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dontrllycaretbh · 1 day ago

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Title: Mine to Know (pt.2.1?)

Pairing: Paige bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Warnings: explicit sapphic content (18+), dom!Azzi, sub!Paige, Stalking, Obsession, Dubious Consent, Psychological Manipulation, Possessive Behavior, Mutual degradation / humiliation kink, Invasive Monitoring, Voyeurism, Emotional Coercion, Explicit Sexual Language, Sexual Tension with Power Imbalance, Mild Violence/Threats, Boundary Violations, Toxic Dynamics, Masturbation, Dark Romance Themes, Azzi Likes It

Summary: Azzi just wanted to be left alone.

But Paige—her obsessive, unashamed stalker—won’t stop. She calls Azzi at 4 a.m. just to get off on being insulted. her taunting, half-dressed selfies all day. She knows exactly what she’s doing: pushing Azzi’s buttons until Azzi snaps.

Notes: this fuckass app is not letting me post the whole chapter so imma see u guys w a part 2 of this in like 20 minutes 🥹

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Azzi pushes open the bedroom door expecting Paige to still be perched on the windowsill or messing with something she shouldn’t. But the room is empty. The curtains drift in the breeze from the open window, moonlight spilling across the floor.

She stops. Waits.

Nothing.

Her fingers tighten around the doorknob. She presses her lips together so they don’t tremble, because she’s not giving that satisfaction even to the empty room.

She exhales slowly. Pretends it’s a relief.

“Whatever,” she mutters to herself, voice dry, too loud in the quiet. “Creep.”

She kicks the door shut behind her and drops onto the edge of the bed like she doesn’t care, resting her elbows on her knees. She rubs her face. Listens to the wind.

When her phone buzzes on the blanket next to her, she jumps.

She glares at the screen. Unknown Number.

Of course.

She hesitates, thumb hovering over the screen, before she opens it.

Unknown: “Knew you’d be disappointed.”

Azzi scoffs out loud. Rolls her eyes so hard they nearly get stuck. She wants to type something biting back, but her fingers can’t seem to move.

Instead she throws the phone away from her onto the other pillow, flopping back with an exhale that’s too close to a sigh. She stares at the ceiling like it might have answers.

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The next day at school she slams her locker shut and glances down the hall before she can stop herself.

Paige is there. Leaning casually, hair tucked behind one ear, watching Azzi with that slight mocking tilt to her mouth. Like she knows every thought in Azzi’s head.

Azzi rolls her eyes and turns away sharply.

She hears Paige’s little exhale of annoyance. She doesn’t look back.

Paige doesn’t call out. Doesn’t move. Just stares.

But when Azzi sneaks one last look over her shoulder as she turns the corner, she sees Paige’s smirk falter for a second.

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Later, when Azzi is sitting outside on the back steps alone, her phone buzzes.

She knows who it is before she even checks.

📱 Messages

12:54 AM

Unknown

Unknown: Acting cold suits you. Makes me want to warm you up.

Azzi huffs, bites her lip to hide the smile that threatens, then types back furiously:

Azzi: Get fucked.

She doesn’t get another reply.

She sits there too long anyway, screen going dark in her hand.

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That night she lies on her back in bed, scrolling aimlessly. She keeps checking her notifications.

Nothing.

Then—buzz.

Incoming call. Unknown Number.

Her heart jumps. She doesn’t even pretend to hesitate. She answers immediately.

“Someone’s been excited,” Paige drawls, lazy and smug.

Azzi barks a laugh, biting and harsh. “Yeah, real excited to talk to the local stalker. Honestly makes my night.”

Paige’s low laugh slides over her like warm water. “That’s cute. You’re funny when you’re scared.”

Azzi bristles. “Who says I’m scared?”

“Your voice. Your breathing. I know them.”

Silence hums between them. Azzi swallows. Her mouth is dry.

She squeezes her eyes shut. “How long have you been stalking me? and tell me the truth this time”

There’s a pause on the line. Then Paige says it so plainly it’s obscene:

“Six months.”

Azzi sits up, heart punching her ribs. “Jesus. Why?”

“Because you’re angry,” Paige says softly. “And lonely. Just like me. And you’re beautiful when you think no one’s looking.”

Azzi tries to breathe normally, but her chest is too tight.

“You’re so fucking insane.”

“I know,” Paige says cheerfully. “I like that about me.”

Azzi drags a hand over her face. “When did you first… actually cross the line?”

Paige hums, thinking. Then:

“Three weeks ago. Your bedroom. You were asleep. I sat on the floor. Watched you breathe.”

Azzi shudders so hard her teeth click.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You looked soft,” Paige says, voice warm and unrepentant. “I wanted to touch your hair but I didn’t.”

Azzi squeezes the bridge of her nose until it hurts.

“God, Paige.”

Neither of them says anything for a few seconds.

Then Azzi hears something in the background of the call. Cars. Wind.

“Where are you?” she asks quietly, voice tight.

Another pause.

Paige’s voice goes gentle, intimate. “Same place as yesterday.”

Azzi’s eyes flick to the window. Her skin crawls in goosebumps.

“You’re still just a girl,” she whispers, anger and something sickly tender twisting in her gut.

“Mhm,” Paige breathes. “Your girl.”

Azzi chokes out an ugly laugh. “Fuck you.”

“I’d love to.”

Azzi makes a frustrated noise and hangs up.

She immediately regrets it.

She curls up on the bed, phone clutched tight, watching the window glow in the streetlight.

She’s too hot. She’s too cold. She can’t stop shaking.

Because she knows Paige is there.

And she knows she’s going to answer the next call, too.

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Azzi doesn’t sleep. She drifts in and out, phone in her hand, screen black, every tiny sound making her snap her eyes open.

Just after 3 a.m., it buzzes.

She answers before it even finishes vibrating.

“I fucking hate you,” she rasps, voice hoarse with sleep and rage and something else.

Paige laughs softly. “Hello to you too.”

Azzi shuts her eyes, digs her fingers into the blanket. She breathes carefully so Paige won’t hear it shake.

Then she bites it out:

“How could you possibly know that? Know how I breathe, my voice when I’m scared?”

Silence. Then Paige sighs.

“After your winning shot. That game? You and your friends went to that shitty pub with the neon sign.”

Azzi’s mouth goes dry.

Paige’s voice is calm. Confessional. Like she’s reading a bedtime story.

“I followed you. Wanted to make sure no one touched you. Or drugged you.”

Azzi huffs a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, so you’re my fucking bodyguard now?”

Paige ignores her.

“There was this guy. Walked up to you. Tried to buy you a drink. You looked so—”

Azzi cuts her off, venom in her voice. “—so uninterested? Like how I am with you?”

Paige snorts. “Girl, please. If you really hated me you would’ve turned me in or blocked me ages ago.”

Azzi opens her mouth and then shuts it.

Paige keeps going, voice dropping lower, like she’s confessing something filthy.

“You looked uninterested in him. Then this girl walked by. Mind you, she looked nothing like me. I was offended, but okay. You stared at her so long. Like you were memorizing her.”

Azzi’s breath stutters.

“That’s when I knew,” Paige whispers.

Azzi’s fingers clench so tight the phone creaks. “Knew what?” she spits.

“That I had a chance,” Paige says simply. “That you were mine, even if you didn’t know it. That’s when I knew the game was just getting started.”

Azzi shakes her head even though Paige can’t see. She wipes angrily at her cheek.

“You’re insane.”

Paige’s voice is a low laugh, intimate, addictive.

“I’m devoted.”

Azzi shudders.

Another car passes on Paige’s end of the line, tires hissing on wet asphalt. Azzi hears her shifting, the sound of wind.

Azzi licks her lips. Her voice cracks.

“You’re outside again, aren’t you?”

Silence.

Then Paige exhales, deliberate.

“Always,” she murmurs.

Azzi’s eyes sting. She squeezes them shut.

“You’re still just a girl,” she whispers.

Paige hums. “Your girl.”

Azzi hangs up.

She drops the phone on her pillow and rolls away from the window, curling tight.

But she doesn’t block the number.

And she doesn’t close the blinds.

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Azzi stares at the dark screen for a long time.

The room is cold.

She breathes through her nose, pinching the bridge of it until it hurts. Then she swipes over and hits Call.

It rings once. Twice.

Paige answers instantly.

“Well, well, well—”

“Shut up,” Azzi cuts in, voice raw.

Silence.

Azzi drags her fingers through her hair, tugging until her scalp stings. She breathes out.

“Why are you still outside?” Her voice cracks with exhaustion. “It’s four in the fucking morning by now.”

She waits. Listens. She can hear wind on Paige’s end, rustling leaves.

Paige hums, amused. “Concerned?”

Azzi clenches her teeth so hard her jaw pops.

“Jesus Christ. You’re a girl, you know that? Don’t start with ‘your girl’ bullshit or I’ll stab you.”

Paige laughs—an unholy, delighted sound.

Azzi’s heart lurches.

“I’m serious,” she snaps. Her voice softens just a hair. “Go home. It’s dangerous. Don’t die on my account.”

For a second, the line goes dead silent except for Paige’s breath.

Finally Paige says, quieter than Azzi’s ever heard her:

“You telling me to go home?”

Azzi swallows. “Yeah. I am.”

Paige’s voice is warm. Tired. Honest.

“I’ll go.”

Azzi releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Good.”

Another pause. Paige sounds like she’s moving now, footsteps on wet pavement.

“You’ll miss me,” Paige teases, but it’s weaker than usual.

Azzi closes her eyes. Her voice is barely a whisper.

“Shut up. Just…text me when you get there so I know you didn’t get murdered or some shit.”

A beat.

Then Paige’s voice, quiet and full of something Azzi doesn’t want to name:

“Okay.”

Azzi hangs up before she can say anything else.

She tosses the phone away from her on the bed. Pulls the blanket up over her face.

She doesn’t sleep.

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Azzi’s eyes are dry as hell by the time her phone buzzes on the pillow beside her.

She squints at the screen.

UNKNOWN CALLING

She exhales, slow and angry, before accepting.

“Seriously?” she says. Her voice is a husky rasp. “You’re home. I don’t care. Go to sleep.”

On the other end, Paige lets out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“Wow. That’s the thanks I get for making it back alive?”

Azzi rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling.

“Cool. You’re alive. Great. Hanging up now.”

“No,” Paige says sharply.

Azzi freezes.

There’s a silence.

Then Paige’s voice cracks a little:

“Don’t hang up. Just—don’t.”

Azzi closes her eyes, exhausted.

“Paige—”

“I wanna talk.”

Azzi groans. “About what? Your creepy hobby?”

Paige actually laughs at that, sounding more normal than before.

“No. Basketball.”

Azzi frowns. She shifts, settling deeper into the blankets despite herself.

“Basketball?”

“Yeah.”

“…God, fine. Say something interesting or I’m gone.”

She hears Paige adjust on her end, maybe lying down too.

“You’ve got the smoothest pull-up jumper I’ve ever seen,” Paige says simply.

Azzi scoffs. “Flattery. Boring.”

“Not flattery. It’s true. You know it.”

Azzi smirks despite herself. She bites her lip to kill it.

“Yeah, well. Yours is good too,” she mutters.

Silence.

Paige sounds genuinely surprised. “You’ve watched me?”

“Obviously. You play like you’re trying to pick a fight with the rim. It’s hard to miss.”

Paige snorts. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Azzi breathes in. Out. Her voice lowers, almost curious.

“So what? You gonna tell me your big hoop dreams now?”

She tries to make it mocking, but it’s softer than she wants.

Paige doesn’t miss it.

“I wanna go pro.”

Azzi’s eyes flicker.

“No shit.”

“Yeah.” Paige sounds so damn serious. “I don’t care about anything else. Just that. I wanna be the best. I wanna prove I’m not just some psycho who follows girls around in the dark.”

Azzi actually huffs a laugh.

“Bold of you to admit it,” she says.

Paige is quiet for a moment.

“I’m serious, Azzi. I’m good. I know I am. I just…can’t fuck it up.”

Azzi exhales through her nose.

She stares at the ceiling like it holds the answers to every dumb question she has.

“You won’t,” she mutters.

Paige doesn’t speak for a second.

Then her voice drops, raw.

“You think so?”

Azzi shifts on the bed, uncomfortable with how this feels.

“Yeah. I do.”

There’s another beat.

Paige’s voice is small, the cocky edge gone.

“Thanks.”

Azzi clears her throat roughly.

“Whatever. I’m hanging up now.”

“No you’re not.”

“Paige—”

“Talk to me.”

Azzi squeezes her eyes shut, groaning.

“About what?”

“Tell me what you wanna do. With basketball.”

Azzi goes still.

She doesn’t answer right away.

Paige waits.

Finally Azzi’s voice breaks the silence, cracked and careful:

“I just…wanna play. That’s all. I don’t want anything else. Not school. Not people. Just…basketball. Where it’s quiet in my head.”

Paige exhales, shaky.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I get that.”

Neither of them says anything for a long time.

They just breathe.

Azzi finally mumbles:

“Okay. Five more minutes. Then I’m really hanging up.”

Paige laughs quietly.

“Sure. Five more.”

Azzi’s eyes drift shut.

She doesn’t even notice when they stop talking and just listen to each other’s breathing in the dark.

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They’re both quiet for a while, phones pressed to ears in the dark.

Azzi’s the one who breaks it.

“You know what pisses me off?”

Paige perks up immediately.

“Tell me.”

Azzi exhales, then the words spill out:

“There aren’t enough fucking teams. Like—seriously. Everyone’s so good now, but there’s what? Twelve? Everyone’s getting waived. It’s bullshit. You work your ass off your whole life to get there and—poof—no roster spot. Nothing.”

Paige hums, like she’s smiling.

“Yeah. It’s messed up.”

Azzi’s voice rises, heated.

“I mean, what, you’re just supposed to be okay with it? ‘Oh sorry you’re top one percent in the world, there’s just no room.’ Hell no. If basketball doesn’t work out for me, I swear to god, I’ll start my own damn team.”

Paige actually laughs this time, breathy and delighted.

“You? A team owner?”

Azzi scoffs.

“Yeah. Why not? I’d be the best owner ever. I’d give players real contracts. Actual resources. None of this ‘here’s five cents and an Instagram post’ shit. I’d let everyone talk shit in press conferences too. No censorship. Just chaos.”

Paige is laughing so hard she has to mute herself for a second. Azzi can hear the muffled giggles.

“Unmute yourself, coward,” Azzi says, cracking a grin in the dark.

Paige’s voice pops back in, breathless.

“You’re serious though?”

“Dead serious,” Azzi insists. “I’ll do it. You can be the enforcer coach. You’ll tackle refs if they make bad calls.”

“Oh my god,” Paige wheezes. “I’d get banned from the league in a day.”

“Worth it,” Azzi says firmly.

They both laugh so hard they have to stop talking.

When it quiets down, Paige’s voice is softer, happy.

“I’d play for your team,” she says.

Azzi snorts.

“Yeah right.”

“I would.”

Azzi’s smile fades into something smaller.

“Yeah. Okay.”

There’s a pause, gentle.

Paige’s voice is warm, private.

“See? You can be nice.”

Azzi rolls her eyes.

“Shut up.”

Paige laughs, so low and real Azzi’s stomach does something stupid.

Azzi sighs.

“You’re still weird as hell.”

“Yeah,” Paige agrees. “But you’re talking to me at 4:30 in the morning about owning a basketball team. So.”

Azzi huffs.

“…Fine. Don’t make it weird.”

“It’s already weird,” Paige teases.

Azzi mutters.

“Yeah. Guess so.”

Silence.

Their breathing is calm, matched.

Azzi bites her lip.

“…You really think you’re gonna make it?”

Paige answers without hesitation.

“Yeah. I do.”

Azzi exhales, slow.

“Good.”

Paige is quiet for a moment.

“You will too, Azzi.”

Azzi doesn’t respond, but Paige can hear her breathing catch just a little.

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Paige hums low in her throat.

Azzi can hear it vibrate through the line.

“You sure?” Paige asks, voice husky. “You wanna hear all of it?”

Azzi’s eyes narrow even though Paige can’t see.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Paige gives that little breathless laugh again.

“Okay. Fine. You asked.”

There’s a pause. Azzi almost fills it with an insult but waits.

Paige’s voice goes lower.

“I do it in my room. Usually at night. Always when I know you’re asleep. I like imagining you dreaming about me without meaning to.”

Azzi snorts. “You’re so fucking delusional.”

Paige moans — actually moans, quiet and breathy.

“That. Right there. That’s what does it.”

Azzi freezes.

Paige keeps going, emboldened.

“I have pictures of you. From games. From practice. Even from when you didn’t know I was there.”

Azzi interrupts with a disgusted hiss.

“You’re actually sick.”

“Mm. Say it again.”

“You’re fucking sick.”

Paige’s breath hitches.

“God, you don’t know what that does to me.”

Azzi’s stomach flips, heat coiling low.

She tries to sound bored but her voice cracks a little.

“You have pictures? What, you just sit there drooling over them like a perv?”

Paige exhales hard.

“Sometimes. But usually I can’t even look at them that long. I get too worked up. I just need to feel it. I lie back, close my eyes, and think about you saying exactly this kind of shit to me while I—”

Azzi cuts her off, voice sharp.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Paige whimpers a laugh.

“That tone. God, Azzi. I’m actually getting turned on right now.”

Azzi shifts under her blanket, scowling at the ceiling.

“Gross.”

“I bet you’re flushed.”

Azzi opens her mouth to snap back but catches herself, realizing her face is in fact burning.

Paige chuckles, voice rich with triumph.

“I knew it.”

Azzi rolls her eyes so hard it almost hurts.

“So you get off thinking about me insulting you? You really are pathetic.”

“That’s the best part,” Paige breathes. “You can’t even help yourself. It’s just who you are. Brutal. Honest. Mean as hell. And I love it.”

Azzi’s voice drops.

“You’re disgusting.”

“I know. Keep going.”

Azzi clamps her mouth shut.

Paige waits. Breathes. Then continues, voice syrupy.

“Sometimes I touch myself just remembering the look you gave me in the hallway yesterday. Like you wanted to kill me. I came so hard I had to bite my own arm so my mom wouldn’t hear.”

Azzi inhales sharply, saying nothing.

Paige smiles in her voice.

“Oh? Got you quiet now.”

“Shut up,” Azzi mumbles, voice hoarse.

Paige’s voice softens slightly.

“You want me to stop?”

Azzi’s jaw flexes.

Paige waits.

Azzi exhales slowly.

“…No.”

The pause stretches.

Paige’s voice turns confessional.

“I save the best pictures for when I really need it. You sweaty after practice. Hair tied back. Mouth open. Looking like you’d never let me touch you in a million years. That’s when it’s the best. When it’s wrong.”

Azzi huffs a short laugh despite herself.

“You’re so fucking doomed.”

Paige lets out a shaky breath that’s almost a moan.

“Say it again.”

“Do you ever stop?”

“No.”

“Freak.”

“God, Azzi.”

Azzi pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Do you even clean up after yourself or just leave it there like a fucking animal?”

Paige groans.

“That’s it. That’s the shit that gets me. You talking to me like you’re so disgusted. So clean and above it. Meanwhile I’m soaked just listening to you.”

Azzi gags theatrically.

“Jesus. I’m gonna hang up.”

“No you’re not.”

“Why not?”

Paige’s voice drops to a whisper.

“Because you like hearing it. Even if you pretend not to.”

Azzi says nothing.

Paige waits, breath ragged.

Finally, Azzi growls.

“You’re an embarrassment.”

Paige actually laughs, unsteady and breathless.

“Yeah. Your embarrassment.”

Azzi swallows.

She doesn’t argue.

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Azzi’s jaw works in silence for a second. She can hear Paige breathing too hard on the other end of the line.

Finally she snaps:

“Wait—are you… are you doing it right now?!”

There’s no answer for a heartbeat. Just Paige’s unsteady exhale.

Azzi’s eyes widen.

“Oh my god. You are, aren’t you? You’re actually fucking—”

Paige lets out a tiny, shivery sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a moan.

“Can’t help it.”

“Jesus Christ, Paige.”

Paige’s voice goes needy and fast.

“Come on. This is the first time you’re actually talking to me. Really talking. Not ignoring me, not running away. Just—us. Like this.” her hand slipping beneath the fabric, her fingers finding their way to the dampness that had gathered between her legs. She couldn't help the whimper that escaped her as she began to stroke herself slowly.

Azzi makes a choked, incredulous noise.

“So you decided this was the moment to get off on it?”

Paige whines.

“I didn’t decide it. It just—happened. You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad. And your voice—fuck, your voice is killing me right now.”

Azzi covers her face with one hand.

“You’re disgusting.”

“That’s new?” Paige huffs, a breathless laugh. “Azzi. Come on. Don’t hang up.”

Azzi grimaces, but the insult comes anyway, low and involuntary.

“You’re so pathetic. Like a dog.”

Paige moans again, quiet but unmistakable.

“Oh my god. Exactly. Keep talking.” Paige's voice was low and confident now, her strokes becoming more deliberate. She knew Azzi could hear the wet sounds of her fingers moving against her own flesh.

Azzi’s mouth drops open.

“You’re unreal. You know that? Like, clinically. Someone should study your fucking brain.”

“Mm. I’d let them,” Paige slurs, “as long as you’re the one telling them how fucked up I am.”

Azzi lets out a strangled laugh.

“You’re actually serious.”

“Dead serious. Azzi. Fuck. Please don’t stop.”

Azzi’s voice trembles with disbelief and annoyance.

“Are you literally touching yourself right now while we’re talking?”

Paige breathes in, shaky.

“Yeah. Because you’re actually answering me. Not ignoring me. Not acting like I’m nothing. I’ve wanted this so fucking bad, Azzi. Just you. Saying anything to me. Even if it’s cruel.”

Azzi’s mouth goes dry.

“That’s insane. You know that? Like, straight-jacket insane.”

Paige giggles. It’s raw and breathy.

“Say more.”

Azzi groans, exasperated.

“I’m literally encouraging a felony. You’re so fucked. Mentally.”

Paige sighs dreamily.

“God, you’re good at this.”

Azzi barks a harsh laugh.

“‘Good at this’? I’m insulting you!”

“That’s the best part,” Paige says hoarsely. “I don’t want you sweet. I want you.”

Azzi scowls into the dark of her room.

“Like this is me? Really?”

“Yeah,” Paige breathes. “Mean. Real. Honest. That’s what I want. That’s why I can’t stop. Even now.”

Azzi presses her lips together.

Finally she mutters:

“You’re an embarrassment. Seriously. Get a grip.”

Paige lets out a broken laugh that dissolves into another moan.

“Can’t. Not when you talk like that. Azzi—please—just keep talking. Anything.”

Azzi pinches the bridge of her nose, exasperated.

“Paige. I can’t believe you’re actually this desperate.”

Paige’s voice is high and shaky.

“Not desperate. Just yours.”

Azzi actually gasps, cursing herself for the sound.

Paige hears it. Smiles.

Azzi glares at the ceiling.

“Fucking hell, you’re actually the most disgusting person”

Paige’s breathing stutters. The words were like a spark, igniting the fire within Paige. Her hand moved faster, her breaths coming in ragged pants as she approached climax. And then she was there, her body arching off the bed with a loud cry that echoed through the phone.

“Oh my god. Don’t hang up. Don’t you dare.”

Azzi doesn’t.

She just exhales, voice low and scathing but… not moving to end the call.

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pt.2.2 on its way yall 😛😛

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #paige bueckers uconn #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #paige x azzi #pazzi fics #pazzi is real #pazzi smut #paige beuckers smut #azzi fudd smut

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thesvnandthemooon · 1 day ago

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𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐧’ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭

18+ MINORS DNI

or: natasha and you go to a concert

part of the short n‘ sweet universe

a/n: another request (who would’ve thought); don’t judge me for the title, i thought it’d be fitting since that’s the name of the tour as well 😗

summary: going to sabrina‘s concert with natasha; based on this request <3 (it took almost three months for me to get to writing this wtf)

warnings: smut (penetration, brief fingering), exhibitionism (i swear i use this tag on almost all sns fics…whatever), alcohol, natasha not being able to recognize emotional intelligence if it shot her in the face

word count: 12k

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Hooking up in the university's library is one of the dumber ideas Natasha's come up with so far.

The encyclopedia isle is usually empty — most people use Wikipedia, or another online platform. Physical media has, unfortunately, experienced a decline in popularity.

Sex hasn't, though. Which is why your 'study session' lasted ten minutes instead of two hours. Not much had to happen: Natasha walked in, knowing you'd be sitting between piles of books. She was still in her basketball jersey. Only her shorts had been swapped for slightly warmer sweatpants.

You've been hooking up for months at this point. You can't say you're dating, because you're not. You never really talked about it But when you're around each other, the possibility of her ending up inside of you is big.

Natasha looks up, her body still on top of yours. Her hands are braced next to your head, and you can see the sweat glisten on her neck. You lift your hand and wipe it away.

The floor you're on is carpeted and worn. It smells like old socks and books. You glance to your right and see the half empty packet of beef jerky someone discarded under one of the bookshelves.

"Someone walked in", she says, not making a move to get up. "I think it's that weird dude. You know, with the hoodies."

"That's great", you mumble. You shift beneath her. "I feel like we have more pressing issues, though."

She frowns and looks at you. At first, she doesn't understand. She's warm and comfy, and changing her current situation doesn't seem like the best way to keep up her good mood. But then she realizes she's still inside of you, so she quickly pulls out.

Sweatpants tugged back up, she gets up from the floor. You take the hand she offers you and get up, then adjust your skirt. Wearing that was probably one of the better decisions you've made today — easy access, quick to pull down and cover yourself back up. Natasha resists the urge to pout when your thighs are out of view again.

She was right — someone did enter, and they're approaching the encyclopedia aisle. You grab her hand and tug her back to the tables, causing her to stumble. She curses under her breath.

"Hey!"

"Sit", you urge her. She plops into a chair and you turn around. Before you can sit down, she wraps her arm around your waist and easily pulls you into her lap. "Oh- seriously?"

"You wanted to study", she points out. Her chin comes to rest on your shoulder, her head turns just enough for her to be able to kiss your neck. "So study."

You sigh and get comfortable in her lap. You may as well, since you're probably not moving for a while. Her hand is under your skirt already.

"I'm done with studying", you reply. She hums, lips sucking on your skin until a hickey forms. "Quit that."

"What? This is motivation. Positive reinforcement or whatever they call it."

The guy from earlier reemerges from the encyclopedia aisle, this time carrying a stack of books. The second he sees you, though, he whips around and heads in the opposite direction. Natasha laughs against your neck, a breathy sound, and squeezes your hip.

"What are you doing this weekend?", she mumbles.

You don't reply right away. You've learned that leading her on just a bit makes things better, for some reason — she gets more attentive, puts more effort into the time you spend together. It's not like she doesn't treat you well, because she does. But she sometimes needs to be reminded that, if she doesn't at least try a little, you can easily replace her.

"Not sure", you say vaguely. "There's this concert I wanted to go to with a friend. I haven't gotten tickets yet, though."

"A concert?" Natasha tries to sneak her hand higher up under your skirt, but you quickly grab her arm. "Who's performing?"

"You don't know her", you say, pushing her hand away. She pouts against your shoulder. "I doubt you listen to her music."

Natasha shrugs and puts her hand on your waist instead. She's aware you probably have a point. She's listened to one of your playlists before, and honestly, the only reason she didn't complain was because you were walking around her room naked. That wasn't something she wanted to interrupt.

Does she like the idea of going to a concert with you, though? She does. More than the idea of someone else accompanying you, whether they're just a friend or not.

"I could give it a try. I listen to all kinds of stuff."

A lie. You hear the dishonesty drip from her voice. Natasha's picky with what she listens to. However, she isn't picky about the way she spends time with you. Besides, she'll get to see you all dolled up again — that makes up for it already.

You give her a skeptical look. All she does in response is crack a smile and kiss your jaw.

"It's Sabrina. I probably won't get tickets, anyway", you tell her. Natasha shrugs. "It's this Saturday. I think it's sold out."

"Come on. If there's a will, there's a way."

You roll your eyes, but the way the corners of your mouth twitch betrays you. You turn toward your study setup again and start looking for a folder on your laptop. She watches, leaning forward and breathing in the scent of perfume.

"Don't be too excited", you warn her, opening the folder. A kiss to the crook of your neck makes you squirm. "It's definitely sold out."

"I'll find a way" she insists, glancing at the screen. A bunch of French phrases that you're supposed to translate have popped up. "Not this again."

You ignore her and start typing. She was probably expecting you'd go back to your dorm, like last time. Unfortunately, homework can't wait. Natasha has proven she'll stick around, anyway. That's clear from the way her hands run under your shirt to roam your stomach.

. . .

You get the text message only minutes after your takeout arrives. You're in bed, wearing shorts and a hoodie, the Chinese food still warm and the Sunkist ice cold. Your phone buzzes, so you start digging through the pile of blankets and pillows to retrieve it.

You knew it'd be her name on the screen. You didn't expect that message, though.

Natasha: meet me downstairs in five — 6.02pm

Biting into your egg roll, you try to reply to the message. Before you manage to do that, another one pops up.

Natasha: forget it, im coming upstairs — 6.03pm

There's no use in trying to keep her from doing so. She's stubborn, always has been, and you know her well enough to be certain she's walking up the stairs already. She doesn't even knock; the door just swings open.

"Hey", you mumble, scrolling through your phone and eating fried rice with one hand. "If you want food, order some."

"Forget the food", she says. You look up and raise your eyebrows when you see the two tickets she's holding. Pink and slightly wrinkled. "Look what I found."

You open your mouth to protest, but then close it again. Concert tickets — more than impressive, considering the show was sold out when you last checked. You set the fried rice aside.

"Are those real?", you ask, frowning.

"Very real. I got them from this dude on Facebook marketplace, really sketchy area." She shrugs off her letter jacket and sits down on your desk chair, swiveling it around and scooting closer. You snatch them from her before she can show them to you properly.

They do seem real. Wrinkled, yes, but looking similar to other tickets you've had before. You glance up at her.

"What's your plan?"

Leaning back and crossing her arms, Natasha shrugs. She kicks her feet up on the mattress of your bed, boots and all, and you sigh before nudging them off. You grimace at the bits of dirt that are left behind.

"You said you wanted to go", she says. "So let's go."

Secretly, you're impressed. A little bit, at least. She went out of her way to track these tickets down, just so you could see the concert. To be fair, she had another reason to — she gets to join, after all. But that doesn't make much of a difference. You didn't have to ask for her to do it.

She's looking a little too smug, though. Head tilted, eyes studying you like she knows she's getting some kind of reward for this. You get up, tickets in hand, and start digging through your closet.

Natasha watches as you take off your hoodie. The impatience makes her skin tingle, and she shifts in her seat.

"That's a yes?", she asks, still staring. You're taking your head out of its bun.

"Yeah", you say vaguely. You let your shorts fall to the floor, where they pool around your ankles, and step out of them. "Like I said, my friend really wanted to go. He'll Venmo you the money."

Her face twists into a small, offended frown. Maybe she should've been more specific, but she bought the tickets so she could go to the concert with you — not some random person. A guy nonetheless.

Speaking is hard, since you're standing in front of her half naked. She blinks and shakes her head. "Your...what?"

"Friend", you repeat. You peek into your closet again and push the jackets aside to look for a specific dress. "His idea."

Natasha stares for another moment, then she runs her hand down your face. Just hooking up. Not dating, not committed. The only argument she has is that she bought the tickets.

You glance at her over your shoulder and smile to yourself. You can see the distress slowly bubbling up in her. You'd keep going, but you're already running late for the concert. You can also tell she meant well — this is not her trying to get you into bed again. Making her spiral would be nothing but mean.

"You're so gullible", you say. You reach for a shade of lipstick that matches your outfit. "Of course you're coming with me. You'll hate every second, I need to see that."

She rolls her eyes and slumps into the chair again. She's relieved, but she also knows she probably came off as desperate. That thought is quickly forgotten about when you step closer, though.

There's a bracelet around your wrist. Pink beads, dangling stars. Small and delicate, but enough to transport back in time. She remembers a house that smelled like alcohol and weed, sex in a friend's bedroom, waking up and feeling conflicted for the first time ever. She doesn't even realize she's staring at the bracelet instead of you.

Cupping her jaw, you tilt her face up. Soft lips press against hers and leave behind lipstick. Suddenly, she's too flustered to speak. She's surrounded by your perfume, her mouth still tingling. She doesn't even register when you pull her up from the chair.

"Come on", you say, ushering her out the door. "Freshen up. I need to put on some makeup, I look dead."

"Dead?", Natasha protests. A head or so taller than you, yet she's letting you order and push her around like a well behaved dog. "Nah, you look good. I like the dark circles under your eyes, you-"

With one firmer push, you guide her right out the door and into the hallway. The door slams shut, and Natasha just stands there for a moment to process everything.

If this were someone else, she'd go home and ghost that person. It wouldn't be worth it — she knows enough women who'd sleep with her when asked. But it's you, so she rubs her face before padding down the hall toward the shared bathroom.

. . .

The parking lot in front of the concert venue is packed. Natasha barely manages to find an empty spot, and the one she finds is right next to a bunch someone left behind. Fast food wrappers, empty beer bottles, some dark mystery liquid — you lift your eyebrows at the sight.

She reads your thoughts like an open book. Rolling her eyes, she reaches behind the seats and pulls out a full bottle of vodka. The clear liquid immediately distracts you.

"Seriously?", you ask, grabbing it. She smirks and fishes out a bottle of orange juice as well. "Really thought of everything."

"Pregame", she replies. She pours the juice into a red solo cup and hands it to you. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but it's tradition for me. Clint brings an entire keg full of beer."

Slightly distracted by the task of adding vodka to the cup, you hum. It smells like oranges and alcohol, paired with the air freshener Natasha keeps in her car. You picked it out, back when you stopped at a gas station while coming back from a party.

It'd been her idea. Now it dangles from the rear view mirror, pink and shaped like a Christmas tree. Natasha can't even drive home from practice without being reminded of you, but that bothers her less than she'd expected.

You shift in your seat and lift your legs. Getting them across the center console is tricky due to your dress, but once you manage to swing them over, they land in Natasha's lap. She glances at your legs, blinking and putting her hand on your calf.

The drink tastes like every other you've had so far. Alcoholic, sweet and a little tart. When you've had enough, Natasha grabs the cup and empties out the two sips you left. Your lipstick transfers from the cup to her top lip.

You watch her for a moment, then lean over and wipe it away. Thumb gently pressing down on her lips, you tilt your head. "Ready?"

She raises her eyebrows and leaves a quick kiss on your thumb, then she unbuckles. "Ready", she says, opening the car door. "Come on."

After waiting in line for a while, you enter the venue. Natasha isn't too sure what to do with her hands — but when people start running and bumping into each other, she gives up the facade she usually puts on and wraps an arm around your shoulder. It's not what she's used to, but you sink into her side with enough ease to make her believe that could change.

"Wow", you mumble as you walk into the massive space. "Crowded already."

"Yeah", she says, frowning. "You can barely see the stage from here."

You shrug, subtly eyeing the people around you. Mainly girls, of course. All glitter and pink and cowboy boots. You get a little closer to Natasha.

"It's fine", you say. "This is good, too."

She glances at you, then shakes her head. She's getting you closer to that stage, even if it means getting in a fight with a few other people. Tightening her arm around you, she starts pushing through the crowd.

For her, it's easy. She has the advantage of both height and years of working out. All she has to do is slowly work her way forward utilizing her elbows. There aren't many verbal complaints, but the quick glares are telling.

"You'll end up pushing someone."

"That's the point", she mutters, pulling you in tighter. "Need to get them out of my way somehow, no?"

You shoot her an unimpressed look, but she keeps her eyes on the crowd. Step by step, elbows occasionally nudging someone aside, Natasha weaves your way through the group of people for you. Somehow, you make it close to the barricade.

From that point on, you don't have much choice but to stay where you are. The barricade is jammed with people, and honestly, staying a couple feet further in the back makes more sense.

Natasha believes she's on a mission, though. You have to poke her chest a few times to keep her from wedging herself into a group of girls.

"Are you trying to storm the stage?", you ask, gripping the front of her shirt. She stops in her tracks.

"You don't want first row?"

"I'm just glad we're here at all", you say pointedly. Around you, more people try to get closer to the front. Natasha is forced to step closer, so her chest is almost pressed against yours.

A bit taken aback, she stares at you. The lights have dimmed, and your face is inches away from hers. Your lipstick is smudged already — not much, but enough to remind her of the nights she's spent getting it into an even worse state.

"Yeah", she says dumbly. Her hand is still firmly planted on your back, keeping you close. "Me too."

You tilt your chin up enough for her to be able to kiss you if she wanted. Her heart beats a bit faster, but she tries to ignore it. Catching feelings isn't something she allows herself to do. She leans in anyway.

Just before her mouth reaches yours, the lights go out entirely. Cheers erupt around you, and you pull away too fast for Natasha to see it coming. She turns around and stares at the giant screen on the stage.

"That's a cartoon", she mumbles, still staring.

"It's the intro", you explain. You rest your back against her chest and feel her arms cross over your chest. "Just wait."

Natasha hums, her thumb rubbing back and forth on your shoulder. The cartoon ends, and a woman sitting in a bathtub appears instead. You lower your head enough to kiss her forearm.

"What's her name again?"

"Sabrina", you say absently, watching the screen go dark. It slides up smoothly, revealing a stage with winding staircases and curtains. When she steps out, wrapped into a white towel, and the spotlight tracks her as she runs from one side to the other.

Finally, she steps onto the stage. The cheers are loud as she grabs the fabric of the towel to open it and reveal a glittering golden bodysuit.

"Wow", Natasha murmurs into your hair. "Would you ever, you know..."

You smile against her skin. "Yeah?"

She shrugs. She's picturing you in it already, wearing it just for her. You'd step in between her legs as she sits on the bed. The glitter on the fabric would leave a residue on her hands.

"Would look good." She kisses your earlobe right as the music starts playing. You shut Natasha up by patting her arm a few times, the words already tumbling out of you as you sing along.

Natasha has no clue what the lyrics are, but she's pretty sure she's heard you play this exact song a bunch of times. Luckily, the crowd is loud enough to conceal the fact that all she can do is hum along quietly.

It's worth it, though. She's heard you sing along a few times before, but never like this. Her arms tighten around you as the people around you move, just to make sure neither of you fall. Your heart thrums hard in your chest, and she feels every beat like the music rattling her ribcage.

In the middle of it, you turn your head. You can't quite look at her, but that's not important. She leans in anyway to kiss your cheek. At this point, it's hardly platonic. Hardly something she'd be doing with anyone else, but also hardly something she'd ever admit.

"Liked this one?"

"It wasn't bad", she says. "You seemed to enjoy it."

You tilt your head and raise your eyebrows. She raises hers right back at you. Around you, the crowd gets louder when the next song starts. You keep staring, determined to make this last, but at some point, you have no choice. You turn towards the stage again, and Natasha swallows to get rid of whatever's lodged in her throat.

Focusing on the concert itself seems impossible. You're still pressed against her front, all body warmth and perfume, and the show isn't the most exciting thing anymore. Her hands settle on your waist and her brain blanks when you accidentally grind into her.

The word 'don't' is on the tip of her tongue, but she chokes on it. You have no clue what you're doing — you're singing along off tune, unbothered by the people around you bumping into you. It's not the first time you're ignoring her, but it might be the first time you're doing it on purpose.

"Do you know the difference?"

Natasha quickly looks at you. Your eyes are on her instead of the stage, and you've almost turned around enough to be fully facing her. She didn't even register the song ending.

"What difference?", she asks, hugging you tighter when a girl stumbles into you. Without realizing, she shields you from everyone else.

You gesture at the short blonde on stage, who's already started the next song. "You know — 'there, their and they are.' Were you even listening?"

Natasha goes from infatuated to slightly offended. Rumors have been circulating since forever, pretty much. That she's dumb, an idiot who's somehow got into college thanks to being a top athlete. You questioning her grammar skills hits that sore spot a little too well.

"Of course I do", she snaps, still keeping you wrapped up in her arms. A black tee, with the short sleeves straining around her biceps. "'There' as in where, 'their' as in belongs to them, they-"

The 'are' doesn't make it out. You get on your tiptoes instead, kissing her and swallowing the word. People cheer, either at the show or at you. You choose to believe it's you.

Hands grip your waist, thumbs pressing into skin. You hook one finger into her necklace and ignore the song. You focus on not stumbling backwards with her instead. She tastes lipstick and vodka. Suddenly, the bathrooms are way too far away — and she can't put a pause on the concert, so her only option is to slow down.

You pull away, cupping her face with one hand. Your thoughts aren't any less lewd than hers, but you're just as aware of the fact you're in the middle of a concert. Nobody's staring, really — they're too focused on what's happening onstage.

Natasha clears her throat and nods at Sabrina, who's performing a slower song now. Without hesitating too much, you turn back around and lean against her front again. Arms wrapped around your middle, she goes quiet.

You get peace for about 10 minutes. Then she pulls out a round bed and Natasha's ears heat up. She's still imagining you in that cute little getup, but now, she's flashing back to a specific night. One leg thrown over her hip, keeping her as deep inside as possible. Tugging at her shoulders and moaning into her ear. Lifting your hips a bit, just enough to meet her every thrust.

It'd been quiet in your dorm, apart from the music coming from another building nearby. It smelled like the cocktail you spilled and the new perfume you insisted on testing out on her. Between pinning her down in order to spray some of the perfume on her, she'd grabbed you and rolled over. Every nerve ending lights up, and heat licks at her spine.

"Hey", she mumbles, starting to get antsy. She's trying hard to keep it in her pants, but she needs a moment to calm down. "I gotta go to the bathroom. You'll be okay?"

You're barely listening, but you hear her anyway. You turn around and frown, your cheeks glowing with a mixture of body glitter and sweat. "Really? Now?"

"Just a minute", she snaps. "I'll be back in no time, I swear. Just stay here."

You give her a doubting look, but the more she fidgets and glares, the less resistance you show. With a defeated sigh, you turn away from her.

"Told you not to drink too much. Fine, go. I'll stay here."

Natasha nods, already making her way through the crowd. Her jeans are getting tighter with every step, her heart racing and her nape sweaty. She's seconds away from public disgrace, and the only thing that's able to save her is the bathroom. To get there, she has to elbow and shove her way through crowds of people. The second the door falls shut, she's bent over the sink and splashing her face with water.

The coldness of it seeps into her skin numbs it a little. Biting her knuckles, she looks up at her own reflection and nearly curses under her breath. She's flushed and dripping water all over herself.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck", she mutters, grabbing a few paper towels from the dispenser. She starts drying her face. "Shit."

Behind her, the door to the bathroom opens. She ignores the girls walking in and turns around, sniffling and rubbing her hands dry. She can't even hear her footsteps as she makes her way back into the venue — the music is too loud, even here in the hallway.

Natasha trying to reach the barricade again nearly gets her into a fight. She's always been stubborn, though, and her determination gets her back to your side within a few minutes.

You don't seem to notice her. You're leaning toward another girl, giggling and talking, and Natasha feels her blood pressure rise in a way that feels similar to the drop on a rollercoaster. The girl's fingers are grazing your arm, her head tilted — suddenly, Natasha understands why you get testy whenever she flirts with someone.

Whether it's for fun or not suddenly doesn't matter anymore. She grabs you without warning and muffles your squeak by pulling you against her chest.

"Are you insane?", you hiss. "What was that for?"

"Focus on the show", she says, shushing you. Your nose is right against her shirt, smelling deodorant and feeling the slight dampness of the fabric. "Hey, black suits her."

"Huh?" You turn around and groan. During that short moment of Natasha distracting you, Sabrina managed to pull off a costume change. Feather starts playing, but you're pouting.

Natasha glances at you, her heart thudding still. You're refusing to look at her now, and it's killing her. She's not sure where she went wrong, but it must've happened right after her return from the bathroom.

This is not what she wanted. In her mind, you'd have fun and go home together afterwards. She'd crash in your dorm, naked and hungover, and you'd be happy to have her there. Now, you look like you're about to storm off.

"Are you on your period?", she says, joking in hopes to get you to laugh. It only seems to make matters worse, though, because the look she gets chills her to the bone. "Jesus, alright. Shouldn't have said that."

You roll your eyes and turn around again, keeping your eyes on the stage. The crowd screams over the lyrics, it smells like perfume and sweat and alcohol. Behind you, Natasha rubs her neck. She's used to you two fighting, but she didn't expect it to happen now.

She hesitates, then steps closer. You stiffen at the feeling of her arms around you. Her biceps press against your sides, solid and familiar, and her lips meet your neck. It's enough to make you stop humming.

"Don't be mad", she mumbles, her thumb brushing along the underside of your chest. "You don't want to be mad, and you know it."

"You're a fucking manipulator."

"Only for you." Natasha kisses your neck again. Her hand sneaks higher upwards, cupping your breast and squeezing it. "Enjoy the show. Ignore me."

You scoff, but she doesn't budge. Having a crowd never threw her off, and you're fully aware of that. The library was mild compared to some of the places she's initiated sex in before.

"I would", you say, trying to peel her hand off, "if you weren't such a pain."

"Me?" She nuzzles your jaw. "Funny. You let this 'pain' fuck you four times this week. And counting."

You let out a laugh that signals her death is imminent. It may have been a while since that night at the party — where you slept together for the first time, tipsy and desperate in the sweat-stenched air of Pietro's room — but being reminded of it still sets you off. You'd sworn yourself you wouldn't end up as one of her one-night stands, but you fell for the whole basketball player-shtick anyway.

The worst part is that, even if you get a little nauseous when you think about her abandoning you like all her other disposable hookups, you'll probably still drag her home and into your bed after the concert. You're almost certain you'll end the night with a new dent in the wall behind your bed.

"I'll kill you", you hiss, trying to peel her hand off. "You can't grope your way out of this."

"Hey", she whispers. "Your favorite song."

Unfortunately, her quick distraction works. You look up when you hear Fast Times playing, and suddenly, you give up and let your body do its thing. You melt into her arms and stop resisting the natural course of order.

From that moment on, you forget about the fight. You don't even think about it anymore. When the song comes to an end, you're already over it enough to turn around and tug her into a kiss.

It's always been like this. First you're fighting, then you're suddenly shoving stacks of books off the desk. You can't recall talking an issue out even once. You doubt she has enough emotional maturity to even attempt that.

The vodka and orange juice earlier left a taste on her tongue. At first, everything seems to be under your control — you cup her face, keep her close, try your best to have this remain appropriate. Calloused fingers tug at the fabric of your dress and adjust it. She feels the heat beneath, her self-control wavering. It's a slippery slope from passionate to desperate.

Natasha nods her head to deepen the kiss. Teeth bump, and her hands start bunching up your dress a little. Before she can expose your underwear to an audience of almost 20 thousand people, you grip her wrists and keep her from pushing the fabric up more.

"No", you mumble. She pulls away, breathing heavily, and frowns. "Not now."

"Later?", she asks, rubbing her lips and smudging the lipstick you got all over them. You roll your eyes and shove your hand against her chest. "You were thinking it too."

You shake your head and turn back around, ignoring her as she curses quietly. "That's just you."

She accepts defeat because she has no other choice. Part of her knows she'll end up in your bed — she always does, even if you're arguing. She's never thought of herself as irresistible, but you've gotten close to letting her believe just that.

Her body feels as sweaty as yours as it wraps around you again. You smell sweat and cologne, Read Your Mind is playing, and you both think too much.

You stop paying attention. Her mouth is on your neck, her arms around your waist. The crowd surges every time the lights change. Flashing lights and bass drops blur together just like the songs.

You sing half the lyrics, mumble the rest. Natasha takes a picture of you, then a video. She never lets go of you, though.

"How many songs is that now?", she mumbles against your ear. Her hand runs down your arm until her fingers nudge against your bracelet.

"I stopped counting", you admit. Coincidence just started playing, and judging by how everything has turned into a blur, you're assuming it must've been a quite a few. "My feet hurt."

Natasha tries to sneak a glance at your legs. You're in high heels, but you're still a head shorter than her. The heels are probably killing you by now. She wouldn't be surprised if you ended up with blisters, especially after being nudged around by a crowd all night.

She doesn't understand why you'd put up with the pain just in order to look taller, but it's not her right to judge. Instead, she nods at her boots.

"Take them off", she says. You give her an unimpressed look. "Just do it."

"The floor is gross", you complain, already angling one leg to slip off your high heel. Natasha taps your waist. "What?"

"Stand on my boots."

You pause and stare. She stares back, then rolls her eyes and grabs the heel you're holding. She's not about to argue, because she knows she'd lose. Besides, if she lets you talk too much, you might start saying things that'll scare her. It's better if you both shut up.

"You're kidding", you say, but she's already scooped you off the ground. "Let go!"

"Take off the other one", she insists. She can already feel the sweat accumulate at the back of her neck. "Jesus, hurry up a little."

"I thought I was a lightweight", you hiss. You take off your other high heel, anyway. The leather of her boots feels cold as you stand on them. Natasha loosens her grip on you and exhales quietly.

"Comfy?", she asks, fingers drumming against your stomach.

You let out a begrudging hum and keep staring at the stage. You're not about to give her the satisfaction of knowing she saved you from being unable to walk the next day. Knowing her, she'd use it as leverage. Or to piss you off.

Natasha doesn't really mind your attitude. Not in that moment. You're standing on the toes of her boots, body flush with hers. She has the emotional capacity of a spoon, but there aren't many things she likes more than feeling you this close.

Another song ends. Then Juno starts, and you forget that you're supposed to act like you're mad at her. It's the one song you keep replaying, whether you're in the car or in your dorm. You've requested it at parties (and made a friend connect your phone to the speakers so you could play it if they refused), you added it to Natasha's playlist when she wasn't looking and you obsessively watched the different positions whenever someone posted them.

Natasha's unaware. You tend to doomscroll after sex, a thin sheen of sweat still coating your body, and lift your phone enough to make her see as well. She's tuckered out usually, with her eyes half closed and her face resting against the crook of your neck. She has no clue, but you show her the positions anyway.

"What's that?", she asks, squeezing her arms around your middle. "Why's everyone cheering?"

You briefly glance at her, lips twitching. "Don't know?"

The look she gives you makes you laugh. You don't need her to say it out loud — she's about to see, anyway. You're not too worried, as you've probably done worse than whatever position Sabrina is about to get into on stage.

You watch Sabrina run down the stage and get on her knees so she's almost sitting on the floor. Her knees stay bent for a second as she bounces on nothing a few times. The corners of your mouth tug into a little frown — you're not sure about the logistics behind it. Natasha, however, feels her brain turn into a lump of mush as she realizes what's happening.

It's a sex position. She shouldn't be too shocked, especially since she isn't one to reject experimenting with those, but she's already managed to picture you doing the same thing.

"What do you think?", you ask. She cranes her neck to get a better look at the stage, ignoring you. Her hand squeezes your side like you're about to evaporate and ruin her fantasy of trying this. If she hadn't already been toying with the idea of going home with you, she definitely would've made that decision now.

Sabrina's jumped back up and returned to performing. Natasha finally snaps out of it, but the image of you doing that very thing is burned into her brain. "That- yeah, no, that one's happening. We're doing that. Tonight."

You scoff. "Perv."

"She's creative", she mumbles. "We could be creative. Why aren't we?"

"You're disgusting", you retort, rolling your eyes.

She doesn't argue. She just shrugs, knowing you'll probably end up trying anyway. On stage, Sabrina is back to singing. You're not aware of it yet, but the lyrics plant a little seed in you. One that'll end up growing until you can't resist that itch anymore.

You turn your head to look at her over your shoulder. Natasha almost leans in to kiss you, but there's a glimmer in your eyes that makes her stop. She knows better than to push, as her being nosy has lead to issues in the past, but you have no problem bringing it up anyway.

You lean in closer, so close she can smell the chewing gum you popped into your mouth half an hour ago. Your eyes are dazed from both the vodka and the concert, and she can feel her fingers twitch with the urge to drag you somewhere. She doesn't know where, but anywhere without an audience would work.

She's sweaty, she's tipsy, she's horny. She didn't think you could make it worse. You prove her wrong just like every time.

"Want to give me a baby, too?"

For a split second, all air is knocked out of her lungs. She freezes, eyes wide and hands glued to your sides. Brain gone, body still. Her voice? Nowhere to be found. The music drowns out every thought that's running circles in her mind like a panicked rabbit.

Finally, she lets out a laugh. When she doesn't know what to say, she uses humor to deflect and pivots into touch. Distracting herself is key, otherwise she'll look like an idiot. Little does she know this moment will haunt her all the way to an important basketball game a few weeks later.

"What, now?", she asks, already kissing your neck. "Because I'd rather give you something else right now."

You lift your shoulder a little when her tongue brushes against a ticklish spot on your neck. "Smooth."

"I'm not joking. The bathroom isn't too shabby."

You shake your head and look at the stage again. Still, she keeps all her attention on you. Your shoulder is littered with kisses, her hands roam up and down, quiet curses escape her. You barely hear them, but they add to the thrumming inside you anyway. Alcohol, music, an idea that could either ruin everything or get something entirely different started.

The song has ended, thankfully. Natasha's head hasn't stopped spinning though, and you're somewhere between exhaustion and an inexplicable rush of giddy stupidity. The latter is intensified by the alcohol coursing through your veins. You didn't have much of it, but its effect is stronger thanks to the oppressive heat inside the venue.

You turn your head enough to be able to kiss her. She sucks on your tongue and gropes your stomach, feeling the heat beneath. Please Please Please is playing, you grab her face and deepen the kiss, and Natasha feels blood rush into her lower half. As if the heat wasn't bad enough, it's now accompanied by the recurring pressure in her dick.

Her hand slips lower with each passing second until she reaches what she's looking for. Her thumb brushes the curve of your ass and Natasha sighs, trying to tug you even closer.

No matter what you do or where you are, you always seem to end up in the same situation — with a hard-on pressing against you like a quiet reminder that this is what your relationship is doomed to be like.

You tilt your head as you part from her. She's seconds from bringing up the bathroom idea again, you can see it written all over her face. If you as much as look at her the wrong way, you're ending up with your back against a bathroom wall with sharpie all over it.

"No."

Natasha clenches and unclenches her jaw. She should've expected that answer, but part of her was too hopeful. Rejection therapy isn't something she ever had to get acquainted with, which led to her believing 'yes' would be the standard answer for just about everything.

"The concert will be over soon", you add, pulling away from her grasp. You step off her boots and onto the cold floor, grabbing your high heels again. Somehow, you managed not to lose them.

"Right", she says, watching you put on your heels again. The girl next to you bumps into your side, and Natasha keeps herself from tugging you back into her chest. "Got any plans for later?"

"You're trying to come home with me", you state, not wasting a second on your reply. She bites the insides of her cheeks. "Is that why you wanted to come here? Because it'd lead to sex?"

"You seemed like you wanted it too", she tries to defend herself. She's not sure she means what she said, but it's too late. The words hang between you, Don't Smile is playing and time is running out. You had a fight not too long ago — she doesn't want this to result in another one. She doesn't want to end this night with you being mad at her.

All you do is stare for a moment, then turn back around. Natasha runs a hand through her hair as she tries to come up with a way to salvage this. You still have to survive the car ride home, and honestly, the idea of dropping you off and leaving afterwards kills her. She shouldn't want this as much as she does — if her teammates knew, it'd be over for her —, but she can't exactly change it.

You feel her fingertips trace your shoulder blade. Nails rake over skin, fingers slip under the strap of your dress. She tugs gently, with just enough strength for you to notice. The strap snaps back against your shoulder. You don't react, not visibly, but your resolve weakens.

"Don't be mad", she says, hooking her finger under the thin piece of fabric again. "I'll buy you something at the merch booth."

"I have money", you say, staring at the stage. Her fingers find the zipper on your dress and give it a light tug. "Keep going and I'll call an Uber."

Natasha hesitates. The song is coming to an end, which means that she only has minutes left. Words tend to be her favored way of getting out of uncomfortable situations. She's ended arguments being a touchy smooth talker, murmuring bullshit until the other caved. With you, it's never been different, but there's starting to be more behind it.

"Smile", she says, wrapping a strand of your hair around her finger. "Smile and I'll kiss you."

You ignore the way your skin tingles when she reaches for the strap of your dress again. She tugs at it like it's a lifeline, like touching your body will make you rewind to the night were things were easy and hot and mutual. It's a flirty game, and she's using it to try and charm her way back into your good graces.

"I need you to mean that", you say, still not looking. It's like you just froze time, and the concert, for her.

She's stunned for a moment. Because she does mean it, even if everything about her screams she doesn't. There's no other explanation as to why she'd be putting herself through this otherwise. She has her pick of girls who'd sleep with her. Ever since becoming the basketball's team captain, that number has only increased. And yet, she's standing in a venue full of glitter and makeup products she couldn't name for the life of it.

Somehow, she enjoys being here anyway.

"What if I do?"

"You don't", you insist, your back stubbornly turned toward her. "I don't think you're capable of that."

Natasha rolls her eyes and steps closer. Her hand cups your waist, her front is right up against your back. Her idea of apologizing includes undoing a bra, but you still have an audience.

You don't try to escape her touch. It's not like there's much space around you to do that, but she feels something light up inside her regardless. Her hand curves around your middle and, when you fail to pull away once more, her lips brush your ear.

"I mean it", she mutters, too reluctantly for you to believe she doesn't mean it. It's lies that come easy to her — the truth scares her. "Now kiss me. I don't want you to be mad at me."

You keep your eyes glued to a random spot on stage, but they close for a split second. Inside you, your heartbeat stutters and the petty urge to make her grovel fades. You don't forgive easily — not usually, not when it comes to Natasha. You're already calculating the perfect moment to turn around, though.

You give up on that last bit of resistance when Espresso starts playing. You glance at her and meet her gaze, and paired with the music and the screaming crowd, it almost feels ridiculous. The fight was unnecessary, just like all the other ones you've had so far were.

"I'm sorry", she finally mumbles, licking her lips and looking at your own. "I'm stupid. I know that. Don't take that Uber."

A switch flips and, suddenly, your resolve crumbles quicker than you want it to. Natasha knows she's out of the woods when you roll your eyes, so she taps your lower back and cracks a smile.

"You forgot the kiss", she reminds you.

"Did I smile?"

She shakes her head. Her fingers drag over clothed skin, tapping and curling, and you squirm. You resist the tickling sensation about five seconds, then you let that smile slip that she's been waiting for. Natasha doesn't get to enjoy the view for long, though, as you immediately put on a frown.

"Fuck you."

She laughs, already pulling you closer. You get on your tiptoes right as she leans in. Her lips press against yours, soft and firm at once. You grip the front of her shirt, the fabric spilling out between your fingers. If she didn't know any better, she'd think you're angry about not being kissed this whole time — you're up on your toes just to kiss her back, at least. Natasha convinces herself that counts for something.

People yell around you, confetti falls like thick snowflakes in all kinds of colors. Drinks spill when the crowd moves and makes everyone bump into each other. You hear someone start to list names as they tell the audience to make noise for everyone, but you're both at a point at which you're ignoring it.

By the time you part, you're both out of breath. Natasha's silently swearing that she'll never pretend she isn't way too deep into this, and you're just trying to remember which way the exit was.

"Shit", you mumble, letting people squeeze past you as they start trickling out of the venue.

Natasha swallows and nods, her arm curled around your waist. "I fucking hate when you ignore me."

"Don't give me a reason to, then", you say. You glance at your wrist and touch it, a frown on your face. "I think I lost my bracelet."

"What?" She looks up and blinks, then grabs your hand to confirm. "Oh. Fuck. What's it look like?"

You start searching the floor — looking for the pink beads, the little stars dangling from it — but it's difficult to stay focused over all the noise. The chattering coming from all sides is almost louder than the concert itself, and you're cut off by people who try to get past you but don't quite succeed.

Natasha frowns as she helps you. It’s your favorite bracelet — it's the one you wore when you first kissed. When you first slept together, too. And now, the only thing tying you to that night in Pietro's bedroom might be gone.

Right as she opens her mouth to say something, a girl next to you steps on something. Whatever object her heel landed on crunches loudly, and both of you freeze.

"My bracelet", you groan, immediately continuing to search the floor. It seems impossible with all the people walking by and blocking your vision. “I loved that thing! It was so expensive, too!"

"Well...why'd you wear it?", she asks, panicking as well. But the object on the floor is a cheap pair of reading glasses, with the shards scattered around it. She lets out a breath. "Alright, you can calm down."

"'Calm down'? It's still gone, you moron!"

Natasha shuts up. She knows better than to keep going. As you continue searching the floor, she pads after you and tucks her hands into the pockets of her jeans. Her fingertips brush against something cold and round.

She stops in her tracks and hesitates. Finally, she pulls out the bracelet. It takes you five seconds to notice she's not walking anymore. Like a switch flipped, you go from panicked to pissed.

"What, you're going to just stand there? Of course. It's gone, and you're just going to- oh, fuck you", you hiss. "It's gone!"

Natasha rolls one of the beads between her fingers. She hesitates again — you look like you're about to tear someone's head off, and it'd most likely be hers; but when you whip around again, she can't help it anymore.

"It's not gone", she blurts. "I have it."

You feel everything inside you be put on hold for a second. You don't believe her in that initial second, but then she's pulled out the exact bracelet you were looking for. With the same pink beads and history attached to it, now dangling from her fingers.

Finally, you let out a breath. You're by her side in a split second to grab the bracelet and give it a quick glance, then you put it on.

"This the one?", she mumbles, carefully watching your reaction. You nod and look up. Your hand cups the back of her head faster than she can register, and only when the bracelet gets tangled in her hair does she realize you're kissing her.

You pull away, staring at her. The air between you is charged with the afterbuzz of the concert and the mouthwarm of the kiss. You weren't happy about her suggesting that she come home with you after the show, but now, anything else wouldn't seem right.

"Yeah. That's the one. Let's just..." You nod at the exit. "Let's go."

Natasha nods and puts her hand on your lower back, even though there's no crowd she needs to guide you through. Outside, it's dark and still hot from the day. Cars speed down the highway nearby, and on the other side of the parking lot, two shadows are nestled against the side of a car.

"My dorm or yours?", you ask, trying not to be too obvious. Natasha smiles and lets her hand drop a bit lower.

"Yours."

. . .

Music is playing from your old portable speaker. The room smells like the chicken wings Natasha picked up on the way home. She's on your bed, heart-eyed and silent, as you're sitting at your desk with a vanity mirror in front of you.

"You're taking long", she mumbles, stretching. "Thought we had a deal."

"There was no deal", you reply, using a napkin soaked in makeup remover to clean your face. She sighs and rolls over onto her side. "You being gross doesn't equal a deal."

"It has before."

You give her a pointed look through the mirror. She raises her eyebrows, caught somewhere between flustered and horny. The concert wasn't long — and yet, it feels like she's been practicing involuntary celibacy for years.

"You want to try it, too", she adds. Your mind jumps back to the Juno position and you clench your jaw. Suddenly frustrated, you shift in your chair. Natasha notices, of course. "Don't lie."

"We've fought twice tonight", you point out, desperately trying to ignore the fact you're gripping the desk with one hand. You can't ignore it too well, though. Neither can she. "Don't let there be a third time."

Natasha rolls her eyes and props her upper body up on her forearm. Her hair is in a low bun that's slowly coming loose, and somehow, both her shirt and her cheek are speckled with glitter from your dress. You're still taking off your makeup, but she's got something else to take off in mind.

You should be distracted by the makeup remover dripping down your neck, but you're too caught up on the fact that there's someone lying on your bed. You're both still sweaty, still stuck in that weird, slightly disorienting haze caused by the bracelet. You move your foot, which was crossed at the ankle with your other one, and knock over one of your high heels.

"Are you still mad?", she suddenly asks. It's as unexpected as the cars outside, their tires screeching just a split second after she stops talking. You turn around and stare. "Is that a yes?"

"Guess, since you're so good at it."

Natasha rolls her eyes and slumps back into the pillow. You ball up the napkins on your desk and toss them into the trashcan, then you get up. The second she hears a zipper being pulled down, she lifts her head again.

Your back is turned to her. She watches the dress fall to the floor and, seeing more and more skin be revealed like something at a museum, feels blood rush south. Her boxers tent and she gives you a slightly desperate look when you reach for a pair of shorts.

"What?", you ask, eyebrows furrowed. She isn't sure whether you're irritated or genuinely confused, which throws her off more.

"You got glitter in your hair", she says innocently. Her fingers are twisting the hem of her shirt, her cheeks are dusted pink. She can pretend all she wants, but you know the tiny telltale signs by heart. That same girl who's thrown up on court and ghosted half the campus and flirted her way into your pants — she's nervous now.

You take out your earrings and pad to the windowsill to leave them there. She watches every move like she fully expects you to join her any minute. It's better to be prepared, which is why she feels for the thin square object in the pocket of her shorts.

"I got an idiot in my bed, too", you mumble. "Don't see me complaining about that."

Natasha, slumped into the mattress like she's a wounded soldier, perks up when you make your way to her side. She reaches out her hand and her fingertips graze your thigh, and when you sit down, she finally straightens up fully for the first time since entering your dorm.

"You brought this idiot here", she reminds you, her finger hooking into the strap of your bra. "You're so far away."

"You're kidding."

"I'm really not." She tugs at the bra strap and you sigh. Her fingers run down your arm until they reach your wrist — or rather, the bracelet dangling from it. "Do you hate me?"

"I'm thinking about it", you deadpan. She sees right through your lie, as usually, so your words don't have much of an effect. She keeps tugging, and you keep caving; once you've swung one leg over her lap, one knee on each side of her hips, it's over. You're still buzzing from the concert, and the bracelet, and there aren't many other things that'd be fitting for this situation.

You wrap her necklace around your index finger, pulling at it gently. She nods her head to press a kiss to your knuckle.

"Don't seem like you hate me", she mumbles. "You're still here."

"My standards have lowered significantly." Your lips twitch when she looks up, her eyebrows furrowed. "They weren't high to begin with."

Natasha huffs quietly, but her smile matches yours. She wraps one arm around your waist, biceps solid and familiar, and draws you closer. You don't mean to laugh, or brush your lips against hers, but it happens anyway. You pull away and she hums, staring at you.

You let out a breath. Your hands run into her hair to tilt her head back tugging just a little. Natasha feels the intention of keeping it casual fall apart, and to combat the feeling of anxiety creeping up, she kisses you again.

It's not much. Just soft presses of lips, sighs between them. Mouths open as the kisses grow sharper, a little more desperate. You feel the wet patch on her boxers before she does. You pull away enough to see the smudged lipstick on her mouth. You removed most of your makeup, but leaving that on was intentional.

One hand gripping her collar, you yank her closer. Hot lips press against yours, stiff due to her initial state of surprise, but then she kisses you back again.

Her hands settle on your waist after a moment. She brushes her tongue along your bottom lip, and when you feel her boner press against the inner part of your thigh, you roll your hips against hers. Your knees grind into the mattress and both of you are out of breath way too quickly.

"Hey", she mumbles, pulling away just enough to be able to speak. "You want this?"

"We're past asking, I think."

Natasha exhales and nods. Her hand curves around your back and up your spine, finding the clasp of your bra. It comes undone, the pressure around your chest loosens, and you let the straps slide off your arms. The piece of fabric ends up on the other side of the room, forgotten about before it even hits the floor.

Her hand is inside your shorts before you manage to kiss her again. You wiggle against her fingers, cursing quietly.

"Jesus, you're wet already?", she mumbles.

"You're the one dripping", you shoot back. Her hand moves slowly, too slowly for the both of you. You swear again, clutching her shirt so hard she feels the pressure around her chest.

Her fingers flex inside you. She keeps working you open until you have to clasp your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from whining. Just seeing that happen is enough for Natasha to want to take it slow, but her boxers hurt from the pressure, so she pulls out again.

"Can you not?", you complain, her hand stuck in the waistband of your shorts for a moment. She raises her eyebrows.

"Still hate me?"

"You're on thin ice", you mutter. She puts her hands on your waist and guides you up, making your frown fade. "I'll kick you out."

Natasha glances at you, and somehow, she's able to make you feel bad. It's a guilt trip, heading straight for the spot that'll make you stop whining. Unfortunately, it works.

Once she realizes she's won, she looks much more content already. You're too impatient to put up much of a fight. There are always other ways to take revenge, after all.

"What's your plan?", you cave. She hums and lifts you up again, manhandling you as she pleases.

"Turn around", she says. "I want to try it."

Your back is already turned towards her when she says that. The moment you remember what she's talking about, you feel heat shoot up your spine and then back down between your legs. Natasha tugs at your shorts and waits for you to nod, then she helps you pull them off all the way.

It's hot in your dorm, summer heat clinging to both of you. With her only sitting there in a sports bra now, you can feel how sweaty and flushed she is. You straddle her facing away and lean back against her chest.

"Alright", she breathes, her hands on your waist. You lift your hips and feel her tip nudge into you. "There you go."

"Shut the fuck up", you moan, trying to sink down. The angle isn't making things easier for you — getting adjusted to her still hurts. "Don't move, don't move-"

"I'm not", she husks. Her fingers curl into your sides, leaving little crescents behind as she guides you. "Come on, just a little more."

She rocks up into you, bottoming out. Your hips are pinned in place. The bed creaks quietly and you moan.

The thrusts are long at first, calculated. You're still sitting up, still trying to take each roll of her hips. Her nose is against your neck as she breathes in, perfume and a hint of cherry gloss making it seem like a fever dream in the late of summer.

With her hands still guiding you, she starts going slower. The angle hits deep, the spots are sweet enough to make you gasp quietly. She's not thrusting, she's grinding. It's not rough, but relentless, and she feels her self control slip with each noise you make.

Then, you clench. Natasha curses as she barely stops herself from coming on the spot.

"Shit", she grunts, her voice low and lost between the slick, unhurried sounds that fill the room. Mentally, she's thanking Sabrina for introducing her to this. "Don't do that."

"Come on", you say. You're barely able to speak at this point. "This was your idea. You were so cocky earlier."

Natasha's forehead is glued to your shoulder. You lift one arm and move your hand behind you, cupping the back of her head. The bracelet around your wrist nudges her ear and gets tangled in a few flyaway hairs.

Her hands are grinding you down, her hips are rolling up into you. The room smells like sex and sweat, and when one of her hands suddenly starts roaming your body, you know it's over for you.

She presses down on your stomach, cups your breast, moves it all the way up to your throat. She barely wraps her hand around it before letting go again. It drifts to the aching spot between your thighs, where she's still buried inside of you, and she starts circling it without warning.

"Fuck", you stammer, one knee jerking. "Fuck, Nat-"

She ignores how your fingers tangle into her hair and tug. Her arm locks around your waist, keeping you pressed against her. She feels her own outline against her forearm and almost loses it.

At this point, it's almost too much. Natasha's been hanging on by a thread for hours, and you're not doing better. She tugs you fully into her lap as she keeps grinding up, sweat trickling down her bicep and her hair curling from the moisture.

"The bracelet", you moan, melting against her. "How did you find it?"

"I didn't." She makes a noise that sounds close to a sob. You'd laugh — it's you who did it, after all — but her hips jerk up and rid your mind of any thoughts. "I took it."

"Oh", is all you say. Her hand keeps working your clit, and each thrust goes deeper and deeper until she's all but grinding in spot. Her words linger, but you're too far gone to react.

The buildup is sudden and intense. She thrusts up one more time, her arm pulling you down as she rocks up, and that's it. Heat floods you, hitting each nerve ending. She spills, your back arches, and the bracelet almost rips a few of her hairs out when you adjust your arm.

"Shit", she pants, still nuzzling your neck. "That hurt."

"You're the one complaining?", you whine. You're twitching with aftershocks, nearly wheezed while talking — you could've sworn she'd rip a hole into you. Yet, she's talking about 'hurt' like she's the one who experienced it.

"Your bracelet, dumbass. It’s pulling my hair."

"Oh." You swallow and gently remove your hand. Her hand hasn't moved from between your legs. Her thumb keeps circling your clit like she's about to initiate something else. But you're sticky and trembling and in desperate need of a shower. "Get out of me before I cry."

You hear her swallow, feel the kiss on your shoulder. She hesitates before pulling out, slowly, and wipes your thighs with the back of her hand.

"I didn't mean to", she confesses, grabbing a tissue with her clean(-ish) hand. "I don't know why I did it. Guess it reminded me of...things."

"The party", you state. She shoots you a glare. "Don't look at me like that! You took it like some weird creep."

When she doesn’t say anything, all you can do is scoff and get up. Natasha, feeling like an idiot for confessing while too deep inside you and too pussy-drunk to form a single coherent sentence, jumps up and follows after you. She tries crossing her arms behind her head as you walk to the shower on wobbly legs, but even that doesn't feel right anymore.

"You need help?", she finally asks. You grab your robe and head for the door.

"You need to leave", you say, hand on the doorknob. "You know that bracelet is important to me!"

"I know", she says slowly. She's seen it on you during the party, and then consistently after you started hooking up more. "I'm sorry. Don't be mad."

You roll your eyes and step out into the hallway. Natasha groans and puts on her shorts before walking after you, the floor cold beneath her feet. She makes sure not to step into some old chewing gum and then tries getting ahold of you.

The towel nearly slips. She retracts her hand like she touched the earth's core itself.

"What is wrong with you-"

"I wasn't thinking", she quickly says, fingertips grazing your wrist. "I swear."

"No", you shoot back. "You were thinking too much. See the issue?"

She doesn't understand at first, then she opens her mouth — and shuts it again. Because you're right, again. You're calling her out, which she both hates and loves. It's something that no one's ever done before, at least not like this. Not in a way that made her listen.

"And the concert", you add. "What was that about? Did you want to do something nice, or was it about fucking me again?"

"Okay", she stammers, rubbing the back of her neck. "I don't want to go off topic, but we're in the middle of the hallway, and it's late at night, and-"

"You don't want everyone to find out?", you snap. Her eyes widen immediately. "Little late for that, since under the bleachers seemed just fine for you."

Heat creeps up her neck and all the way to her ears. She rubs her eyes — if she'd just given up on the ticket hunt, she wouldn't be standing here right now — as she tries to find the right words. Somehow, that's where she always ends up: in some weird headspace that removes her ability to communicate verbally.

The easiest way to deal with this would be to drag you back into bed. But you don't want that — you'd probably kill her, in fact — and neither does she. Her only option is to find the right words, even if it seems impossible.

"It wasn't about sex", she mumbles, each syllable feeling like it's clinging to her vocal cords and refusing to let go. "You know that."

You shake your head and adjust your towel. Someone down the hall opens their door, but it shuts again almost right away. "You know, believing you is one of the biggest mistakes someone could make. So why should I?"

"No", she admits. "You shouldn't. But I want you to, anyway."

"It's not about what you want", you reply, fixing your towel again. You almost let go, and she immediately grabs the edge to keep it in place. "It's about being an adult. There's a thing called 'emotional intelligence', but I guess you won't even look at that until you can stick your dick in it."

"You're emotionally intelligent", she says unhelpfully. "Does that count?"

Another stare. Then you're headed for the bathroom, and Natasha has to follow suit again. Why she's fighting, she pretends not to know. Even if everything she does is telling her why.

The water starts running, and she joins you without asking. You don't bother trying to kick her out. It wouldn't work anyway, so you let her lean against the wall of the shower cubicle.

She exhales as you reach for your loofah. It smells like almond and vanilla, but for the first time ever, even that doesn't turn her on. She shifts and then pushes away from the wall to grab the loofah.

"What-"

"I'll be more thorough", she mutters, moving to stand behind you. "Don't move too much."

You scoff, but don't bother arguing. The rough material of the loofah is running along your shoulders already anyway, so you stand there and let her coat your skin suds. It's just the loofah at first — scrubbing away sweat and dead skin cells, cleaning you of every dumb thing Natasha's said that night.

Her hand follows, but it's not the usual little game of trying to get you into bed. Suddenly, she's tracing shoulder blades and your spine and gently poking the spot where the nail of her index finger left a faint mark.

"That's me."

"I know", you say simply. "It's not like there's anyone else."

Natasha nods and lets out a breath. She returns to washing your back, your arms, your sides. Her hand cups your waist and she leans in to kiss the back of your neck. You freeze, then relax enough for her to repeat it.

"I'm sorry", she murmurs, her lips against your skin. Her hand trails down your arm, right to the bracelet. "There's a reason. I swear. But you said it, I don't do well with the sappy stuff."

"Natasha."

"I like what it stands for", she says, slipping her fingers between the bracelet and your wrist. "It reminds you of something. It reminds me, too. I should've just asked for it."

You breathe in and out. Your fingers curl, your eyes close. Her free hand touches your lower stomach before splaying out on it.

She's not making sense. She never did. But you move your hand away from her grasp and remove the bracelet from your wrist. This time, you give it to her on purpose. It looks small in her palm.

"That's yours", she says dumbly.

"You stole it", you say, turning around again to rinse off. "If you can do that, you can accept it from me."

"Yes, but..." She shakes her head and looks up. "Why?"

Not even you know. Not really. All you know is that you’re tired, and if she wants to have a piece of you, she can have it. And maybe, she’ll figure out how to take care of it first.

You don’t tell her. Instead, you shrug, the water running down your body and removing all the soap suds. She tries her best not to check you out, so she quickly looks at the bracelet again.

"I want you to have it", you say, twisting the shower knob and making the water stop running. "Do with it what you will."

She watches you as you leave, your footsteps quiet in the darkened room. She doesn't follow — not this time. She hears the door to the communal bathroom close, then she glances at the bracelet again. It had one memory attached to it before: sex, at a party, mainly resulting from a game of 'spin the bottle'. Now, that may have changed.

Do with it what you will.

Natasha doesn't wear it. Not now, that is. But she keeps it in her wallet, next to her toothbrush, on her dashboard.

When she does decide to give you her jersey, she wears it beneath the sweatband on her wrist. It's hard for anyone else to see the faint outline of it — yet she does, anyway.

#short n sweet #short n sweet au #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel mcu #marvel #wlw #lesbian #wlw smut #smut #fluff #light angst #fanfic #fanfiction #moon’s fics

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sweetcalebb · 4 hours ago

Note

would you be open to writing caleb putting you in a headlock? Maybe you ask him to do it and he gets really into it 🫠🫠🫠

Headlock sex ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

wc: 2.6k

a/n: hii!! i can't tell you how excited to see this ask. i've thought abt caleb putting the reader in a headlock smm. thank u sm for this! i hope this was okay, and if it wasn't pls feel free to DM me, comment, or send another ask. i'm always happy to write more <3

content: prone sex, rough sex, light choking, bit of dry humping <3, cream pie, headlock (ofc!), power play, horny gym tension, biceps appreciation, reader likes to get all flustered around caleb like they aren't literally dating

——

You should've been counting Caleb's reps. You were—until you started staring a little too hard at his biceps. Suddenly, you forgot how to count, or think, or even breathe.

"Hey, what am I at, Pips?" Caleb grunted.

Shoot.

You just stood there, dumb, open-mouthed, and said, "Um... 10?"

He wasn't even training biceps. How the hell did they look so good when he was doing push-ups? It wasn't fair.

Caleb laughed, slowly sitting on his heels. "10? I could've sworn I hit 10 a few pushups ago."

Your face flushed. "I think you're counting wrong."

"And I think you're just ogling me," Caleb shot back, standing up and stalking over to you—sweat clinging to his forehead, muscles taut and glistening—

God. He was going to be the death of you.

"It's cute." He leaned in close, lips curled in a smug smile. "Can't count when you're horny, huh?"

You clenched around nothing.

"I'm not!" you scoffed, taking a step back, even when every cell in your body was screaming at you to pounce on him.

"Then why are you blushing?" Caleb teased, playfully poking your cheek before you could pull away. "I was just joking, but does watching me do pushups actually turn you on?"

You squirmed back, the tips of your ears burning.

"No!"

Caleb grinned. "Liar."

Heat dripped low in your stomach. Shit. Why was it so hot when he called you out like that?

"So, what about me doing pushups turns you on?" He squinted his eyes and cocked his head—all feigned innocence and charm. "Is it the way I grunt? Or the way I look when I'm focused? Or is it my muscles?"

Evil bastard. He knew what he was doing.

"C'mon. I gotta know," he coaxed.

"Nothing!" you finally huffed. "Nothing about you doing pushups turns me on!"

Everything.

Everything about him doing pushups turned you on. Especially his arms. But you didn't want to admit that, so without another word, you spun around and started heading for the exit.

Caleb laughed, watching the cute sway of your hips as you stormed off. "Hey! C'mon! We have to finish on cardio!"

But you were already outside.

—

Now, you sat, curled up in your bed, staring at pictures of Caleb—specifically the ones he sent after a grueling workout. Yes, you had a whole album of him, and he was always all sweaty and pumped... really pumped.

You took a shaky breath. God, his arms looked so good.

And Caleb? He was probably in your living room, minding his business all smug because he knew the things he did to you.

He was visiting for a bit, which was why you'd been working out together in the first place. You thought it would be a cute hangout, not—whatever that turned into.

You groaned, tossing your phone to the side.

You couldn't do this anymore.

You kicked your legs over your bed and slipped out of your room. Sure enough, there Caleb was—on the living room floor, completely relaxed, fussing with one of his model airplanes like he wasn’t the reason your brain had short-circuited.

He shot you a quick glance and smiled before turning back to his plane.

"Hey, Pips," Caleb murmured, brows furrowing as he chipped a piece of his model off. "You okay?" He took a double-take, a hint of smugness in his voice. "You look.. flushed."

You stood there for a second, your body burning and your mind swimming with all the dirty things you wanted Caleb to do to you. Especially now, with how nice his hands looked messing with his plane.

And he could see it. He didn't have to ask or look at you too long, he just knew.

Because that was Caleb.

"What're you thinking?" He quipped, tilting his head.

You shifted awkwardly, your legs squeezing together.

You took a small inhale, then carefully said, "I want to try something."

Caleb smiled, the model airplane in his lap forgotten the minute you uttered those words.

"Oh, yeah? What's this 'something' you wanna try?"

You glanced down, fidgeting with your shirt and shifting your the wooden floor.

Caleb grinned. You were impossibly cute when you were nervous—cheeks red and lip sore from how much you'd bitten it in thought.

Slowly, he stood and stepped over to you.

"You know I'll try anything you want, Pips," Caleb said, stopping in front of you and grinning that stupid grin that made your heart flutter. "C'mon. Have I ever judged you?" he coaxed.

"No," you murmured.

"Right. So, tell me."

"I..." Your eyes darted down to his arms. God. They looked nice. So nice, that for a split—horrifyingly horny—second, you wondered what they'd feel like wrapped around your neck.

Your whole body burned at the thought.

Then quietly—unbidden—the words, "I want you to put me in a headlock," came out.

Caleb laughed.

You must've been joking.

But when he looked at you—really looked at you—you weren't laughing or smiling. No, you were straight-faced, eyes hardened and jaw tensed.

Oh.

You were serious.

"What?" Caleb breathed.

You let out a stuttered breath. And as if this couldn't get any more embarrassing, you muttered, "During... it."

Caleb blinked. "During it?"

For a second, he just stared. His brain couldn't catch up. Had you seriously just asked him to... put you in a headlock during sex?

He let out a humorless laugh. "I—Pips, are you being serious?"

You paused, your heart thudding so loud you were almost certain he heard it. You knew this was a mistake. You should’ve kept your mouth shut.

"No. Never mind, I was just—I was joking."

You didn't care how lame that sounded, you just needed to get out of there before he saw the furious blush that crept up your cheeks and burned your ears.

But you weren't fast enough.

Before you could even turn around, Caleb's hand was around your wrist.

"Hey—don't do that." He tugged you back, forcing you against his chest. "If that's what you want, I'll give it to you."

Your breath quickened.

"Is that what you want?"

It took you a moment to learn how to breathe again before finally managing a quiet, "Yes."

At that, Caleb smiled—a big, crooked, and way too smug smile. Then, without warning, he bent down slightly and hauled you over his shoulder.

You yelped, clinging to his back. "Hey! What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" Caleb huffed. "I'm giving you what you want."

You wanted to argue. Pretend it really was a joke, but every nerve in your body lit up the second he said he’d give you exactly what you wanted.

He nudged your door open with his foot and stalked over to your bed before dropping you on the mattress and turning you over on your stomach. You gasped, your hands clinging to your sheets in anticipation.

Caleb crawled over you, wasting no time as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"

You squirmed, lips parting on a silent sigh of relief when you felt him against your ass. He ground against you once, then stopped before pinning you down when he felt you lift your hips to meet his.

"C'mon. Talk to me, Pips. I wanna hear you."

You groaned, dipping your head against the mattress. Of course. You should've known better than to think Caleb wasn't going to make the most out of every second.

"Yes," you breathed, struggling against his grip. "I've been thinking about this all day."

Caleb gave a groan of approval, rolling his hips again like he couldn't help it. "You should've told me sooner."

He dragged his lips lower, tracing them along your shoulders, the heat of his mouth seeping through the fabric of your shirt.

"You know I'd give you anything, right?"

"Not soon enough," you complained, your words earning a soft chuckle.

"But I'm going to." Slowly, he brought one hand around your throat—firm, but not too tight—and tilted your head to the side, "Aren't I?"

Heat pooled in your stomach.

It felt like a preview. A filthy, mind-numbing preview. If you were already losing it over this, you could only imagine what actually having his arm around your neck would do to you.

Instinctively, you pushed back against him again.

"Yes."

Caleb grinned, pressing a searing kiss to the crook of your neck. You barely had time to enjoy his hand around your neck before he was pulling away again, the bed creaking under his weight.

You couldn't help the small whine that tore from your throat. "Caleb—"

"I'm still here," he cut in, soothing his hands down your sides and stopping at your hips. "But it's kinda hard to give you what you want if this," he snuck his finger into the waistband of your pajama pants and gave a teasing tug, "is still in the way."

Caleb pulled them down just a fraction. "So, are you gonna let me take these off?"

You had to bite back another whine. "Stop teasing me."

Caleb laughed, slowly peeling your pants and panties down your legs. "You're cute when you get impatient."

"Caleb.. I'm serious," you huffed, trying your best not to break down and beg him to take you.

"Alright, alright."

You heard the sound of fabric shifting, then you felt him against your back again, warm, naked, and hard. You let out a shuddered breath, your muscles tightening with anticipation.

"Ready?" he murmured.

You nodded, then carefully, Caleb pushed in, a quiet groan slipping past his lips. Your back arched, the pressure in your stomach curling tight as he sank in inch after tantalizing inch.

You were soaked.

"H-hah... So, my arms really turn you on, huh?" he murmured, shifting his hips to fully settle against your back.

"Y-yes."

Caleb inhaled sharply, carefully slipping his arms around you in headlock. A light—very light—headlock.

You nearly lost it right then and there. You didn't know just how good this would feel until he was finally doing it. You shoved your hips back, the movement making Caleb huff.

"You're so... eager."

"Caleb. Please."

He gave a breathless laugh. "You remember your safe word?"

You nodded.

"You sure?"

You nodded again, more desperately.

"Yes," you bit out. "Please, Caleb, just move."

Finally, he pulled out, then pushed back in. Slow and deliberate. It was dizzying. He started a steady rhythm, your mess already spilling down your thighs and coating his cock.

You fisted one hand in the sheets and clung to his arm with the other.

Caleb grunted into your ear, brows furrowing with concentration. He gave you a brutal thrust, the movement pulling an airy moan from your lungs.

It felt too good. Too… right. His arm around your neck, your moans catching from the pressure there—it was everything.

Caleb groaned, dropping his forehead against your head, snapping his hips harder. He didn't mean to get so rough. This was supposed to he about you. But having you like this was so much better than he expected.

Every time he squeezed his arms around your neck, your walls gripped him tighter.

Everything about you was just so overwhelming.

Caleb gasped. "Fuck, Pips—I really—I'm—"

And you? You were too wrapped up in the bliss to notice how much Caleb was really losing it. You couldn't even form coherent words. You were just a mess of sounds and strangled pleas.

Caleb was going feral now—groans spilling past his lips, his hips meeting your ass with an obscene slap, his arms reflexively tightening around you.

"Tap—ugnn..—tap out if you... Fuck!"

He didn't even finish his sentence. Just buried his face in your hair and continued to pound into you.

You gave a teary moan, your nails digging into his arm.

"W-what?" Caleb breathed, easing his grip slightly. "Too—too rough?"

You furiously shook your head and tried pulling his arm firmer around your neck. "Not rough enough," you rasped.

That broke him.

Caleb let out a feral groan before gripping you tight and slamming into you so hard you were sure you'd feel it tomorrow.

"How's that?" he husked, tightening his arms around you and pounding into you with the same force. "Better?" It was meant to come out as a coo, but it ended up caught between a moan and a grunt.

"B-better!" you gasped out.

You two were lost in the bliss. Both feral and desperate. Animalistic. Until Caleb's pace faltered slightly. He huffed, the sound low and frustrated. "Some—something's... not right."

You whimpered. "Please don't stop."

Caleb gave a shake of his head and drew back, arms leaving your neck.

You nearly cried. You missed him. He hadn't even been gone for a second but you already missed the pressure on your back, on your neck.

Before you could ask what he was doing, he was hastily tugging your shirt up and tossing it to the floor. His own shirt joined in next to yours and then he was moving.

"Caleb, what—?"

You immediately shut up when you felt him again, warmer this time.

He molded himself to your body and snuck his arms around your neck again. "That's better." Slowly, he pushed in again with a slick slide.

Caleb groaned, shaking as he gave another slow push. He was trying to ease you back into a steady rhythm, but it wasn't enough. Without thinking, you slammed your hips back.

"Harder," you breathed.

Caleb didn't hesitate. He snapped into you. Deep and hard.

"Fuck. Yeah, that's it. Sorry, Pips," he breathed, quickly finding his rhythm again. "I had to feel you completely."

You could only moan, your hand coming around his arm to ground yourself again.

He was messy, but not sloppy. The slick sound of your bodies filled the space and made the room stuffy. But neither of you had any thoughts of stopping.

Caleb wasn't sure he ever would stop.

Not with you like this—pliant and sweaty and moaning so sweetly his dick twitched every time he heard you breathe.

"You love this, don't you?"

You didn't respond. You couldn't.

But you didn't need to.

Caleb pressed his face into the side of your head and let out a stuttered groan. You were getting close. He could feel it in the little flutter you gave every time he slid against that perfect spot inside you.

"You're close, huh?"

You squirmed, clenching around him tighter. "Y-yes!"

"Yeah? What do you need?" he rasped, willing himself not to spill himself right there. "This?" He squeezed your neck tighter, the pressure making your vision blur.

You gave him one last whimper before you were falling apart, your whole body tensing. Caleb gritted his teeth, trying his best to work you through it, but he fell apart the minute you did.

He rolled his hips lazily, his arms loosening around you. Sweat clung to your tangled bodies, your cheeks stained red from the intensity of it all.

Caleb sighed, dropping his head against your shoulder. "You okay?" he panted out, kissing your skin. "I didn't... didn't mean to squeeze so hard."

"Mm-nn. You were perfect."

Caleb breathed out a quiet laugh. "You think so?"

"Know so," you murmured.

His chest swelled at that. He gave you one last kiss before finally pulling out with a hiss. His mess slowly spilled down your legs and onto the mattress.

Caleb stared in awe, soothing his hands up your back, then down again to rest on the swell of your ass.

"Next time you want something, don't hesitate to tell me." He leaned back down, his breath fanning over your temple. "Don't stew in your bedroom, trying to think of how to ask for it, just do it."

You smiled. "Any—" you took a small breath, "—anything?"

Caleb nodded. "Anything. Everything."

Your cheeks warmed. "I love you, Caleb."

"I love you."

——

go to my taglist if you want to be notified for future works! <3

tags: @exe-toby @seungkwansflower @floatinginaer @halfawakeblobbu @heartyluv @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @walrusbreath @sylvieisoffline @awquaz @purpleamethyst25 @pinksaiyans @beaconsxd @haleaf @politefawn @colonelpantysniffer @villainessobsessed @lioria @inlovewithsylus @tired7o7 @justwinginglife @itsmysmut @bitewiththis @littleboomerang @aenishas @inzayneforaj @opalesquegirl @sudenuryg @lamogliedizayne @rurushow @viviiswrr-d @honeymoonfleur @stargirlygirl @peachlycheetea @calebsbabyapple @goochfiddler99 @lewdcifer778 @minivia @bidisasterforevermore @c-l-stinnett @thesevro @rina-lidou

#love and deepspace #caleb x reader #caleb #caleb smut #love and deepspace smut #caleb x reader smut #love and deep space #lads caleb #lnds #lads #reader insert #love and deepspace caleb #lads smut #love and deep space smut

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kxsagi · 2 days ago

Note

hey hey !! 😋

wanted to request this before you don't take requests anymore !! (thank you for your hard work you're my favorite writer (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠))

do u think you could write Sae x reader where reader has to tutor Sae on his academics since it's been stated that Sae literally knows NOTHING besides soccer loll,, you can make them in a relationship or pre-relationship whatever you feel like writing 😋

thanks!!

“𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲(𝐨𝐮)”

a/n: THANK YOU SMMM, SENDING SO MUCH LOVE TO YOU IN RETURN AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! <333

ac goes to katstrife on X!

sae itoshi knows exactly three things.

one: soccer.

two: how to give people the cold shoulder.

three: that this stupid math assignment should be illegal.

he stares blankly at the worksheet in front of him, dead-eyed like he’s preparing to sue the education system for emotional damages. you, sitting across from him in the school library, press your lips together to stop from laughing.

"you've been staring at the same question for seven minutes," you say.

“i’m thinking,” he replies flatly, pencil untouched.

“thinking? i’m pretty sure your brain logged out the second i said the word ‘exponents.’”

sae slouches deeper into his seat, arms crossed. “you’re annoying.”

“you’re failing math.”

“so? i don’t need this crap to play for real madrid.”

you sigh and lean forward, tapping his worksheet. “you do need this crap to graduate, and your coach already said you’re off the field until your grades improve.”

he visibly flinches at the reminder. his jaw clenches, the tip of his pencil finally pressing into the page like it's a battle of wills. he might be arrogant, but he’s not stupid, he knows how much his future depends on this. and that’s probably the only reason he hasn’t left already.

well. that, and you.

he won’t say it out loud (ever), but you're the only person in this entire school he can stand talking to for more than thirty seconds. you're also the only one willing to sit with him twice a week and try to make sense of letters pretending to be numbers.

“i hate this,” he mutters.

“i know. but look, it’s not so bad.” you reach over, lightly tapping his notebook. “okay, take this one: 4 to the power of 3. do you remember what that means?”

he glances at you. "... twelve?"

you pause. “no. i mean, i’m glad you guessed confidently, but no.”

“so what is it then?”

“it’s four times four times four. so, sixteen times four. try again.”

he grumbles under his breath but scribbles it down anyway, then pauses. “… sixty-four?”

you beam. “yes! see, you’re not totally hopeless.”

he rolls his eyes, but the tips of his ears go slightly pink. “whatever.”

you suppress a grin and nudge his eraser toward him. “let’s do the next one.”

the session drags on like molasses, mostly because sae acts like every equation personally offended him. but to his credit, he’s trying. somewhere between slumped sarcasm and scribbled formulas, you notice he’s leaning in more, muttering numbers under his breath, fingers twitching when he gets one wrong.

and then, somewhere between problem five and six, he says: “you don’t have to do this, y’know.”

you glance up. “do what?”

“waste your time tutoring me.” his voice is quieter now, almost indifferent, but you can tell it’s something else. something less bulletproof than usual. “i’m not… good at this. i won’t magically get smarter overnight.”

you close your notebook. “sae. i’m not here because i think you’re stupid.”

he lifts his head, finally meeting your gaze. and his expression, usually so unreadable, softens, just barely.

“then why?”

you blink. “because i want to help.”

he doesn’t reply. doesn’t look away either. for a second, the air shifts. it’s like the library fades into the background, the high ceilings and quiet whispers and dusty fluorescent lights all falling away until it’s just you and him. your knee brushing his under the table. his hand frozen halfway between writing and fidgeting.

you don’t say anything. neither does he.

but it hangs there, quiet and loud all at once.

and maybe it’s not just about math anymore.

by the fourth tutoring session, you catch him studying before you arrive.

he’s hunched over a worksheet, pencil in hand, muttering like he’s trying to manifest brain cells. it’s actually kind of cute. he looks up when you sit beside him and immediately says, “i got five answers right. on my own.”

you raise your brows. “what, no ‘you’re late?’ no ‘i hate this class?’ who are you and what have you done with sae?”

“shut up,” he mutters, ears turning red again.

you grin. “i’m proud of you, dumbass.”

he looks away, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

eventually, it stops being just tutoring.

you still go over formulas and grammar worksheets, sure, but there’s more laughter now. more inside jokes. more lingering glances when you explain something, and more quiet watching when he thinks you won’t notice.

he starts walking you to your class afterwards. offers to carry your bag sometimes, even though you’re pretty sure he just wants an excuse to hold something that belongs to you. one day, he brings you a sports drink with your favorite flavor. doesn’t say anything, just drops it on the table like it’s no big deal.

you don’t mention the way his hand brushes yours when you take it.

you don’t mention how he doesn’t pull away.

one day, while you’re packing up your notebooks, you say: “hey, i know you think you suck at this, but... i like tutoring you.”

he looks at you. really looks at you. and after a second, he says, voice low: “i like when you do, too.”

and then, almost shyly–

“... not just because of the tutoring.”

your heart skips. you bite back a smile, trying to play it cool. “oh? so, what else is it?”

he shrugs, eyes flicking down to your hands as you gather your books.

“… you make it easier to think. even when i’m not good at this, you still... believe i can be.”

you stop, just for a beat. the words land softer than you expect, all hushed and sincere and awkwardly beautiful coming from someone like him.

when you look up, he’s already staring – cheeks pink, jaw tense like he wants to say more.

so you reach over, close his math book gently, and murmur: “you’re getting better. and... you’re not the only one who looks forward to this.”

he blinks. your fingers brush his, and this time, neither of you pull away.

maybe he only knew three things before.

but now? he’s starting to learn a fourth: you.

and honestly, it’s the best subject yet.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #solving for x and y(ou)

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angel-writes-skz-here · 3 days ago

Text

Mine

Changbin x Reader Synopsis: Being FWB w/ Changbin has been easy and fun, until he finally snaps after seeing you 'flirt' with Bang Chan. Warnings: SMUT, cunnilingus, oral, orgasm denial, DOM Binnie, unprotected p in v, jealousy, pet names (bunny, baby), slight angst and fluff. A/N: @encoredesires I hope this is satisfactory! Thank you for the request! I'll be trying to finish my Larie's Libation's requests over the next few days, but I also have to house sit so bare with me. I apprecaite all y'all's love and support! Comment to be added to my taglist! Xoxo💋

You and Changbin had an understanding, you didn’t belong to each other; you were free to date and see people, but the sex had to stop if one of you got into a relationship.

However, Changbin wasn’t exactly supportive of you dating, even though you both swore feelings wouldn’t get involved, they did and watching you flirt with Chan had his blood pressure high.

It was a normal day at the studio and you surprised the guys with lunch, knowing good and well they wouldn’t eat properly if you didn’t.

Chan shows you some new recording equipment he just got in and Changbin seethes with how you act like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. He doesn’t mean to be jealous, but he can’t help it. He’s been in this crazy on again off again friends with benefits thing with you for years, and yet he’s never really had you.

That afternoon you’re hanging out at his apartment, like most days, but you can tell something’s wrong.

“Binnie talk to me,” you say as you rub up and down on his arm, a slight little pout on your lips.

“It’s nothing, let’s just watch the movie,” he grumbles. You frown with your brows furrowed.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you. We’ve been friends for years, I’m not stupid; I can tell.” You press.

“Y/n, drop it.” He snaps and your head pops back. His tone is sharp, clearly agitated. You sigh as you sit back against the couch watching the movie, but your mind races with what could be wrong.

You smirk when you get an idea, leaning back over to him with your hand soft on his tummy, your lips attach to the sweet spot under his neck. He tries to ignore it, but when your tongue flicks out over the skin, he shutters. You smile against his skin before sucking on the same spot, leaving a small purple bruise in your wake.

“Binnie,” you whimper desperately in his ear, thighs squeezing together. His eyes flit to you and he scoffs.

“Go bother Chan with all that,” he bites before getting up and grabbing a drink from the kitchen.

“Chan?” you ask genuinely confused.

“What’s Chan got to do with anything?” You follow him into the kitchen, studying his movements when a sarcastic little smile plasters itself on his face.

“You were all over him today, I’m sure he’d love to have you stop by. As a matter of fact, I’ll escort you there myself,” he says bitterly and you watch as he walks over to put on his shoes, but you stop him.

“He was showing me his new soundboard today.” You say cautiously. Changbin’s brows raise quickly before falling at the same speed.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles as he moves to the door. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you.

He stops dead in his tracks.

“Something funny?” he says as he turns back towards you.

“I, no, it’s just, I never thought you’d be jealous,” you say with a coy smile on your face.

“I mean, it’s just not like you,” you begin and its as if he’s lightening, the way he has you pressed against the wall.

“It’s not funny,” your eyes are wide, and your arms are pinned above your head. Your heart races in your chest.

“Binnie, come on, it’s a little funny. There’s nothing going on with him.”

“Didn’t look that way to me.”

“You don’t own me ya know,” you smirk.

“Who’s to say I couldn’t date Chan? Hmm,” you tease, watching his jealousy rise.

“Guess I need to remind you who’s name you were screaming last night while you were seeing stars.”

Your gulp is obvious, and Changbin snickers.

“What’s wrong? Not so confident all of a sudden?” His other hand caresses your cheek, looking between your eyes.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?” he mocks in feign sympathy. Your mouth opens but the words are stuck in your throat. It wasn’t abnormal for Changbin to be in charge, but normally it was more even, not so one sided, but tonight the shift is different. His lips crash into yours hot and heavy, teeth biting into your lower lip possessively.

You whimper helplessly, hands flexing above your head. You attempt to pull them down but he doesn’t let you go.

“Ah, ah, ah, I’m in charge tonight,” he asserts.

“Why, because you think I want Bang Chan?” you sass him and he growls, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Binnie!” you shriek, face flushed and heart pounding.

“What the hell!” you giggle as you kick your feet. His palm lands on your clothed ass.

“Stop squirming.” He grits.

“What if I don’t?”

“You’re such a brat,” he says as he throws you onto his bed, you bounce on it with a giggle and a small shriek as he crawls over top of you, wasting zero time pulling your shirt over your head.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good you won’t even remember his name.” He murmurs in your ear and your walls clench around nothing, thighs squeezing together.

“If you think you’re man enough,” you retort with sass. He growls once more kissing your lips forcefully, hand coming around your throat.

“You’re mine, you got that? Not Chan’s, mine.”

“You don’t own me,” you say against his lips; protesting his statement.

“Wanna bet?” He smirks, fingers coming up to pinch your nipples, your back arching as you gasp.

“What’s a matter, baby?” he coos and all you do is groan. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the peeked buds, sending little waves of pleasure to your tummy.

“Bin,” you groan.

“Mm, pace yourself baby, we got a long night ahead of us,” he says as he places his lips along your neck, teeth nipping at the soft flesh.

“Smells so pretty,” he mumbles as he gets a whiff of your perfume. His hips grind down into yours and you can feel how hard he is already, hearing your sounds and seeing you beneath him desperate and at his mercy.

You try to buck your hips, desperate for friction and he ignores it, trailing kisses down to your tits, sucking one into his mouth, eyes closed as he works his tongue over the hardened nub.

You gasp out a moan, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers rake through his hair.

“Mmmf,” you groan as his teeth apply pressure to the sensitive area. He chuckles against you, moving to the other one, tongue flicking over it before he closes his mouth around it. You tug on his hair lightly, making his eyes roll back into his head as he moans. He kisses down your stomach, tongue darting over, sucking a few hickeys on your stomach and one onto each hip.

You hiss at the harsh feeling, nonetheless, soaking your panties at how he’s marking you and owning you.

He removes your pants and panties swiftly, groaning at how wet you already you are.

“And here you were spouting off about Chan,” he tsks.

“Chan do this to you, baby? Or was it me?” he asks feigning his curiosity.

“You,” the word comes out breathy, anticipation felt in your bones.

“Good girl,” he answers before settling himself between your thighs, sucking another hickey onto your left inner thigh.

Your hips jut upwards, desperate for something- anything at this point.

“Use your words,” he instructs.

“Please,” you whimper.

“Please what?”

“Use your tongue.” You beg, face flushing red.

“Do you deserve it?”

“I’ll be good,” you whimper, bottom lip sticking out a bit with your brows pinched together.

“No more backtalk,” you offer as a way to get him to do what you want.

“Hmm,” he fake ponders before opening your folds, revealing your slick.

“Maybe just a taste,” he says before his tongue goes into your hole, swirling around, teasing you. Your back arches, a gasp fleeing your lungs. Changbin smiles before flattening his tongue and licking a stripe up to your clit, hitting with firm pressure immediately.

“Oh shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut again. Your hips buck with every few strokes of his tongue, the tip hitting it just right to make you whimper. Your hands go into his hair, pushing his face further into you.

“God, Binnie, yes, keep going, please,” you cry out as he inserts a finger, pumping it in and out stimulating your sweet spot. Your hips roll, the coil in your belly tightening.

“Aww, gonna cum from my fingers princess?” he taunts “Mhm,” you nod quickly feeling your hips roll with each thrust, causing his finger to hit you harder.

“Poor thing, be a shame if I tore it away from you.”

“Binnie please no, please,” you beg desperately, something that makes his cock weep.

“Are you close, baby?” He asks, the tone in his voice dark and testing.

“I-I,”

“Don’t lie to me,” he warns.

“Yes,” you fist the sheets as your about to break when Changbin stops everything.

“What the fuck!” You look down at a smirking Changbin;your chest rising up and down.

“Earn it, show me who you belong to.” He undoes his belt, letting his cock spring free as he pulls his pants down. He removes his shirt and tosses it on the floor.

“Come on, bunny. You can do it,” he encourages as he sits down on the bed. You whimper, your puffy clit catching as you move.

He watches as you lean down, gathering your hair for you in a makeshift pony tail.

“That’s it, go nice and slow,” he says as you wrap your lips around the head, sucking on it.

“Fuck, that’s perfect, slowly take it in, baby.” He says as he feels you sink down. He growls, the feeling of your mouth too good for him to speak.

“Play with my balls,” he instructs and you do as you move up and down at a consistent speed, your tongue running over his head and slit every so often.

“Fuck yes that feels so good.” He groans, head tilting back and eyes closed.

“Such a good girl for me,” he groans as he feels his own orgasm approaching.

“Keep sucking baby, I’m close,” he says as his hips lift off the bed, causing your nose to touch his pelvis. The taste of skin and salt is continuously on your tongue.

You moan softly around him, hollowing your cheeks as the wet sounds from your mouth intensify in the room.

“Fuck, baby, yes keep going, fuckfuckfuck,” he groans as his body bends forward, hands in your hair, clutching it to ground himself as he shoots down your throat.

He gasps deep and heavy, head swimming from the release. You release him, spit dripping down his cock along with a little bit of his cum as some spilled out of your mouth.

You watch his chest, now covered in a thin layer of sweat, go up and down, and the throb between your legs begins to be bothersome. He notices you squeeze your thighs together and he motions for you to come over.

“Come on,” he says and you crawl over, positioning yourself on top.

“Slow, baby.” He says as his hands find your hips.

“Yes, daddy.” You say and Changbin’s brows shoot up, his cock twitching beneath you. He chuckles at you.

“Such a little tease,” he mumbles to himself with a smile as he slightly shakes his head. You line him up with your entrance, sliding down slow and easy, both of you groaning at the feeling.

“Always so tight, so ready for me,” he groans as he sits up, head right at your neck, where he leaves butter fly kisses.

You whimper at the stretch.

“Take a minute baby, ‘s ok.” He whispers. Your hips start to move in circles, grinding your clit against him in the process, causing your head to drop down.

“Such a good girl, using my cock to get off,” he whispers in your ear, causing your walls to clench and him to hiss in response. His hand lightly slaps your ass, grabbing and shaking the flesh.

You start to bounce up and down, gasping as he hits your g spot every time.

“Fuck,” you shriek as your legs bounce your faster, and Changbin starts thrusting up to meet you.

“Feel that baby? Feel me in your tummy?” he asks through gritted teeth, trying to keep himself from coming undone just yet.

“Fuck you take me so well, look bunny, watch it disappear,” he says and forces your face down to watch. You whimper at the sight before one arm goes behind you to balance at another angle, his arms around your waist helping you hold steady.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper as the sound of skin slapping skin gets louder and louder. Changbin flips the momentum, you landing on your back with him above you, pounding into your relentlessly.

“Fuck,” you cry out as your back arches, one leg thrown over his shoulder. Your hips rotate under his touch as he stimulated your swollen bud.

“Who’s are you?” He asks cockily. You whimper, words hard to find with how good it feels.

“Tell me or I stop and you don’t cum,” he threatens. You whine out in frustration and pleasure.

“Y-yours.”

“Who’s pussy is this?”

“Yours!” you scream eyes screwed shut and mouth open in the ‘o’ shape.

“Cum for me, bunny. Make a mess for me.” He says, hips snapping impossibly faster as you scream out in pleasure, cunt tightening around him, sending Changbin over the edge. The two of you cum one right after the other.

Changbin stills, letting your leg down and hovering over you, a hand gently caressing your face.

“You ok, baby?” he asks gently, forehead resting yours. You can feel the sweat on his forehead, and you nod weakly, body and mind spent and numb with pleasure.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, slight worry laced in his voice as his eyes roam your face, as if he’s looking for cuts or scrapes.

“No, ‘m ok.” You say, eyes going half lidded as a small lazy smile appears on your face. There’s a moment of silence, the unsaid words settling between you as your eyes are glued to one another’s.

“You like me,” you tease as you boop his nose. Changbin’s face turns a darker shade of pink and his eyes look into yours as his hand strokes your hair lovingly and gently.

“Yeah, I do.” He murmurs, “A lot.” You giggle, signs of exhaustion obvious on your face. He gently pulls out of you, watching as his cum drips out of you.

“That good huh?” he smirks and you nod feebly.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers and kisses your forehead. He leaves to grab a towel, returning to clean up the mess he made of you.

“Legs feel like jelly,” you mumble to him and he breathes out a laugh. He discards the towel, crawling in bed beside you, pulling you to him to rest your head on his chest.

Your nails trace the vein on his muscled arm as you smile to yourself.

“What?” he asks suspiciously.

“So does this mean we can start holding hands, and kissing each other public and like being a couple? Because if not, this is gonna be hella awkward.” You giggle as you look up at him, a doe eyed affect taking over your features.

“I’d love nothing more.” He kisses your forehead again, resting his own against it before kissing your nose, causing you to giggle, and finally kissing your lips.

“You’re mine, you hear me? Mine,” he says against your lips, causing you to smile into the kiss.

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader @crystal005 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna

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st4rymoon · 1 day ago

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⋆˖⁺‧₊ 𝘛𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳

★ 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

- Simon’s always in charge until you. Over hearing simon and prices conversation, you decided to take things into your own hands.

- 18+, daddy kink, sub Simon, soft dom reader, unprotected sex!, oral (m receiving), p in v, breeding kink, dumbification, language, praising, pussy drunk Simon

Not proof read

Simon was always known to be the dark and brooding type. The type of man that made other men sink into their seat whenever he walked into the room.

He was always in charge, always giving orders to others in his line of work. All of his companions know him to be cold, distant, and dominate.

But with you, his pretty little doll, he was nothing but the opposite. He loved being in your presence, it calmed him. Simon felt like he could finally take a breath of fresh air when he met you.

Especially when a pretty little thing like you was so eager to make him relax. He was so used to being dominate in every way. He knew women wanted him to be brutal and rough with them, and he did.

But with you, you were the first to make him sit down and not let him lift a finger. You took care of him in every way.

“G- god oh my fuckk” Simon seethed. You were kneeled in front of him and slobbering on his cock, bobbing your head up and down at a sinful pace.

You loved seeing how easily Simon crumbled under you. For a man so tough and scary, he sure became a babbling idiot under you in seconds.

“J- jus’ like th- that ye- yea yea” Simon trembled as you fisted whatever wouldn’t fit in your mouth and sucked him for all he’s got.

You could see Simon’s eyes lull back into his head, his cock twitching slightly in your mouth, hinting that he was close.

Simon let out a desperate cry as you pulled back from his lap. You didn’t give him enough time to protest before you were sat on his lap and aligning yourself above his cock.

“Shhh si, just let me take good care of you daddy. I wanna make you feel good” you cooed as you sunk onto his length.

“W- whatever you want honey wha- yea whatever you want” Simon nodded as he sunk down into the bed. “Look at you si, you’re my pretty boy you know that?” You praised, hands running up and down his chest as you slowly swayed your hips.

You didn’t give Simon a chance to reply before you were on your toes, slamming yourself down onto his dick and whispering praises at Simon as he went dumb.

He didn’t last long, how could he? You edged him to death and now you were riding him like a stallion. Simon came in a loud whimpered moan, his voice was coarse and raspy as his fingers dug into your hips.

“No no” you purred, grabbing his hands and holding them above his head “you think I didn’t hear you talking to price yesterday? If you want a baby, one time won’t do”

Simon choked at your words. He was caught red handed and in no position to protest as you bounced on his lap. “You wanna put a baby in me si? Wanna be a real daddy?” You cooed into his ear.

Your chest was pressed onto his, sweat and saliva mixing into your mouths as your lips crashed onto his “mmhm” Simon hummed. He nodded desperately as you slowed your pace down.

“Say it. Tell me si, I have to hear it” you pouted, it was almost condescending and degrading to Simon as he blinked up hazily.

“I want it. I want you, all of you. I love you. Want you to be the mother of my children love. Please honey” he gasped out in heavy breaths.

You smiled and leaned down to his lips “I love you too si”

Simon moaned as you kissed him slow and messily. His hands were groping you all over, squeezing you as way to convince himself this was real.

A low huff left Simon chest as you rode him again. His eyes boring into yours, watching you as if he’s found his salvation, his religion.

Your legs were growing tired from being in this position. Simon wasn’t small in anyway, he had you spread over his thick thighs and pussy squeezed tight around his cock.

But the pleasure was even greater than the tiredness you felt. The tingling in your tummy grew with each rub of your clit on his pubic bone, each messy slam onto his lap only pushing you over the limit.

The lewd nasty sounds coming from between you two filled the room but were soon obscured by your growing whimpers.

“That’s it” simon moaned, it was barely audible over your cries. Simons flushed and sweaty complexion only got better as your cunt pursued around him.

You shivered and cried above Simon as he came a 2nd time. Both of you going limp in each others arms as the orgasm washed over you completely.

Simons arms wrapped around you and trembled slightly as he pulled out of you. The feeling of his cum gushing out of you made you hum into his arms.

A warm kiss pressed against your forehead as Simon practically suffocated you in his arms. One of his hands softly stroked your hair back into place before he leaned in and gave you a messy kiss on the lips. “you’re all I could ever ask for”

#smut #cod simon riley #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley #cod smut #cod ghost

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rosiesweets · 2 days ago

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and i'd give myself to you (everytime) - one

synopsis: so turns out the way paige meets the love of her life is delirious at 1am standing in the front of some gaudy ass mansion. who would’ve thought.

a/n: thank you so much for the love on my prologue. my sweet little heart is bursting with love. kisses to each of you. i’m a little shy to respond to the anons in my inbox, but know that i read each one and smile. maybe one day i’ll get the courage. here’s part one. i’m fully aware the timing of this regarding the actual w season makes no sense but please suspend your belief for me thank you <3 not too long yet, we’re still in a place where short scenes make the most sense to me. once again, please share your thoughts, hopes, and dreams with me (about this fic or whatever else). xo, chiara

p.s. is now the time to admit i’ve never watched a full season of any bachelor franchise show?

p.p.s. in no way am i committing to any frequency of updates. please do not take any span of time i take in between them as precedent. apologies in advance. again i will return to edit when fuel returns to my brain.

and in your eyes i see forever (or something like that)

paige is going to kill dijonai carrington.

okay probably not, but she’ll switch all the caps on the lip liners or something of similar weight to the (natural) blonde. paige should be in her apartment in dallas right now taking a blissful break from going three years back to back in wnba and unrivaled seasons. paige already expended enough effort to last for months when making the decision to skip out on unrivaled this year. don’t get paige wrong, she loves basketball. she wants to be playing twenty-four seven. but she knows her body. knows the signs of when her knee is feeling more than just regular wear and tear. she wants to play everyday, but she wants to play for a long time more. so she’s making the smart (ridiculously painful) decision to skip unrivaled in pursuit of a basketball career that lasts until her forties.

so someone please explain to her how instead of laying on the couch (or on some beach in the carribean) she is sitting in a limo by herself, in a suit too hot for la in june, waiting for three hours to meet some girl from maryland that dijonai won’t stop calling the people’s princess.

she’s alone because the producers told her she had a “special spot” in the line up or whatever that meant. she surely does not feel special being forced alone with her thoughts instead of distracting herself by meeting five other people who she’ll have to share a bathroom with soon. she’s just here, sitting on squeaky leather twiddling her thumbs because she refused the prop the producers repeatedly tried forcing upon her.

(eventually the producer, some girl named caroline, holding a basketball out to her quickly put it down when met with glare from paige’s ice blue eyes. there was going on national television and there was going on national television looking like a loser in the first ten seconds. paige didn’t need a prop, have you seen her jawline? she’ll walk out, give the girl a crooked smile bordering on smirk, lean in close enough to let her cologne linger and let the rasp of her voice as she says hello do the rest.)

the creeping dread of having to spend the next five to eleven weeks (let’s be real paige is not getting eliminated before week five at least) living with thirty people she doesn’t know and competing for the attention of this one girl is starting to set it in. and in her stomach there’s a feeling of more than just the typical “i’m going on national television” nerves. paige has never really needed to compete for attention before. she just always had it. on the court, in the bar, literally just standing on the street.

and paige doesn’t think she’ll fade in the background or anything but it’s still a new sensation. the knowledge that azzi doesn’t have to ever make eye contact with her. that she’ll have to scheme and smile better than the others whose entire brands rely on this working out for them.

on the other side of the nerves is guilt. paige isn’t really here to find love. she’s here to take the w, and the dallas wings, to potential new group of fans (the middle of a venn diagram between gays and people who love reality tv). paige wants women’s basketball to grow into something the world never expected. wants college park, and maybe one day american airlines center, to be packed every night. so she’s here. after one too many dirty shirleys while listening to dijonai convince her to spend her break on reality tv so not only this girl azzi, but america can fall in love her, and eventually women’s basketball.

but it feels wrong. to participate in the objectification of this clearly earnest (and stunning, paige has watched the tik tok compilations) girl. paige can’t really fathom it. how a girl so beautiful could be driven to find love like this. this insane spectacle. full of people who surely do not actually want to marry her, cameras around twenty-four seven, and the decision of a lifetime being made on merely hours with someone when you think about it. a person like that, has to in some ways hate herself no? to put herself at the center of a circus and beg for love. and paige knows she’s the one competing, but really is the bachelorette not the one asking america to validate that she’s lovable enough for thirty random people to compete for her? to be so unsure of yourself that you put yourself in a situation where you’re guaranteed for someone to pick you at the end? paige thinks a life like that must be lonely. and the guilt simmers stronger.

but paige swallows it. this girl an adult. she knows the game, the premise. she’s been given scouting report. paige won’t infantilize her with pity because she doesn’t understand how anyone could do this. azzi will be engaged to a random person at the end of this. and will probably be humiliated six to eleven months later when they “amicably split.” but that’s her choice. azzi gets to write her love story this way. on the other side paige will be charismatic and fun, but aloof enough to not trust forever in. she’ll walk away bringing new people to the game. and hopefully be remembered as unproblematic and a little goofy.

so paige sits. and sits. and sits. holy shit why did no one tell her that filming each episode took over ten hours. she has heard the same door open, the same heel or loafer click along the fake cobblestone enough to decide perhaps getting blown out by thirty in game three of the playoffs to the indiana fever of all goddamn teams, actually wasn’t that bad.

finally. after what feels like and is actually hours later. while paige is starving, slightly sweating, and so ready to go to sleep, the knock on her door comes. it’s her time. as she opens the door she thinks perhaps she should’ve rehearsed or prepared something to open with. something cool and memorable, just slightly cringe but it’s paige so it’s not really. oh well. she trusts her years of cd media training will carry her through.

she holds her hand over the single button of her blazer to keep its closed as she steps out. she’s gone with something simple yet still a statement. all black louis vuitton, black gems on the lapels. a moment of perfectly understated glamour. no shirt underneath. rings across her fingers. nails black and short. she knows what she looks like.

she looks up to meet azzi’s eyes and fuck.

paige has seen beautiful things before. the basketball as it swishes through just at buzzer. paige has seen beautiful girls before. some in her dms, some bold as they come up to her in bars and coffee shops. paige has seen this beautiful girl before. in photos as dijonai swiped through a haphazardly made power point titled “paige bueckers: bucket and now soon to be bachelorette contestant please it would be sooooo fun and funny.”

but nothing could have prepared her for this. azzi is so beautiful. paige knew this. was prepared for her wide eyes, deep dimples, and cheekbones. what knocks her out is the smile azzi has on she meets paige’s eyes. lips full, bunny teeth just catching the bottom one swiped with sheer gloss. paige has never seen a smile like this. pure and warm and perfect.

paige doesn’t remember walking up to azzi. doesn’t remember wrapping her arms around her shorter frame in a quick hug. paige doesn’t remember taking her hands in hers. all paige senses are soft palms and the slightly sweet scent of warm vanilla. and suddenly without her consent the words slip out of her mouth, “wow wore my favorite color just for me?”

literally paige needs to be sedated. because why the fuck did she just say that. this isn’t even about her. of course she says something the stupid big head athlete would say. she sounds like a guy. fuck the bar was so low and she still fucked it up.

before her thoughts can spiral even worse something cuts through. azzi laughs. and not to be hyperbolic or anything but paige’s world lights up. of course the most perfect mouth she’s ever seen lets out the sweetest laugh she’s ever heard. paige smiles. not the cocky one she had before. genuine. it takes up her whole face without her asking. azzi’s (surprisingly deeper than expected) voice returns “your favorite color is lavender?” and paige quickly goes “what? surprised?” azzi intertwines their fingers, shifting their hands from laying softly on top of each other grasping palms to fingers locked (and holy shit paige hasn’t felt this way from a girl merely holding her hand since she was fourteen), “honestly, yeah. you look like someone that would like something darker. bolder.” paige lets out a quick “i think you’ll be surprised by my depth princess," surprised by the small percentage of her brain still functioning enough to speak. “i guess i’ll look forward to being surprised by you then.” knowing her thirty seconds is probably up paige decides to leave it on, “i guess you will.” with a squeeze of azzi’s hands paige lets her smile grow even wider if possible and turns to make her way with the other contestants.

as she walks up the path to the mansion something in her mind shifts. and well shit. paige should’ve known. there’s never been a competition she didn’t want to win.

#pazzi #pazzi fics #paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #aigmty

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angstama · 2 days ago

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02 ; spaces between us | l.jn

pairing: dad!lee jeno x f!reader (ft. na jaemin)

genre: angst, slight fluff

synopsis — three years after divorcing jeno, you've found a careful rhythm in co-parenting your son jun. the old fights about his work schedule and emotional distance have faded into polite exchanges and shared custody arrangements. but when small moments of connection start to feel like second chances, you begin to hope that maybe you could try again. though, it all falls apart when jeno asks to introduce jun to his new girlfriend. suddenly, you're forced to confront a devastating truth: the man who claimed he "wasn't good at relationships" during your marriage has apparently learned how to love properly—he just needed someone else to do it with.

a/n: GAHHHHH jenooooooo :")))) this chapter was soo hard to write but omg finally it's out!!!!!!!!! please enjoy~~

sbu m.list | previous | next chapter

you were ten minutes early, but jaemin was already there, lounging by the window with his blazer tossed over the back of the chair, sleeves rolled up and coffee in hand. his posture is relaxed, but there’s a sharpness to the way he watches you approach — like he’s sizing you up, the way he used to before a moot court round.

“look who finally decided to show up,” jaemin drawled, the corners of his lips pulling into that infuriatingly familiar smirk.

you raised an eyebrow as you slid into the seat across from him, the wooden chair scraping softly against the floor. the café was still quiet this early in the morning, warmed by sunlight that spilled through the tall windows and stretched across the tiled floor like golden ribbons.

“i’m ten minutes early,” you stated, setting your bag down beside you. you hadn’t meant to be early. after dropping jun off at school, you had driven aimlessly for a bit, radio humming in the background, before deciding that sitting in your car doing nothing was somehow worse than sitting across from jaemin doing something.

he leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him with casual arrogance. “early for you is practically a miracle. i figured i had at least fifteen more minutes to scroll through stock portfolios and feel the crushing weight of late capitalism.”

you snorted. “don’t let me interrupt your morning routine of spiraling.”

“too late,” he said, lips twitching upward. “you’ve already ruined it.”

your eyes narrowed with mock irritation, but there was a small twitch in your mouth, a smile that wanted to form and die all at once. you still weren’t sure why you’d agreed to this. why you hadn’t ignored his text. why you hadn’t put it off until the last possible minute. but here you were — and so was he.

“coffee?” he asked, nodding toward the counter, where the baristas bustled with practiced ease.

“already ordered,” you replied, glancing towards the pickup shelf where your name was scrawled in black marker on a paper cup. “i wasn’t about to let you pretend to be a gentleman.”

he placed a hand over his heart like you’d wounded him. “wow. no faith in me at all. you wound me.”

“you’ll recover,” you said, crossing your arms. “you’re used to rejection.”

“i prefer to think of myself as resilient,” he said, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “like a cockroach after a nuclear winter.”

“accurate.” you nodded.

and he laughed, the sound low and effortless like he expected nothing less from you. a brief silence settles as the server brings your coffee. you take a slow sip before speaking. “so,” you say once you sat your cup down, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed. “what is this really about?”

jaemin blinks. “coffee?”

you raise a brow. “come on, jaemin. we haven’t spoken in what — eight years? nine? you definitely didn’t fly solo from your cushy corner office to talk about the weather with me, so go on," your fingers tapped once against the table. “pitch whatever it is.”

he didn’t flinch. if anything, he looked mildly amused, like you were a chessboard he’d been waiting years to play again. without a word, he reached into the leather satchel by his side and pulled out a manila folder with worn flaps, creased like it had been handled a dozen times. he slid it across the table between your two coffees — his untouched, yours already half-drunk — and leaned back in his seat like this was all routine. like this wasn’t a bomb he was calmly delivering on a tuesday morning.

your gaze dropped to the label on the front page, typed in clean black letters: CORPORATE WASTE LITIGATION — ENVIRONMENTAL IMPACT ASSESSMENT — CLASS ACTION POTENTIAL

you blinked once, then opened the folder. pages rustled as you flipped through, eyes scanning reports, diagrams, internal emails flagged with red urgency. something beneath your ribs tugged — not quite recognition, but something adjacent. the issue was real. the damage, serious. and the way he’d built the file — sharp, efficient, thorough — told you he hadn’t come to you on a whim.

“you want to sue a corporation,” you said finally, voice flat. you didn’t look up yet. your fingers paused on a satellite image of a runoff site bleeding into a waterway. “isn’t that bad for business?”

“only if i lose,” jaemin said smoothly, voice like honey over a knife.

that earned him a glance, and he met it without flinching.

then, softer, he added, “my firm’s not taking the case. conflict of interest. one of our bigger clients is on the board. but i’ve been following it for months. and i thought of you.”

you continued flipping through the file, skimming through everything jaemin had prepared. “you could hand this to any of your associates. why me?”

he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, the other lifting his coffee to his lips with deliberate ease. his eyes — sharp, unreadable, and always two steps ahead — danced with something just shy of smugness.

“because i know you,” he said, voice low, like he was letting you in on something he wasn’t supposed to say aloud. “and i know you’ve been bored out of your mind playing it safe.”

the words hit their mark. you felt your shoulders lock, mouth pressing into a line that could cut glass. “legal aid is not playing it safe.”

“no, it’s noble,” he agreed, accompanying the word with a nod so condescending it made your teeth ache. “and underfunded. and exhausting. and i’m guessing it’s not exactly scratching the old itch.”

your eyes narrowed. “what itch?”

“the one that kept you up until four in the morning arguing the clean water act with me in the law library, while everyone else fell asleep face-first in their torts notes.”

you hated that he remembered that.

you hated more that you remembered it too — the way your voice had gone hoarse from passion, how the fluorescent lights buzzed above your heads while casebooks spilled open across the table between you. you hadn’t noticed the time. or how close the two of you had leaned toward each other.

“besides, let’s be honest — working with you is way more interesting than babysitting some ivy league intern with a god complex.” he shrugged.

you arched a brow. “you mean like you?”

“exactly,” he said, his delivery so deadpan it almost convinced you he had self-awareness. you reached for the folder again, thumbing through the pages. “this isn’t the kind of thing your firm usually touches.”

“it’s not,” he admitted, sitting forward now, elbows on the table. “which is why i need someone off the books. someone with actual range. someone whose name doesn’t scream ‘PR stunt.’”

you studied him carefully, noting the way his posture shifted — a shade more serious now, less performance and with more intent. “still not convinced this isn’t just some ego-driven nostalgia trip for you.”

“oh, it absolutely is,” jaemin admits, far too easily. “but it’s also a damn good case. and i wouldn’t ask if i didn’t think you’d wreck it — in the best way possible.”

you leaned back in your chair, arms crossed tight across your chest. your eyes flicked toward the window — to the street outside, to the reflection of your own face staring back. confident. tired. cautious. but not disinterested.

his confidence was infuriating. his charm, meticulously crafted. and the way he said wreck it like it was a badge of honor made your fingers itch for the gavel you used to dream of holding.

“i haven’t said yes,” you said.

he tilted his head, feigning surprise. “you haven’t said no.”

“i’m still deciding whether working with you again is worth the headache.”

jaemin rose just as the barista called your name. he didn’t look at you when he said, “it’s not.”

then, with that same crooked smile that always meant trouble, he added over his shoulder, “but it’ll be fun.”

you hadn’t thought much of jaemin’s offer at first — not out of disinterest, but disbelief. the idea that your old academic nemesis would so willingly hand you a case of that calibre, tied up in a neat bow and served on a silver platter, with nothing in it for himself? it didn’t sit right. nothing about na jaemin ever came without layers.

the office buzzed with the usual early-morning murmur — the distant clatter of a copier, someone tapping a pen too fast on their desk, the faint scent of stale coffee and musty old AC in the air. sunlight filtered through the blinds above your shared corner desk, slanting golden stripes across your opened laptop and the folder you’d tried (and failed) to hide beneath a stack of client notes because renjun spotted it almost immediately.

"wait—what do you mean the na jaemin asked to work with you?" he gasped, already reaching across the desk like the folder belonged to him. you didn’t even have time to protest before he yanked it into his lap, eyes scanning the front with disbelief.

“dude, it’s just na jaemin,” you said flatly, reaching for the folder only to have him twist away from you like he was shielding treasure.

he turned toward you slowly, mouth parted like you’d just declared gravity a myth. “you’re saying that like it’s just tap water. na jaemin is not just anything.”

you rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “don’t be dramatic.”

“he’s a legal prodigy with an undefeated record, Time Magazine’s ‘30 under 30,’ a quote in every law review in the country—” renjun flipped the folder open, skimming the printed briefs like they held state secrets. “and now he’s casually asking you to partner on a case like it’s some kind of reunion tour?”

something about the way renjun rattled off jaemin’s accolades like he was reciting from a fan club newsletter grated at you. maybe it was annoyance or maybe even jealousy? but you knew it did not sit well with you.

“okay, relax, fanboy,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “i haven’t even decided if i’m taking the case yet.”

“why? this is the kind of case you’ve been dying to get your hands on,” renjun said, still flipping through the folder like it held the holy grail of litigation.

and he wasn’t wrong. you loved cases like this — high-stakes, deeply rooted in principle, the kind that made you remember why you became a lawyer in the first place. back in university, this was the dream. this was the plan.

but plans changed.

you chose community legal aid. not because it was easier — god, no — but because it was what your family needed. what jun needed.

and now, staring down a case that could crack something wide open, you weren’t sure if you could give it everything without taking something away from your son.

you exhaled, arms folded across your chest, voice quieter this time. “i don’t know if i can commit to it.”

renjun nodded, the edge of his expression softening. he understood. maybe more than anyone else in the office where you were coming from. he had seen the quiet aftermath of the divorce, the way it hollowed out pieces of you that once burned so brightly.

he’d watched you soldier through the days when your eyes were heavy with exhaustion but your hands kept working — always working — because you had no other choice. he remembered the mornings you brought jun in, pale and drowsy with a fever, curling up on your office chair with a blanket while you juggled deadlines and doctor’s calls.

he remembered the cases you turned down, the rare ones that has everyone fighting for in the office — because you didn’t want jun to feel like he came second. because despite everything, you wanted to make sure he never forgot he still had a home even when jeno isn't living in it anymore.

renjun leaned back slightly, folding his arms as he studied you with that thoughtful look of his. the one he saved for when he was about to say something you probably didn’t want to hear, but needed to.

“i get it,” he said finally, voice low. “no one’s questioning your priorities. you’ve done more for jun than most people even see. but maybe…” he trailed off for a moment, choosing his words. “maybe it’s okay to want something for yourself again, too.”

you didn’t say anything, fingers curling around the edges of the folder again.

“this case — it’s the kind of thing you used to light up over. and don’t pretend you don’t still get that look in your eye when you’re deep in a fight worth having. i’m not saying take it blindly. but at least… let yourself imagine what it’d feel like to say yes.”

he nudged the folder toward you gently, like he wasn’t pushing — just offering. just hoping.

“you’ve given up a lot,” he added quietly. “maybe it’s time something gave back.”

and just as you were starting to feel your defenses waver, he delivered the final blow with a wry snort.

“plus, maybe it’s time jeno picks up some slack. he’s not the only one that’s busy in this world.”

you let out a short breath — part laugh, part ache. because he was right. all of it.

you sat with the folder for another hour after renjun left, the office slowly quieting as colleagues trickled out for lunch, then for the day. the hum of the old overhead lights mingled with the buzz of your thoughts — sharp, relentless, overlapping like traffic.

this case was everything you once dreamed of. a high-stakes corporate litigation rooted in environmental damage, one that could set precedent, stir headlines, maybe even change things. it was the kind of case that would’ve made younger you breathless with purpose.

but you weren’t that person anymore.

you were someone’s mother now. someone who knew how to read school newsletters and count ibuprofen doses and tuck small, warm limbs into dinosaur pajamas. someone who gave up courtroom thrills in exchange for after-school pick-ups and soft little kisses on the cheek before bed.

you glanced again at the folder, then at the phone beside it.

maybe it wasn’t about going back to who you were. maybe it was about becoming more than who you’d let yourself shrink into.

you could do both — you had to believe that.

with a steadying breath, you picked up your phone and scrolled through your messages. jaemin’s name sat there like it always did: unread, arrogant, impossible.

you tapped into the thread.

you: i’ll take the case. you: on one condition. jun comes first. always.

you hit send before you could overthink it, tossing your phone onto the desk like it was suddenly heavier than paper.

you didn’t expect a reply right away. but not even a minute passed before your screen lit up again.

jaemin: wasn’t planning on fighting you for custody. jaemin: welcome aboard, partner.

you rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you. lifting, just a little.

whatever this was going to be maddening, difficult, exhausting — it was starting. and this time, you were saying yes.

once a month, like clockwork, you and jeno carve out a day to spend together with jun — just the three of you. it started as a fragile agreement scribbled between custody clauses, but over time, it became something softer. something that let jun hold on to the idea that, even if the house was split in two, his parents still stood beside him — at least sometimes — as one.

today, that promise has taken you to the aquarium, where blue light dances across your skin and jun darts from tank to tank like he’s the one underwater, not the fish.

he’s currently pressed against the stingray pool, palms flat against the glass as he whispers facts he remembers from his animal encyclopedia. you and jeno linger a few steps behind, comfortably apart. jeno’s hands are tucked into his jacket pockets, and you hug your arms around yourself, not from the cold but from something else.

"he’s grown so much," jeno murmurs, almost to himself. there’s a wistfulness in his voice that makes your chest ache.

"yeah," you say softly. "he has."

for a few moments, there’s only the low hum of ocean sounds and the occasional squeal from a toddler nearby. then, jeno shifts beside you, arms folded, his gaze on jun. there’s a furrow in his brow. one you know too well.

“have you thought more about it?” he asks quietly, like he's asking about the weather, not about changing the shape of jun’s world again. “letting him meet soomin.”

the name lands between you like a pebble in still water — small, but rippling.

you blinked, thrown. the question hadn’t crossed your mind recently — not because you were against it, but because… life. work. the new case. and maybe, deep down, because you didn’t want to. “i… no. i mean, not really. things have been hectic.”

jeno glances at you, and there’s something in his expression you can’t quite pin down — disappointment, maybe. frustration. or just tiredness.

“i’m sorry,” you add quickly. “i’ve been caught up. i just took on a new case.”

“yeah?” he asks, tone still neutral.

“jaemin reached out. he offered me a case — corporate environmental litigation. it’s a pretty big one to be honest and it's something that i've been wanting to work on."

jeno’s brows knit. “jaemin? as in na jaemin?”

you nod. “yeah. from law school.”

jeno’s mouth tightens into something unreadable. “huh.” just that. no judgment, no sarcasm — just that low, quiet sound that feels like it carries a hundred years of weight anyway.

you study him for a moment. he’s still watching jun, but there’s something distant in his eyes now, like he’s not seeing stingrays anymore.

“jeno…” you start, unsure of what you’re even about to say. you don’t know why his reaction is making your throat feel tight. “it’s a good opportunity. and it matters.”

jeno just nods again, but it’s sharper now. the quiet between you isn’t soft anymore. it’s bristling. he doesn’t press the issue, but you feel the tension settle into the space between you like humidity — thick and impossible to ignore.

“anyways,” he says, after a beat. “i was thinking about next month’s family day.”

you glance over, relieved for the change of subject. “yeah?”

“maybe we could make it the camping trip we talked about the other day.”

you smile, even if it’s small. “he’d love that. he's been talking about sleeping in a tent for weeks.”

jeno pauses, then adds, casually — too casually, “i was thinking… maybe it could be me, jun, and soomin instead of you. like a bonding thing.”

it takes a full second to register.

instead of you.

your smile fades. your heart stutters in your chest, but you keep your voice steady. “just the three of you?”

jeno nods, eyes still fixed on the tank. “yeah. it might help. ease her in. make it less weird when they meet.”

you try to speak, but nothing comes out at first. because you hadn’t realised how much this monthly ritual meant to you too. how much you’d come to depend on these few hours where you weren’t just a co-parent or a working single mom. but someone still allowed to stand beside jeno, even if only for show. to exist, with jun, as a “we. this was your thing — your promise to jun that no matter what changed, the three of you would still have this. a shared bubble, once a month, where love felt uncomplicated.

and now he wants to give your spot away. like it’s a folding chair at a dinner table. like it doesn’t ache in your chest every time the three of you part ways again.

you laughed, but there’s no humor in it. "the three of you."

jeno flinches, just barely. but it’s enough.

there’s a weight pressing down on your chest now, dense and aching. you know logically that this was bound to happen — that someday, there would be new partners, new dynamics. but you didn’t expect it to sting like this. like you’re already being replaced. like the place you carved out so carefully in your son’s life is being handed off without your consent.

"you’re really ready for him to meet her?" you ask, your voice quieter now. "to play house like that?"

"it’s not playing house," jeno says, more firmly. "i’m just trying to… build something stable for him. and soomin’s important to me. she’s been patient, and she’s been asking about him, and… i just think it’s time."

you nod slowly. you want to be understanding. you want to be fair. but it hurts.

"i’m not stopping you, jeno. i said i’d talk to jun. and i will. if he says he’s okay, then fine. let her meet him."

jeno exhales, like the tension in his shoulders finally lets go. but you’re still standing there, stiff and unmoving.

"but if you’re thinking of erasing me from those moments — if you're building this new life and leaving me out of it completely — you don’t get to do that."

"i’m not trying to erase you."

you don’t answer. you just look away again.

jun calls for you both a moment later, grinning and pointing at a shark swimming overhead, completely oblivious to the undertow beneath the surface of his parents’ silence.

you smile for him. jeno does too.

but under the soft glow of the aquarium lights, you both feel the shift — the weight of a thread thinning between you. the ache of what’s being lost, even as you try to hold on to what still matters.

jeno's pov

jeno doesn’t remember when it got this hard — when loving you turned into leaving you.

but sometimes, on days like this, watching you laugh with jun under the blue-tinted glow of the aquarium, he wonders if he made the right decision. or if he simply chose the one that hurt less at the time.

he walks a step behind you, like he always does now. close enough to feel like he’s part of the picture, far enough that he knows he’s no longer inside the frame. jun’s little hands are pressed against the glass, tracing the stingray’s wings, and jeno tries to focus on that. on jun. on the reason this family day exists in the first place.

he watches the way you stand, arms wrapped around yourself like you’re bracing for something, and he knows that posture too well. knows it’s what you did when he came home late. when you slept in separate beds. when he forgot anniversaries and didn’t show up to counseling and chose silence over conversation again and again.

and still, you show up. for jun. for this version of family even though fractured.

so when he asks about soomin — when he floats the question that’s been pressing against his chest for weeks — he’s not prepared for how your hesitation stings.

it shouldn’t. he knows that. it’s not your job to approve his choices anymore. you’re not his person. you haven’t been for a while.

but still.

when you say you forgot, something tightens in his stomach. and when you mention jaemin, that tightness coils into something sharp.

na jaemin.

he remembers him. the one who challenged you in every class, made you stay up all night just to one-up him in the next lecture. the one jeno used to joke about being your academic soulmate, before the jokes stopped being funny.

he doesn’t say anything more than a "huh," but the name echoes in his head. jaemin was everything he wasn’t — articulate, sharp, politically minded. and now he’s back, and you’re working with him.

jeno tells himself he has no right to feel anything about that. but it’s hard not to feel like he’s being replaced. not just by jaemin, but by someone who could meet you at the level he always fell short of.

and so he suggests the camping trip.

he tells himself it’s logical — a way for jun and soomin to bond naturally. he tells himself it’s better this way. that you’re too busy now, anyway.

but the moment the words leave his mouth — “instead of you” — he felt it. the air shift. your silence. the hurt that flashes across your face before you smooth it out with that careful calm you’ve perfected.

and god, it hurts.

because he didn’t mean it like that. he didn’t mean to make you feel pushed out, like a placeholder being quietly replaced. but he also didn’t stop himself — and that’s what stings. maybe more than the words, more than the quiet decisions he made without you, it’s the silence that followed. the way he let them stand. he’s tired. tired of misstepping, tired of trying to do the right thing when he’s not even sure what that is anymore.

more than anything, he wants you to love soomin, or at least understand her — the way he thinks he’s come to. he wants the two worlds he holds in each hand — the one with you, and the one he’s trying to build — to somehow braid themselves together, neatly and without casualties. like a life that fits.

he wants jun to be part of the future he imagines with soomin.

he just hasn’t figured out how to invite you into it without making you feel like a stranger in your own story.

so when you finally say, "you don’t get to erase me," he feels it in his bones.

because maybe, in his effort to move on, he’s done exactly that — drawn a new picture of his future without realising he was redrawing the borders around you too.

but for the rest of the day, the guilt hangs like salt in the air — thick and stinging. not just for the trip. but for all the times he chose distance over dialogue, escape over effort.

you sit beside jun on the couch after dinner, his damp hair still smelling faintly of baby shampoo. his attention drifts between the book in his lap and the lineup of pokémon plushies guarding the armrest. you stroke your fingers gently through his hair.

"hey, bug," you start softly.

"hey, mommy," he replies, without looking up.

"can we talk for a minute? just the two of us?"

he nods, setting the book aside. you already feel the knot forming in your chest. you took a breath, forcing it to be steady. “so… daddy said he wanted you to maybe meet someone soon. a friend of his.”

“like who?”

“her name’s auntie soomin,” you said softly, brushing a hand through jun’s hair as he leaned against you. the weight of your own voice felt heavier than usual, like every word was something you had to lift and carry across your tongue. “she’s someone very important to your daddy.”

the word important lingered in the air, fragile and loaded. you echoed it the way jeno once had, when he first brought her up — carefully, deliberately. as if saying it gently would make it hurt less.

but it didn’t.

you smoothed a stray curl from jun’s forehead, hoping he couldn’t hear the tremor beneath your calm. hoping your voice sounded like comfort, not heartbreak.

because the truth was: no matter how calmly you said it, you still hadn’t quite figured out how to place her in your son’s world without feeling like something in yours had been quietly, irrevocably replaced.

jun tilts his head. "lollipop auntie?"

you blink. "what?"

"lollipop aunty! she gave me a lollipop when daddy and i got back to his place," jun explains matter-of-factly. "she said 'oh, you must be jun!' and then she gave me a green apple one. it wasn’t even a good flavor," he adds, like that’s the real tragedy here.

you sit still for a second, the words not quite computing. "wait—jun, when did this happen?"

he shrugs. " last time when i slept over at daddy's! she was there."

you press a hand to your chest, breath catching.

jeno already introduced soomin to jun.

without telling you. without asking you. without mentioning it.

"and daddy didn’t say anything about her before that?" you ask, voice strained.

jun shakes his head, completely unaware of the storm unraveling in your chest. "nope. i just saw her that once. she smelled like orange and she talked weird—like the way teacher honey talk when she's trying to be funny." he giggled at the thought of it.

you force a breath through your nose, trying to hold it together.

the betrayal hits you slow but deep, blooming through your ribs like a bruise. jeno had made it seem like he was asking your permission—testing the waters, easing jun into something new. and all this time, he had already let jun meet her. like your role in that boundary didn’t matter. like your say was just a formality, not actual parenting.

"mommy?" jun’s voice breaks through. "are you mad?"

"no," you say quickly, placing a hand over his. "not at you. you didn’t do anything wrong. i’m just… surprised. that’s all."

he watches you for a second, the way kids do when they sense you’re hiding something. but he nods anyway.

you gather him into your arms, holding him tighter than usual. “do you feel okay going on the trip with daddy and auntie soomin?”

he pauses, thinking. “i guess. but i still want mummy to come.”

your heart cracks a little at the edges. "i know, baby. we’ll go on our own adventure soon, just the two of us. deal?"

he nods into your shoulder, but his voice is smaller when he says, “okay.”

you smoothen his hair out again and try not to let the ache take over. because as much as this moment is about your child, there's another truth simmering just beneath it:

jeno made a decision without you.

and worse — he acted like you still had a say.

// to be continued

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mikkies · 2 days ago

Text

「 AKO AY DAHAN-DAHANG NILILIBING NANG BUHAY PA. 」

Chance x Fem! Clothing Designer! Reader (no mentions of she/her)

warnings: none that I know of, but any mentions of itrapped should be a warning on it's on

notes: didn't know what to do with this since the nonnie didn't specify so I made it comfort fic for Chance (idk what possessed me). Again, Chance's characterization is thanks to @/telamonisms.

YOU THREAD THE needle without thinking, hands moving with practiced ease.

The cabin is quiet—only the gentle scrape of fabric and the subtle hum of power laced into your fingertips as your design takes shape.

A half-drawn coat begins to materialize on the mannequin beside you, unfinished and waiting.

He watches you from the corner.

Not intrusively. Never that.

Just… watches. Silently. His head tilted, shades masking whatever storm might be behind those eyes.

The low gleam of his clockwork headphones matches the silver glint of his skin, soft under the filtered cabin light.

“You're makin’ that for me?” he finally asks, voice smooth but teasing.

You don't look up from your sketchpad. “Depends. You gonna try and run off before the sleeves are done again?”

A quiet laugh—low, sheepish. It's not the first time he's done it.

He has a tendency to disappear, just before things feel too real. But he always comes back. Chance always comes back.

“I didn't mean to,” he murmurs, and the shift in his voice draws your eyes.

His cocky grin falters around the edges. He's standing straighter now, but his hands are clenched behind his back, as though he's holding something in.

Or maybe holding himself together.

You nod toward the chair beside your workstation. “Sit.”

He obeys without hesitation.

That’s something you’ve noticed about him—how quickly he listens when it's you.

Others have to push, pull, beg to get anything from him.

But you? You ask, and he’s there.

Always.

You glance at the fabric folded over your lap. “You never tell me what style you like.”

“Anything that makes me look good,” he says, quick and cheeky again.

You smile faintly. “You already do. That’s not what I asked.”

A pause.

Then, softly—like it slips out before he can stop it: “I liked the old suit. The one I wore… before.”

Before him.

Before everything.

You stop drawing.

He’s not looking at you. His fingers twitch, gripping the brim of his fedora.

You’ve seen him shoot with flair, strike with smug precision, play games with a laugh that covers how hard he shakes afterwards.

You’ve patched him up more times than you can count. But he never talks about before.

Until now.

“I kept wearing it even when it got torn. Even when it didn’t fit right no more. Didn’t want anyone to touch it. Like…” He hesitates.

“Like maybe if I kept it on, he’d still see me the way he used to.”

Your voice is quiet. “Did he?”

Chance goes silent.

You set your tools down and kneel in front of him, gently pushing his shades up to rest on his fedora.

His eyes—normally hidden—are glassy and uncertain.

“I’m not him,” you say.

“I know.”

“I won’t lead you anywhere you don’t wanna go.”

He bites his lip, trying to smile like it’s all just banter. “What if I do wanna go? What if I’d follow you anyway?”

You reach for his hand. “Then I’ll make sure it’s someplace safe. Someplace that won’t hurt.”

He looks at your fingers—calloused from sewing, glowing faintly with the hum of creation—and touches your wrist with the same reverence someone might give something sacred.

“…That coat you’re making,” he says, softer now, “you gonna put your mark on it?”

“Already did.” You gesture toward the embroidery on the sleeve. A tiny threadlike sigil, glowing just faintly.

He stares at it like it means the world.

You add, “So no one else gets to claim you again.”

He laughs, and it sounds like he’s finally exhaling.

“Damn,” he breathes, pulling you into his arms and burying his face in your shoulder.

“Y’know, for someone that makes clothes, you’ve got a way of fixin’ hearts too.”

You hold him tighter.

Because you know the kind of love Chance gives—raw, loyal, doglike. The kind that lingers, even when it shouldn’t.

And you’ll show him that maybe, just maybe, this time…

He gambled right.

#* ∙ ✰ ◞ 미키 ✗ posts.#forsaken #x reader #forsaken x reader #forsaken x you #chance x you #chance x reader #chance #forsaken chance #chance forsaken #forsaken roblox #roblox forsaken

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thisapplepielife · 3 days ago

Text

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

There's No Fixing You

Prompt #3 - It's Five O'Clock Somewhere | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Alcohol, Language | POV: Gareth, Eddie | Pairing: Gareth & Eddie, Steddie | Tags: Eddie's Pining For Steve Harrington, And Gareth Can't Take Another Minute Of It, He's Gonna Nudge Him Towards Steve, Or Off A Cliff, He's Not Picky

Gareth

"I'm gonna tell him I love him," Eddie says, hand covering the top of his tilting glass. Gareth grabs ahold of it, steadying it against the bar top before they have a mess.

"You're crazy," Gareth says. He's heard this over and over, it's just a little earlier in the day than expected this time. Usually Eddie waits until late at night to do his obsessive yearning.

"I'm drunk," Eddie corrects, and he's definitely right there. If the bartender isn't gonna cut him off, Gareth will.

"C'mon. It's noon," Gareth coaxes.

"It's five o'clock somewhere," Eddie slurs, laughing at himself like a fool, and Gareth grabs him by the arm. Eddie fights him, making himself heavier.

"I'm gonna tell him, and I'm gonna regret it, and you'll have to fix me," Eddie says, tugging Gareth close to his face, too close.

"There's no fixing you," Gareth banters, pulling harder, winning the battle, forcing Eddie to his feet.

Eddie laughs, giggling like he definitely thinks he's funnier than he actually is, and Gareth doesn't know what he's gonna do with him. Drag him back to the hotel? That doesn't sound like fun.

Fucking Steve Harrington. Gareth's gonna make him pay.

"C'mon, you gotta walk," Gareth instructs, tugging him towards the exit. Eddie goes, not willingly, but Gareth will take it.

"I love him," Eddie says as the sunshine hits their faces, and Gareth hears him loud and clear. Has heard him for at least a year spouting the same shit.

"So you've said," Gareth counters, "Let's go. One foot in front of the other."

"It's noon," Goodie accuses, looking at the state of Eddie splayed out on the bed. As if Gareth isn't well aware of what time it is. He's the one that had to wrangle him back to the hotel with the sun beating down on the back of his neck.

Gareth grits his teeth and answers, "That's what I said."

Jeff pulls off Eddie's shoes, dropping them to the floor next to the bed.

"Steve?" Jeff asks.

"Fucking Steve," Gareth confirms.

"Steve," Eddie mumbles, clearly clinging to consciousness by a thread.

"I'm calling him. This is ending, one way or another," Gareth says, and he looks at Jeff and Goodie, trying to gauge whether or not they have his back on this.

They both nod, and that's all the permission he needs.

Steve Harrington has to deal with this mess he's created, and if it doesn't go Eddie's way, well, then they'll pick up the pieces. But at least Eddie will know and can start getting over this obsession. Listening to him pining has really put a damper on their vacation. They were supposed to get the fuck out of Hawkins, not drag part of it along with them to obsess over relentlessly.

Gareth's gonna give Steve a piece of his mind, and this is ending, one way or another.

Eddie

"Hey."

Eddie tries to open his eyes, but they feel so heavy. He's hearing things. Things that sound like Steve.

He remembers flashes of yesterday, and he didn't really call him, did he? He was just running his mouth. He's always running his mouth, nothing new there.

"Eddie."

That's definitely Steve.

"I know you're awake. Gareth called me."

"He was lying. Whatever he said."

The mattress dips, and Eddie opens an eye. Steve's crawling up the bed, his suitcase sitting upright at the foot of the bed. He's really here. This is a nightmare.

Steve lays down on his side, head on the other pillow, "Oh, was he?"

Eddie turns his head, "Definitely."

"Well, he got me good, I guess. Made me fly out here for nothing."

Eddie reaches down and takes Steve's hand in his, squeezing. Closing his eyes again. He's scared. He's not brave enough to do this, even with Steve handing it all to him on a silver platter.

He wants to run away.

"He shouldn't have called you," Eddie says. It wasn't fair to put this on Steve. Steve's his friend. Steve's everyone's friend. The glue that keeps them all together.

"Gareth said you had something to tell me," Steve probes, and Eddie can't. He can't.

Eddie shakes his head.

"Well, that's too bad," Steve says, and Eddie knows that tone. He's teasing him. Dorkily.

It's so endearing.

"I'm in love with you," Eddie says, still refusing to look at him.

Eddie startles when Steve's palm cups his cheek, warm and solid.

"What a coincidence," he says, and the lightness in his voice is enough to make Eddie finally open his eyes, "I'm in love with you, too."

Eddie's eyebrows shoot towards his hairline, and Steve laughs, "Yes. Really. Don't act so surprised."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Eddie asks.

"Why didn't you?" Steve counters, and that's kind of fair.

But really.

"Because I'm a big chicken and you're the brave one," Eddie says, smiling at him, "It was your responsibility to take care of this for me. For us."

Steve laughs, a delighted sound, and scoots closer, lips so close to Eddie's that Eddie can feel his breath on his face.

"I'm so sorry for shirking my responsibilities."

Eddie surges forward, lips pressing against Steve's. Kissing him. It's the best first kiss he's ever had, even with his pounding headache.

When they pull back, Eddie grins, "I'll forgive you. I guess."

Steve laughs, and ducks his head against Eddie's neck, and Eddie wraps him up, hugging him tight.

Gareth

He shouldn't have called Steve. The sounds coming from his shared room with Eddie will be burned into the deepest parts of Gareth's psyche for many years to come.

Now, he's roomless.

He's not, of course. Jeff's holding open their door across the hall.

Gareth steps inside, then turns back, grabbing the do not disturb sign from their door, and hooks it over the door across the hall.

Goodie raises an eyebrow.

"Housekeeping doesn't deserve to walk in on whatever state of perversion they're gonna be in for the next week."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

#corrodedcoffinfest #prompt: it's five o'clock somewhere #eddie munson #steve harrington #jeff stranger things #freak stranger things #gareth stranger things #corroded coffin fic #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic #corroded coffin #stranger things fic #corrodedcoffinfest: year two #corroded coffin boys #steddie fic #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fanfiction

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kanyerealdaughter · 2 days ago

Text

— ★ TIME WELL SPENT

sexual content , intercourse , birthday sex , praise kink , cunnilingus , creampie , teasing , pillow talk. (kento nanami x female reader)

———————————————————————

you weren’t sure why nanami never mentioned his birthday.

you’re had to pry it from gojo, of all people, who gave it up with a teasing grin and an exaggerated wink like it was some well-kept secret of the universe. ands while nanami wasn’t the type to enjoy being fussed over, you still wanted to do something, something quiet. private. something he couldn’t find annoying.

which is how you ended up in his apartment, the lights dimmed, the city a distant murmur behind tall windows, and a modest dinner waiting on his table.

he walked in just past 7:00 p.m., suit jacket slung over his shoulder, tie undone, golden hair tousled just slightly, the edge of fatigue softening his sharp, handsome face.

“…you cooked?” he asked, brows lifted, briefcase in hand. you nodded, suddenly a little shy.

“ just your favorites. i didn’t want to make a big deal.” he paused, lips twitching into a rare but unmistakably fond smile.

“ it smells good. thank you.”

dinner was easy. comfortable. he loosened up more than you expected, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his hands brushing yours when you passed him a plate. every now and then, he’d glance at you with a look you didn’t quite understand, like he was memorizing the moment in real-time.

when he stood to clean up, you stopped him gently by placing a hand on his wrist.

“ sit. i’m not done yet.” you told him, he raised an eyebrow. “ there's more?” you nodded again and disappeared briefly into the hallway, returning with a small, wrapped box.

he didn’t move as you placed it in his palm. didn’t open it right away either. just stared at it, his thumb brushing the edge of the paper.

“ i know you don’t like gifts— you murmured, suddenly unsure. —but it’s something small. i just wanted you to have it.” nanami looked up at you. then slowly, very slowly, he set the box on the table and reached for your hand instead.

“ i’d rather have you.”

“ nanami—” you blinked, your breath hitching about to speak again, until he it first.

“ kento,” he corrected softly, rising to his feet, guiding you closer by the waist.

“ tonight, just call me kento.” his mouth was warm against your temple, the kiss unhurried. he inhaled when he pressed his face into your hair, like he was grounding himself, trying not to get lost in whatever he was feeling. and then-

“ i spent the whole day wishing i was here. with you.” his hands moved carefully. one traced your spine, the other slid up your side and cupped your face.

“ i thought of your voice when things got unbearable. i thought of your hands, and your laugh, and the way you say my name when i’m half-asleep.”

“ kento…” you whispered, breath catching.

“ you made today feel like mine,” he murmured. “ let me make tonight yours.”

he kissed you then. a full, deep kiss, one that tipped your head back and made your knees soften. there was nothing rushed in the way he touched you. nothing clumsy or overeager. He touched you like he was memorizing you, like you were a gift he didn’t know he needed until this very moment.

yo u felt the slow drag of his hands up your thighs, the way he lifted you effortlessly and carried you to the bedroom, laying you across his sheets like something delicate.

he undressed you in silence. not a word, just a deep, hungry stare as each layer fell from your skin. and when he finally pressed his mouth between your thighs, he groaned like the taste of you was the first thing all day that made him feel alive.

“ kento… mnngh please-” you gasped, fingers tangled in his hair. but he didn’t stop. his tongue moved slow and deliberate, licking and teasing, sucking and curling against your most sensitive spot like he was savoring you.

“ you’re the sweetest thing i’ve ever had,” he muttered, breath hot and voice low.

“ and tonight, you’re mine.” he made you come twice with his mouth alone, once he was done he couldn’t stop licking his lips .and only then did he undress himself, golden skin glowing under the soft bedroom light, thick cock hard and heavy in his hand.

when he slid inside you, you both moaned, not loud, but desperate. deep, like he was sinking into something he’d been craving for years.

he fucked you slow. deep. every thrust pressing your hips into the mattress, every kiss to your jaw and neck grounding you in the weight of him. his body covered yours, shielded yours, held yours like it was his sole duty in life to make you feel safe. loved.

“ i don’t want anything else,” he whispered into your ear as you clenched around him.

“ just you. just this.” you broke beneath him with a sob, pleasure rippling through you in waves as his pace faltered, roughened, and then stilled. you felt his warmth spill inside you as he groaned your name, forehead pressed to yours, his body trembling with release.

minutes passed in silence. then, a whisper.

“ happy birthday, kento.” he exhaled through a smile. “ it is now.”

———————————————————————

here’s my jjk masterlist!

words - 0.8k

» , ᴀ ᴋᴀɴʏᴇʀᴇᴀʟᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

#★kanyerealdaughter #★kanyerealdaughterwrotethis #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami smut #jjk x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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edwardslvrr · 2 days ago

Text

WHY NOT BOTH? ☆ rafe cameron and sofia

𝜗𝜚 rafe cameron x reader x sofia

✦　　　.　　reader and sofia had been dating for 2 years now, when reader meets rafe cameron during a night out with the pogues and falls for him too and sofia meets him at the bar she works and he leaves a lingering feeling in her chest.

WARNING -> polyamory, drugs, alcohol, swearing, addiction, talks of rehab

𓂃⋆.˚ yourname’s new instagram post

liked by sofiaism, jjmaybank and 162 others

yourname i love my girlfriend

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sofiaism i love you more

⤿ yourname come smooch

⤿ sofiaism 🏃🏼‍♀️👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

johnbooker gay

⤿ yourname go make out w jj

kielovesturtles i love you gorgeous girlss!!

⤿ yourname you you you ily☹️

sofiasm you’re too beautiful might cry and kiss you

⤿ yourname don’t cry but do kiss me

jjmaybank ally!!

⤿ yourname my fav ally

✦　　　.　　YN was leaning against the wall, pouting, she had been smoking with JJ for most of the night until he decided to go hang out with Kiara since she looked ‘smoking hot’ according to him, well he wasn’t wrong, but now YN was sat all alone on the floor.

“Hey, YN right?” A tall dude went to sit next to her, a bit too close for her liking. He pushed himself a bit further from her as he noticed her uncomfortable expression. “Sorry, bit too close.” He chuckles.

“You’re good.” She mumbled, her eyes shutting a bit as the tiredness overcame her. “Yeh, M’YN.” The girl looked at the man next to her. “Oh famous Rafe Cameron.” YN smiled.

“S’me.” The kook smirked. “Y’good?”

“Yeh, just wish my girlfriend was here.” The pogue pouts, and groans as she saw the text from Sofia.

‘Sorry, baby, it’s insanely busy here. Will be a bit later’

Rafe admired her for a bit as she looked focused on messaging her girlfriend back. “Need help?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

‘sonzy bbsy liss you go’

“I don’t think you’re good.” Rafe chuckles, suddenly getting up from his spot next to her, making her pout. “Y’gonna leave me alone too?”

“Nah, pretty, just getting ya some water.” He kindly smiles at her, to which she nods dropping her phone next to her on the floor.

𓂃⋆.˚ sofiaism’s new instagram post

liked by yourname, kielovesturtles and 118 others

sofiaism can’t believe i met my soulmate at 18, life is good

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jjmaybank ugh i love you guys

⤿ johnbooker he’s actually tearing up

⤿ jjmaybank they’re so happy in love

⤿ sofiaism love you jay

yourname i love you more than words can describe, thank you for loving me. 2,5 years down, a lifetime to go☹️💕

⤿ sofiaism me & you for life baby

sarahcameron play 18 by one direction on your wedding

⤿ sofiaism on it!

sarahcameron ily guys, couldn’t have imagined two people better for each other than you two

⤿ yourname i’m in tears!!?? ily

kielovesturtles wish my man would post me like this

⤿ sofiaism men r useless xx

⤿ jjmaybank y am i catching strays

✦　　　.　　“I’ve got this costant fucking feeling I wanna get high, like I can’t. I’ve given away all my joints, but I just wanna call up Barry and ask for more. I’m losing it, bro.” Yn rambles on and on, groaning as she put her face in her hands.

Rafe gives her a sympathetic smile. “I know it fucking sucks, how many times I’ve driven to Barry to ask for more and just stood there like ‘is it even worth it?’ and I’ll tell ya it’s fucking not, okay.” He nudges his shoulder with hers.

“Find something else to distract you.”

With that she turns to face him, eyes locked for a moment, before she looks down at his lips, and finds herself leans forward until she inches away from his lips.

“YN, don’t.” Rafe whispers, snapping her out of whatever was happening.

“Fuck, no, what am I fucking doing.” She hurriedly stands up, brushing the sand off of her shorts. “I- I need to talk to Sofia, uh, I’ll see you later.” YN says as she walks off leaving Rafe sitting there confused, because whatever she felt he felt it too.

✦　　　.　　Sofia looks worried as YN stumbles through the door, with tearful eyes. “What happened? I thought you were going for a walk?”

“I- I don’t know what happened.” YN pants out.

“Hey, baby, sit down for a second. I’ll get you some water.” Sofia calmly says, guiding her girlfriend to the couch.

Coming back to the living room with a glass of water, handing it to her girlfriend, she takes a seat next to her.

“Talk to me, baby.”

“I’ve been meeting up with Rafe Cameron.” YN says, setting the glass of water on the table to hold Sofia’s hands in hers. “He’s been helping me to stop getting high, because I want to be a better girlfriend for you.”

“Baby- you could’ve talk to me.” Sofia gasps, squeezing her girlfriend’s hands. “I know it’s been hard lately, but I’m here.” She kindly smiles.

“I- I think I’m falling for him.” YN whispers under her breath, avoiding eye contact with Sofia.

“Wh-what?”

“I almost kissed him just now.” She admits. “I don’t know what I’m feeling, I love you so much it’s hurts Sofe.” YN tears up, as Sofia lets go off her hands.

“Why him?”

“He gets it, I guess. It’s been so nice talking to him, and he is so respectful and I just feel so comfortable with him.” Sofia’s breath hitched, and the explanation.

“I need some time.”

✦　　　.　　Sofia had requested a double shift at the bar, because she couldn’t stand being at home alone with her thoughts. After everything YN confessed, she had absolutely no idea what to think. What is the answer to your girlfriend admitting she is so in love with you but also likes some guy who’s been helping her with an addiction.

“Could I get a whiskey, neat.” A man asked at the bar, snapping Sofia out of her thoughts. She mumbled a quiet ‘Yes’ as she made the drink.

Pouring the whiskey in the glass, completely in her own world, not knowing who even ordered this.

“Here you go, is eight dollars please.” She kindly says, before meeting the customers eyes. And there he was the cause of her recent problems. Rafe hands her ten dollars while telling her to keep the change, with a kind smile.

“Take your drink and leave.” Sofia tells him, as she rolls her eyes.

“The fuck did I do to you?” Rafe looked at her confused, taken back by her sudden change of tone.

Sofia chuckles dryly. “What you did? Rafe Cameron, what haven’t you done! I don’t know let me think, maybe the fact my girlfriend admitted to liking you this morning and I’ve been losing my mind over it and she’s also been meeting with you behind my back to talk about her addiction, so I’ve got this slight feeling I’m about to be single and replaced by you.” She explains, ignoring the rest of the customers at the bar.

He looked at her shocked, he knew whatever happened this morning was not planned and was very confusing but this confession had him absolutely losing his mind.

“Sofia.. nothing happened, she told me how she felt bad about you having to take care of her everytime she’s high out of her mind and she kept telling herself you deserved better. All she wanted was to get better for you, and that’s what I was helping her with.” He started explaining with a sigh, taking a sip from his whiskey.

“She was scared, and she knew I’ve gone through this. All I did was try and help, and then I fell for her.” He rubs his face with his hand. “I’m sorry, but fuck the way she loves you, Sofia. Fuck.” He chuckles as he shakes his head.

“She talks about you as if you put the stars in the sky, you’re all she wants. She wants to be perfect for you.” Rafe smiled, looking down at his whiskey. “Sofia, you’re the one for her.”

“So why does she like you!” Sofia yells frustrated, making everyone in the bar look at her.

Rafe was about to answer when his phone buzzed on the bar. “Can y’all mind your own business!” He shouts out as he noticed people still staring at Sofia.

‘il sorry arge i relapshzd she elft em’

“Fuck, Sofia. Come now, she’s high.” Rafe panicks as he read the message, immediately forcing Sofia to come with him to find YN.

“Wh-what?” Sofia shockingly asks, but following him to his car not caring about her job at the moment. “I left her alone.” She tells herself.

✦　　　.　　The three were sat on the couch at YN and Sofia’s place, when the two arrived at the house they found YN in tears on the floor with drugs all around her, making Sofia break down in sobs, repeatedly telling her she’s sorry.

It’s now hours later and YN has somewhat sobered up. “I’m sorry.” She mumbles, as her head was laying in Sofia’s lap while she stroked the blonde’s hair.

“Don’t apologise, baby. Everything’s okay.” Sofia whispered, pressing a kiss on her forehead.

“R-rafe?” YN calls out to get his attention, which she gets when he finally turned to look at her the tension leaving his body immediately at the sight of her. “I- uh”

“Tell him.” Sofia encourages her. “We’ve talked while you took a nap.” She smiles down at her girlfriend.

YN looks up shocked. “He knows?” She asks Sofia, who nods.

“I like you too.” Rafe interrups the moment between the two girls. “We talked, and we’d like to try this, the three of us.” He smiles, putting his hand on her thigh to which she answers by putting her hand on his.

“We know you’re going through so much right now, it’s why we’ve decided to take this slow and first get you the help you need.” Rafe starts explaining. “But know, we’re here.”

The three sat in silence for a while, comfortably. “I- uh, I think I need to go to rehab, I know it’s expensive but I need it.” YN admits.

“I’ll pay for it, sweetheart.” Rafe calls out, squeezing her thigh. “No arguments allowed.”

6 MONTHS LATER

𓂃⋆.˚ yourname’s new instagram post

liked by rafecameron, sofiaism and 293 others

yourname hello, it’s me 6 months later. I’m happy, sober and absolutely in love with these two. thank you for loving me and each other. it’s us in every lifetime.

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jjmaybank i love happy yn, she makes me happy!!

⤿ yourname ily jayj!!💕

sofiaism so proud of you my girl!! i love you so much (rafe too sometimes)

⤿ yourname thank you for everything

rafecameron my girl!! look at you shining😍

⤿ yourname look at us healing, i love you

⤿ rafecameron we’re in this together, i love you too

sarahcameron (ignoring my brother) ughh you are just perfect, feeling like a proud momma. i love yaa

⤿ yourname my fav girl!!☹️💕

kielovesturtles ahh she’s back, movie night soon!!

⤿ yourname ughh yes plss

popethesmartie yay yn back!!

⤿ yourname missed you popee <3

johnbooker lunch tomorrow??

⤿ yourname YESS

AUTHORS TALKING -> wanted to try something new so here it is hope you like it :)

MAIN MASTERLIST -> click here to see more

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yellowf1nch · 10 hours ago

Text

Warning: Minors do not interact

**There will be potential spoilers from this point forward regarding endings with certain characters. There may have been some in the last part, however I think it was still vague enough. I have certain characters I want to explore in this dynamic with specificity to their storylines, so consider this a warning if you do not wish to have anything revealed to you prematurely.**

(Part 3 of the problematic roommate storyline)

You awake in stillness. Quiet. There's a fatigue in your body, and a thrumming pain across your face that becomes more apparent as you pull further from sleep. You roll yourself upwards, head heavy and balance askew even while sitting. Memories flood back, at first it seemed all a terrible dream, but the reflection that greets you above your dresser reminds you just how real everything is. Your stomach growls, so you make your way to the top of the stairs, but hesitate descending when you hear your roommate down there now. Will they attack you again? Do you even have the fortitude to listen if they want to talk?

Thoughts swim around your head, and time apparently passes quicker than you think. You hear your roommate move towards the foyer, and into the gym. The Cross Trainer kicks on, so you take this as your chance to eat. As you round the stairs, you hear a clink from the floor grate beside you, the one Skylar sits inside. Debating once again, if your exhaustion would put you up to the task of using the dateviators, you hear the bathroom door just ahead click open, and see if fall slightly open. Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt to have Farya give you a once over.

You quietly reach down, arm entering the vent and feeling around until your fingers brush metal wire and plastic lenses. You retrieve the dateviators, waiting until you enter the bathroom and making sure you are locked inside before putting them on. Immediately, Skylar, Farya, and Amir come forward. They all talk at once, over each other, asking how you feel, noting how you look, about what happened. You start to take the glasses off, overwhelmed, when they all shout in unison, "NO."

"You might be concussed," Farya says, a slight grin on her face, if an unsteady one. "I need to make certain there are no broken bones, damaged nerves... Don't even get me started on hemorrhaging..." She begins to talk more to herself as you sit on Jean-Loo, cleaning you up, testing nerve responses, and even needing to administer some stitches. Amir had left before much of this, apparently a bit squeamish despite wanting to help. Skylar remained. She held your hand to squeeze, though she, too, seemed to wince and avoid looking at you for much of the time Farya worked.

"Maybe you should call in the police," she says, "this... isn't really within anyone's wheelhouse to put up with." Farya finishes up, then takes her leave. You look at Skylar, your voice scratchy and low as you tell her you're afraid. You're afraid of what might happen, mostly to the dateables, to the dateviators. If something goes wrong, the objects could get hurt. She sighs, and crouches at your feet.

"But you're already hurt. Don't worry about us. Besides, if the authorities can get your roommate out of the picture, then that's better for all of us, right?" You admit that your gut is far more hesitant, but maybe it would be for the best. The sooner you call, the more concrete the report will be. Though, you still aren't sure if anything would actually come of it. And if your roommate tries to spin things against you... Skylar takes your hand, seeing how unsure you are. "Hey, it's okay to not feel sure. You've gone through a lot, and, if you aren't comfortable getting anyone involved, then you don't have to. But, you have our support, and whatever happens, you won't be alone." You nod, softly thanking her, before you reach up and remove the dateviators. Your stomach growls again, so you finish up in the bathroom, and make sure your roommate isn't waiting to ambush you as soon as you leave. It seems they've moved onto something else, and it sounds like they're on a personal phone call.

You don't want to spend too much time here, feeling exposed in the open kitchen, and you are certain you could only stomach a simple breakfast anyway. You make a bowl of cereal, eating in the stillness, pretending that everything is like it was before Skylar was delivered here. Then again, a part of you admits that it's... Nice. To have people to talk to, to meet, even. If it weren't for Valdivian's shelling out to the military, you might have considered trying for a degree to be the leading datable anthropologist. But, the dateviators have to be destroyed, and before that, every object has to be awakened and realized. Or, that's what Skylar has told you. And it feels to be a task insurmountable, especially with your roommate around. You finish eating and quickly wash your bowl and spoon, moving back up to your bedroom. The LED lights you have on flicker, a common occurrence since you moved in, and you recall the few times in the Breaker Box how Volt would wince when they did. In fact, you remember a very curt conversation with Eddy yesterday where he mentioned it's just maintenance he's working on while he pushed you out the door.

You make your way back to the box, mindful of your roommate moving around downstairs, and quietly open the closet. You close it behind you, hoping Dorian will understand to stay closed while you're here. You put the dateviators back on, wincing as they again sit on your injuries, and you activate them, opening the club and going inside. It's empty, but Eddy sits on the floor by the bar, seeming to be adjusting some of the legs of the barstools. He looks over when you enter, swearing under his breath.

"The hell do you want, bar's closed." You walk closer, still keeping some distance, mentioning the flickering lights again. Only this time, you make it clear you expect something to be done about it. Eddy rolls his eyes, but when he looks at you again, curses biting at the back of his teeth, he seems shocked as he notices the discolored patches mapping your face.

"How much do you have to do?" You ask, taking the opportunity while he was caught off-guard. At your question, he quickly recovers.

"A lot. Now if you don't mind, I'm busy." He looks back to what he was working on.

"I want to help," you say, no hesitation in your voice. Eddy looks back up at you, gives you a once over, and breathes a chuckle. "I'm serious. I'm not afraid of hard work." He meets your eyes, and looks back down at the stool in front of him, squaring his jaw.

"I said I'm busy."

You cross your arms, lips pursed despite their reluctance to do so. "And I said I want to help."

Eddy resumes his task, albeit with a poorly restrained frustration, "I don't care what you want."

"Well you're gonna care real soon, because if you won't let me help you, I'll have to either call an electrician or figure things out myself." Eddy's motions become even more agitated, but you continue, "Besides. You clearly have a lot on your plate to be having issues with the power flickering since I moved in, so an extra set of hands would only make things go quicker." In response, you hear exasperated curses of your name under his breath.

"You wanna call an electrician, then go ahead. You're just wasting my time!"

"I don't want to call an electrician, I want to help you!"

"I don't need your help!"

"I'm not convinced." Eddy growls at you, tossing the tool he was holding down and rubbing his face. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighs.

"You wanna help so bad? Fine. Come back tomorrow and you'll wish you never set foot in this club." You instinctively try to smile, but strain with your stitches and bruises. Eddy avoids your gaze, trying to wiggle the barstool leg he was working on, then stands and sets the stool upright. Eventually he does look at you, his expression falling flat, "Get out."

Nodding, you turn to leave, and when you exit the Breaker Box, you realize the closet door is still closed. You hear your roommate throwing things around downstairs, yelling to themselves about things never being fair, about how everything good that happens to them is taken away. You start to leave, but they seem to move up and down the stairs, back and forth between rooms. You wait for them to go back down, and swiftly move back to your bedroom, locking the door. Considering the last charge you have on the dateviators, you turn your aim to Dorian. When he appears, he's looking at you with an expression you hadn't seen before.

"How... How bad is it?" A brow raises at your question.

"If you are referring to the state of the household, I'd say it's as bad as it sounds. Wallace and I are both tough gents... let's just say it's not easy for either of us to get knocked into each other."

"Are you hurt? Do I need to-"

"You don't need to do anything, 'cept keep yourself from an early grave. We can all put up with a lot more than you think. There've been kids in this house before, family gatherings. None of us are going anywhere anytime soon."

You pause, thinking perhaps you have been too insistent. Maybe you have been too concerned. Maybe anxiety is getting the better of you.

"For what it's worth," Dorian begins, "respecting Skylar's choice, all 'a what you said last night... Makes me proud to be your friend." He smiles, "Just make sure you take care of yourself as much as you would the rest of us. Now," his face falls back to his usual stern expression, but there remains a dusting of pink at the corners of his eyes, "off to bed with you. And make sure to put Skylar up for the night."

As the dateviators lose their last charge for the day, you gently remove them, and tuck them away where your roommate couldn't reach without waking you. You adjust your pillows and blankets to keep your head from rolling too much overnight, and feel the calm embrace of sleep welcome you.

#date everything skylar #date everything x reader #date everything game #date everything dorian #date everything eddy

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juceys · 2 days ago

Text

been yours jimmy uso

— based on this request; years of pushed back feelings finally come to light after asking him to be your fake date to a wedding.

pairing jimmy uso x fem!reader wc 2.8k+ genre fluff warnings explicit language note this one goes to my bby @bratzzzdoll :-) sigh loverboy jimmy is so cutie

listened to let me love you by mario, so into you by tamia, give me all by sammy johnson ft fiji.

you wish the ground your heels are sinking into would just open up and swallow you. anything to get out of here. ironic really — because everything about this should be comforting. the dj’s playing a nostalgic tune that’d usually have you swaying, fairy lights decorate the tent you’re standing in, friends and family surrounding you.

but instead you’re focused on the scene ahead of you.

jon. laughing with trinity.

you hated how your stomach twisted, the cupcake in your hand suddenly unappetizing. you don’t care — you shouldn’t care. it’s not even any of your business. you asked jon to be your fake date to this wedding, to save yourself from answering the pestering questions from peers and family members about when your wedding would be.

it sounded like a great idea — until now, you just feel like throwing yourself onto a highway of oncoming traffic.

you and jon were just friends. close friends. dangerously close, maybe.

especially since he’d said yes to your idea a bit too quick. especially since your heart fluttered like it forgot how to beat and had to start over again when he showed up in his all black suit, looking like trouble wrapped in silk and silver.

but now… now you’re just a girl at a wedding, staring at her fake date who’s smiling with his ex girlfriend. ouch.

when you arrived to the wedding, hand in hand with jon, everyone had complimented you on “finally picking a good one” — whatever that meant. in fact, the compliments were so frequent that when you were finally just alone with jon, he asked you about it.

“so, all these people fo’real think i’m your man?”

you groan, shoving a water bottle in his hands. “don’t say it like that.”

his grin was instant, teeth white and smile cocky. “so your whole family thinks you finally bagged someone?”

you nodded, looking around the venue. “mhm, and if you could maybe not say ‘bagged someone’ at the table, that’d be great.”

“damn, you tryna erase all my charm.”

“no, i’m trying to survive this wedding without my aunt forcing a fertility smoothie down my throat,” you wince.

he laughs, then softens. “i gotchu ma, i’ll play my part.”

you looked at him — at the way his chain fell above his tie, the way his hand was still intertwined with yours. you know jimmy. you know how he jokes too much when he gets nervous, the facial expressions he makes and what they mean, and how he’ll always fix your necklaces if they spun backwards.

he smells like something warm and familiar. something that’s so close, yet so far. and you hate how easily your guard comes down when around him.

but most of all, you hate how he isn’t yours.

you’d never let yourself go there though. but damn, he made it hard not to.

the ceremony went by without a hitch. jon kissed your cheek whenever your cousins looked, whispering “you still owe me a steak after this,” with a wink that made your knees buckle. you managed to maintain your fake relationship with jon on the surface without feeling any different.

but it wasn’t until the reception that things started to shift.

you moved from person to person, making small talk before finally sitting down and chatting with your grandma when she pointed out how jon wasn’t by your side. you scanned the crowd, and that’s when you spotted them.

jon talking with trinity — fuck. you forgot that she was good friends with the groom, while you’re cousins with the bride. it makes sense that she’s here.

she looked beautiful, of course she did. emerald green dress hugging her body in all the right places, curls perfectly framing her face. and jon? jon looked like he was right at home talking to her. relaxed. natural. like they were slipping into a rhythm they hadn’t quite lost.

they weren’t touching — but they didn’t have to be.

it was their smiles. the way she nudged his arm with hers. the way all 32 of her teeth showed. the way he laughed, deep and easy, like the world around him didn’t matter anymore.

and it felt like someone punched you in the gut, superkicked you in the face and gave you an uso splash all at once.

because you have no right to be jealous. no right to feel anything, because this wasn’t real to begin with.

it’s not like you have a problem with trinity, or feel anything negative towards her. you loved her since day one — still do. but after she and jon split, it got harder to stay close with busy schedules. he was the sole link between you two, and when their link broke, so did yours with trinity.

you didn’t know what to do. you didn’t want to be rude and not say hi. but you also don’t want to intrude on their conversation, especially not when they look like that.

you were so stuck in your inner dilemma, you didn’t realize their conversation had ended or notice jon walking towards you now.

“thought i lost you for a minute ma,” he says, sliding into the seat next to you. “you’re a pretty busy girl, huh?”

you flash a quick and small smile. “didn’t want to interrupt,” you say, eyes glancing over at trinity’s direction.

he follows your gaze for a second. he doesn’t say anything at first, though the small falter of his smile tell you enough.

“wasn’t anything like that.”

“didn’t say it was.”

“you don’t have to.”

you look up at him. the silence between you two being heavy. tense, maybe.

his eyes soften after meeting yours and he shifts closer. “hey,” he says quieter now. “you good?”

you nod. too fast. too fake. and jon knows it.

“mhm.”

“liar.”

he sighs. “c’mon baby, i was just catching up with her. nothing else.”

you hate this. you hate that he knows and understands why you’re mad. but what you hate even more, is that now you know he’s aware of how you feel towards him. you hate that he feels like he has to reassure you over this.

“i know, i’m not mad or anything. just… didn’t expect to see you with her, that’s all.” you look away from him now, looking straight ahead where your cousin stands, about to make a toast.

his jaw tightens. “okay.”

the rest of the night passed in flashes.

dancing, laughing, toasts.

and jon was right there alongside you, hand at the small of your back. but this time it felt… different.

now, you’re too aware.

of how close he stood.

of how warm he felt.

of his hands that’d wander when dancing — not too far, but just enough.

of the reassuring circles he’d rub when in uncomfortable conversations.

of the ache in your chest that refused to leave.

you watched him laugh with your cousin. saw him helping your grandma, quickly becoming a favorite of hers. noticed how the brother figures in your life easily took him under their wing. and all you could think was: he’s not even mine.

suddenly, this whole situation felt too much for you. overbearing, almost.

you excused yourself from your table right before dessert, earning a concerned look from jon. you made your way back into the main building, but instead you went down a random hallway and found a secluded balcony. it was quiet, calming.

it was exactly what you needed, your thoughts and surroundings were beginning to get too loud. you wrap your arms around yourself and stare up at the sky, wishing the moon and stars would explain the chaos in your head — and in your chest.

“‘m starting to think you just like to disappear on me,” a voice startles you. jon’s, of course. but his voice was soft, quiet.

you didn’t look back at him. “just needed to breathe,” you exhale.

there’s a beat of silence before he moves beside you, leaning onto the rail. “you mad at me?”

you bite your lip. “no.”

“then why you keep running from me?”

you sigh. “‘m not.”

“liar,” he says… again. except this time, he sounds wounded from your answer. this time, it escapes his lips like a truth that he doesn’t want to swallow.

“you always do this, y’know?”

you turn your head slightly. “do what?”

“pull back the second things start to feel real.” he wasn’t angry. he wasn’t frustrated. he sounded, hurt. and that alone almost broke you.

you flinched. “jon—“

“nah, you asked me to come here wit’ you,” he said gently, though you could feel the heat of where it was coming from. “said it was fake, just for show. and i said yeah. i said yeah, even though i knew damn well it was gon’ mess with my head, and i knew i shouldn’t have said yes — but i can’t help myself when it comes to you, ma.”

you feel your heart skipping beats. what hurts the most is the fact he hasn’t raised his voice at all. he’s still calm. still somewhat collected. because you know — no matter how angry, frustrated, or upset you can make him — he won’t ever raise his voice at you. he won’t ever make you feel lesser than. and somehow, that hurts more. honestly, you think you’d rather be stabbed with a knife.

you look down at your feet. “i didn’t mean to mess with your head,” you say, voice quiet.

he turns to face you for a second, “yeah… but you still did.” then he turns back to lean on the railing, looking out into the night.

there’s another beat of silence. you look at jon, heart melting at the sight. to the world, he’s jimmy uso. an uncrowned king. twin to jey. a member of the anoa’i bloodline in the wwe. to your family and friends tonight, he’s jonathan. your ‘boyfriend.’ easygoing. funny.

but to you? he’s just jon. jo. jdawg. all the unfunny nicknames you’ve come up with over the years. a guy whose always been there for you, physically or over the phone. one of the only people who really listen to you. the only person who has your detailed and, in his words, picky waffle house order memorized.

your best friend that you’ve been crushing on for forever. except you never accepted it, until now.

you twiddle with your fingers as you break the silence. “saw you with trinity.”

he looks at you and blinks. “yeah. i told you, we was just catching up. she wasn’t even gonna come today.”

“you looked happy,” you say, your voice low. suddenly you felt small under his gaze. “comfortable, you know? like… like you used to be.”

he stood up straight, moving closer to you. close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “so what? you mad about that?”

“i’m not mad.”

“you jealous?”

you hesitated. he noticed.

his jaw clenched. “baby, just say it. for once, say what you really feelin’, ma.”

you look away, “i can’t... you wouldn’t get it.”

he brings his hand up to your face, forcing you to look at him. “then make me get it.”

you take a deep breath.

“i asked you to be my date tonight because i was tired of showing up alone. tired of the relentless comments from my family about when my wedding would be. and because i thought if i could pull this off with anyone, it’d be you. because you’re always there. you always show up for me. and i’m grateful that you do. i’m grateful that you’re someone i can count on, and for agreeing and being here with me. but somewhere between the car ride and champagne toast, i forgot this was fake.”

his breath caught.

you kept going, though your voice was beginning to shake. “you know, when we first met, i remember thinking to myself that you were the finest thing i’ve seen in a while. but as we got closer, i couldn’t let myself give into that. i wouldn’t. so i never accepted it. i just let our relationship be as ‘best friends’ and pushed my feelings aside. and i thought i got over it — thought after all these years, i didn’t feel that way towards you anymore.”

now you can feel the tears starting to form and well in your eyes. “until today. today, i started holding your hand when no one was looking — when i didn’t have to hold your hand. i started talking about you to my family as if we’re a married couple. i started wondering if you could hear my heart pounding out of my chest when you held me as we danced… wondering if you were looking at like me like i wasn’t just a friend, or if i really was just losing my mind.”

jon stared at you, eyes dark, intense. you could see the storm brewing behind them. yet, he was still unreadable. you couldn’t tell just what was going on in his head.

“then i saw you with her,” you whisper. “i felt… lost. confused. angry. but then it hit me — i’m not your girl. you’re not mine. i don’t get to feel jealous. i don’t get to want more. i don’t get to yearn for more. because this whole thing was fake to begin with… and i’m just the idiot who caught feelings along the way.”

a suffocating and heavy silence had settled.

you looked down. “i know this wasn’t real… that this was all fake. i get it. i’m the one who prefaced this anyways… i just didn’t think it’d hurt.”

then his voice broke through, low and hoarse.

“it’s been real to me.”

you froze.

what the hell does that mean?

your eyes met his.

“i said yes to this… ‘cause i been wantin’ this — wantin’ you — way before you even asked me.”

he lets out a breath. “i thought — maybe if i was close enough, you’d start feelin’ the same too. figured it was better than acting like i don’t feel this way at all.”

you opened your mouth, but he wasn’t finished.

“you think i liked watchin’ you laugh with other guys? when i know they ain’t even funny? think it didn’t kill me seein’ other guys flirt wit’ you when they couldn’t tell you a damn thing about yo’self? when they don’t know the way you like your pancakes or how you sleep cuddling that plushie i got you ages ago?”

your throat tightened.

he stepped impossibly closer as his hands reached for yours. “you said i looked happy talkin’ to trin… but you wanna know the truth?”

you nod, barely.

“i was tryna distract myself from you, mama. from how beautiful you look tonight. from how bad i wanted to kiss you in front of everyone and ruin this damn lie between us. from how scared i was that when you woke up tomorrow, this wouldn’t have meant anything.”

“you think this ain’t real? that i don’t see you? he asks, voice cracking. “you think i ain’t notice how you been grabbing my arm tonight when you’re uncomfortable? think i don’t know the way you shut down when you’re scared? that you’d rather pretend you don’t care than admit to what you feeling?”

the tears that were welling in your eyes began to spill out. you swallowed hard, trying to blink them back.

his hands come back up to cup your cheeks. “i don’t care if this started out as fake. it ain’t fake to me. hasn’t been for a long time. i’ve been yours, baby. you just ain’t looking close enough to see it.”

you feel something collapse in your chest. walls, maybe. walls you’ve spent far too long trying to keep up.

you close your eyes for a moment, leaning into jons touch. “i see you too,” you whisper. “always seen you, i just didn’t think i was allowed to want you.”

he exhaled like he’d been holding that breath back for years. “you’re allowed, i swear to God baby, you’re allowed.”

you smile, fingers reaching for his suit jacket, curling into the lapels like you need something to anchor you. he didn’t hesitate, immediately wrapping his arms around you. you felt safe, warm — at home. he pulled you in like you belonged there. like you always had.

and when he finally kissed you — slow, deep, careful — it was everything you’ve wanted and been avoiding in one. everything he’s been waiting for.

when you finally pulled away, your hand rested on his jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone.

“still think this is fake?” he asks, breathless with a smile.

you shake your head, grinning. “not even a little bit.”

and little did you know that a few years later, you’d finally have that wedding of your own, with jon standing at the end of the aisle. and it was everything you could’ve dreamed of.

note2 this might be the earliest i’ve ever posted LMFAO #improvement

#jimmy uso #jimmy uso imagine #jimmy uso imagines #jimmy uso fic #jimmy uso fanfiction #jimmy uso x reader #jimmy uso x you #jimmy uso x yn #jimmy uso fluff #wwe #wwe fic #wwe fanfiction

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