiry. You glance past his shoulder. Tigris is standing behind her cousin with her arms folded, her wary gaze glued to his form. 

“Join us?” you repeat, dazed by his question. 

The corners of the blond’s lips lift. 

“Yes, it’s a tea party, isn’t it?”

Your gaze bulges. You never expected to hear such words spilling from Coryo’s mouth. He’s always so serious, so very serious, having no time for games. He’s been like that for as long as you can remember.

You wipe your tears and sniffle. 

A little defensive, you clutch fistfuls of your pink dress.

“Tea parties aren’t for boys. They’re for princesses,” you state curtly.

Coriolanus’ expression softens as he considers you.

“Then I could be a knight, from a visiting kingdom.” You purse your lips, brows knitting. The blond’s warm breath caresses your ear as he bends over you, “Knights protect princesses.”

You mull it over. It’d be nice to have someone watch over you and Teddy, make sure no rebels storm your castle walls, paint your heart-covered walls red. You pluck your teddy bear from his stool and question him.

“What do you think, Teddy?” A very serious conversation silently occurs between you and your plushie. After a few minutes, you hum and nod, agreeing with him. Your eyes rise to meet Coryo’s. “Teddy says he’s okay with it.”

A bright smile unfurls on Coriolanus’ handsome face.

“That’s wonderful, princess.”

Over time, Coriolanus’ visits grow more frequent. He even gets into the habit of bringing you gifts, like new plushies and sugary treats. Despite your reluctance to include him because he’s a boy and boys can be mean and smelly, the time you spend with him is always a highlight in your day. Coryo is never smelly; he smells like the flowers in the Grandma’am’s garden and fresh pine. And he’s not mean. He never fails to be sweet to you, bowing to you and kissing your hand like a knight would, and always embracing every one of your games.

He becomes a fixture in your weekly tea parties, often accompanying Tigris or showing up when she’s too busy at the workshop to make it. 

Somehow he always finds time for you, even if you know he’s so busy with important, grown-up things. You’re delighted. While playing alone is fun, your imagination knowing no bounds, it’s always better with a friend.

Today is one of these days. It’s just you and Coryo hanging out in your bedroom. He spends most of the evening handing you crayons while you color in the new picture book he got you, a comfortable silence swaddling the both of you. Coryo appears content just observing you, a peaceful smile hovering on his lips. The book is full of beautiful drawings of birds and landscapes. You never had one this nice so you were beyond thrilled to start coloring it.

When the sky gets darker outside your window, you sit up. You turn to Coryo.

“It’s getting late. I guess it’s time for the tea party to end. It was lovely of you to visit us, Sir Coriolanus and we hope-”

“Tigris said you were having nightmares,” he interrupts.

You go still, the crayons between your fingers clattering to the floor.

“That was a secret,” you mutter, your chest clenching. Why would Tigris tell him that? She’s your best friend. She should keep all your secrets forever. As you simmer in disappointment, Coryo places his fingers under your chin and lifts it. Your tearful gaze meets his.

“You can trust me too, princess,” he assures softly.

As you drown in his gaze, you get lost in a memory. Suddenly all the pink in your room is gone. Unmoving bodies. Gaping mouths. Hollow eyes. 

Bright red ribbons flowing from their mouths. Crimson confetti popping from their bellies. 

Everything in your vision becomes red.

You curl against the edge of the bed and close your eyes.

Hands on the side of your head, you take a deep breath. You slowly open your eyes again. You focus on the plushies sitting on your shelves until the somber clouds over your thoughts turn into cotton candy again.

You coax a shaky smile onto your lips. 

“I don’t want to talk about it. Can we just play?”

He chuckles.

“It’s too late for games, princess. Isn’t it your bedtime by now?”

“Then I guess you should go, Coryo,” you say, resting your chin against your knees.

Coriolanus pauses, studying you for a while.

His next words are barely above a whisper.

“Or I could stay.” His large hand drapes over yours, covering your knees. “I could sleep in your bed with you.”

Shocked that he’d even suggest such a thing, you gasp.

“Boys and girls don’t sleep in the same bed,” you mumble.

He cocks his head, amusement swimming in his blue eyes.

“But I’m not a boy. I’m your knight, remember?”

Happiness flows through you with this reminder.

“Yes, you are,” you chime.

His fingers slowly drag over your joined knees.

“Actually…I could be more than your knight, princess.” His gaze locks with yours. “I could be your daddy.”

Your forehead creases, confusion mounting inside you.

“My daddy?”

His lips twist in an uneven smile.

“Yes…daddies protect their little girls. Just like knights.” His fingers drift down to your ankle, the warmth of his touch seeping through your thigh high socks. “They don’t let anyone hurt their pretty princesses. And they keep the nightmares and monsters away at night.”

Amazement colors your tone with this knowledge.

“Really?”

“Of course.” He cups your cheek. “I could sleep in the bed with you and keep my little girl safe that way.”

“I could even tell you a bedtime story.”

Your eyes light up. “A bedtime story?” 

He fondles your cheek, his expression softening.

“Of course, anything for my sweet little girl.”

You climb into bed, your entire body shaking in anticipation. Coryo removes his shoes. He picks a book from your shelf and joins you on the bed. He gets under the covers with you and tucks your head against his chest. He opens the book to the first page, his tone patient and clear as he begins to read the tale to you. Your lids sag as you relax against Coryo, his fingers absently stroking the top of your head. You get engrossed in the story of a princess who gets lost on her way home. Lulled by his deep voice, you sink into sleep before the story’s even done.

For the first time in a while, a dreamless slumber welcomes you that night.

When Coryo’s tall frame slips through your door that day, hope twitches inside your chest. 

Tigris promised she’ll come today. She’s canceled on you so much lately and expressed how awful she feels about it, so you have been looking forward to seeing her again.

For some reason, work has been exceptionally busy these last few weeks. And while you understand how important work is to your best friend, you’ve missed her so much.

However as he clicks the door shut and you realize no one’s trailing behind Coriolanus, your shoulders slump.

The faint hope you harbored withers away.

“I thought Tigris was coming today.”

Coriolanus sighs as he inches towards you.

“I know princess…” He plucks your hands from your lap. “But there was an emergency at the dress shop. It’s gonna keep her the whole night.” His lips graze the back of your hand. “I’m sorry, she said it was more important than being here.”

Your mouth flies open.

More important than being here? Coryo’s words drive a dagger through your chest, his sympathetic expression twisting it even more.

You lower your head. Tigris has had a lot of emergencies lately. You hardly spend any time together anymore. Part of you even wonders if maybe she’s sick of playing with you. After all, Tigris is a big girl with many things to do. You know she dreams of becoming a stylist and that’s likely more important than silly little girl games. You swallow the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. 

Coryo cradles your face.

“But daddy’s here to play with you.”

Your voice trembles as you quell a sob. You look at him, warmth flowing through your chest. Your daddy’s right. You have no reason to be sad. After all, he’s with you. Just like he’s held you against him so many times in the last few weeks, reading you stories to help you fall asleep, and cheering you up whenever you felt sad, you can always count on your daddy.

“That’s amazing, daddy.”

His eyes seem to flare with an idea.

“Actually I thought we could play a new game today.”

Curiosity widens your gaze. “A new game?”

Coryo pulls you closer, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“Yes.” He pauses before revealing slowly, “It’s called ‘Mommy and Daddy’, princess.”

“Mommy and daddy?” Your brows squeeze together in confusion. “Tigris and I have never played that before.”

Coryo licks his lips, his gaze running over you.

“It’s a special game between daddies and their little girls,” he explains, his tone lower than before.

“I don’t know it.”

A deep chuckle parts from his lips. You frown, not understanding what’s so funny.

“I know you don’t, sweet girl,” he says. fondling your cheek. A tilted smile blooms on his lips. “It’s okay because Daddy can teach you all about it.”

You feel nothing but complete trust as Coriolanus nudges you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You look up at him, a mix of confusion and curiosity written on your features. He smiles at you, sinking to his knees to remove your shoes. 

You watch him do it, wondering why they need to be off for the game. Your daddy’s palm lingers on the sole of your socked feet, his finger traveling upward, dragging over your ankle. 

His eyes look a little weird now, though you can’t explain in what way. You frown, the air around you growing colder.

Did you forget to close the window?

He crawls over you, pushing you down on the mattress. Coriolanus’ smell surrounds you and your nose twitches. You’re not used to being so close to him. You can make out every detail of his handsome face, trace every one of his long lashes, and distinguish every line on his face.

He scrutinizes your form beneath him, one hand beside our head while the other sweeps under your thigh. 

“What’s going on, daddy?” you ask, your voice trembling. 

“It’s a game that’s easier played on a bed, princess.”

You give a nod of understanding. He strokes the side of your face, pride lacing his tone.

“Such a good girl.”

He bends his head against your shoulder. You hold your breath, a little uncomfortable for a reason you can’t place. Daddy drops a kiss at the base of your neck. Goosebumps spark on your skin. His kisses go lower and lower, his large hands following the same path. 

When his fingers land between your legs, your eyes go wide with confusion.

“D-Daddy, what are you doing?”

A soft gasp leaves you as he begins to rub your cotton panties. 

“There’s a special place where daddies touch mommies,” he whispers. He clutches at your center and the breath dies your throat. Your body gets hotter, your belly tightening as he pinches you in a particular spot. Coriolanus’ fingers go up and down. It both hurts and doesn’t hurt. Twisting and pulsing in a foreign way the more he touches you. Overwhelmed by the feeling spreading all the way to your toes, you cling to his arms for support.

His blue eyes are glued to your squirming frame as he traces circles around that little spot that leaves you feeling strange.

The hand besides your head moves, drifting to unbutton his pants. Your heart skips a beat as a part of your daddy you never saw is revealed to you. It’s big and red at the tip. You tense, heat rushing through you as you look away.

“Look at me, princess,” he instructs, drawing your quivering chin back to him. He presses himself against your little girl parts. Whimpers spill from your mouth as he humps you through your clothes, pinning you underneath his frame.

His hot breath rolls over your face.

“How does it feel?”

“A little weird.” You shake your head, a surge of tears threatening to break free beneath your lashes. “I don’t know if I like this game…”

He frames your chin, squeezing more tightly than usual. “Do you want to make daddy happy, princess?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer.

His thumb skims over your shuddering mouth.

“This is daddy’s favorite game to play with his princess.”

“Okay…”

Your mood sinks. You’re liking the game less and less the longer it goes on, but you don’t want to disappoint your daddy who held you almost every night to chase away the bad dreams. His daddy thing gets heavier and bigger against your belly while he moves. He grunts, his throat rippling. The sensation is almost too much to bear, your vision swaying as he stimulates your little girl parts.

Daddy’s game is a little strange, you’re starting to think, and it’s making you feel weird things. Weird, tingly things. And it makes the room spin like a carousel. 

You try to close your legs, stop the wave of strange, uncomfortable feelings…But Coriolanus wedges himself between your thighs, forcing your knees apart.

“Daddy…”

His brow twitches. “Shh, let daddy take care of you, princess.” His lips cover yours, smothering all your doubts. You feel bruises form on your mouth and cheek as he kisses you harshly. Lips trailing down to your neck, he pulls your panties down your legs. 

There’s barely time for you to register the cool air hitting your bare center before he’s starting to push himself in. The pain strikes you mute at first. Just the tip of him is so much. Too much. It feels like you will break any second. Coriolanus pants above you, straining to fit as you squeeze around him, fear and pain throbbing through you.

“It’s okay, princess. Daddy’s got you,” he mutters.

When he sinks even further, a broken sob leaves you. A fire burns you from inside, amplifying every time your daddy moves ever-so-slightly.

Tears fill your eyes to the brim. 

“I don’t like this game, daddy. Can we stop playing, please?” 

He wipes your tears with soft kisses. The words pouring into your ear, while uttered sweetly, are firm. “The game’s not over until daddy says it is, princess.”

Your breath falters as he goes all the way inside. He hums deep in his throat, draping himself over your shaking frame. Your head lolls to the side, your eyes wandering to your dolls and stuffed animals. The abrupt urge to poke their eyes out so they don’t have to see any of this blooms inside you. Tears stream down your cheeks as Coriolanus thrusts inside you. His throaty moans mingle with the slapping of skin against skin. The noises your daddy makes get louder every time he slams into you. He spreads your thighs more, pushing deeper. When you tighten around him, your daddy moans, his eyes rolling back. 

“You’re squeezing daddy’s cock so well, princess,” he lauds, knuckles dragging over your temple.

He goes faster, hitting sensitive parts that draw sharp noises of agony from you. Every part of your body is wide awake with pain and discomfort. Numb with a plethora of confusing, terrifying emotions, you don’t move as his hips snap into yours relentlessly. 

The game lasts for hours, it seems. You’re thankful when daddy appears done, his movements getting sloppier as his pace slows.

As his hips stutter, his hand wraps around your jaw. 

“Daddy’s going to come inside you, so you have to say ‘thank you’”

A hoarse sigh leaves him, his lashes fluttering as he empties himself inside you. You shudder.

“Thank you for coming inside me, daddy,” you mechanically repeat. Bile rises in your throat as the excess gathers around your folds, pooling over your once pristine white sheets. 

His sweaty form folds over yours. Another tear slides down your cheek.

“Such a good girl for me.” He buries his head in the crook of your neck and coos, “We’re going to play so many fun games together, princess.”

Your stomach curls with dread at that promise.

[4milly]

childish - jey u.

parings: manipulative!jey uso x black!reader

warnings: angst, use of n word, cursing, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, jey being an asshole is my fav sorry, cream pie, shower sex, manipulative jey, impregnation, dacryphilia, dumbification (if you squint),

word count: 3.9k (I BEEN GONE I WANTED TO GIVE YALL SOME)

you make me so mad, but i just come right back. it’s like i can’t get over you…

the music blasting through the speakers was enough to tune out the sound of your phone ringing...for nearly the 100th time. sexy redd and a bottle of casamigos mixed together was good enough to take your mind off things, not erase them.

jey called. than he called again. and again. and againnnn. he was doing all he could to reach you. he could play stupid all he fucking wanted too, he knew what the fuck he did. minus the arguing all day—for the last year—, jacob going live on instagram with them in the club last night was the straw that broke the camels back.

"imma head to bed though, ma. my damn head is pounding against my skull and shit" he muttered through the phone on facetime last night.

the call ended with the two of you kissing the screen on some clingy teenager bullshit. you were all googly eyed at him, just completely enamored. your man, your man, your man...all to get a live sent to you 45 minutes later of him in the club with some groupie ass bitch grinding on his lap and his hands on her hips.

all day you were going back and forth, him wanting to know what the problem is and you dodging it, making shady subliminal posts on the gram instead.

"bitch, get out your fucking head! fuck that nigga! he gone feel you this time!" you snapped out of your thoughts hearing lana, your best friend. she was kind enough to round up all the girls, give you her most see through and shortest outfit, do your hair, and makeup. honestly? you felt horrible. you wanted to do nothing more but lay in bed and cry you eyes out. but that nagging anger bubbling inside you was stronger.

she was right. he was gone feel it this time. no matter how much you missed him, it was fuck him right now.

a smile broke out on your glossed lips as, get it sexy began to play, "aw shit nah. get it bitch! cmon y'all!" you all headed to the dance floor ready to leave your problems there.

you lowered to your knees, bouncing your ass to the music. the liquor was starting to flow through your veins rapidly. you even raised your dress up a little just below your ass. one wrong move and you'd be flashing everyone in this damn place.

your back collided with a strong chest, "you showing out over here, baby." the man groaned in your ear, snaking his hands over your waist to pull your ass towards his growing crotch.

the man started kissing and sucking on your neck whilst his hands snaked downwards to your exposed thighs. you leaned your head back against his shoulder, grinding your ass in a circle on his crotch. 

for a moment, your mind went to jey. you felt guilty. what he did was considered inappropriate, and it embarrassed the fuck out you. it was like every month for the last year, it was another random ass bitch he wanted to show his 32's too.

you knew jey would never cheat on you, but that didn't stop the insistent feeling that he didn't at least come close to. coming home smelling like perfume, taking pictures with random ho's from the club, the mall, or at wrestling events. liking their pictures on the gram. it's like you aren't enough for him anymore.

yet, just letting this man touch all on you made you sick. you had a man...even if it felt like you were in the relationship all alone.

"oh shit..." lana mumbled, her eyes nearly falling on the floor

the mans hands raised to squeeze one of your breast, just as he was yanked off you, "aye yo! what the fuck is this shit? this the shit yo ass fuckin doin? you got me so fucked up!"

speak of the devil they shall appear, i guess. anger radiated off jey's body. his nose flared, snarl on his face, and his dickriding ass cousins in tow right behind him. just perfect.

"boy fuck you! you can't take shit you dish out," you yelled back, frustration from the last 24 hours finally spilling out. "get the fuck out my face."

"how do you barge in here like that shit, after having some random—"

"mind yo hoe ass business, lana. you don't know shit about what the fuck you talkin' bout!"

you pushed jey backwards by his chest, "don't talk to her like that! chill—"

"fuck is yo ass even doin' in here! i'm callin' all day to see where my girl at and you letting some random ass motherfucka touch all on you?" jey's eyes narrowed with hatred as his voice continued to raise

"excuse me," a man clearing his throat caught everyone's attention, "i'm going to have to ask all of you to leave the property. this drama has no place here."

jey slowly nodded his head before kissing his teeth. his eyes held so much hate, you barely could recognize him. for a split second, you regretted this whole night. had you just stayed your ass home all this could've been avoided. but he had no right to be a hypocrite. especially, rolling in here with all that bass in his voice like he was a saint.

he mugged you up and down, "you know what? i'm out. have fun with yo hoe ass friends, mama. where that motherfuka at? i got a few condoms for ole boy"

jey's face snapped to the side. his cheek began to sting from the force of your hand, "you got some fucking nerve! you had a fucking headache last night, right? lemme guess, random ass bitches make you feel better? I was on that damn live. but im the hoe? hopefully yo chest hurt just as fuckin bad as my feelings do!"

the next morning felt like war. the house once filled with love between two lovers felt like a cage holding a lion and a tiger...one just waiting for the other to pounce. jey's face adorned with bags, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he stared at you in the kitchen. when the club owner forced everyone to get the fuck out of his establishment before he called the police, jey snatched you by your arm, pushing you into the car.

the whole ride home the both of you shouted at each other. name calling, you hitting the dashboard, him hitting the stirring wheel. the car felt like it was suffocating under the weight of all the things you both wanted to say but couldn’t find the right words for. instead? you choose to just say 'fuck you' over and over. his knuckles turned white as he gripped the wheel tighter, while your voice cracked from the strain of yelling. the tension was so thick, even the air outside the car seemed to press in through the windows. by the time you pulled into the driveway, the silence that followed was deafening, a sharp contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded. neither of you moved, both staring straight ahead, unwilling to be the first to speak or step out.

jey choose to sleep on the couch, giving you the option to sleep in the bedroom. this morning was no different than last night. neither one of you wanted to speak first. you were tired of arguing with him—tired of him especially. you were sick of the random ass insta tags from women, the dm's, getting sent live videos...it was too much. what was supposed to be growing together felt like growing apart.

you looked up over the counter to see jey still mean muggin' you, "stop fuckin' looking at me!" you finally snapped. call you childish, for starting a fight again, but he was the one doing this. not you.

"watch yo fuckin' voice hollerin' and shit at my ass. you was the one shakin' yo ass and shit in the club. all on instagram throwing shade at me, taking pictures of yo ass out. but im the damn problem. mane, get the fuck outta here with that," jey groaned rubbing his head in his hands

"so what? you can have bitches on your lap, but i dance on a nigga, and thats your problem? you're a fucking hypocrite! i hate your ass!" you instantly regretted that, not even just saying it. but thinking of it.

"i was pushing her off me! had yo ass looked you would've seen that shit! yo ass wasn't pushing ole boy off you. was you? yo ass wanted to get back at me so bad, you damn near was finna fuck him." the thought of you and the man was vivid in jey's mind. his eyes darkening all over.

"you're a fucking liar! you were letting her grind all in your lap! I seen it! what about a few weeks ago? the bitch from your job? asking you to autograph her panties?" you scoffed before looking away. the whole conversation was a dead end. it was getting no where. he was being a hypocrite and you only wanted your point to get across. but that was jey: never wanting to take accountability or listen to shit anybody else has to say.

"thats my fuckin' job! you know that shit!"

you threw your hands in the air, before walking into the bedroom. as you slammed the door behind you, your chest heaved with a mix of anger and frustration. you couldn’t wrap your head around how jey always managed to twist things, how he never took accountability for anything.

it felt like every fight ended the same—with you drained and him unfazed. you sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the sheets as if they could anchor you to something solid. what stung more was the realization that he probably didn’t even care. it was like he lived in a world where he could do no wrong, and you were just a storm he had to wait out.

jey leaned back on the couch with a smug smirk creeping onto his face. he rubbed his jaw, shaking his head like the whole argument was nothing more than a joke, "always trippin’ over nothing," he muttered to himself, grabbing his phone and scrolling aimlessly on instagram. in his mind, he wasn’t the problem—you were.

all he’d done was go out, and you couldn’t handle it. he did have a headache, but when he felt better, his cousin invited him to the club.

after a few drinks started making their rounds, so did the women. he did let the woman dance on him, and he did grab her hips to grind against her. but as soon as he remembered you—how you were waiting at home in nothing but a shirt and a pair of panties, probably fresh out of the shower smelling like vanilla—he pushed her off him. it was just dancing.

nothing more.

He chuckled low under his breath, his ego shielding him from any self-reflection. "man, she really be actin’ like I’m out here wildin’ for real," he said to no one in particular, tossing his phone onto the coffee table.

to him, the whole fight was just another example of you being “dramatic.”

you’d come out of the room eventually, probably still mad, but Jey figured he’d smooth things over like he always did. after all, you weren’t going anywhere. at least, that’s what he told himself as he stretched out on the couch, arms behind his head, convinced he was untouchable.

the sound of the shower turning on caught his attention, the thought of you undressing, body soaked with water, instantly got him worked up. he immediately stood up, his body moving almost on its own accord. the temptation was too strong to resist. jey made his way to the bathroom door, listening intently to the sound of water hitting tile. he hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

Was this crossing a line? you were still upset with him, after all. But the image of your wet skin, droplets and soap cascading down your curves, consumed his thoughts. he swallowed hard, desire overriding his better judgment. he wanted to make up to you the only way he knew how.

slowly, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. steam billowed out, enveloping him in its warm embrace. through the foggy glass of the shower door, he could make out your silhouette. his breath caught in his throat as he watched you run your hands through your hair, completely unaware of his presence. he began to undress himself, leaving his clothes in a small pile near yours. his hand grabbing his rock hard dick, beginning to stroke it to the sight of your body.

jey's heart raced as he silently slid open the shower door, stepping into the warm spray behind you. you tensed, startled by his sudden presence, but didn't turn around. he placed his hands gently on your hips, pressing his body against your back.

"i'm sorry," he murmured against your neck, his lips grazing your wet skin. "let me make it up to you, mama."

you remained still, conflicted. part of you wanted to push him away, to hold onto your anger. but his touch sent shivers down your spine, awakening a familiar hunger.

jey's hands roamed up your sides, cupping your breasts as he kissed along your shoulder. a small gasp escaped your lips, betraying yourself. he smiled against your skin, knowing he was breaking through your defenses.

slowly, you turned to face him, water cascading down your front. your eyes stained red as tears flowed freely from them, "i love you, baby." he sighed before wrapping his arm under your thigh to push it against your chest, "you love me?"

you knew his question was a ploy to get you to break down. you feel for it every time. you nodded weakly, your resolve crumbling. "i love you too," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rush of water.

his signature smirk appeared on his face—he won. you weren't going anywhere. he kissed you deeply, passionately, as if trying to convey all his emotions through that single act. your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, your body betraying your lingering anger.

you knew you should resist, should hold onto your anger, but your body responded to his touch instinct. jey's lips crashed into yours, passionate and hungry. you melted into his embrace, your body responding to his touch despite your lingering hurt. his fingers dug into your thigh as he pressed you against the cool tile wall.

"show me," he growled, nipping at your earlobe. "show me how much you love me, mama."

he positioned himself at your entrance, sliding his dick between your folds. your arousal leaking all over him, "its yo dick, mama. you all mines. y'hear me? ion want nobody else..." you whimpered as Jey teased you, your body trembling with need.

"fuck," you breathed, your fingers digging into his shoulders, "i need you so bad."

jey smirked, clearly pleased with your surrender. in one swift motion, he thrust into you with a grunt at the feelings of your pussy hugging him tightly, filling you completely. you cried out, overwhelmed by the sensation, "that's right, mama. no one else can make you feel this good. yea?"

"look at you, taking my dick so well," he purred, his voice dripping with arrogance. "you can't stay mad at me when I'm fucking you like this, can you?"

you shook your head weakly, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through your body. your anger melted away, replaced by a desperate need for more.

"tell me I'm the best you ever had," jey demanded, his ego swelling with every word, his voice low and dripping with arrogance as he leaned closer, his eyes locked on yours like a challenge he knew he’d already won

as he began to move, setting a punishing rhythm, you lost yourself in the sensations. the steam, the heat of his body, the fullness of him inside you, was all so familiar. all of jey's apologies ended this way. you lowered your head into the crook of his neck as your mewls bounced off the glass walls. jey felt the sensation of tears on his shoulder, warm and damp against his skin. at first, he rolled his eyes, a slight smirk tugging at his lips again.

the more he moved, the less pain you felt—and soon you were taking him so well. his dick was coated in your slick, a ring of white started form around his base as he plunged in and out of your pussy.

you felt pathetic. here you were; screaming and yelling at jey for being so inconsiderate about your relationship, inappropriate with other women, swearing you were done with him...and now you're crying about letting him fuck you in the shower. his dick thrusting in and out of your pussy, and bouncing you on it.

right where you belonged.

"this all you needed right, mama? stop crying. tell me whatchu needed. you just wanted to get fucked, hm?" jey laughed breathlessly, pressing you deeper against the wall as his hips pounded into you, "gotta remind my girl she ain't leavin' me. only place she belongs is right here. fuck me back, baby."

jey placed small kisses on your cheeks, where your tears rolled down. you hated him for making you like this—complete putty in his hands. you knew he was ruining you for all others. but what could you say? no matter how many fights, you still loved him. everything with him just felt right. you couldn't picture it with anybody else.

he chuckled darkly, increasing his pace. "that's right, mama. you all mine. no matter how mad you get."

your pussy clenched around him. the only sound in the room was you pussy making obscene noises every time he stroked, "j-jey.." you sobbed out against his shoulder as jey hit that perfect spot deep inside you.

he was like an animal in your ear: grunting and growling as he pounded you with little regard.

"i-i hate you," you whimpered unconvincingly, your walls clenching around him.

jey laughed, the sound rich and condescending. "no you don't, mama. you close? focus on cummin' baby. i love that shit."

each thrust puts stars in your vision. he’s splitting you open from behind with a steady, strong pace. your pussy clenches down on his cock and he curses under his breath at the feeling. he loved how you squeezed his length as quiet, pained mewls escaped your throat. your stomach dropped and your hips shuddered as he went deeper and deeper inside of you. your mouth opened on a loud string of sobs as you push your hips towards his. you felt your belly start to tighten as his strokes sped up.

"m-m-m gonna c-cummm," you let out a strangled cry as your orgasm flooded the both of you.

"shit! fuck, baby. you can take it. it's your dick" he growled as your pussy tightened from overstimulation. it made his eyes roll and stomach clench so hard that it hurts.

"you ha-have to pull, aw fuck! you have to pull out." you and jey always used some sort of protection. jey remembered, you mentioning how you forgot to renew your birth control pills. he finally found his way out of another one of your dramatic ass arguments. he was gonna make you a mommy, "w-we can't bring a baby into th—"

"shh, shh," he hushed your protest as his hips continued to rock into your pussy, his dick coated in a sheer layer of white slicking him up, "don't worry bout that, right now. just focus on cummin' again, baby. you so pretty when you do." his voice almost hypnotic

jey's thrusts grew even more forceful, your body bouncing against the slick tile with each powerful movement. He gripped your thighs tighter, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he held you in place.

you sniffled as you finally calmed down. your body still betraying you by leaking onto jey's dick. he pressed his lips to yours and groaned spilling rope after rope inside you with choking gasps. your over-sensitive, aching pussy twitches at the feeling of his hot cum inside of you, sending another mini orgasm out of you. he kept his dick plugged inside of you, feeding you soft thrust, making sure all his cum was drained into you.

"you know I love you, right?" he let out a small chuckle, his tone dripping with amusement as he pressed soft kisses on your face—your eyes welling with tears again, "i told you it wasn't that deep. stop being so childish, ight? y'know you my baby. no other motherfucka but you."

you blinked, confused, a mix of frustration and guilt clouding your thoughts. he could see it in your eyes, how the doubt started to creep in. you opened your mouth to argue but found yourself hesitating. the way he framed it, the way he made you feel like the one in the wrong, made you question everything, "you're right...i'm sorry, jey. i really am."

"that's what i thought," jey murmured, his smile widening as he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you like nothing had ever happened. his touch felt possessive, almost reassuring, but you couldn’t shake the knot in your stomach.

you’d said it—apologized when it wasn’t even your fault—but his manipulation left you feeling small, but once again, it didn't bother you.

he kissed the top of your head, acting like everything was fine, like the argument had never happened. "you’re good, baby," he whispered, his voice smooth, convincing. "stop letting these lil things mess wit us. we gone start our own lil family soon. my baby's gonna have my baby."

his words made your pussy soak his dick again absentmindedly and tighten all over. your body betrayed you once again, your pussy clenching and fluttering around jey's softening cock still buried inside you. a rush of warmth flooded your core as you felt his seed seeping deeper, seeking out your womb with primal purpose. your inner walls rippled with aftershocks, milking every last drop from him as if desperate to be filled.

jey set this up...he flooded his cum into you and right now it was rushing towards your womb. you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the right time, and maybe, just maybe, jey wasn’t the right person. yet, it all still felt so perfect.

his voice was honey-sweet, dripping with false tenderness that you desperately wanted to believe. "yo body knows what it needs, even when that pretty lil head of yours get all mixed up with drama and being childish."

you nodded, your chest tight as you fought the overwhelming urge to pull away, to tell him the truth—that this wasn’t okay, that it shouldn’t be this way. but you didn’t. because the way he looked at you, so certain and calm, made you second guess yourself again.

yet, imagine the look on your face when you see two pink lines on a pregnancy test 3 weeks later and a DM of a video with another woman's lips on your mans in the back of the club. but of course, he was pushing her off...right?

right?

❦

don’t forget to follow and reblog! drop me a comment too, i love reading those. <3

tags:

@caramelcleopatraa @harmshake @msbigredmachine @angiedawn02 @amandairene88 @cyberdejos2 @queeny23 @empressdede @trentybenty @heauxvibez @whatdoeseverybodywant @shes2real @romansthrone @southerngirl41 @jaza23 @prettyfilmz @uceyliyahh @strxwberry-milku

merry christmas! 💘

[fratttymatty]

The Bro And The Babe

(All characters are 18+)

Sam Goldberg adjusted his glasses nervously, peering over the top of his laptop in his cluttered apartment. "Maggie, do you ever wonder if there's a parallel universe where we’re, like, the exact opposite of ourselves?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Maggie Kane rolled her eyes and flexed her biceps casually, her workout tank stretched tight over her muscular shoulders. "You’re really spiraling into one of your sci-fi tangents again, aren’t you?" she teased, setting down a protein shake and leaning against the table.

The two had been best friends for over a decade, bonded over their shared love of comics, progressive activism, and long, caffeinated discussions about queer theory. Sam was a self-proclaimed nerd who could quote Star Trek in Klingon, while Maggie, with her shaved undercut and love for lifting, was equally passionate about gaming and LGBTQ+ rights.

That evening, as Sam researched theories about consciousness and parallel dimensions, Maggie scrolled through Reddit on the couch. Suddenly, an ad popped up on both of their screens: "Transform your life forever! Click here for an experience you’ll NEVER forget!"

“Ugh, spam,” Maggie muttered, but Sam was already clicking. A blinding flash of light erupted from their devices, and everything went black.

When Sam woke up, he felt… off. Like, seriously off. His entire body tingled, his clothes felt tighter, and his thoughts were foggy. He glanced down and nearly screamed—except the sound that came out wasn’t his usual nervous stammer. It was a deep, confident, carefree bro laugh.

“Yo, what the actual heck?” he muttered, except it came out as, “Duuude, what’s even happenin’, bruh?”

He staggered to his feet, stumbling over a pair of sneakers he didn’t recognize—chunky white Nikes. Glancing down, he realized he was wearing a tight tank top that showed off his absurdly muscular, tan arms. His glasses were gone, replaced by perfect vision. His old face? Gone too—now replaced with a chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones, and a boyish, smirking charm.

He caught his reflection in a nearby car window and gasped. “Daaaang, I’m lookin’ so rad, bro!” He flexed his biceps instinctively. “Wait… what’s happenin’ to me?”

“Like, OH MY GOD, what is even goin’ on right now?” a high-pitched, bubbly voice squealed nearby.

Sam turned to see a girl—no, Maggie—only… she was unrecognizable. Gone were her muscles and practical workout attire. In their place was a slim, tanned, barely-18-looking blonde with bouncy curls, a bright pink crop top, and a dangerously short skirt. She had a cheerleader’s pom-poms in one hand and a glossy pout on her lips.

“Mags?” Sam asked, his deep voice cracking.

“Ew, who’s Maggie? Like, my name is Madison now, duh,” she replied, twirling a strand of her hair. Her eyes were wide and vacant, as if her usual sharp wit had been erased and replaced with… bimbo vibes. “Wait, who are you? Ohmygawd, you’re, like, sooo cute!”

“Madison? I’m Sam, your best—uh, wait…” Sam scratched his head, his memories slipping away like sand through his fingers. “No way, I’m, like, Brad now. And, uh, I guess we’re totally supposed to be boyfriend and girlfriend or somethin’?”

Madison giggled and clapped her hands. “O-M-G, Brad! Like, yeah, we are!” She grabbed his arm, pressing herself against him. “You’re sooo strong, baby!”

Brad couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, babe, I, like, totally work out all the time. Gotta keep the guns lookin’ sick for football season, ya know?”

Madison nodded enthusiastically. “OMG, totes. And, like, I’m soooo pumped for cheer practice tomorrow! We’re, like, gonna crush it at the pep rally.”

Their old lives—Sam and Maggie, the nerdy, liberal best friends who championed justice and intellect—were completely erased. In their place stood Brad and Madison, a carefree high school jock and his bubbly cheerleader girlfriend. Neither had any desire to question what had happened or return to their former selves. Their new identities were as comfortable as the sun-kissed, athletic bodies they now inhabited.

Brad and Madison strolled hand in hand through the high school parking lot, the sun gleaming off Brad’s newly tousled dark brown curls. His hair, which had always been fine, straight, and perpetually disheveled in his Sam days, now bounced with a voluminous, carefree energy that seemed to match his new persona. Madison giggled, running her manicured fingers through it.

“Babe, your hair is, like, so dreamy now,” she cooed. “It’s like you’re in one of those rom-coms I totally love!”

Brad smirked, running a hand through his own curls. “Yeah, it’s pretty sick. Totally matches my whole vibe, right? Like, natural curls for the win, babe!”

Madison squealed in agreement, flipping her own bouncy blonde hair over her shoulder. Not only was her hair now platinum and shiny, but it somehow always seemed to be perfectly styled, as if she had just left the salon. Gone were her practical, low-maintenance buzzed undercut and dyed streaks—replaced by soft, flawless waves cascading down her back.

As they reached the entrance to school, a group of students waved enthusiastically. Their new friends were waiting: Chad, the quarterback; Ashley, the head cheerleader; and Brittany, who always carried a Starbucks cup and scrolled endlessly on her phone.

“Yo, Brad! Dude, where were you yesterday? We missed you at the gym!” Chad called out, giving Brad a fist bump.

“Yeah, for real,” Brittany chimed in, snapping a photo of Madison. “Madison, your outfit is, like, soooo cute today. And OMG, you two are legit couple goals.”

Brad grinned. “My bad, bro. Had to help my dad with some, like, backyard stuff or whatever. Totally made up for it with extra squats this morning, though.”

“Of course you did, bro!” Chad laughed, clapping Brad on the back.

Madison jumped into the conversation. “Oh my God, you guys, I was, like, totally thinking—what if we make a TikTok to, like, pump everyone up for the pep rally tomorrow?”

Ashley clapped her hands excitedly. “Yes! You’re sooo right. We could do one of those dances—like, the trending ones!”

“Totally!” Madison squealed, pulling out her phone.

As the group planned their video, Brad caught himself admiring how easily they all fit together. It was a far cry from his and Maggie’s old days of debating social issues in coffee shops or campaigning for progressive causes. He shrugged off the thought as easily as brushing sand off his shoulder.

Later, at lunch, Brad and Madison sat at the “cool table,” surrounded by their friends. The conversation turned to the upcoming student government elections.

“Honestly, I hope Jacob wins for class president,” Chad said, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth. “He’s got the right ideas about, like, cutting funding for those lame clubs no one cares about.”

Madison nodded, sipping her diet soda. “Yeah, like, why should the school waste money on dumb stuff like, um… science fairs? We totally need more spirit weeks and cute uniforms for cheer instead!”

Brad nodded in agreement, surprising himself with his own words. “For sure, babe. And, like, don’t get me started on all the stuff they spend on those nerdy STEM kids. They should put that cash into, like, upgrading the football field or whatever. Priorities, ya know?”

Chad grinned. “Preach, bro. Sports are what make this school awesome!”

Madison clapped her hands, delighted. “Exactly! Like, if people wanna be all nerdy and boring, that’s fine or whatever, but they shouldn’t take away from, like, the stuff that makes school fun!”

After lunch, Brad found himself in the locker room with Chad and the guys, preparing for practice. As he slipped on his jersey, he noticed how natural it all felt—joking with his teammates, flexing his biceps in the mirror, and strategizing for the next big game. Meanwhile, Madison was across campus, huddled with Ashley and Brittany as they debated which glitter eyeshadow would look best for the pep rally.

At practice, Brad caught the ball effortlessly, his natural athleticism shining. “Nice catch, bro!” Chad yelled, slapping him on the back.

Afterward, Brad and Chad sat on the bleachers, cooling off.

“Dude, life’s pretty sick, huh?” Chad said, grinning.

“Totally, bro,” Brad replied, sipping a sports drink. “Like, no worries, no drama. Just football, babes, and hanging out. What more could you ask for?”

That night, Madison was sprawled out on Brad’s bed, flipping through a glossy fashion magazine while Brad played Madden on his PS5.

“Babe,” Madison said suddenly, “do you ever think about… like, deep stuff?”

Brad paused the game, looking at her. “What do you mean, Mads?”

She twirled a strand of her hair, her brow furrowing slightly. “Like… I dunno. Sometimes I get this, like, weird feeling that I used to care about… other things? Like, boring stuff. Science, or whatever.”

Brad shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “Nah, babe. That stuff’s lame. You’re, like, perfect just the way you are now. Cheerleader Madison is, like, the ultimate you.”

Madison’s face lit up with a bright smile. “Aww, you’re right, Brad! You always know what to say.”

Brad grinned, pulling her close. “Course I do. Now c’mere—game’s over. Time for some quality time with my girl.”

As the two leaned back, laughing and playfully poking each other, the faintest flicker of their old selves might have stirred in the depths of their minds. But the feeling was fleeting, drowned out by the overwhelming simplicity of their new lives.

Because Brad and Madison didn’t need to wonder or analyze anymore. Life was perfect. Simple, sunny, and carefree. And honestly? They wouldn’t have it any other way.

A week later, Brad and Madison found themselves at the beach, their favorite hangout spot after a long day of football and cheer practice. Madison adjusted her pink bikini and squealed, “Brad, let’s, like, take a selfie! We’re, like, the hottest couple at school, duh!”

Brad smirked, slipping an arm around her tiny waist. “For sure, babe. Gotta show off how shredded I am, ya know?” He flexed dramatically as Madison snapped photos with her phone.

The two sprawled out on their beach towels, sipping soda and laughing at dumb jokes. Brad stared out at the ocean, his mind blissfully empty. “Man, I’m, like, so stoked for the party tonight. Gonna shotgun, like, a million beers.”

Madison giggled. “Brad, you’re soooo silly. But, like, don’t get too crazy, ‘kay? I need you to, like, carry me when my heels hurt later.”

“Anything for my girl,” Brad said, planting a kiss on her lips. For a moment, a shadow of their old selves flickered, like a ghost of Sam and Maggie trying to break through. But it was quickly drowned out by the pounding surf and the warmth of the sun.

As the waves crashed against the shore, Brad and Madison held hands, their new lives stretching out before them like an endless summer. Nerdy, progressive Sam and Maggie were gone for good, and neither Brad nor Madison cared to remember them.

“Life’s, like, sooo perfect,” Madison sighed.

“Totally,” Brad agreed. And together, they watched the sun dip below the horizon, lost in their carefree, simple happiness.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Just you and me

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader (y/n)

Warnings: smut!!, fluff, a little bit of everything

Background: You, Carlos and Charles are at a Ferrari event. You came with your longtime best friend Carlos, and Charles brought with him the girl he's currently seeing, even though he's not really interested in anyone else but you. You and Charles have liked each other ever since you met, but you've never gotten into anything serious. You were always seeing other people on the side and that was fine for both of you until you realized that you fell for him.

Y/n's pov

"Y/n? What are you doing here?" Carlos asks kneeling down in front of me. "Hey, are you okay?" He asks again noticing another tear roll down my face.

I honestly don't want to talk to him right now. I don't wanna talk to anybody. I feel pathetic because I'm letting myself feel this way again over a guy. It's humiliating. But it's not Charles' fault. It's no one's fault but mine. I should be in control of my own feelings but here I am yet again letting my mood depend on others. It seems that the more you resist certain things, the more they hurt.

"Look at me." Carlos says lifting up my chin making me look at him but I quickly look away.

"I'd really appreciate if you could leave me be with myself right now."

"I will if you tell me who made you cry?" He takes off his blazer and wraps it around me.

"I made myself cry." I sob putting my palms over my face. I can't wait to look myself in the mirror and see black mascara all over my face. Luckily the amount of alcohol in my system tells me to not give a shit about it.

"Why you two do this to each other, I'll never understand." He sighs.

"He went home with her?" I dare to ask even though I'm not sure if I want to hear the answer.

"She wasn't feeling well so he took her home, but-"

"There you are, fuck I'm looking-"

Charles. He took her home, but he'll be back. Feeling of relief and feeling of anger are fighting inside of me when I see him.

Without saying a word, Carlos stands up and leaves us alone on the terrace. I immediately stand up and head after Carlos not wanting to look at Charles, but before I can leave he tightly grabs my wrist and pulls me to him.

"Let go." I say through my teeth.

"No." He says coldly not breaking the eye contact. "What's wrong? Are you crying because I left with her?"

I laugh at his question. How dares he? "Crying because of you? You're not worthy of that, Charles." I obviously lie yanking my wrist out of his grip.

"See I don't think you're telling the truth." He takes a step closer to me leaving a small gap between us. "I know that just the thought of me being close to her or touching her.." Oh my God my heart literally aches picturing them in my head.

"Stop.." I whisper quietly squinting my eyes desperately wanting to erase it from my mind.

"It makes your blood boil." He says looking down at me. "And I wouldn't want it any other way."

"What?"

"C'mon," He takes a strand of my hair and puts it behind my ear. "We both know we can't stop thinking about each other. Whose blazer is on you?"

"It's Carlos'." Right as the words leave my mouth, he takes it off of me making it fall to the ground and the cold breeze hits my skin.

"Come with me." He takes my hand again, but I stop him.

"No, Charles, I don't wanna go with you." I lie, but he ignores me. "I'll scream, I swear-"

"Go ahead, scream. The press is just waiting for some interesting shit to happen. I'm sure you'll make the headlines tomorrow morning." He cuts me off and I have nothing to say back at him.

I follow him out of the terrace through the long corridor to the elevator. The elevator takes us up to the top floor of the hotel. We get out and Charles pulls a card out of his pocket unlocking the door of the hotel suite.

As we step inside, Charles takes off his blazer throwing it onto the bed and I go straight to the huge glass wall that has an exit to the balcony. The only light in the room was the one that came from the outside and I didn't mind. I cross my arms looking at the city lights outside not knowing what to do nor how to act. I'm so tired, emotionally tired. I don't have the energy to argue, to scream, I don't even have the energy to fight back or try to prove my point over anything anymore. I am tired of feeling this way.

I feel his arms on my waist as he appears behind me. He places a soft kiss on my shoulder and then on my neck making me close my eyes and lean my head on the opposite side so that now he has a full access to it.

I let out a small whimper as his left hand travels from my waist to the front side of my neck gently gripping it his rings leaving cold traces on my skin.

"Fuck, y/n.." He breathes out. "I want you so bad, you don't even realize." As he says that he presses himself against me and I can feel how hard he already is.

He spins me around and crashes his lips on mine and in that moment I completely give in. I forget what I was mad at him about. I decide not to overthink this, I just want to surrender to this moment and honestly I don't want it to ever end. Even if I wanted to resist this I couldn't. I want him more than anything and I want him to make me his even though in my mind I've been his from the first day we met.

He deepens our kiss as his tongue swipes lightly over mine. His hand finds its way over my thigh to my panties passing with his fingers over the thin damp fabric. He pulls them to the side with his two fingers and slowly starts rubbing my clit in circles as I lean my head in the crook of his neck.

"You're dripping, fuck..Look at me." He whispers and lifts up my chin with his other hand making me look him in the eyes. "You're so wet for me baby. Tell me, tell me what do you want me to do?"

"Charles..." I don't feel confident enough to say profanities back to him, but hearing him talking that way was music to my ears.

"Tell me what you want baby. I want to hear you. Do you want me to finger you?" He asks and I nod digging my nails into his skin.

"Finger me, please." my mouth fall open unable to say anything as his fingers hastily start going in and out of me.

"I really wanted to be gentle with you tonight, but you're making it too difficult for me." I moan at his words and at the loss of touch as he pulls his fingers out of me just to push them back inside. "Open your mouth." I obediently do as he orders and puts his fingers in my mouth. I suck on them paying special attention to his middle finger without taking my eyes off of his.

"Fuck baby..Look what you're doing to me. I'm so hard for you it fucking hurts." He mutters under his breath stroking his cock through his pants that looked as if they were about to snap open under the pressure. We continue to kiss passionately ripping off the clothes from one another.

"Please baby don't make me beg." He throws his head backwards desperate for my touch.

I start kissing his neck and unbuttoning his pants at the same time. He cups my cheeks as I slowly start pulling his boxers down his legs. My knees hit the floor and I don't waste any time as I put him in my mouth. Charles' moans intensifies when I look him up in the eyes.

"Fuuuuck." The eye contact almost sends him over the edge. It drives him completely crazy. "Baby, I'm gonna cum if you keep looking at me like that." But I want him this way, crazy over me, craving my touch as much as I'm craving his. He pulls my hair into a ponytail and pushes me deeper on his cock hitting the back of my throat. I gag around him making him moan in pleasure and he slowly pushes his cock all the way down my throat again enjoying the view.

"Fuck, I can't hold back anymore. I need to be inside of you. Come here." He breathlessly pulls me up by my elbows and presses me against the glass wall. He lifts up my dress and my right leg with one hand and with the other he pulls my panties aside thrusting himself into me.

"Charles we're at the window. Somebody could see us."

"Good. Then everybody will finally know how much you're mine." I feel warmth in my stomach at his words. God, it feels so good to hear them. "Do you want this?" He asks. I nod whimpering, but the answer doesn't satisfy him. "I need to hear you."

"I want it, I want you." I manage to say.

"Are you close?"

"Yeah, I'm so close Charles" I squeal digging my nails into the skin on his back.

"Me too baby, where do you want it?"

"Inside, cum inside me. Fill me up." The words that I whisper into his ear alone are enough to make his eyes roll and release his cum deep inside me. My legs start to shake and he quickly catches me holding me tightly in his embrace and leaving kisses all over my face.

"From now on it's just you and me okay? No one else, just you and me. No more messing around. I only want you y/n. I always have."

"Just you and me."

[moutainrusing]

soft

575 words, @rosekillermicrofic

Class was boring, so Barty flicked his best friend in the forehead and muttered under his breath, just loud enough so that the other students around them could hear and gossip about it later, “Heard you went soft, Rosie.”

“Soft when?” Evan shoved Barty away, trying to focus on what he was writing. Algebra.

Barty smirked twistedly, “While you were inside—”

Evan pressed his pencil into the book harshly, “No one, I was inside—”

“And that’s why she broke up with you,” Barty finished smugly.

Finally, Evan dropped the pencil and looked up from his work to glare at him, “Can you stop making up rumours—?”

“Who me?” Barty clutched his chest in faux-innocence. “I’d never. You’re my ride-or-die, Evan. As in, I ride you or I die—”

“Thought I’m too soft,” he scoffed, picking up his pencil.

“Nah, you’re always hard in me,” Barty leaned back in his chair to watch him.

“Must be painful,” Evan snarked, writing again.

“I’ve gotten used to it,” Barty swung forward.

Evan made a face at his scribbled maths. “Wait, how long have we been—?”

Barty gasped, “You don’t remember?! I’m calling quits.”

“Two break ups in one day,” Evan shook his head, hair falling into his eyes as he got out an eraser. “How am I coping?”

“Botox,” Barty blurted, staring at his face.

“Figured out my secret,” Evan muttered, concentrating intensely on erasing his botched-up maths, scrunching the paper while he did so.

“It’s a botched-up job,” Barty hummed, crossing his arms.

“I’m switching surgeons,” Evan casually brushed the rubber crumbs off his ruined page, looking pleased at how he’d fixed his mistake by rubbing it out. Barty wanted to laugh at him.

“No one could fix your face,” he pushed.

Ignorantly, Evan played into Barty’s fabricated game, “You used to fuck me, what’re you complaining about?”

Grinning, Barty said mournfully, “Don’t bring up bad memories. The wound’s still fresh, we broke up today.”

“I’m glad,” Evan said shortly. He wrote something down and added, “You’re skanky.”

Barty wasn’t sure if he was addressing him or the algebra. Either way, “Rat.”

“I’ma set my man on you,” Evan continued glaring at the maths.

“Already got a new man?” Barty raised an eyebrow. “Slut.”

“Misogynist.”

“You’re the one feeding into sexist beauty standards.”

“Don’t shame the plastic surgery.”

Barty could feel the eyes of the kids behind them flicking between their conversation like they were watching a sitcom. He bit back a grin, “What if I liked the way you looked before?”

Evan glanced up at him as if he was weird. “I still look the same. I didn’t actually—”

“Good.”

“What?”

“You okay about the break up with Celeste, yeah?”

“She didn’t break up with me ‘cause I went soft,” Evan deadpanned.

“I know. But you’re cool about it?” Barty checked.

Evan paused. Leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear so that no one could hear, “I broke up with her. I let her say that it was her choice.” He shrugged and went back to trying to understand the algebra, which they both knew was a pointless endeavour. Evan never grasped any concept until they went home and Barty showed him.

Barty stared at him for a moment. Nudged his shoulder, “Why did you…?”

Evan shrugged him off. He was blushing. He liked someone else. Another girl, Barty thought. He pushed that thought away, cooed, “Aw, Rosie.”

Evan blushed harder. Barty felt nothing.

[torturedtypewritersdept]

proclivity - part one - scott street

✯ pairing:

ex!bff!rafe cameron x diabetic!kook!fem!reader

✯ summary:

at one point in time rafe was your best friend. can summer romance erase all the damage he's done?

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, heartbreak, diabetes lingo, injury, ghosting, fluff and fear, domestic violence (not rafe), mean!ex!jj etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) trying out a new format with this post, hope you like it!

Your feet hit the floor with a loud grunt as you pull yourself from your satin pink sheets, they feel heavenly and quite frankly, the discipline your parents are bestowing upon you as they do their best to make it a point that your pogue ex-boyfriend is an ex for a reason is mind-numbingly stupid. You’re aware of this fact — you are so hyper aware that it causes you physical pain. So much more than your broken wrist, which is also his fault as much as everything else. You groan loudly as you hear your mother call your name again. The “Don’t make me ask again, y/n” voice  she’s using is also mind-numbingly annoying, though you know that she is very serious and that she will probably send your father in to chop you into a million pieces and sell your corpse on the black market if you don’t listen to her. So, you scream back. 

“I’m up!” 

You screech. You are usually perfectly obedient and poised, but the one thing that JJ has taught you is absolute attitude from the pits of hell. Your parents had realized this new attribute early on into your relationship with him and from the way you picked up his habits so quickly, they knew he was bad news. It should’ve been your first sign that something – the relationship, him – it was all wrong. You should’ve known when your parents started talking in Rafe’s language – in pogue versus kook, because they weren’t those kinds of people, the kind to pass judgment on people that they didn’t know and you never had been either. You feel like you’re at a disadvantage because of this now, because really you should’ve listened to Rafe’s warnings in early childhood about pogues being bad news. You never expected them to be true, for your perfect pogue to make you question who you are, to wind you up in jail. Jail – a word so far from being associated with you that it makes you cringe just thinking about it. Just thinking about the way it's dirty, pogue-ridden walls were trying to infect you with its virus, to hold you captive for all the days of your life. When your father had picked you up, he was livid – fuming, ready to murder every person that had touched his precious baby daughter. You’d been without insulin for hours and were on the verge of being too sick to recover when he picked you up. That seemed to be the only real thing on your side as he stormed into the Kildare police station and carted you off to the hospital. Good thing he did, because your arm was broken as well as your diabetes royally fucking you like it always did. He demanded answers and you easily gave him the right one — that Taylor Swift’s Getaway Car hadn’t prepared you for this, for JJ’s abandonment either. You assumed he took pity on you then in the way that only a girl dad knows how to. That doesn’t really matter though, because you’re still getting punished. They are making you take a summer job at The Island Club in order to pay for your transgressions, the price of bail but more importantly worrying them and getting yourself hurt. You get it truly, but that doesn’t make it suck any less. You wish you could call Rafe in times like these, though you know those days have been over for a very long time. 

—

You’re behind the bar when they walk in, getting orientated by none other that a pogue named Summer from your class. She’s nice enough and very pretty, saving for college because without a job, there’s no way she will be able to go. You appreciate her kindness as she shows you how to make a Mai Tai for the fourth time. You notice the three stooges as they walk through the door from a fresh round of golf, still smelling of freshly cut grass and the stench of perspiration. You mentally berate yourself for your brain’s inability to use their real names after all this time. Rafe, Topper, and Kelce approach the bar dripping wet with sweat. You haven’t seen them exert this much physical activity since the beginning of last year’s football season so the sight is a little funny. It’s hot in the obx this year though, more so than years past. So, you’re guessing it hasn’t taken much to make them glisten. Your eyes are locked on your former friends, but Rafe particularly – since he’s really the only one stuck in the former category. The other two still love you very much, despite your very poor taste in men. He’s handsome – you note, more so than the last time you saw him. He’s grown about a foot, everything is bigger about him really and you can’t help but wonder if that part is bigger too – MOVING ON. He’s smiling, talking to Summer and for a moment you find yourself staring, wondering if he’s ever going to smile at you like that again one day. Stupid girl, you think. The answer is no and you know that. 

“Y/n, When did you start working here?” 

Topper asked, puzzledly. You can feel Rafe’s brow etch in confusion as he stares intently at your cheeks that are freckled brown from the summer sun. 

“I got in trouble, remember? This is my punishment.” 

You are doing your best not to have to explain your situation to the entirety of the club. So, you laugh in comradery with your friend, clenching your teeth and sporting a forced smile, though you feel ashamed about it and probably will punish yourself for it later. 

“Three Mai Tai’s, pretty please.” 

Rafe spoke, breaking your attention away from Topper, giving Summer his best puppy dog eyes. You smile softly at his tactics, noting that nothing has changed in that regard.  

“We can’t do that, can we?” 

You whisper in Summer’s ear. She looks at you and smiles. 

“Good girl! You’re picking up fast, just like I said you would.” 

You beam at her praise as she redirects her attention to the boys.

“Come on, boys. You know I can’t serve you alcohol, you’re underage.” 

She said, rolling her eyes. Topper laid his fake ID down on the flat mahogany surface of the bar, sliding it over. 

“This clearly states that I’m 23.” 

He retorted and you rolled your eyes in feigned annoyance. 

“Come on, y/n! Really? What is it? You only give alcohol to Maybank or something?” 

Rafe jokingly questioned with a sneer, his distaste for anything Pogue related always everpresent. Your face fell and your breath caught in your throat, the moment the last name of your ex-boyfriend left his lips. You think only of the Rafe that used to be your best friend and then to the moment that all changed during freshman year. How he left you in the dust of appearances and fancy parties, how he turned into a major dick who made it his newfound purpose in life to cut you down every chance he got. You remembered the embarrassingly drunk voicemail you left him last year, crying into the phone about how he was everything to you and he left you behind after the first time JJ had touched you in a violent way. You never told him that though. You had been civil and joked back and forth, but had no real conversations or interactions since then. That was mostly because you were embarrassed about it, you knew that he probably showed it to Kelce and Topper and laughed about it for ages, making fun of how pathetic you were. Your fears seem to be true now as he cuts you down with his sneer and hate-filled blue eyes. You still don’t know what you did, what you did to put the butterfly effect into motion; how you and Rafe got so far off the beaten path. The tears rimmed your eyes, being reminded of your now ex-boyfriend wasn’t how you planned on spending your afternoon. No one knew how you’d followed his every whim all summer, how it had landed you in jail, gotten you a broken wrist, almost killed you when you hadn’t paid attention to your sugar for hours. He’d left you there and no one knew and you wanted so badly to tell Rafe about all of it. But, you couldn't – not anymore. Because you were right where he left you, like an abandoned toy in the toy box he no longer wanted to play with. As if all of that wasn’t enough to embarrass you and make you want to die, JJ had cheated with one of your close friends, Kiara, too and all the Pogues knew about it – sending you into a spiral of grieving all your friends at once. You had virtually no one. Rafe didn’t know and how could he, you stopped getting to tell him the ins and outs of your life a long time ago. So, while the joke seemed harmless to him, it broke something inside of you. You looked up, meeting his eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. But, he knew you, he knew that look, he knew those glossed over eyes – he knew he had fucked up. 

“Woah, what’s wrong? I’m just kidding around. Can’t you take a joke, Y/N?” 

The bitterness left his tongue as quick as his feigned concern, almost like he couldn’t turn either off.  

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve been wiping my own tears for a long time now.” 

You bit out, not meaning to spill your guts the way you did, but he deserved it. He couldn’t help but feel your words so deeply. He often felt guilty for the way he left you, with no reason why. There was a time when he would’ve talked you out of being with a loser like JJ Maybank, a time when he would dry your tears and hug you tightly, a time when he would’ve protected you. You slowly but surely made the boys their drinks, a tear slipping out of your eye. No one noticed but Topper and he gave you a sad, knowing look. You headed to the kitchen, hoping no one would be in the locker room that was right off to the side of it, so you could cry in peace. 

“What did I say?”

Rafe questioned the boys, confusedly. 

“You’re a fucking idiot. Have you not heard that Maybank cheated on her and all the Pogues knew about it? He got her in trouble, Rafe and she got hurt. She’s lost everybody important to her, and you just have to be an asshole to her, when we all know how you really feel about her. Grow up, man.” 

Kelce spoke up with distaste on his tongue. 

“Shit.”

He whispered out, deciding then, he’d make it his mission to get into your good graces again, if that was even possible. It’d been long enough without you in his life and he had only wanted a break to protect you from his own faults. 

After you had made it to the locker room, you leaned against the lockers, your head falling back in defeat. It’s been two weeks since JJ broke your heart and it felt like the last year with you had meant nothing to him. He didn’t even say he was sorry. You stayed like that for a moment, cringing thinking about the fact that you had to work with him tonight. Summer had warned you in advance as she orientated you and you gave her the smaller version of events. You wished so badly that you could rewind time and not let Rafe drift away from you, all you wanted in this moment was one of his hugs – feeling his strong, muscular arms wrap around you. It had been two years since you’d had a hug like that. You pushed the thoughts down once more, drying your eyes and making your way back out to the bar. The boys were still sitting there. Rafe took in your form, the way the blanched redness of your face stood out. He could tell you had been crying, really hard, and that made his chest tight. It had always made his fucking chest hurt. He wanted to kill JJ Maybank for what he had done to you. You made your way behind the bar and locked eyes with Topper. 

“Can I get you boys anything else?”

You asked – voice shaky. 

“We’re fine, Y/N.”

Topper spoke with a softness and an ease to his voice. Topper and Kelce had stayed friend’s with you even after Rafe decided not to and Topper was the first phone call you made after your dad had brought you home from the hospital; filling him in on all the gorey details. He came over with pizza and wine and made you laugh about how much of an idiot JJ was. That made you feel better for a while, but you cried yourself to sleep that night, mostly sad that you couldn’t call Rafe out of embarrassment or fear of leaving another voicemail he’d never return. You often wondered if you were ever important to him at all. 

“Hey, sweet cheeks!”

You were brought out of your thoughts by JJ’s boisterous yet sinister laugh as he called you by a nickname you no longer welcomed. Rafe watched as your body became completely stiff. It made his skin crawl that you were so uncomfortable and as he saw your eyes gloss over he knew this was about to be bad. 

“What, Y/N, you too good to talk to me now?”

JJ questioned, annoyed that you were ignoring him. You wanted to speak to him, but you couldn’t find the words to say and you definitely didn’t want to do it in front of Rafe. Before you could even muster up a response, Topper and Rafe were behind the bar, standing in front of JJ, blocking him from getting close to you. Summer was thankful because she had never liked JJ and couldn’t do much on her own to protect you. 

“Maybank, I suggest you back up. You have no right to talk to her after what you’ve done!” 

Rafe growled. 

“Oh and you do? You tore her heart out of her chest, hollywood.” 

He laughs in response. 

“What are you even talking about?” 

Rafe questioned confusedly. 

“Oh, you know, when you stopped talking to her out of the blue freshman year. What you thought I didn’t know about that? You don’t think everyone knows about that?” 

JJ’s laugh has become incredulous at this point. Rafe looked in your direction, with apologetic eyes. 

“What would you know about that? You don’t know anything that went on between us.” 

Rafe snarled. 

“I know she cried all the time. I know about that embarrassing voicemail she left you. I know she never got over it. I mean I can’t say I blame you for ghosting her like that, she’s boring and what would the king kook want with her-”

The sound of Rafe’s fist meeting JJ’s jaw was enough to send a chill down your spine. Topper quickly pulled you away from the scene, not wanting you to be caught in the crossfire of an angry Rafe, especially when it involved defending you – he knew he had no self control in that regard. 

“Y/N, look at me. Are you okay?” 

He questioned softly. 

“I-I, no, top. W-why d-did he do this t-to me?” 

You asked through stifled sobs and his soft eyes traced over your figure. Unbeknownst to you and Topper, Rafe had run out to find you after he mopped the floor with JJ, his knuckles bloody for you. But, as he made his way through the club, he heard stifled sobs on the other side of a wooden door and he stopped to listen.

“I don’t know, sweet girl. People cheat and I don’t think there’s ever a reason-”

Topper continued, but was quickly cut off by you as you clarified who exactly you were referring to. 

“No, why did Rafe do this to me? I loved him so much and I-I don’t know maybe JJ’s right. Maybe I just wasn’t good enough to be his friend anymore. Maybe he saw what a piece of shit I was.” 

You mumbled. 

“No, listen, it’s deeper than all that. When Rafe’s ready to tell you what happened, he will. But don’t beat yourself up, Y/N. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

He replied, stroking your hair. 

Rafe couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he really had broken your heart and you really thought you were the one that wasn't good enough for him. 

as always, if you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know <3

taglist:

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey

[megxplryxb]

Romance is Dead, Isn't it?

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Notes: Sweet and fluffy, little bit of angst. Based around Valentine’s Day because I’ve had this is in my drafts for a minute.

The smell of cheap, overused aftershave and five dollar bouquets, currently lingered throughout the aisles of Family Video. Loved up couples filling the store, holding hands, whispering sweet nothings and pressing kisses to their lovers blushing cheek as they scanned the shelves of the romance section.

Love heart decorations hung from the ceiling, pink foil curtains draped over the entrance and Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time blared from the speakers while you completed sellotaping the balloons you’d only finished inflating ten minutes ago. You weren't exactly sure why Keith was making Valentine's Day such an extravaganza this year but you were absolutely hating every second of it.

February fourteenth had never been kind to you. Not when you were ten years old and the card you thought had been from your childhood crush was actually written by your Mom. Not when you were fifteen and you went to the movies with Jackson Taylor, who made up a rumour that he had gotten to second base with you and definitely not last year, when Derek Cooper had taken you out for dinner, only to be caught by his girlfriend that he had surprisingly forgotten to mention.

Yeah, Valentine's Day could suck it.

“If one more person asks if we have another copy of Sixteeen Candles, I swear, I won't be held responsible for my actions.” You warn, jumping down from the step ladder with a loud huff.

“Yikes, what’s gotten your panties in a bunch today babe?” Robin questions with a teasing smile on her face as she serves the next customer.

“My panties are not in a bunch thank you very much. I'm just saying, what kind of moron waits until Valentines Day to rent the most sought after romcom?" You ask, taking a gulp of water in an attempt to erase the taste of rubber from your mouth.

Fake laughter echoes from the other side of the store where some girl has been flirting with Steve for the past fifteen minutes. You'd noticed her outside before she walked in, glossing her lips and pushing her boobs up just enough to get the attention she was obviously desperate for. She's annoyingly pretty, with perfect hair and sun kissed skin and when she raises her well manicured hands to rest on his bicep, you can’t help but grit your teeth at them.

"Is he planning to do any work at all today?" You point, rolling your eyes as Robin looks over at her other best friend and then back to you with a frown. She can sense the irritation in your voice and she knows why, even if you would never admit it. The signs have been there for quite some time and she wonders how much longer you can keep up the charade of not having feelings for Steve Harrington.

"Hey Dingus! A little help over here?" Robin demands, directing him to the queue of customers waiting for assistance at the counter. Steve nods his head, apologising to the girl who makes sure to write her number on his arm before waving goodbye.

“Yeah, thanks for calling me over, I've been trying to get away from her for like, the last ten minutes.” Steve breathes a sigh of relief, gesturing for the next customer to approach.

“Yeah, you really looked like you were being held against your will there, Harrington.” You scoff bitterly, stacking up a pile of returned tapes.

“Seriously, did you guys not see me trying to signal for help when she started touching me? I mean come on, desperate much?" He jeers, shaking his head.

"She did seem disgustingly eager." Robin interjects, scrunching her nose.

"Since when has that ever stopped him?" You reply, motioning towards Steve, who seems a little bit offended by your words.

"Jesus, why does it look like Cupid came all over this place?" Eddie chuckles as he enters the store, getting his jacket caught in the foil curtain, almost ripping it off of the door.

“Hey, careful Munson, don’t mess up my masterpiece!” You warn, carrying the tapes into the back as he slowly untangles himself.

"Because dear Edward, it is the day of love and romance!” Robin squeals excitedly, clapping her hands.

“Can you tell she has a date with Vickie tonight?” You tease, her cheeks turning pink at the mention of her new girlfriend.

“Alright, way to go Buckley.” Eddie high-fives the girl who couldn’t contain her happiness.

“We’re just going to the movies but I’m so nervous! Like, what if I make a total doofus of myself around her? She might not be as accepting of my clumsiness as you guys. I could fall up the steps when we’re walking to our seats or choke on the popcorn or…”

“Robin relax, you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack.” Steve interrupts, hearing the conversation from the till. His eyes meet yours, both of you sharing a disapproving look at your friend’s lack of confidence in herself. It was something you often discussed between yourselves, trying to figure out ways to help her see just how great she really was. Robin had always been good at hyping other people up, telling them how awesome or pretty they were but it was a completely different story when it came to herself.

“Steve’s right, you need to chill out. Vickie’s already heard you doing god awful karaoke, not to mention witnessing you hurl all over the bathroom floor at the Hideout and she’s still drooling over you. The girl is putty in your pretty little hands.” You jokingly reassure with a smile and it seems your light hearted words put her somewhat at ease as she takes a relieved breath.

“Hey, do you guys have a copy of that new movie with Molly Ringwald? Sixteen something?” Eddie shouts from the romance section of the store earning a scowl from you.

“Shit out of luck Munson, we’re totally sold out.” Steve replies, the curly haired metal head letting out a dramatic groan as he walked back to the counter, causing some of the other customers to flinch.

“Didn’t take you for a romcom kinda guy Eds.” You mock as he gives you a toothy grin. “Sweetheart, if it helps me get laid by the end of the night, I’ll watch anything.”

“Ew, gross Eddie, I really don’t need visions of you and Chrissy getting it on.” Robin shivers in disgust.

Although you share the same sentiment as your best friend, you can't help but think how nice it is that Eddie finally found someone that truly loves him for who he is. You couldn't remember ever seeing him so happy and a little part of you was jealous that you didn't have that with someone too.

"Harrington, did you get a tat dude?" Eddie quizzes, pointing to the digits on Steve's arm. You're taken out of your thoughts upon hearing the question directed at your coworker. Steve's eyes fall to you for a brief moment but you busy yourself with some paperwork, trying your best to pretend you're not paying attention to them.

"Oh, um no man, just a customer earlier, gave me her number." Steve brushes off with a shrug.

"Sweet, you gonna call her?" The hellfire leader interrupts and you hate yourself for wanting to know the answer too.

"God no, she was way too forward." Steve says, shaking his head, hoping that would be the end of the conversation as you relax again.

"What's wrong with forward? Come on man, it's Valentine's Day, call her, ask her out." Eddie encourages, wondering why Robin was shooting him a killer look as Steve shifts uncomfortably.

"Actually, I kind of already have a date tonight." He states, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. The relief you felt moments ago, quickly vanishing, being replaced with a gut wrenching feeling in the pit of your stomach. Steve had someone and it wasn't you. It would never be you.

“You do? Since when, why wasn’t I informed about this?” Robin quizzes suspiciously.

“I don’t have to tell you everything, Robin.” He huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Do we know her?” Eddie smirks and you wish you were anywhere else right now.

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t.” He answers coyly before serving the next customer.

“So what about you sweetheart, who’s the lucky guy that’s taking you out tonight?” The metal head grins, raising his brows suggestively.

You see Steve and Robin turning their heads, attention on you as Eddie waits for your response. For a moment you consider lying, trying to think of a name and a place just to save face on being the only one without a date for tonight and maybe a little part of you wanted to see what Steve’s reaction would be too. But Robin already knew you had no plans, she had probably already told Steve the same.

“There isn’t one.” You answer, looking down at the ground, wanting it to swallow you whole.

“Bullshit, every time I’m in here there’s a guy asking you out.” Eddie spits, frowning at your response.

He’s right, guys do ask you out. It’s not like you were some sort of prude who never had a sex or never went on dates but lately, you just hadn’t been feeling it. Not when your heart belonged to someone who didn’t even know they had it and until you could get over Steve Harrington, it wouldn’t be fair to start something with someone else.

“Yeah, just not the one I actually want.” You reply, refusing to look Steve’s way as you walk to the back.

You figure now is a good time to take you break, needing a moment away from your friends to regain your composure. The restroom door locking behind you as you drop to the floor, tucking your knees into your chest. How had you gotten here? How had you been so stupid to fall for your friend? How had you allowed this to happen?

You secretly wondered who Steve’s date could be, knowing there was a number of viable contenders. Was it the brunette from last week who asked him to explain how The Lost Boys wasn’t a Peter Pan spin off or the blonde that always laughed at his jokes even when they weren’t even funny. Or maybe it was the raven haired girl who openly discussed her recent porno rentals with him every week.

One thing you knew for sure, it certainly wasn’t you.

The sound of footsteps brings you back to your shitty reality and the sudden knock on the bathroom door has you standing on your feet again.

“Hey, it’s just me. Are you ok?” You hear Robin ask from the other side. You straighten yourself up, wiping your clothes down before unlocking the door to face your friend.

“Yeah of course, why wouldn’t I be?” You question, doing your best to give her a reassuring smile but she sees right through you.

“I honestly didn’t know dingus had a date, I would have told you if I did.” She mutters nervously as you shake your head.

“Why? It’s not like I care what he does.” You state as Robin gives you an unconvinced glance.

“Babe, it’s me you’re talking to right now, no one else. You forget I used to be the master at hiding my feelings, so I know all the signs. You’re totally crazy about him aren’t you?” She quizzes, as you shrug your shoulders. There was no point in hiding it from her anymore, she could read you like a book.

“I’ll get over it.”

“Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?” She suggests as you let out a bitter laugh. “Did you not just hear what he said out there? He has a date, Robin.”

“Yeah but maybe if—”

“No. I’m not telling him alright? So please, just drop it.” You beg, letting out a deflated sigh.

Robin decides not to push you any further, realising you didn’t want to talk about it right now but you know this won’t be the end of it and eventually you’d have to answer the many questions you were sure she was going to have, taking a mental note to purchase alcohol before you talked about your feelings for Steve with her. But for now, you were grateful that she was leaving well enough alone so you could get back to work and pretend that everything was fine.

The remaining hours went by painfully slow, the romance section almost bare and you were counting down the minutes before you could go home to your bed and shut out the world while you waited for this shitty day to be over. Once the store got a little quieter, Steve offered to man the counter while you did Robin’s make up in the back, helping her get ready for the long awaited date before her girlfriend picked her up.

By 7:45, you were left with Steve and Keith who had been in his office doing paper work since he ordered you to decorate the store earlier. Steve had noticed you were quieter than usual, trying his best to joke and make light conversation but all he was met with was one worded answers.

“It was really cool of you to do Robin’s make up, y’know?” You hear Steve mumble as you restock the confectionery stand.

“That’s what best friends are for, right?”

“Yeah of course but you saw how nervous she was all day and I think you helping her out by making her look all pretty and stuff, just gave her the confidence boost she needed for tonight. I just thought it was really sweet of you.” He compliments, a warm look on his face that has your frosty demeanour melting.

“Alright, I’m done for the day. You two ok to lock up?” Keith asks, dousing himself in cheap cologne as Steve shoots his boss a glare knowing it was his night to close.

“No, not really. I have a date.” Steve argues as Keith grunts unsympatheticly. “You’re not the only one lover boy.”

“Online chat rooms don’t count, Keith.” Steve fires back as you try not to laugh at the expression on your boss’s face.

“You want to be out of a job, Harrington?” Keith threatens, looking less than impressed.

“No, but I really need to—”

“That settles it then, you two will lock up. Happy Valentines Day.” He smirks, throwing Steve a set of keys before exiting the store.

“What an asshole!” Steve groans, throwing the keys on the counter, putting an irritated hand through his signature hair while his plans hang in the balance.

“Now I get why he wanted me to decorate so badly.” You mutter, thinking back to how you spent the first couple of hours of your shift, blowing up balloons and getting sticky tape stuck in your hair. Keith was loved up like the rest of your friends. Cupid had gotten another one.

“Do you actually believe he has a date?” Steve asks, frustration still apparent in his voice as you nod your head, groaning.

“As much as it pains me to say yes, given that I myself don’t actually have a date, when have you ever seen him put on cologne?” You question as Steve lets out a heavy sigh.

“Good point. I hope she stands the son of a bitch up though.” He grins playfully and you can’t help but smile back at him. He was so breathtakingly beautiful and you kind of hated him for it.

“Hey, look at that, I finally got a smile out of you.” He teases, poking at your cheek as you lightly push his hand away.

“Steve, quit it.” You giggle as he shakes his head.

“Not a chance, you’re just so pretty when you smile.” He admits, cupping your face momentarily, locking his eyes with your own and your breath hitches as his warm hand rests on your face, his thumb carefully caressing your cheek and you hope to god you’re not blushing right now. Your eyes wander to his lips, pink and plump and a little chapped from the cold weather Hawkins was currently experiencing and you couldn’t help but wonder what lucky girl would get to kiss them later on.

For a moment as Steve gazed at you, you considered telling him everything. How you’ve been crazy about him since you worked at Scoops Ahoy together, falling hard for him when you saw how kind he was to the kids he watched over, knowing he wasn’t the same selfish guy you’d known in high school. Steve Harrington was selfless, brave and caring and as you looked into his caramel coloured eyes, all you wanted for him was to be happy because that’s what he deserved more than anything, even if it would never be with you.

“Steve…”

“Yeah?” He whispers, looking at you in a way that made your knees weak.

You knew this was your chance to tell him, the perfect night to admit your feelings but previous Valentine’s Day disasters prevented you from saying what you really wanted to, afraid Steve would have to let you down gently or worse, laugh in your face.

“You should go home and get ready for your date, I’ll lock up here.” You swallow hard as he finally removes his hand from your face, seemingly taking him out of his own thoughts.

“Oh, no I couldn’t ask you to do that.” He replies, shaking his head.

“You didn’t ask me, I offered.” You reassure, feeling guilty for how you had treated him all day.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t. The place is quiet now anyway and there’s only an hour left. Plus I’ve been looking forward to destroying all those damn decorations all day.” You joke, attempting to hide the sadness you were currently feeling from him, terrified that you’d break down in tears if he stuck around much longer.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He grins as you playfully roll your eyes at him. “So I’ve been told.”

“Got any advice for a successful Valentine’s date?” He questions, grabbing his car keys as you let out a sarcastic laugh.

“You’re really not asking the right person. I don’t think I’ve ever had a good Valentine’s experience. Why are you so nervous anyway, you’ve been on hundreds of dates?”

“Yeah I know, but I really like this girl, like a lot. More than I’ve ever liked anybody and I really don’t want to mess this up.” He sighs and you wonder if he can hear your heart smashing into pieces.

“Wow, she must be really special.” You breathe as he nods his head looking like a schoolboy with a crush.

“Yeah, she is.” He admits and it’s like a fresh bullet to your chest.

“Well then I hope she knows how lucky she is. Any girl who can’t see what an amazing guy you are would have to be a complete idiot.” You reply honestly, almost certain you see a hint of pink in his cheeks.

“Thanks, honey.” He whispers, before walking towards the exit, the nickname causing your brain to short circuit. Honey.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, pretty girl.” He grins, walking out the door as you feel a tear slide down your cheek watching his car pull out of the space, taking your broken heart right along with him. A heavy sigh escapes your lips, cursing under your breath, pondering if you were really doomed to face every February fourteenth in utter misery.

The last hour of your shift had gone by quicker than expected, having no customers during the final thirty minutes, giving you plenty of time to dispose of the shitty decorations that had mocked you throughout the day. When you finished vacuuming the floor, you wondered how your friends were fairing on their dates. Had Eddie gotten through a rom com without passing out? Did Robin make it up the steps of the movie theatre without falling? Was Keith really on a date with an actual woman? Had Steve already managed to get his new girl into bed?

That last thought made you want to throw up.

At 8:50 you decided to call it a night, dreaming of your warm bed and the cheese pizza you were going to order the minute you got home, wanting nothing more than to wallow in self pity. The money had been cashed up, the shelves were organised and you figured you had earned the extra ten minutes after everything you had endured today. Once you grabbed your handbag and jacket from your locker, you did a final check of the place before clocking out, switching the open sign to closed before you shut the door behind you, turning the key in the lock and pulling the shutters down, thankful you were off for the next couple of days.

As you tossed the keys into your bag, pulling on your jacket to prepare for the short walk to your apartment, you noticed a familiar maroon BMW parked up and Steve Harrington leaning against the hood, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Steve?”

“Hey you.” He smiles, eyes sparkling in the glow of the moonlight.

“Is everything ok?” You worry, wondering if something had happened to one of the kids or your older friends.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?” Steve reassures as you let out a sigh of relief.

“Well for starters, aren’t you supposed to be on a date right now?” You quiz, confusion apparent in your tone.

“I was just waiting for her to get off work actually, I’m picking her up here.” He smirks confidently, pushing himself off of the hood.

“You’re meeting her in the Family Video parking lot? Isn’t that a bit creepy?” You tease, raising a brow at him, trying not to focus on how good he looks in a grey sweater that you’ve never seen on him before.

“Well yeah, I guess it would be a little creepy if she didn’t work there.” He jokes, hoping he’d given you enough clues to figure out the rest for yourself. When your eyes begin to widen, mouth parting as you try to speak, he knows the penny has finally dropped.

“Steve I—”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, pretty girl.” He grins, repeating the same words he'd said earlier, handing you the prettiest bunch of daisies you’ve ever seen and it’s not until his fingers brush yours that you realise it isn’t a dream. Steve Harrington was here, waiting for you.

“These are for me?” You ask, breath catching in your throat.

“Of course they are, who else would I get them for?” He teases as you try to hold back tears.

"Steve, I…I can’t believe you got me daisies. they’re so beautiful.” You smile, suddenly feeling very dizzy.

“I know I probably should have gotten you roses but I know you hate all that traditional valentines stuff and last summer when we took the kids to the park and you made Max and El daisy chains, you said they were your favourite.”

“You remember that?” You blush looking up at him as he nods. “I remember everything about you, honey.”

Your stomach is doing somersaults now, palms sweaty and shaking with the way he’s looking at you and it takes everything in you not to kiss him silly.

“Did Robin know about this?” You quiz, wondering if you were going to have to murder your friend tomorrow for letting you go through a shift thinking Steve was going on a date with someone else.

“Are you serious? You know she can’t keep secrets. I couldn’t take the risk that she wouldn’t telll you. Plus, I was afraid she’d never let me live it down if you rejected me.” Steve jokes, flashing his pearly whites at you. How could you ever reject him?

“I don’t understand, if Robin didn’t tell you, how did you know I had feelings for you?”

“Not to sound totally arrogant but I’m not completely stupid. I see how flustered you get around me sometimes and how jealous you get when a customer tries to flirt with me, like today. But mostly I’ve seen the way you look at me and then I knew for sure—cause it’s the same way I look at you.” He whispers, his warm hand cupping your cheek.

“And how exactly do you look at me?” You challenge, swallowing hard as his lips inch closer to yours.

“Like I’m totally crazy about you.”