#i liked it but i would have written it better

[lovecla]

STUCK WITH YOU ; QUINN HUGHES.

❄︎ pair: quinn hughes x y/n.

❄︎ synopsis: of all the things y/n thought she was going to do on christmas eve, being stuck with her sister’s brother-in-law, quinn hughes, wasn't one of them.

❄︎ word count: 5.6k

❄︎ chapter warnings: unedited, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, use of the word slut (once), softdom!quinn, dirty talk.

💌 from me to you: merry christmas, babies 🩶 i hope all of you had a great time and lots of delicious food. 1st of all, i’d like to apologise bc i got carried away with the word count! 2nd of all, i’m sorry about how dirty this is… this was supposed to be wholesome and cute but i don’t know what happened 😭 sorry…. anyways, as always, forgive me for this poorly written smut and share with me your thoughts! i love you! ♡

𖧷

Ever Since your sister started dating one of the most known hockey players, Luke Hughes, your life changed— for the better, that is. It’s not like you’re used to all the attention, but it’s nice to attend parties and meet your favorite hockey players for free.

But, the only issue you didn’t see coming when she announced that she was, in fact, very much in love with the youngest of the Hughes brothers is that now you have to constantly coexist with your long time celebrity crush, Quinn Hughes.

It’s an old thing, your situation with Quinn Hughes. You first started noticing him during his time in college, when he was just eighteen.

None of your friends understood what was so special about him but you just told them they didn’t have to: Quinn Hughes is one of the most attractive men you have ever seen, and you’ll stand by that until the end of your days.

When your sister decided that she would make Luke Hughes hers, you remember laughing and saying: He’ll be yours when Quinn Hughes’s mine.

Turns out, Luke is your sister’s.

And, well. Quinn’s not yours.

When you’re around him, during dinners and parties, you almost don’t even acknowledge him. It’s just because you don’t know how to be around him without immediately blushing and cringing at your own words.

It’s like you’re a teenager all over again, but what else can you do, really. He’s attractive, he’s funny and he cares about the people he loves; you cannot not be in love with someone like him.

But now you’re his brother’s sister in law and have been for the past year. You have been doing a great job at not staying in the same room as him for too long, and even if you can come off as rude or mean, it’s better than to get caught while watching him with lovey eyes.

It’s December 24th, and you’re on your way to your sister’s house, where you’d spend Christmas with her— and since she’s only arriving later that night because of work, you’ll be there earlier to arrange things for her.

You’re annoyed by the fact that she has to work until late during Christmas time but at least you’ll get to spend the night with at least one of your family members, since your parents are out of town.

What’s also annoying is the fact that it’s cold and snowing. Not just normal, winter type of snow but North-Pole type of snow. You’re shivering inside your car, because your heater is broken and you stupidly decided that it’d be a great idea to wear just leggings and a sweatshirt.

You park in front of her house, sighing and trying to move as fast as your frozen limbs could. You’re also carrying a hundred bags with you, because decorating is your favorite part of Christmas and knowing your sister and her workaholic personality, you know that she probably doesn’t even have her tree out of her attic yet— so you’ll have to do the whole decorating thing by yourself.

Which you silently prefer because there’s nothing you hate more when people try to dictate where your ornaments should go.

You ring her doorbell first, before dumbly realizing that she’s probably at work already, so you just start looking for the spare key she gave you when the door opens, making you lift your head up with a smile, only to drop it two seconds later.

“Oh.”

Quinn’s looking back at you with a polite smile, and you’re not sure that what you’re seeing is actually real because why the hell would Quinn Hughes be at your sister’s house during Christmas?

“Hi, Y/n.” He says, leaning against the door frame.

You frown without even noticing it. Why didn’t she warn you that he would be at her house?

You’ve been staring at him for what feels to be hours, when he speaks again: “Aren’t you… cold?”

You realize that he’s right and you are cold. Cold and tired because you’re still holding the heavy bags, so you just nod and watch as he opens the door more and reaches for the bags in your hand, picking all four of them up like they’re not heavy at all and letting you in.

You’re still in shock and shivering when you close the door behind you, welcoming the warm air inside the house, thankful for your sister’s amazing heating system.

Quinn walks back to the living room and you grab your phone, dialing your sister’s number and putting the phone against your ear.

“Y/n? Are you—”

“Why didn’t you tell me he would be at your place?!” You shout slash whisper, hiding behind her clothes rack.

“Who’s he? Why are you whispering?”

“What do you mean who’s he?” You hiss. “I’m talking about him!”

“Who’s… Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

Her laugh makes you blush. “I didn’t think he’d arrive so soon. I told him he could come later because you’d be the only one there so I just guessed… well. Nevermind.”

“What do I do?!” you sound so desperate it’s almost funny. “I can’t be here! You know I—”

“Y/n, stop freaking out. It’s just Quinn,” you can almost hear her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Go decorate and do all that stuff you like to do during Christmas. I’ll pick up the food goodies when I leave work, so please just… be normal.”

“What do you mean be normal I can’t—”

“I gotta go. I love you. Bye.”

She hangs up the call and leaves you staring at your phone screen, contemplating how you would scape when it was so cold outside and Quinn’s already seen you so—

“Y/n? Are you playing hide and seek?”

You immediately get out of your sister’s clothes and smile awkwardly, almost opening the front door and standing in the middle of the road, waiting for someone to run you over.

“No, I—” you stutter, looking everywhere but him. “I was just… talking to my sister…”

“I see,” he says. “Is she okay? It’s snowing outside, and you’re still shivering.”

How the hell did he notice that?, you ask yourself, before nodding.

“She is, yeah. She’s working.”

You step further inside the house, walking past Quinn like he’s some type of virus. Besides the huge tree sitting in the corner by the TV, your sister’s house is poorly decorated, just like you predicted, so at least you’ll have something to busy yourself with until she arrives.

“She told me she’d work until late and she said I could come and help you out with your decorations until she and Luke arrive.” He explains, and you turn around, raising your eyebrow at him, confused.

“Luke’s coming?” You ask.

“He is, yes.”

“I thought… I thought you guys would spend Christmas with your parents.” You say, because that’s what you heard your sister saying.

“Well, they’re coming too,” he chuckles, putting his hand inside his front pockets. “I’m guessing she didn’t tell you anything?”

“No, I thought—” you start, but then you bite your lips, giving up mid-sentence. You didn’t want to sound rude by saying I thought it’d be the two of us only so you just stay quiet. “Nevermind. It’s nice that you all get to spend Christmas together.”

Quinn stares at you for a few seconds before nodding. “I’m sorry if you’re upset.”

You frown, shaking your head.

“I’m not, I promise. I just wasn’t expecting all of you,” you reply, embarrassed. “I brought my Grinch sweater…”

He laughs, and you have to stop yourself from smiling too.

“It’s okay. I’ll wear my Cindy Lou one.”

You want to yell at him and tell him to stop being nice, but you already know that’s just how he is. That’s one of the reasons you like him so much.

You look outside your sister’s big window and frown, noticing that the snow is only falling faster, and the street is white everywhere now. Even your car is barely visible.

“It’s getting ugly,” you say, pressing your lips into a line. “I hope it stops soon.”

“I don’t know about that…” he comments, sitting on the couch next to your bags. “I did see a blizzard warning in my weather app today.”

“What?” you almost shout. “Are you sure it was for today?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “That’s why I came earlier. I thought it was dangerous for you to stay here alone.”

You want to ask him what one thing has to do with the other but you’re too busy blushing over his sentence to do anything else.

“I’d be just fine, but thank you,” you mumble. Sighing, you look down at your clothes. “I’m going to change and then start decorating.” You announce, not even sure why.

“You should probably put on something warmer,” he looks down at your clothes before running his fingers through his hair. “It’d be a shame if you caught a cold.”

You don’t say anything, just nod and make your way to your sister’s bedroom, happy that you’re both the same size. Once you find a comfort, two piece set wool outfit, you grab it and change, immediately welcoming the warmth it brings.

You also spend more time in your sister’s bedroom than you should, sitting on her bed and contemplating what you should do.

It’s not like Quinn’s a bad person or someone difficult to be around, but you get shy really easily and he happens to master the art of making you embarrassed, even if it’s not in a bad way.

He’s probably not even aware of it, too, because he’s just a really kind person and that’s just how he treats everyone he likes.

He doesn’t like us, your brain reminds you, he’s just polite.

Whatever.

You get back to the living room and find him still sitting on the couch, watching some random, Christmas movie. You reach for your bags, trying to open them as silently as you could, not wanting to disturb him.

You remove the plastic boxes full of ornaments and distribute them around you, separating them by color and size. It’s therapeutic to you, and it helps to calm your brain down.

Soon, the fact that Quinn’s in the same room as you, alone, doesn’t even cross your mind. You’re having fun decorating your sister’s empty tree, making it beautifully decorated and ready for the night.

After what’s probably thirty minutes, you reach for the last item inside your boxes, which is a bright, yellow star, heavily bedazzled. It’s been yours since you and your sister moved out of your parents’ house and you love it more than all of your other Christmas decorations combined.

The only issue is that it should sit on top of the tree, and usually it wouldn’t be a problem, because your sister had been letting you decorate her tiny tree for the past years, and you’ve been able to reach it just fine. But this year she decided that she wanted to challenge you and she bought a tall one, so now you can’t really reach the top, and you only realize it after jumping for a few minutes and not even touching the top once.

“Do you need any help?”

Quinn’s calm voice startles you, and you hold back a scream. You had forgotten that he was sitting just behind you, and probably had been watching you embarrassing yourself for the past three minutes.

You’re feeling your cheeks warm when you answer: “No, I… well. Maybe?”

He chuckles, getting up. “Does your sister have a ladder?”

“No, she doesn’t,” you roll your eyes. “She says someone as tall as her should do just fine without one.”

“I don’t understand,” he laughs. “She’s just a few inches taller than you. There’s barely a difference.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling her.” You say, annoyed. “I can just grab a chair—”

“No, let me help you.” He walks towards you, and when you’re just about to tell him he’s not going to reach the top by himself either he does something that sends you to another world.

He picks you up effortlessly, putting you down on his left shoulder, and hands you the star like he wasn’t holding another human on one of his shoulders.

You put the star on the top of the tree, moving automatically because your brain hasn't been working properly ever since you stepped into your sister’s house.

“Are you done?” he asks, and he doesn’t even sound tired. “Do you need me to hand you anything else or—”

“No, you can… put me down, please.” You mumble, blushing as he grabs your waist and slowly pulls you down until your feet are touching the floor.

He’s standing behind you, chest glued to your back, and you hold back a yelp, stepping away like his touch is deadly.

“Uh, thanks?” It sounds like a question, but you don’t repeat it again. You turn around, watching as he smiles and nods.

“It looks great, Y/n.”

You also smile, because you always do it whenever people compliment your decorations skills. “Thanks. Again.”

“Well,” he shrugs, looking around. “What do you want to do now?”

You mimic his move, looking around your sister’s living room.

“I mean, I don’t know,” you hum. “Maybe set the table? I know it’s early but—”

“Yeah. We can definitely do that.” He starts walking towards the kitchen and you freak out.

“What!” you yell, and he stops, turning back around and looking at you with confused, pretty eyes. “I mean— what do you mean we?”

“Oh,” he shrugs. “I thought I could help.”

“Are you… like… serious?” You frown.

He frowns back. “I was, yes… are you one of those people who don’t like when people try to help because you’re afraid they’ll end up messing up with your arrangements?”

“Well, yes and no,” you laugh, only to shake your head after. “But it’s not that. I’m sorry, I just… I’ve never seen a man get up to help before. Especially during Christmas.”

He seems to take a while to process what you had just said, but then he laughs, beautifully you’d say.

“They weren’t raised by Ellen Hughes, Y/n. I was.”

You smile, realizing you were utterly fucked. And not in a good way.

You and Quinn worked in silence, and even though you almost dropped the plates twice with how nervous you were, this moment will probably keep repeating itself forever inside your head, from the moment you wake up to the moment you'll go to sleep.

He’s calm and he listens to each one of your orders without hesitation, just nodding and doing as you say. He carries the heavy stuff and just lets you busy yourself with making everything pretty, which you do.

You’re about to tell him that you’re done when the TV catches your attention.

“Good evening, and Merry Christmas Eve, everyone. This is Nicholas Edwards reporting live with an urgent weather alert. It’s shaping up to be a Christmas Eve like no other—because we are in the midst of a blizzard that shows no signs of letting up anytime soon.”

“Oh my God,” you hear someone saying, and realize that it was you. You move until you’re standing in front of the TV, covering your mouth with your right hand.

“Right now, snow is coming down at an incredible rate, with visibility dropping rapidly. Winds are gusting up to 40 miles per hour, creating near whiteout conditions in many areas. And the latest forecast? The snow isn’t expected to stop until early tomorrow morning—Christmas Day! That means we’re looking at significant snowfall totals, possibly more than 18 inches in some spots.”

“Oh my God,” you repeat, looking at Quinn before looking back at the TV again.

“Officials are urging everyone to stay indoors tonight. If you don’t absolutely need to be out, don’t risk it. Roads are treacherous, power outages are a real possibility, and emergency crews are working hard to keep up.”

“What about my sister and your family?” you ask, almost rhetorically, because you know Quinn knows just as much as you. “They can’t come now because it’s dangerous.”

“I’ll try to call my parents,” he says, reaching for his phone already. “Can you call your sister, please?”

“Already doing it.” You say, dialing your sister’s number.

“So… you saw the news.” Is the first thing she says after picking up and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, Quinn and I did,” you say. “What are we going to do? It’s not safe for you to drive around and you’re definitely not driving thirty minutes back to your house in this weather.”

“I guess you’re right,” she sighs. “Luke and I are together, though. He saw the news before I did and drove me to his and Jack’s apartment since it’s closer to my workplace…”

“So, you’ll stay at their place?” You frown.

“What else can I do, right?” she chuckles, but you can tell she’s just as upset as you. “At least you’re stuck with the sibling that knows how to cook.”

“Hey!” You hear one of Quinn’s brothers, probably Jack, yelling in the back.

“You’re probably right,” you mumble. “Well. We’ll see each other tomorrow then?”

“‘Course we will, bubba,” she sounds joyful again. “Merry Christmas, Y/n. I love you. Tell Quinn I said Merry Christmas to him too!”

“I will,” you nod, even though you know she can’t see you. “I love you too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

You stare at your phone screen until it turns black, and sigh. Quinn finishes his phone call and stares at you, blue, fond eyes looking at you with care.

“I guess you heard the same thing as me.” He says and you nod.

“They’re not coming.”

“And neither are my parents,” he sighs. “They’re stuck in their hotel. They’re not letting people leave.”

“God, this sucks,” you grunt, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “We don’t even have food. My sister was supposed to pick it up after she finished her shift but…”

“I’m sure I can figure something out,” Quinn says and you can tell he’s trying to sound positive. “Come on, stop pouting.”

You frown. “I wasn’t pouting.”

“Yes, you were,” he smiles. “You do that whenever something doesn’t go your way.”

“I— how do you even know that?” You ask, genuinely amused. He just shrugs and walks back to the kitchen, leaving you and your one hundred thoughts about him alone. “Quinn!”

Dinner goes well. It’s silent and calm, but not in an embarrassing, awkward way. Quinn knows how to cook really well, and his food makes you hold yourself back so you won’t kiss him.

His lips probably taste amazing, just like the rest of him. Sometimes, when your thoughts about how Quinn could make you feel good are too much, you slip your hands under your covers and touch yourself, while imagining your hands are his.

You always feel so deeply embarrassed afterwards, and it takes you a while to convince yourself that you’re not a maniac and getting horny after thinking of your sister’s boyfriend's incredibly hot brother is lowkey expected, because he looks like a God.

You both returned to your bedrooms after the clock hit midnight and you both called your families, with you sleeping in your sister’s room and Quinn sleeping in the spare bedroom.

Although, you haven’t even thought about closing your eyes and going to sleep, because you know you won’t be able to— not when Quinn has been nothing but kind to you the entire night and definitely not when he’s only two doors away from you.

You can feel your body starting to get hot, and you want to shout at it, telling yourself to let it go, because you and Quinn won’t ever be a thing.

You look at the clock sitting on your sister’s bedside table and sigh, reading the late hours. Two thirty-six a.m. and you’re nowhere near Dreamland.

Even though you’re basically at the entrance of Hornyland.

Shaking your head, you get up, deciding to brew some chamomile tea for you, since it always helps you feel sleepier and, hopefully, less horny.

The lukewarm air hits your bare thighs and you’re reminded that you’re not wearing any pants— just one of your sister’s oversized sweaters and panties.

You look around the dark house, watching as snow continues to fall outside, and make your way to the kitchen, walking past Quinn’s closed door and trying not to make any sound.

And you would’ve been successful with your task, if it weren’t for the one plastic cup that fell out of the cupboard when you tried to grab your sister’s kettle.

It fell on the floor and bounced three times before you managed to grab it again. You waited to see if you would hear Quinn’s door open, but since you didn’t, you moved on with your task. While you waited for your water to boil, you leaned against your sister’s island, resting your chin in your hand.

“I thought you were asleep.”

This time, you don’t hold back the yelp that comes out of your mouth. You were so worried about waking Quinn up that you hadn’t considered the fact that he, just like you, might as well not have been able to sleep.

He’s sitting on your sister’s couch, wearing sweatpants and nothing else, looking at you with an indecipherable expression. His entire body is illuminated by the moonlight, and he looks gorgeous.

“Quinn. You scared me,” you put your hand over your heart, feeling your cheeks warm when you realize the movement made your sweater go up, and now Quinn probably saw your underwear. “Uh—”

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” he gets up, and he does look apologetic. He gets closer to where you were standing and you can help but take a take back. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “No. You?”

“I can’t either,” he says. “Too many thoughts.”

You desperately want to ask him what kind of thoughts are keeping him away from his bed, but you remember that it isn’t your place. And the best thing you can do for yourself right now is stay away from him.

“I— I’ll leave you to it then—”

“Why are you always running away from me?”

His serious tone makes you stop. You look up and stare at his eyes, looking like a child who had just been caught eating sweets before dinner.

Your answer is only natural: “I’m not?”

“Yes, you are,” he steps closer, and the distance between the two of you is now shorter. “Did I do something?”

“What?” you gasp. “No, of course not!”

“Then, you just don’t like me?”

“Gosh, why is it with the Hughes that you’re always so straightforward?” you mumble, frustrated. “I promise you, nothing’s wrong.”

“Is it because you want me to fuck you?” He raises his brow and you almost drop dead in front of him.

“What.”

It’s almost comical how your eyes double in size and how your mouth opens, just like in the cartoons. You’re trying really hard not to pack your things and leave, because you’re sure something possessed Quinn.

“I’m not dumb, y’know,” he starts. “I can tell when someone’s interested in me, and you aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Quinn—”

“At first,” he continues, paying you no mind. “I thought you were just shy. Then, I realized you only acted that way with me, but I thought you just didn’t like me. But…”

He lifts his hand up and caresses your cheek, the touch making you shiver instantly.

“Would someone who doesn’t like me stare at me like you do?” He keeps touching your face, the light feather touches barely there, but keeping you restless anyway. “It’s so sweet when you blush like that.”

“Quinn…” you try, once again. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I—”

“Uncomfortable?” he chuckles, like the word alone is enough to make him laugh. “No, sweetheart, you made me hard.”

You blush, thankful that the moonlight isn’t enough to show your red cheeks. “O-Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” he smiles, lifting your face just slightly with his thumb on your chin. “Can I kiss you, Y/n?”

I thought you’d never ask, you think. “Yes,” is what you say.

His lips taste like peppermint and his touch on your skin feels like fire. He presses your body against the counter, the cold marble hitting the back of your naked thighs and making you shiver.

It was a pleasant contrast, though: the warmth of his hands holding you close with the coldness of the stone making you shiver.

He kissed you fervently and you moaned inside his mouth, forgetting your shyness and running your fingers through his silky, soft hair. It was like opening presents on Christmas morning, because ever since you were a teenager you’ve been wanting to get your hands on him and now—

“You were right,” you say, breathless. Quinn tilts his head to the side, confused. “I want you to f-fuck me.”

He smirks, mischievously, and it’s probably one of the hottest things you have ever seen.

“Here?” he asks, chuckling.

“No,” you laugh. “My sister would kill me.”

“Mhm.” It’s all he says before picking you up once again, manhandling you however he wanted for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

His bed is untouched when he lays you on it, a clear signal that he hadn’t even laid on it yet. Your sweater rode up, leaving your belly and your panties exposed.

Even though you’re not the type of girl to get embarrassed while having sex, you can feel your cheeks getting warm under Quinn’s lustful gaze. You have imagined this situation so many times before but you never actually thought your dreams would come true, so all of this is still hard for you to take in.

“I can actually hear your brain thinking, Y/n,” Quinn chuckles, standing in front of you. The outline of his dick is so noticeable it has your mouth dry.

“It’s not everyday your crush of years take you to bed,” you let out, only realising what you had just said when you watch his eyebrow going up, and a malicious smile decorate his beautiful face. “I mean—”

“Trust me, Y/n, if I hadn’t spent the last year thinking you hated me, you would’ve ended up in my bed from the moment I laid my eyes on you.”

He leans forward, then starts to pull your panties down. It’s embarrassing to say the least because you know that the fabric which was once pearly, cotton white, is now transparent and ruined. Quinn doesn’t seem to mind that— in fact, the smirk on his face just continues to grow.

“You have such a pretty pussy, baby,” he says, and you almost choke on your own spit. “Been thinking about you for so long I’m half convinced this is just another dream.”

He drops your underwear somewhere, and places his index finger between your wet folds, the cold touch contrasting with your hotness. He rubs, up and down, slowly and steady. It has you biting your lips, hard.

“Was it like that with you too, Y/n?” he asks, tone one octave deeper. “Endless dreams of how I would fuck you senseless, leave you wet and whimpering in my sheets, pussy dripping with my cum.”

He kept getting closer to your clit each time he opened his mouth to talk, but he still wasn’t touching it, which was starting to frustrate you.

“Quinn—”

“I’d always wake up hard, with my dick throbbing inside my pants, and you know what I’d do?”

He places his finger on your engorged clit, but doesn’t do anything, just— waits.

“Ask me what I would do, Y/n.” He orders, and you moan before complying.

“What, ah, what would you do?” you ask, and he starts moving his finger again. “Ah.”

“I’d fuck my hand. Wrap my dick around them, holding it tightly, imagining it was your cunt squeezing me like that,” he confesses, opening your legs more, leaving you spread in front of him like you’re nothing but a cheap whore. “And I’d come so hard, imagining I was filling you up. In the next morning, I’d shake hands with you, watching you give me that sweet smile of yours, not even knowing that I had just used it to touch myself while imagining it was you.”

He pressed two fingers on your hole, making you clench around nothing while he seemed to be having fun with your struggle.

“Was it like that with you, too?” he asks again, but you can tell by his reaction that he wasn’t expecting you to answer. Yet, you do it anyway.

“N-not dreams,” you breathe, as he inserts two of his fingers inside you, blue eyes never leaving yours. “When I couldn’t sleep, I’d, ah, touch myself, and pretend it was you.”

“Yeah?” he hums, sinking his fingers deeper inside you, the wet sound of sex leaving you dizzy. “Such a naughty, little slut.”

You moan, and Quinn stops holding back as he starts finger fucking you, finding your sweet spot and curling his fingers up until he had you trashing under him. You took pride in knowing your body and mastering the art of touching yourself, but not even in your wildest dreams you’d imagine that having something inside you could feel this good.

You’re not even holding back your sounds, you just let Quinn hear how insane he drives you, and good you’re feeling. You have your eyes closed— because holding eye contact with Quinn might be too much for you to handle— and your boobs exposed, since your sweater rode all the way up.

You can feel your orgasm starting to build up and just when you’re about to warn Quinn about it, he pulls his fingers back, making you cry, loudly.

“Wha— why?” you sound needy and desperate but you pay it no mind.

Quinn smiles, so sweet and kind that you wouldn’t even imagine what came out of his mouth afterwards.

“You’ll come on my cock tonight, sweetheart. I’ll make sure of it.”

The rest of what happens is basically history.

He removes his sweatpants and his dick hits his stomach, the tip almost purple with how red it was. The precum leaking from it made you lick your lips, imagining how good it would feel to have that in your mouth.

He throws the pants somewhere, and lays on top of you, right in the middle of your spread thighs. He looks down and holds his dick, rubbing it up and down on your folds, mixing your wetness with his, and just the view is almost enough to make you come.

He rubs the tip on your clit, and you watch as your swollen, needy button throbs under the nasty touch, and how your pussy leaves his dick glistening with how wet you were.

“I’ll fuck you now, okay?” His voice is calm, and soft, different from previously. You nod, smiling shyly. “Words, baby.”

“‘Mkay,” you answer, closing your eyes as he inserts himself inside you, slowly.

You can feel your walls opening up for him, and even though you’ve had sex before, nothing will ever top this. He’s thick, and you can feel him everywhere, deeper and deeper.

“Holy shit, Quinn,” you say, turning your hands into fists.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby,” he hisses, putting his hands on each side of your face. “Squeezing me so good, fuck, Y/n, I might come in seconds if you keep squeezing me like that.”

He removes his dick from you, leaving just the tip, only to slam it back in you, fucking you senseless, just like he told you. The smell of sex and sweat filled the room almost as quick as the tears fell from your eyes, the feeling of finally getting what— or who— you wanted making you cry tears of joy.

He kept fucking you, and once his lips found yours once again, you knew you were done. You came on his dick, like he said you’d do, moaning inside his mouth and pulling his hair, harshly.

“Fuck, Quinn, uh,” you inhaled his scent as his naked body engulfed yours completely. “Fuck, fuck.”

“It’s like you were made to, uh, take my cock,” he grunts, his thrusts getting sloppier, a clear sign that he was about to come. “Say it, baby, tell me what you were made for.”

“Quinn—”

“Say it, sweetheart,” he whispers.

“I was made to take y-your cock,” you sob. “O-only yours.”

“Only mine?” you can hear the amusement in his voice.

“Only yours.”

“Good,” thrust, “Girl.” Thrust.

He takes his dick out of you just a few seconds before he comes, and the loss of it makes you whimper and hide your face in his neck. The warm feeling of his come against your used, swollen cunt is enough to get another orgasm out of you, even if a little bit weaker this time.

You both stay silent, only the sounds of your breaths filling up the room. The weight of his body on top of you is comforting, and even though you know he’s not putting all of his weight on top of you, you feel safe either way.

“Thank you,” you mumble, barely audible, since your face is still in his neck.

He chuckles, breathless. “What are you saying thank you for, baby? I should be the one saying thank you.”

“You just made all of my wet dreams come true,” you explain. “Even if we’re probably going to hell because no one should be having sex on Christmas.”

Quinn laughs and rolls to the side, resting his head on the pillow. “Touché, sweetheart, touché,” he turns his head to the side and looks at you. “Merry Christmas, Y/n.”

You smile. “Merry Christmas, Quinny.”

© property of lovecla, nhl masterlist.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

☆ fury unleashed!

── a blue lock fanfiction.

synopsis: when the blue lock boys lose a match and come back bitter 'n all to you. pairing: afab!reader x multiple men [aged up isagi yoichi, rin itoshi, hyoma chigiri, rensuke kunigami, nagi seishiro, reo mikage, oliver aiku.] // separate for all the characters. cw: NOT PROOFREAD. WRITTEN JUST CAUSE I WAS BORED. MDNI. nsfw concludes: mean men, penetration, handjob, blowjob, teasing, nicknames teasing, overstimulation, sex in too many places [shower, locker room, car, etc.], marathon sex, aiku's is slightly lovesick help me. like, share, subscribe guys :) m.list

♡ isagi yoichi!

all this anger and only one way to end it: you!

you knew your own boyfriend, of course. you had seen how his words turned razor-sharp on the field, how his gaze hardened and how he almost ripped his own players to shreds when the game didn't go his way.

but despite it all, isagi yoichi was not a sore loser. in fact, he took every loss as another opportunity to be better. maybe... maybe that's why seeing him like this was a wicked surprise.

"baby?" you had called out from the kitchen as the main door had opened, and then shut just as soon. a loud, rippling bang had reverberated through your apartment as you saw isagi pass you by.

"what's wrong? how was your... match?" you had tried again, calling after him. but isagi had just given you a tight-lipped smile, "don't wanna talk about it. 'm just gonna go shower, wanna join?"

"oh?" you had given him an easy smile, thinking you could knead away the tension from his shoulders as the hot water ran across his muscled body, "'course, baby."

that was thirty minutes ago, and now you could barely stand.

perched against the wet bathroom wall, the same hot water was a soothing sting against yoichi's administrations.

"ha-hah, yoichi!" your words were a rough pant, your eyes closing at the harsh thrusts.

but isagi yoichi was unforgiving.

sinking his canines into your shoulders, hot drool collected over the newly blossomed bruises before being washed down and slipping down your syrupy body.

he pulled away, his reddened lips connecting to your shoulders with a lewd string of glistening saliva. his crazed eyes came to search your face, and he brought up a hand to pull your cheeks into a harsh pout. his words were laden with unresolved anger, "can you fuckin' believe it? he didn't even score."

your words were a lost gurgle, eyes widening as he continued, "i really don't fucking get it. that fuckin' idiot."

the star player didn't even give you a moment to recover, using the same hand to press down on your mouth to suppress your gasps and broken whines.

you choked on your own sounds, his palm flat against your kiss-bitten lips as he continued fucking you into the wall behind you. using all his anger, isagi vowed to ruin you utterly the way he would have the rival team.

"y-ichi." your muffled words reached his ears, even more weak under the sound of the falling water crashing against the bathroom floor. the footballer nodded, half in his senses and half in delirium, "what?"

he pulled his palm back, the skin now tainted with your drool and you burst into a fit of moans, "'m gonna cum ag-again."

"oh?" the man bunched his brows together — as if he had quite forgotten what his actions were doing to you, "are ya?"

you nodded and your eyes snapped shut at his repetitive thrusts within your cunt. barely managing a coherent word, you mewled, "y-yeah. fa... faster, ichi ngh—"

isagi grinned, a man maddened who could only see one goal — and that goal being splitting you on his cock and fucking you even dumber if possible, "c'mon, gimme all of it."

"y-yoichi 'm gon—" your words burst inwards, toes curling and nails scratching down his biceps in a desperate effort to ground you. but despite your desolate reactions, your boyfriend kept fucking into your snug cunt, relishing in the spasming sensation against his needy cock.

as you found yourself coming back to earth, yoichi gently picked you in his arms. his biceps flexed, muscles shifting against your naked body as you slumped against him completely. the water was turned off, and he stepped out of the shower.

as yoichi lay you down on your bed, you smiled up at him for his sweet action, "t-thank you, yoichi."

but he just cocked an eyebrow. his words were nothing more than a soft hiss, "what for? 'm still angry."

oh? the night was still young, it seems.

♡ rin itoshi!

the man with jersey number 10 loses his sanity!

truth be told, there was always this air around rin — the kind that always made everyone assume he was mad. with his icy gaze on the field, and snarls and insults thrown around, it was hard not to assume that rin itoshi was a very bitter man.

but in all honesty, rin was never bitter with you. he tried to sigh away his annoyances, and kiss away his anger with you around. as cringe as it sounded, he couldn't help but melt whenever you met his gaze.

maybe that is why the younger itoshi never quite looked at you as he fucked all of his anger into your weeping cunt.

after a match gone wrong, rin had his hand pushing your face against his locker door as he fucked your pliant, destitute cunt with reckless abandon. his strong grip groped the fat on your hips and thigh, ensuring that each fucking thrust within your heat had you betting your sanity on a losing match.

his ITOSHI: 10 jersey held up by his teeth, hair damp from a match gone wrong, and the ITOSHI tag on his locker rattling with each hard thrust into you.

"fuckin' shit—" the man grunted, and the jersey glided down his milky abs and bunched on his waist. gripping your leg harder, your boyfriend pushed your back further in, deepening the sinful arch. his body chased yours, his chest pressing against your stuttering back.

a steady rhythm of thwap! thwap! thwap! resounded in the abandoned room. and the cool metal against your cheek was a stark contrast to the hot sting against the fat of your ass from his body colliding against yours.

"ri-in" you whined, still meeting each of his thrusts with a sly roll of your own hips despite your reluctant words. your skin burnt with another calculated smack! against your ass and your clawed at the metal — deprived.

seeing the desperate action, rin brought the hand on your head down to your hand and intertwined — such a romantic gesture despite the way he fucked into you as if you were nothing more than a toy.

"yeah— fuck, what?" rin thrust deeper at the desperate echoes of his own name. his achy tip rubbed against your volatile spot, smearing pre against your sodden walls with each careful movement.

"rin, p-please—" limbs trembling, your words almost slurred at the way his hand came back up and squished your cheek against the metal, "please aah— f-fuck."

"please what?" grunting, he brought his fingers to your throbbing clit. pressing swift figures against your, he pressed his chest against your back tighter.

rin repeated, this time with a harsh, little slap to your mewling cunt, "please what?"

"please..." barely managing to move your face under his grasp, you looked back at him. your bleary gaze met his sharp ones, and your wobbling lips sagged open to let out a pathetic request, "fuck me harder."

and rin itoshi — the ever stoic man — laughed. he laughed, trailing the hand that was pressing down your head down to your nape and dragging your entire body back into him and his deprived cock.

each pull back into his muscled body had your limbs spasming, each roll of his hips had him hitting your g-spot and each word past his spit-soaked lips led to your demise.

"fuck you harder?" his hips snapped at a deadly pace, brows bunching at the way his own girlfriend had become so cockdrunk, "you want that?"

you nodded just barely, still under the control of his palm on your nape.

"okay, then." rin hiked up your legs impossibly higher, and your muscles burned with each shove into you, "I'll fuck you harder."

♡ chigiri hyoma!

trust me, meaner than he looks!

"hyoma?" your brows knitted together, a soft frown across your face as you recalled the live telecasting of your boyfriend's match online earlier today.

his team had lost, badly at that. and here you were halfway across the world, just to see chigiri's breath stutter and jaw tighten on your camera screen.

"h-hyoma?" you tried again, just to be met with eerie silence on his end. but being a woman of unyielding devotion, you tried yet again, "'sokay, you guys did your best, didn't... you?"

but the man on videocall just grunted, a sliver of a nod from his side.

"hyoma," you tried one last time, "is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

and those words had landed you in this position.

"faster."

"b-but hyo—" your own hips jerked, too out of control as you tried to hold the position steady, "i can't. i c-can't do it anymore— nghh—"

with your phone carefully perched against your pillow, it showed your boyfriend all the obscene ways in which your essence dripped out of you and onto your shared bed. the sheets under you were tainted with your honeydew essence, a wayward breath stuck in your throat as you pulled and pushed the rabbit vibrator in and out of your greedy hole.

toes curling, head thrown back, teeth sinking into your bottom lips — it was so, so hard to keep your thighs apart and put on a show for your eerily calm boyfriend. the very same boyfriend who was currently using one hand to control the app and another to lazily tug at his erection.

"h-hyoma—" you whined again and your boyfriend cocked an eyebrow at your disheveled demeanor, as if he wasn't the very cause of it. "why're you whining so much? too much for you?"

and acting as if he were a benevolent man, chigiri clicked the button on his phone and the buzzing ended abruptly. the slightest of smiles tugged at his lips as he hummed, "that better?"

your arched back fell back onto the sheets, your sweat-slicked skin falling limp in disappointment. this wasn't the first time chigiri had shut off your toy, or the second, or even the third. your benevolent boyfriend had been turning the precious toy he had bought you on and off again, and again, and again on his vicious whims.

with a shuddered breath trapped within your chest, you looked at him and whined yet again, "can you ju-jus' fuckin' turn it back on."

"huh?" your pretty boyfriend bunched his eyebrows together and drew closer to his laptop screen. nimble fingers still tugging on his tip, coated with his pre, he almost laughed at your tone, "are you really giving me that fuckin' attitude?"

"n-no." your eyes widened, body coughing up a shiver at the way chigiri's cold words rung through the speaker. you swallowed but your mouth felt awfully dry, "h-hyoma... just please, please turn it on."

"fine." the pro-player pressed the button on the app with reckless abandon, and the toy started up against your drenched, quivering cunt... and then stopped yet again. throwing your head back dangerously, you felt your limbs shake with frustration, "hyoma. please."

and even with your eyes clenched shut, you could hear the slightest of smirks in his words, "say nicely. y'know i don't have it in me to be nice today, baby."

snapping your eyes open, you tried to meet your unsteady gaze onto the phone screen, "i'll be good. i'll be s'good, i p-promise— just please let me fucking... c-cum."

there must have been something worthwhile in your drunk, lewd words that made chigiri finally tap the button on his phone again. and this time, he threw his phone somewhere on his bed, aiming to let the device get lost within the foreign sheets.

this time, he planned to watch the show without any interruptions.

the buzzing against your needy clit, and the shove within your greedy, gummy hole rendered you useless with orgasm upon orgasm till all you were doing was babbling on and on and on about how fucking sensitive you were.

"s-stop." holding your thighs together, you brought them up so that the toy fucked into your pussy with another angle. tears pooled at the edge of your eyes, and you found yourself aching for freedom from this torment. words just a wet plea, you asked, "pl-please ohmygod— hyoma, fuck fuck fuuck—"

with the blood rushing in your ears, you missed your boyfriend sodden, little hum — a warning, "you can do more than that, can't you?"

♡ rensuke kunigami!

swear up and down, he's the devil!

you were sure there was god up there somewhere, because how else could you explain the very re-incarnation of devil that was fucking into your spongy spot? you couldn't quite see his eyes, but if you did, you were sure to find no traces of guilt in rensuke kunigami's eyes for the way he was ruining you.

the muscles in your thighs burned, your limbs pinned upto your chest with his broad palms. perspiration across your body dripped onto him, your soaked back rubbed against his chest as kunigami snapped his hips into your inviting, plush cunt with inhumane stamina.

"c'mon." he panted, hips following the soft rhythm of his syllables, "the last stretch, 's the last."

"fu-fuck, fuck fuck re-rensuk- nghhh—" your nails dug into the very hand that was holding you still, trying to pry him off your malleable body. but it was all in vain, he had already planned your demise.

your head lolled back as you found the pro-played clawing out another orgasm out of you. limbs spasming, lips kiss-bitten and raw, and your poor cunt bulging obscenely with his length within you — you didn't even know how you ended up in this situation.

rensuke had come home with a dangerous glint in his eyes — of course, you hadn't been able to see that.

he had come upto you as you were unloading the clothes from the dryer and had pressed such a sickly sweet hug to your back. his hulking body was steady against yours, and his breath was hot against your neck.

"rensuke?" you had laughed as his grip across your waist grew tighter slowly. bringing up a hand to his hair, you had softly patted him, "what's wrong, ren?"

"think you can help me?" kunigami had breathed the question out so gently, "let me fuck you, yeah? i had a hard day."

and despite being such a simple question, here you were with your throat scratchy and muscles aching.

your boyfriend had planted his feet onto your almost-broken bed with all his strength, using it to leverage nasty, bruising thrusts within your sensitive hole.

"jus-just a bit more." your boyfriend sunk his teeth into your shoulder, and you yelped at the added stimulus, barely coherent with whatever was going on. all you knew was that you were being ravaged by the beast underneath you.

with every mean, little thrust inside you, kunigami's jaw tightened, his muscles flexing and unflexing as he supported your completely limp body. he heaved again, a ragged promise on his tongue, "i promise, just a bit more. jus' hold on a l-little bit f'me, baby."

how were his words so sweet when his actions were not?

"you can hold out for me... ri-" a harsh roll into your cunt, and the man felt himself losing his coherence, "right?"

"uh huh. i- fuck oh ngh— i can, i can." being an ever-loving girlfriend, you nodded. frankly too cockdrunk to really grasp his words, anyways.

a bit of drool threatened past your lips, and all you were aware of was the dreadful coil in the pit of your stomach. it wrapped it's tendrils around your muscles, then your throat and lastly, your sanity.

but kunigami kept on babbling his candied lies, as if blinding you with his words would undo the hell he was unleashing on your poor, sensitive cunt. each word a rough pant, he reminded you, "you're doin' so well for me, holdin' out s-so well for me, aren't you?"

"i- i am, ren." you nodded, and he felt his tip ooze out nasty smears of pre to paint your insides at your pliant reactions. tightening his hand around you and holding you steady, the man brought his skin against you in an accursed symphony of skin upon skin, "good girl, such a fuckin' g-good girl... yeah?"

"just." smack! "a." smack! "little." smack! "more." smack!

his length throbbed inside your spasming, inviting cunt with heinous intentions. fucking into you like he was fucking into a ragdoll, he asked a question — a question you were too fucked dumb to even answer.

"we're going again, right?" kunigami nudged his face next to yours, holding your shivering body as he felt his own body tightening up, "when we finish?"

despite the lack of oxygen in your brain, and lack of logic in your system, your eyes widened as you babbled out your own nonsense chorus, "w-what? ren... but y-you said—"

"—again."

"b-but i can't..." walls spasming, you tried yet again to pry him off, "i can-not."

"but you can." the man pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, the kind that were in clear juxtaposition with the depraved plunges he placed within your heat. he repeated with just the tiniest bit of insanity mixed into his syllables, "you can."

♡ reo mikage!

got an heir wrapped 'round my finger!

"reo?" you had cocked your head to look at the mikage industry's heir's sideways, trying to check if he was okay after that failure of a practice match, "you okay?"

he hummed out a faint yes but his knuckles tightened against the steering wheels far too easily. chuckling, the words came out somewhat strained, "of course, why wouldn't i be?"

you had tried to put a palm on his thigh, just to find the clothed muscle tighten, "can i help?"

the car steered sideways on the long-abandoned road, now coming to a steady crawl as he parked it.

reo's voice shook, eyes clenching shut as he addressed you again, "can you?"

despite the dangerous lilt to his words, you couldn't help but trail the hand on his thigh somewhat higher, teasing him. you smiled, and your lips curled so cashmere at your lewd intentions, "i can help take your mind off of things, reo."

his veiny hand gripped the headrest harder, manicured nails indenting frenzied dents onto the expensive leather. strands of his hair fell in front of his face in shuddering gasps as you flicked your wrist with each tug of his sensitive cock.

down on your knees for the man, you looked up at him with a sinful gaze — the kind that had reo hiss out weak moans of your name with each one of your reckless flicks.

"reo, are you okay?" you purred, lips curling deviously at the way his entire body stuttered out a falsetto. from the bunched eyebrows, to the quivering lips, to his lead-like limbs — reo mikage was rendered useless under your kitten licks and sultry tugs, under your already pearlescent hands.

how many times had he come undone, anyways? two? three?

"thr-three." reo breathed out shakily.

the man attempted to nod quick after, trying to forge a sign of sanity despite his shaking thighs and curled toes.

oh? did you ask that out loud?

"three?" you cocked an eyebrow, the same vicious smile still tugging at your lips like you were planning to suck the soul out of him tonight. "then, you can still go for one more, right?"

at your purr, reo's eyes widened, "n-no, this is— 'senough. i f-feel better, i promise."

but your tugs didn't halt, still such cruelly pulling at his sensitive tip, "but you're being such a good boy for me, right?"

at the petname, reo let out such an obscenely saccharine moan. eyes rolling back, he ran his helpless fingers through his soaked, hued hair. thighs trembling all over again as the mikage industry heir almost cried, "y-yes."

maybe you were a woman capable of mercy. because you stopped the slow, dragged out flicks of your hands against his flushed tip slowly. half-standing, you leaned to press a kiss to the tip of his flushed nose.

"tell me, baby." you cooed, pressing another kiss to his cheek, and another to the side of his swollen lips. dragging your vixen-like figure over his body, you caged him in so helplessly, "tell me, think you can handle if i use you?"

"i— ngh ple-please." and you heard the most sinful whimper tear out of reo's throat, eyes all but rolling into the back of his skull with the way you straddled his hips and pressed his wet, sensitive dick up and down your syrupy folds.

still playing with the flushed mushroom tip, you found it all-too-easy to hook the tip against the hood of your drumming clit. repeating the action again and again, you found yourself lazily biting out a moan of his name.

afterall, reo mikage was being so nice.

he was holding his breath in his throat, clenching his fist around the leather, biting down obscene curses — all in an effort to be good for you.

so, ofcourse, you had to reward him, didn't you?

with a hasty roll of your hips, your ravenous cunt pulled in the tip of his aching cock. inch after inch, the veiny, overstimulated muscle stretched within you and—

"—fu-fuck, fuck, fuckk." reo panted, eyes widening and body shivering when he let out the salacious beads of his orgasm within your voracious cunt.

"'msorry, 'msor-ry," he clenched his eyes shut, not quite looking at you as you were pumped with his essence, "i did-didn't mean to... to so— soon."

when his jitters subsided, you hooked a careful finger under his sweaty jaw to pull him upwards. a soft hiss on your tongue, "feel better?"

reo nodded softly, and you smiled so easily at him. but maybe you missed that glint in his eyes, or maybe you forgot that reo's play-style was copying. because now his fingers pumped in and out of you, a sly smile on his spent face as his demolished you.

reo mikage said it real slow, "tell me, angel... think you can handle if i use you?"

♡ nagi seishiro!

breaking that pretty cunt tonight!

"sei!" you had turned your head from the couch to the door that had opened to reveal your boyfriend, "hey!"

hair damp and face monotonous, he had given you a nod, "hey."

"something wrong..?" your voice had trailed off as the man walked upto you and easily picked you up in his arms without even as much as a sliver of explanation.

"need a shower," nagi seishiro had quietly answered, yet you could hear the slight rattle in the fractures of his words, "just tired."

"s-sei... c-can I move?" now, your manicured fingers kneaded his shoulders, trying to ease away the tense feeling lodged within the fibres of his muscles. the snowy-haired man had his head in the crook of your neck, lapping on the soaked skin lazily at the slow gyrations of your hips against his.

sitting in the heated bath, it was your idea to cockwarm him, your idea to sit excruciatingly still to let your boyfriend feel better. and yet, as your slick glossed over his muscled thighs, you shuddered out a pathetic sigh, "s-sei, please..?"

it just had been so long, almost felt like an eternity with the way your drooling cunt kept clenching around him — brewing up a violent storm of heady desires in the bottom of your stomach.

"se-i." the syllable rolled of your tongue with another desolate plea but nagi just tipped his head back, ignoring your forlorn words.

the damp strands of hair stuck to his forehead and glinted under the overhead ambient lighting. he sighed, and his deltoids flexed as he stretched his limbs out on the bathtub's edge.

biting your lip, you tried again. this time growing mouthy, "sei, jus' let me move."

the man cocked an eyebrow, a feeble smile tugging at his lips with the way your aching cunt seemed to suck him in, "nah, don't feel like it yet."

"i-i'll do all the work," you found yourself striking a deal with a demon reincarnate, found yourself pleading to a deaf god, "i promise— jus' let me move."

at the statement, your stoic boyfriend laughed. and once done, he nodded — an action so soft that you would have missed if not for the fact that your entire body was finetuned to his. at his action, your depraved hips caught up a lewd rhythm. grinding up and down, his flushed divot caught against your fraught spots and with each manic plunge.

"shi—" his usually downturned eyes widened for just a second, a restrained mewl lodged in the back of his throat as your greedy pussy sucked up the sloppy, spilling pre, "s-slower, baby."

but you just looked at him so dolefully — with your wretched, doe eyes tearing and lips quivering, "n-no."

"can't go slower?"

"don— don't want to."

and despite the tension etched into his sore muscles and the meagre patience, nagi laughed. plump lips curling up, he planted a careful hand on your soft waist to support your delicate figure, "that good?"

after an eternity of cockwarming, how could nagi seishiro even ask you if it was 'that' good? how could he ask that when practically each trivial stutter of his achy mushroom tip against your walls had you gasping for air and throwing your head back?

but you didn't have the coherence to say all that, so, clawing your nails down the same flexed deltoids, you nodded vigorously, "mhm— y-yeah, so good sei—"

with each nod, your body shivered and cunt mewled distraught at the way his cock split you apart at his sheer length.

bringing his quick fingers up to your face, nagi plucked away the damp strands of hair from your flushed face with a soft sigh. tucking the same stand behind your ears, nagi rolled his pelvis once and you fell forward onto his chest.

his lips ghosting over the shell of your eyes, the pro-player smiled, "having fun?"

nodding again, you stole another needy gyration or two as if nagi couldn't feel it, as if he couldn't feel you — you and your filthy, yearning pussy pulsating around his dick.

you heard the slightest click of his tongue, "'msorry then."

"f-for what..?" before you could raise your head to meet his eyes, or to question his words — nagi seishiro splayed his fingers against the fat of your hips and pulled you up and down on his whims.

with each nasty smack! of skin on skin, the man seemed to hit a deeper spot and you— oh, you were seeing stars.

head lolled, eyes rolling back and nails still digging into his flesh to mark him — you came on nagi's dick with a few, mean strokes into your heat, "jes—jesus fuck! se-i... sei— ohmygod—"

still now out of your orgasmic bliss, still caught up in the trance of his skin against yours, you almost jumped when you heard nagi seishiro whisper again, "'msorry. trust me, i am."

wobbling lips too tired to conjure up a reply, you just looked up to a strange, almost barbaric look flash in his irises. his hips snapped into yours, his cock ramming into your bruised walls with an inhumane force.

"sorry, babe." the pro-player breathed out a half-baked excuse, "sorry— think 'm gonna break this pretty pussy tonight."

and you didn't miss the slightly sadistic resonance in his words. oh no.

♡ oliver aiku!

fwb aren't supposed to do this, right??

"what d'you want?" you had slammed the door open to see the man of the very hour — oliver aiku — standing at your door, leaning against your wall all so nonchalantly as if it weren't three in the morning.

rolling your eyes, you regarded the tired man, "what? hoe no.3 busy that you had to come to me?"

"don't be ridiculous," aiku slipped past you and into the familiar apartment he had spent far too many nights in. his cadence dropped low, "you're hoe no.3."

although bitter syllables clung like dew onto your glossy lips, you closed the door behind you anyways. "what do you want? we didn't have any plans today, righ—"

"needed some help." and the former captain found himself turning on his heel to face you, "needed to blow off some steam. please."

well, plans be damned. this was the first time the oliver aiku had uttered the word 'please' to you.

"oh my god—" one of your fists clenching against the fabric of his shirt while the other rubbed desperate figures against your sloppy clit, you barely held your gaze steady against his heterochrome eyes.

he had been so desperate — oliver aiku had been so desperate — that the dress that you were wearing had been hastily bunched up on your waist, and his shirt had stayed on.

he had kissed you, and then he had kissed you again and again and again till his lips were bruised and swollen and his head wasn't quite screwed on right.

shoving your figure against the nearest wall, the man had caged you in with a forbidden whimper of your name. his muscles shook, eyes searching your salvaged form like a predator on hunt, "i tried going on a run, i hit the gym— fuck, didn't fucking help."

the clicking of the belt, followed by a swift shove within your velvety hole, and you heard the man audibly hiss at the feeling of his tense erection bruising your walls with every dragged out, filthy plunge. he mumbled false nothings, praying to a deity that would never answer, "i tried everything. b-but you—"

now, clenching his jaw, the former u-20 captain tightened his hold against one of your thighs, stretching the limb out so that he could fuck into your sopping cunt harder. all while another hand supported your crumbling figures against the creaking bed.

"too much? too much?" meeting your pelvis against his in a lewd dance, the man grunted out strained words, "sorry— 'msorry, tough... tough day today, ma."

"mhm," you nodded, your sugary lips falling into an easy pout, "'s okay, what's wr-rong?"

oliver scoffed — you and him were nothing more than a series of horny, reckless favours, and yet you were looking up at him like you meant your question.

usually, your sessions were fast-paced; the sound of skin on skin, damp hair, scratches down his skin and bruises blossoming on your skin where people could see — rabid animals in a wicked arrangement. that's all you two could ever be.

but today, his thrusts were slower, more calculated despite the anger that lingered in each movement of his lagged limbs. and if you had been in your senses, you could see the sliver of yearning in his eyes as he took in your shaking figure under his gaze.

"i—" words a wet gurgle, he tried to think of the reason he was fucking you like this — soo slow, like you meant something more, "s-shit match."

"oh— aah—a-aiku!" whatever reply you had thought of dissolved as oliver shoved his tongue in your mouth. the muscles caught in a lewd dance, the pro-player tried to shove down any thoughts. moaning against him, you sounded so sinful... did you always sound like aiku's demise or was he imagining things in his lucid state?

when he parted from you, the glistening strings lingered between you — a haunting sign of the way you were making him feel. so, obviously aiku just clutched your leg harder — almost bruising — and fucked into your cervix.

body moving mechanically, each crevice of his mind was occupied by you. how soft your skin felt under his skin, how warm you were, how your breath hitched with another orgasm knocking down your insides.

and as you threw your head back, exposing your shuddering neck and chest, you clenched your eyes like you always did. weak fingers kept rubbing frenzied circles onto your drenched cunt, rosy cheeks scrunched up in a forbidden delight — oliver had seen this scene so many times, then... why did he feel so utterly stupid looking at you?

didn't he come here to blow off steam..? and yet, the pro-player felt like he had found more things to be worried about as he found himself spilling the pearlescent fluid within your plush cunt.

well, nothing another round or two couldn't fix, right?

a/n: did you know aiku is his first name and oliver is his last?? bro. insane. anyways make isagi and bachira kiss u losers i know they wanna. also, im sowry cause i know some part is long and some isn't, i have been writing this over the course of many days, hence, the inconsistency in writing style and length :') tagging: @fantastically-imperfect @moodswing101 @isabellalovesyou @mininji @scara-simp69 @heartfeltstarry @actuallynarii <3 hope you enjoy mwuah mwuah <3 m.list

[hurlingdown]

                     DRESS . . . TO IMPRESS ?

synopsis. in celebration of the most wonderful time of the year, the one piece men have prepared extra special gifts for you. zoro, law, luffy, ace.

tags. dom! reader, implied top! reader. christmas fluff, crossdressing, big muscly men in skimpy skirts, law in a nurse outfit, lingerie, heavy petting, dirty talk, kissing, horribly written crack (i inserted my humour into this), mentions of sex, fingering, cock-warming, rimming etc, don’t read this seriously, it gets progressively worse, spending the holiday season with them <3

a/n. this is my christmas gift to the one piece fandom. enjoy lol.

“merry christmas,” zoro grunted, and you felt a little dizzy from the overwhelming endorphin rush that went straight to your head and somewhere else. 

because this… this was something you would have never anticipated for a christmas gift. this was zoro you were talking about. the epitome of stoicism. had he been just… pretending all along? you would’ve expected something like an earring, maybe, to match his three. a love letter was simply out of the question… though a bouquet of poinsettias wouldn’t be over the top, if he had consulted nami in the first place. but this? this was just… breath-stealing. 

you watched as your lover rolled onto his stomach in his scanty outfit to show off the crystal pink plug that he had stuffed into his puffy rim, shooting you a coy glance over his shoulder. “well?” he hummed. “do you like it, babe?” 

“yeah,” you breathed out. “i love it. you look gorgeous. i think… i think i just fell in love with you all over again.”

he coughed, a blush rising to his cheeks, and yeah, this was something you were more familiar with—not the balmy heat shrouding your face, the dry crawl of your throat whenever you so simply looked at him, the hint of sweat building at your temples at the thought of doing nasty, sinful things to him. 

was he even real? were you dreaming? you better not be, because this was a meal you were going to spend your good time ravishing. 

“well, merry christmas to you, too,” you murmured lowly, climbing onto the bed after him, and he bit his lip with a shiver, raising his hips slightly to present you your christmas gift. you wasted no time in laying your hands on him, squeezing at the skin-tight fabric over his luscious thighs, giving his cushiony ass a small slap before smoothing over the warm ache. 

“gonna eat you out until you’re wet and sore, baby,” you told him, “and then i’m going to finger you while we binge watch shitty christmas movies together on the couch.” you licked your lips, pretending to think about what you were going to say next. “actually... might as well have you cockwarm me while we’re at it. and once we’re done with that, i’m gonna put it in your slutty hole and fuck you ‘til you start crying, okay?” 

“and after that too,” zoro mumbled, shifting onto his back and pulling you down for a soft, wet kiss that sent butterflies roaring in your stomach. 

TRAFALGAR LAW

“traf, sweetheart, have you seen my—oh.” 

“get. out.” 

“what are you wearing…?” 

“are you deaf? i said get out!” 

“hold on, okay? it’s not like i haven’t seen you naked before! just… is that a nurse uniform?”

but this was different from being naked. this was far more embarrassing. law looked at you with narrowed eyes, tone sharp with accusation that bordered on hurt. “what? you don’t like it?” he nervously bit his lip, pulling down his skirt and squeezing his legs together as though it would hide the very obviously aroused state of his crotch. 

“i do! how could i not? you haven’t even let me say anything yet!” you swallowed, feeling saliva seep into your mouth at the erotic sight before you. “you look so fucking hot, you have no idea. i love it, traf. i love it so much—” 

“okay, okay, i get it.” he huffed with feigned irritation, a small breath of relief escaping him as he shyly glanced at the floor, hands still clutching at the fabric of his dress. “m-merry christmas.” 

you took a few tentative steps forward until you stopped in front of him, and he frowned and turned away, heat rising to his cheeks. “don’t look at me like that. it wasn’t my idea, just so you know…” he swallowed when you put your hands on his bony hips and squeezed, subtly exploring the rest of his outfit with your eyes, and he sighed, relaxing a little. “hey, say something…” 

“sorry,” you chuckled, meeting his gaze again. “you’re just… beautiful. i love you. i love the fit. it looks so good on you… thank you for the christmas gift, love.” 

“and where’s mine?” he said, attempting to distract you from the deep flush on his cheeks. he slung his arms loosely around your neck, giving you an almost pouty look, to which your heart clenched at. “... don’t tell me you didn’t bring me one.” 

“oh, but i did.”

. . . you swore you tried so hard. but you could feel it creeping up on you, like a silhouette, surreptitiously tugging at the corners of your lips. fuck it. you just couldn’t hold back your smirk. you thought you were just absolutely brilliant, coming up with this idea of a gift. you knew he would love it. you just knew. 

“eyes on me, baby.”

maintaining sensual eye contact with him, you gently laced your fingers with his, pressing each of his knuckles to your lips in tender kisses. then, with a gentle smile, you guided his hand down, slowly, slowly, until it was fully pressed against the front of your trousers, right where the zipper was. you nudged your hips towards the cup of his palm, faking a moan.

“there’s your gift,” you murmured seductively, and watched giddily as his golden eyes widened in shock and arousal before a sharp, splitting pain on the side of your face knocked you out. 

“pervert!”

you laughed victoriously as you went down. like he wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black with that cute little outfit of his.

MONKEY D. LUFFY

“merry christmas!” you heard a deafening guffaw before something crash-tackled you from behind, and you fell onto the floor in a heap of rubbery limbs. 

“luffy!” you choked out a laugh as your lover wrapped himself around your ribs, still unwilling to let go. “baby, i can’t breathe.” 

“oh. sorry!” he retracted his arms and legs, getting off you with a spring. you sat up, and that’s when you saw what he was wearing. a cute christmas skirt and matching leggings, and he looked so ridiculously adorable you had to do a double take. he frowned at your flabbergasted expression, leaning in to inspect your face. “huh? did i break you? i promise, i didn’t mean to hit you that hard! wait, why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” 

he pat your head, as though that would fix things. you squinted at his carefree smile. hold on. what the absolute shit. was that lipstick? 

“luff,” you took a deep breath, trying to steady your heartbeat. “who dressed you up?” 

“nami, duh,” he sung, giving you a little twirl to show off the fit. you already knew the answer—you just had to double confirm. crap. just how much money did you owe her now? a thousand berri? two thousand? to be fair, for this quality of work, you’d pay her a fortune. “nami said you’d like it. well? d’you?” 

“yeah,” you murmured, half in awe, half in devastation, because this was a really bad time to get horny if luffy wasn’t in the mood. “you look really pretty, baby. i love it a lot.” you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will away the horny. but it was just so hard to stop being horny all of a sudden. every time you closed your eyes, all you could envision was the horny: him in that skimpy christmas skirt, a bright flush on his cheeks, sprawled out on the bed underneath you… 

the soft press of lips against your cheek made your eyes shoot open. “huh?” 

the red colour on his lips was now slightly smudged, and you raised your hand to gently touch your now stained cheek in realisation. “oh…” 

“you looked consti- constipated sittin’ there!” luffy explained, in a much louder voice than usual, a thick blush covering his face. “i had to, y’knoow, help you out… in case you were having a hard time…” 

and well, there goes your horny.

PORTGAS D. ACE

“darling! you’re home!” you watched as your lover clumsily hobbled out of the bathroom, swathed in the most colourful gift-wrapping paper you had ever seen from chest to heel. “merry christmas!” 

you blinked. were you seeing things? “ace, honey,” you started, slowly, with a laugh. “know that i’d love it either way, but… are you supposed to be my gift?” 

“well, yeah, sort of.” he grinned, trying to make his way over to you in awkward steps. he winked, keeping himself just out of arm’s reach when you tried to pull him into a kiss. “just watch. you might even be surprised.” 

he raised a finger mischievously, and you watched as the tip of it caught on fire. he continued smiling his infamous ‘up-to-no-good’ grin, carefully bringing the small flame near his clothed chest. you raised your eyebrows, unsure, because as much as he was immune to fire, the gift-wrapping probably wasn’t... and the furniture in your house definitely wasn’t. 

“watch…” ace stressed with a hush, dramatically pressing his blazing finger onto the wrapping paper, to which it burnt a hole right through, orange flames immediately clinging on to the circular edges, rapidly widening the puncture. soon, his entire so-called ‘outfit’ was on fire, and you were starting to get alarmed when an eye-catching dark red slowly emerged from the burgeoning flames, strapped right across his chest. 

you choked. was that… a bra? 

“ta-da!” he shouted, opening his arms in full display with what could only be described as pure mirth. “fireproof lingerie!” 

what the fuck. you stood there, gaping, unwilling to believe. the rest of the flames gradually died down, revealing a gorgeous pair of red lace lingerie that hugged his crotch and chest in all the perfect areas, showing off his muscled figure, broad in the shoulders but tight in the waist, with thick hips and strong thighs. you could feel yourself salivating post-shock. 

“baby, you look really, really sexy, but…” you began, swallowing down your laughter. “forget it. why am i even surprised at this point?” ace grinned, albeit a little more sheepish than usual, rubbing at the back of his neck as you checked him out unabashedly. “ah, damn it. you look like a whole feast. i’m going to have a hard time keeping my hands off you tonight…” 

“ain’t that the purpose,” ace purred, shooting you a naughty glance through his lashes. “come and get me, hot stuff. and hey, guess what? we won’t have to worry about me accidentally burning my clothes off this time.” 

and needless to say, the both of you had a very merry christmas that night, indeed.

masterlist!

MERRY CHRISTMAS! SORRY IF YOUR BONER DIED 💓🫶

[redeemingvillains]

tea leaves on christmas eve - mattheo riddle

summary: you and mattheo agree to have your tea leaves read as a joke, not expecting the surprising message they'd reveal.

word count: 3.4k

a/n: merry christmas, my loves! this is the fluffiest, softest thing i have ever written, and that's saying something ♡

The frosty air nipped your cheeks, carrying with it the scents of the holiday that surrounded you: peppermint, pine, and woodfire as you strode through Hogsmeade at eventide. The sky was turning a deep shade of midnight blue and rich violet which made the myriads of strung white lights hanging from the rooftops and doorways appear like stars twinkling around you.

Your boots crunched and crinkled in the packed snow alongside the eager footsteps of your friends who were laughing and joking with one another as you ambled along the annual Christmas market, enjoying the streets lined with vendors selling food, ornaments, and every twinkling bauble and treat you could imagine.

Your eyes dazzled as you took it all in, so idyllic and festive, but despite the enticing sights and sounds you felt your gaze continually drawn to the boy at your side, because it was simply impossible not to stare at him...

...The way his chestnut curls peeked out from underneath his hood, the way his long, dark lashes batted against his cheeks which were rosy from the cold, the way he was smiling, widely, genuinely, in a way that reached his amber eyes.

He was so handsome you felt a tug in your heart, a gravitational pull towards him that trying to defy felt like swimming against a fierce current, but as usual, you stuffed the feeling down, deep within you and tried to appear normal, happy and friendly. Mattheo was one of your closest friends, and even if you did have a raging crush on him, you'd never act on it. You could only imagine what Blaise or Pansy would say if they found out, let alone Theo and the others, you shook your head imperceptibly in an attempt to empty the thought from your mind.

You and Pansy dragged the boys from booth to booth, and despite their mumbles and groaning, you could tell they were enjoying it as they indulged in the endless amount of treats from peppermint sticks to chimney cakes and roasted chestnuts and they passed a flask between themselves to keep warm.

Theo had just taken a long sip from the small metallic container when his face broke into a wide smile and he nodded his head to a booth just ahead of you.

"Oi, look, they dragged the poor old bat out here" he laughed as your gaze followed his to see Professor Trelawney in a booth all her own.

Faded tapestries and multicolored shawls were draped around the booth and tasseled rugs covered the floor, creating a mini replica of the Divination classroom, but the only light coming from within shone from a host of low-burning candles that were dripping wax dramatically onto every available surface.

The sign above the booth announced that she was reading tea leaves, though it was starkly empty unlike the other booths that were crowded with patrons, and she was deeply focused on a crochet that looked an awful lot like an outfit for a cat.

"Gods she's a lunatic" Draco muttered.

"Truly mental" Theo agreed.

"You won't go over there and ask her to read your future" Draco dared, shoving Theo's arm.

Theo got a wicked smile on his face.

"I've got a better idea" he said. "Let's send Riddle instead, she's obsessed with him, always telling him about the dark and miserable ways he's going to die."

"Absolutely not" Mattheo said quickly with a non-humurous laugh.

But the idea was out and running on its own now.

"Ahaha yes mate! Please I need to see this" Blaise chimed in as the guys began to push Mattheo towards the booth, egging him on.

"Fucking not today" Mattheo groaned even as he laughed and swiped the flask from Theo's grasp, chugging it heartily before Theo snagged it back.

Mattheo wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, his lips gleaming with the remnants of firewhiskey, you noted, when he caught your eye and grinned mischievously at you.

"Do it with me?" he asked, nearly pleading. "I can't face her alone."

"Fine, fine" you said, smiling at his pout, pushing him along in front of you as your friends followed closely behind.

Your group crowded into the small booth, nearly shoulder to shoulder. The smell of incense and old books overtook you as Trelawney glanced up, surprised to see anyone, let alone seven of you in front of her until her eyes landed on Mattheo and she jumped in excitement, the crochet falling to the floor, forgotten.

"Oh! Come in my dears, yes, yes, let me–" she said, flustered, knocking things over in her haste to situate herself as Draco snickered and Pansy elbowed him in the ribs.

Mattheo moved to sit on one of two large poufs that lined the low table in front of the professor and he yanked you down beside him. You sent him a look of mock defiance, but truthfully you were glad to feel his warmth next to you and your breath caught in your lungs as he pulled his hood down, his playful smile dancing in the candlelight in a way that brought a deep flush to your cheeks that you hoped he couldn't see.

"Here you go" Professor Trelawney said, bringing you back to the present moment as she placed two fragile tea cups in front of you while a matching teapot hovered over the table, pouring warm liquid into both.

"Thank you, Professor" Mattheo said charmingly and she smiled broadly at him, whether completely enamored by his good looks or dark fortune, you couldn't say.

"Drink, drink!" she said encouragingly, gesturing to the tea.

You glanced sidelong at each other and you caught him rolling his eyes subtly as you both leaned forward and you took a long sip of the tea. It was herbal and a little bitter with a lingering taste of peppermint.

"That's quite good, thank you, Professor" you said kindly, as Mattheo nodded in agreement.

You placed your cups down and she cleared the table before pulling them closer to her. She closed her eyes and inhaled and exhaled vigorously, dramatically several times. You could feel one of the boys behind you shaking with stilted laughter before her eyes flew open, magnified by her glasses, giving her the appearance of a crazed owl as she grasped Mattheo's cup with both hands, staring deeply at the remains of his tea leaves.

"Mmm, yes, yes, just as I feared" she murmured. "Dark and mysterious, Mr. Riddle, very, very dark indeed. You are in grave danger."

Mattheo cleared his throat in an attempt to hide his laughter.

"Oh, wow, of what Professor?" he asked, egging her on.

She turned the cup in her hands, eyes flickering to him and back to the cup again with a nervous smile.

"Well...the leaves...don't say, my dear, just know it's very dark and very grave. There will be misfortunes and hardships–" she carried on and on and you caught Mattheo's eye as he mouthed subtly, silently to you, "So many misfortunes and hardships" and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing as he smiled.

"What about Ms. YLN here, Professor?" he interrupted finally, pulling Trelawney out of her stupor.

She smiled awkwardly, placing Mattheo's cup down reluctantly, before she cleared her throat and picked yours up, adjusting her glasses and blinking several times.

"Right, let's see" she said.

She peered into your teacup and her face scrunched almost immediately. "Well, I..." she started, before turning the cup this way and that before setting it gently down on the table, glancing back at Mattheo's cup and then up at the two of you.

Her expression was rather serious, and an unusual quiet settled on the group in a way that sent a small shiver through you, raising the hairs on your arm.

"Professor?" Mattheo asked, nearly a whisper, prompting her.

She reached for his cup, pulling it next to yours, and looked at them closely side by side.

"It's the faithful heart" she said finally, looking up from the cups to the two of you and for once her eyes expression wasn't manic, but calm, reassured.

"Sorry?" you asked, like any of you were supposed to know what that meant.

She slid the cups back to you and you both leaned forward. Immediately, you could see what she had seen: the remnants of the leaves in each cup held half a heart, that when placed side by side formed one.

"The meaning may seem obvious" she said, leaning forward, letting her fingers trace the patterns "but it represents two halves of a whole soul, one not fully complete without the other, two spirits destined for one another, destined to understand each other in a way no one else can or ever will, two hearts destined to beat as one."

You realized suddenly that you had been holding your breath because fuck if that wasn't exactly how you felt about him. You realized, too, that your friends were quiet, stone silent, like you could actually hear the snow that had begun to fall outside.

"It's rare" Professor Trelawney said, sitting back in her chair, smiling as she glanced between the two of you, "extraordinary."

Your cheeks were warm and though you'd remembered how to breath, the air felt heavy, a stifling mix of incense and Mattheo's cologne that when combined with the tea in your veins made you feel like your head was swimming. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, but you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and unwavering.

"Well, th-thank you, Professor" you said, flushing even deeper at the shake in your voice as you stood to leave and could feel the others come back to life besides you. "I hope you have a happy Christmas" you muttered quickly as you stepped out of the booth and back into the chilly air, grateful for the gust of cool wind to clear your mind.

Pansy came to stand beside you as the boys bustled ahead of you, joking and laughing once again.

Theo waited until they were out of earshot of the girls before he slung an arm around Mattheo's neck, pulling him into his side.

"Mate, I don't know you how did it, but you are a fucking artist at work, let me tell you!"

Mattheo stumbled in Theo's firm grasp, the motion jolting him out of the reverie of the snug booth, of the mint on his lips, the warm tea pulsing through him, and the look on your face in the flickering candlelight as you listened to the professor tell you you were meant for him. He felt excited, nauseous and anxious in equal measures.

"W-what?" he asked Theo.

"I know you've fancied YN for just about as long as you've known her" he said, glancing behind them cautiously before continuing, "but paying Trelawney to tell her you're soulmates? I mean that shit is romantic bro, you almost had me there."

"I didn't—" Mattheo started to say, but was interrupted as Blaise threw his arm around Mattheo from the other side, sandwiching him between them.

"I need a fucking drink after that. Broomsticks?"

"Yes!" Theo chanted in reply and they hauled Mattheo along as his mind continued to swirl, and he desperately tried to catch your eye.

The Three Broomsticks was packed with a loud and jolly crowd seeking solace from the biting cold as night settled over the town.

You miraculously found a curved wooden booth big enough for all of you, and as you slid in you found yourself directly across from Mattheo, though you managed expertly to avoid his gaze.

You could tell he was trying to catch your eye, but you couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge him, because if you didn't look at him, you could pretend for just one moment longer that everything Professor Trelawney had said was true, that he could look at you like your souls were tethered together and not like you were one of his best mates.

You made every effort to focus on the conversation around you as your friends talked about holiday plans and new years parties, but it was proving impossible not to dissect everything the professor had said, to re-evaluate everything you knew about Mattheo, to start to see things in a different light.

You thought about how protective he was of you, even moreso than the other boys which was a feat in itself. He sat next to you at every meal, in every class. It wasn't unusual for him to reach for you if the corridor between classes was crowded or if you were in a public place, like he needed to make sure you were safe and by his side. He wouldn't ever let you walk in the castle alone at night, even if that meant falling asleep in the library besides you. But he always quick with excuses and explanations... "There was a fucking basilisk in here five years ago. Nice try, YLN, I will walk you to your dormitory thank you very much."

You thought about your first Christmas at Hogwarts, how you went home and he stayed here and how awfully you'd missed him, about how when you came back, he'd scooped you into his arms, grasping you tightly, not letting go, about how you resolved to spend every Christmas after that together. It didn't seem weird, it was the way you and Mattheo worked, it was just easier to be together than it was to be apart. But was it easier to be together or simply impossible for you to be separated?

Finally, you thought about how over the last 6 years neither one of you had dated anyone, and not for lack of ample opportunity on both sides, how your friends constantly nagged you about it. You blew it off, you were too busy with your studies, clearly. And Mattheo was too busy with quidditch.... Right?

"—YN, YN!" you focused back on the present as Pansy nudged you urgently at your side. "We're getting another round, do you want one?" she asked.

"Sure" you said blearily, dreamily, but as you slid to follow your friends out of the booth and stand in the crowd, you found yourself face to face with Mattheo who had stayed behind to find you, and suddenly there was no escape from his wide, brown eyes or the small smile on his lips as his gaze traced your face, eagerly drinking in the attention he'd been seeking from you for the last hour.

He said something you couldn't hear, and you stepped closer to him, fingers brushing his chest.

"What?" you asked.

"Do you wanna—?" he asked, tilting his head towards a quiet alcove near a large window at the back of the bar.

You nodded and he pulled you towards him, his large, warm hands resting on your hips in a comforting and protective gesture as he navigated you between the bar's rowdy patrons.

When you broke through the crowd and into the quiet corner, you glanced out the window in a last effort to distract yourself as you watched snow falling earnestly in large flurries.

"Hey" Mattheo said quietly, calmly, garnering your attention as you turned to face him and a smile spreading automatically on your lips at his rich voice, at his proximity.

His eyes were bright and twinkling, searching your face intently, perhaps picking up on your hesitancy, which wouldn't surprise you given that he often knew how you were feeling before you did.

"What I had started to say was... that was... something back there with Trelawney, huh?" he let out a breath, just shy of a laugh as he shook his head and carded his hand through his curls in an effort to hide the fact that his hands were shaking, had been since Trelawney had word for word described exactly how you made him feel. His heart would not stop racing; something about what Trelawney had said struck a chord so deep inside him, it was like his body was still humming with the note.

"Yeah... I don't really know what to think of it, I guess..." you replied nervously, not willing to say anything more, not wanting to make a fool of yourself.

He swallowed, eyes shifting to the snow outside, trying to gather the courage he may never have again.

"It's mad, really, to think about something like soulmates, especially from a pile of tea leaves, but... I don't know, at the same time, it kinda made sense to me" he said.

Your eyes blinked up at him and you could feel your pulse hammering in your neck.

"Did it?" you said quietly, breathlessly.

"With you it did, yeah" he said, meeting your eyes fully. "It made a lot more sense than anything else has between us in a long time. I hadn't had a word for it, for the way I feel when you're with me, calm, assured, happy. I always know where I stand with you, what you're thinking, how you're feeling, you're like an open book to me, like my favorite book that I want to read over and over and over again. And at the same time, it makes sense that when we're apart, I lose my mind YN. I don't think you have any idea what it does to me. I can't focus for shit, I'm worried about you, constantly, I feel unsettled, unmoored, it's why I follow you around the castle at night like a dog for Merlin's sake" he said, shaking his head, embarrassed. "That's not normal" he said before gesturing between the two of you "this isn't normal—"

"—I felt it too" you interrupted, "feel it too, I know exactly what you mean, Mattheo, every single word" you said, stepping closer to him.

"Are we crazy?" you whispered, laughing. This should feel weird, should feel incredibly strange and for the briefest moment you wondered if she'd put something in your tea, but then his fingertips brushed your waist again, pulling you closer to him and it felt like the last piece of a puzzle, a missing part of you sliding into place.

Mattheo was shaking his head and smiling, completely enamored with you, unable to look away.

"Nah, not crazy at all" he whispered back.

The air between you was crackling, electrified like the moment before lightning struck when suddenly small snowflakes began to fall around you. For a moment you thought there was a hole in the ceiling, but then you realized you were standing under an enchanted mistletoe that was jingling quietly and showering you both with snow that sparkled and then faded away.

You both looked up, laughing, before you met his gaze again, realizing he was close enough to brush his nose against yours. His warm hand cupped the side of your face and you leaned it as a feeling like melted honey rushed over your entire body and he brushed the pad of his thumb along your cheek.

"I'm gonna kiss you now" he whispered.

"Please—" you started to say before he stole the word out from behind your lips, capturing it with his own, consuming it with his perfect mouth as he pulled you firmly against him.

Every fiber of your being was a live wire, and you were certain that if anyone had touched the two of you, you'd have let off a spark. But being snug against his chest wasn't enough as you moved to wind your arms around his neck and his hands continued to grab onto you for purchase, carding into your hair, grasping at your sweater, the two of you nearly losing your footing in your attempt to close any remaining distance between you as you giggled, bubbling over with joy.

Pansy tucked her wand back into her boot as she looked on from the crowded bar at the two of you.

"The mistletoe was a nice touch" Draco nodded.

"It would have happened eventually" she defended.

"Inevitable" Enzo agreed as he popped by her side, eyeing the two of you as he sipped his butterbeer.

"Fucking finally!" Theo said heartily as he stepped to Draco's other side.

"Aww, would you look at that!" Blaise acknowledged, joining them as they watched the two of you. "Happy Christmas, guys!" he said, raising his glass.

"Happy Christmas!" they all agreed, raising their glasses together, thrilled to see their friends full of the love they both so deserved.

@kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites

[slytherinshua]

୧　SLICE OF CAKE　( 전원우 )

genre fluff , established marriage , husband!wonwoo x wife!reader   cw food mention (cake) , teasing , they're in love and make me feel single , not proofread   wc 490   request @k1eev for wonwoo + arms clasped around one's waist for the 3k event   note man i haven't written for svt in a while but this reminded me how insane i am for wonwoo ever since i wrote fire lord wonwoo. that fic truly changed me and my bias line. i hope you enjoy kie!!!   net @kstrucknet

“Stop trying to run away. Come here.” Wonwoo’s voice was gentle and steady as always, but there was a subtle hint of amusement in his tone that only you would pick up. His words made your body relax almost immediately and a small smile crept on your lips.

“Why should I? You ate the last piece of cake,” you reminded him yet again, as if there was any possibility he would forget the fact with you reminding him every ten minutes the past hour.

“I’d buy you fifty cakes if that’s what you wanted. Just come here,” he told you, holding out his arms, waiting for you to consider the offer. You were only dawdling to tease him. He looked awfully cute with his glasses perched on his nose and his slightly messy hair from his gaming headphones. He hadn’t known you wanted the last piece of cake and had already apologized for it. He knew you were teasing him too, for just last week you had stolen food he had his eyes on as well. 

So you relented, and padded over to him, allowing his arms to find their home on your waist. His touch was firm, portraying his clear intentions. He wasn’t going to let you go until he had his fill. He hugged you close, lips right by your ear.

“Do you want me to buy you another cake?” he asked, and you giggled. He treated you too well.

“No, love. It’s okay. I don’t want another cake— just want you to keep holding me.” 

“Keep holding you? I think I can do that,” he said, smiling wider now. His grip on your tightened ever so slightly, the comforting hug welcome. Feeling Wonwoo so close to you was everything you could ever want, and infinitely better than a slice of cake.

You snaked your arms around his waist as well to mirror the gesture, looking up at him with pure love in your eyes. He looked back down at you with nothing but the same feeling, and another gentle squeeze to your waist told you everything. 

Your husband was a simple man, and it seemed like his only priority in life was to make sure you were happy. He did an excellent job at it, and you reminded him every day just how lucky you felt to have met him, fallen in love, and now be able to spend the rest of your life together. There was no better man you could have found, nor a better match for you than Wonwoo. Your perfect equal, even if he ate the last slice of cake sometimes. 

“How long do you want me to hold you?” he asked after a while. You looked like the last thing you wanted to do is make any moves to remove yourself from his arms.

“Forever.”

“I’m afraid I’m not so confident I can do that. But I can certainly try. Whatever my wife desires.”

svt taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @ddeonudepressions,, @hannahsophie0103,, @cham3li,,

@shuabby1994,, @icyminghao,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,,

@wonwooz1,, @blossominghunnie,, @haecien,, @amara-mars,, @okshu,,

@parkjennykim,, @wootify,, @svtoose,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,,

@sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @talking-saxy,,

@nicholasluvbot,, @cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @gong-fourz,,

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@lexeees

[crookedteethed]

ᡣ𐭩 the good girl . • ° 　 .　 *　:.　the introduction (1)

synopsis -- Rafe is infatuated with you, his new secretary; something about a trip to Morocco. Rafe is in debt and wants you to pick up a bag of cocaine from Barry for him.

warnings: 18+ mdni mostly through Rafe's (perverted) pov, cursing, ward is still alive, smut but through fantasies, angst, Slight Dark! Rafe, drug/alcohol usage

a/n: I don't know anything about real estate so please don't take the buisness portions in this series seriously.

Series Masterlist | word count: 3.2k

You and Rafe had four scheduled meetings together before noon, each one dragging on with the monotonous drone of old men discussing business.

Rafe, easily bored, found his attention drifting away from the discussions and towards you. He couldn't help but notice the delicate beauty marks scattered across your smooth crossed legs, a detail he had committed to memory by the third meeting.

He longed for your soft voice as he listened to the sound of flapping cheeks and tedious numbers being tossed back and forth. Every now and then, just to hear it, he would interrupt with a simple question in your ear: "You got that down?"

And in response, you would always give a respectful "Yes sir" or a subtle hum on quieter days.

Rafe would watch you intently as you quickly scribbled down notes about whatever mundane topic was being discussed by the mortgage broker--so you can recite to him later.

Despite the dullness of the meetings, he found himself amused by your presence and secretly looked forward to these moments shared between just the two of you.

And then, like clockwork, that smart ass Pope Hayward would lean in and whisper something in your ear, too, ruining everything for Rafe.

Hayward had worked for R&P, the mortgage brokers for Cameron Development, and would often attend their meetings. He always sat beside you, on the opposite side of Rafe, where he was conveniently hidden behind your body and out of Rafe's line of sight.

Rafe thinks this is a sneaky move on Hayward's part since Rafe had suspicions that Hayward may have a crush on you, which only fueled his anger towards Hayward and the meetings.

If Rafe ever discovered Heyward's true feelings for you, he wouldn't hesitate to resurrect the violence of their teenage years. He'd make you watch as he reminded Heyward exactly who you belonged to, letting Heyward's blood stain his thousand-dollar leather shoes. After all, what better way to prove his love than marking his expensive Italian leather with the consequences of wanting what's his? Some men send flowers – Rafe Cameron sends messages written in bruises and blood.

The boardroom felt thick with tension as Rafe's attention ping-ponged between the financial reports and the way Heyward kept leaning toward you. His knuckles turned white around his Mont Blanc pen every time Heyward whispered something in your ear, every time you smiled politely in response.

The irony wasn't lost on him – Heyward's own secretary sat barely three feet away, yet here he was, hovering over what belonged to Rafe. His secretary. His territory.

By the fourth meeting, Rafe found  himself on the brink of madness, his father, Ward Cameron, drawling tone grating on his nerves. 

Mentally detached, he fantasized about indulging in a line of cocaine to awaken his senses, only to have his mind wander to envisioning himself ravishing you right atop the conference table in full view of everyone. 

His imagination spiraled further, picturing the new maintenance girl he saw a couple nights ago, pleasuring you while you, upside down like a flipped turtle, sucking his cock. 

A sudden pang of guilt hit Rafe as he remembered that he needed to order another batch of his "special" supplies from Barry.

He wondered if you, his new secretary, would be willing to make the call for him. His former assistant would have handled it without question, but she was long gone now.

Rafe resumed thinking about you, him, and the maintenance girl having a very sexy threesome on the conference table; he's jolted back to the present as his father's voice rings out, drawing his attention to the press room, where every man's gaze is fixed on him. 

The gentle touch of your hand on the padded sleeve of his suit stirs him, and he feels like popping a boner from your warm touch. 

He asks Ward to repeat himself.

Ward's voice was agitated, his tone indicating his impatience with his son. "Rafe, I want you to deal with the Morocco situation," he repeated firmly.

Later on, Rafe fumed over his father's request in his newly personalized office. Rafe's response was harsh and tense as he spat at his father, "How fair is it to dump all of this on me?!"

He had initially been planning for a sleek, earthy-toned with a black and brown look for his office. But when you mentioned your preference for dark blue and white, Rafe couldn't resist. After all, he always looked delectable in those colors, you told him (and yes, delectable was the exact word you used). So Rafe dropped his original design and went with a nautical theme instead.

"Well, son," Ward's voice cut through the air like ice, "if you could tear your eyes away from your secretary for five minutes, you might understand why the Morocco deal is crucial for this company's future."

Rafe's jaw clenched. "I wasn't--"

"Save it," Ward interrupted, his calm facade cracking. "I've seen this before, Rafe. The way you look at her, how you've redecorated your entire office to her taste. Just like all the others." He leaned forward, voice dropping. "How many secretaries have we lost because of you? How many NDAs have I had to sign?"

The accusation hung heavy in the air. Rafe's hands curled into fists, his cerulean eyes darkening with something dangerous. "This one's different," he growled.

"That's what you said about the last one." Ward's laugh was bitter. "And the one before that. Face it, son - you're becoming predictable. By this time next month, I'll be interviewing replacements. Again."

"Look," Ward's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, but Rafe wasn't about to let him finish that thought.

"No, you look," he spits at his father. "You're always pulling this crap on me - sending me off to do your dirty work like some kind of expendable pawn. 'Send Rafe to northwest Africa for two months, with our worst fucking clients' " Rafe said, fake laughing and clapping all the while." Well the joke's on me, isn't it?" Rafe's eyes blaze with anger and bitterness as years of resentment bubble to the surface.

The words flew out of Rafe's mouth like venomous arrows, each one stinging with a sharp and bitter rage. "You wouldn't dare do this to Sarah, dad--your perfect little princess. But me? I'm just the expendable son, right? Send me on a ten hour flight, unpaid, to fix someone else's mistakes!" His voice dripped with disdain as he imitated his father's words in a mocking tone.

But Ward was not cowed by his son's outburst. "Rafe, please just calm down and listen--"

Rafe's words were sharp as he cut Ward off. "Don't play dumb with me, Dad. I know exactly why you're sending me to South Africa - it's a punishment, a way to get rid of me." The tension in the office was thick and palpable as Ward yelled back, their argument echoing off the walls for all to hear.

But amidst the chaos, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity and nosiness. You had been waiting outside Rafe's office, ready to deliver an urgent message about his 3 o'clock lunch meeting with another Mortgage Broker, Dennis Rutherford.

As time ticked by and Rafe's chauffeured car waited impatiently outside, you knew you had to intervene before it was too late.

Bursting into the office uninvited, you were greeted with the sight of father and son locked in a heated battle, their words laced with anger and resentment. This was not just another work disagreement - this was a deep-rooted family conflict that threatened to tear them apart.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen." you awkwardly say, getting both men's attention. 

Had it been anyone else, Rafe would have immediately fired them for barging in like that. However, since it was you—and he hadn’t yet had the chance to sleep with you—Rafe merely shouted a sharp "What?!" that made you recoil in fear. He felt awful about your reaction but thought he could make it up to you later when his tongue is knee-deep into your pussy.

"Your 3'oclock, sir--with Mr.Rutherford." You say, trying to mask their intimidation.

"Shit." Rafe cursed, swiping a hand across his growing buzzed head. "Did you call the chauffeur?" he asked you. 

You acknowledge with a bow of your head, responding, Of course, sir, as you pass his briefcase into his hands. Rafe longed to refer to you as his good girl, yet with his father present in the room—and after already being seen openly "oogling" you earlier by his father and possibly others—he hesitated. 

While escorting Rafe from the office, he looks at you and remarks: 

"Join me and Rutherford for lunch."

Your heart races as you scramble to find an excuse. "I-I have a mountain of work to catch up on--"

"I don't recall asking you," he sneers, cutting you off. "I was telling you."

Twenty minutes past the scheduled meeting time, and Rafe had already downed three vodka shots, each one burning away at his paper-thin patience. The bar at Roots, despite its upscale pretense, felt suffocating.

You'd been to countless lunch meetings with him before, but something about today felt different. More dangerous. Maybe it was the way his leg kept brushing against yours under the bar, or how his cerulean eyes seemed to devour you between drinks.

Rafe Cameron, with his old money and expensive tastes, ordered another round. You watched, entranced despite yourself, as the alcohol stripped away his careful facade, revealing something raw and hungry underneath.

"Have a drink with me," he murmured, his voice honey-thick with liquor. His glazed eyes fixed on yours, holding secrets you weren't sure you wanted to understand.

"I believe one of us should stay sober, sir," you replied, fighting to keep your voice steady. The 'sir' slipped out automatically, and you watched his pupils dilate at the word.

A dark smile played at his lips as he closed his eyes, savoring your voice like another shot of vodka. Something about your presence seemed to intoxicate him more than the alcohol – a power that thrilled and terrified you in equal measure.

His hand found your knee under the bar, and you clutched your purse tighter, using it like a shield. Rafe noticed – he noticed everything about you – and his smile turned predatory.

"Just one drink," he pressed, sliding a virgin cocktail toward you. "Let go for me." The 'for me' sounded more like a claim than a request.

Forty-seven minutes in, Rutherford finally arrived to find Rafe thoroughly drunk and dangerously unraveled. The moment shattered as Rutherford launched into a tirade about debts – \$250,000 worth of them, spread across every loan shark in the city.

You shifted in your seat, uncomfortably aware of Rafe's heat beside you, the way his expensive cologne mixed with top-shelf vodka.

"The money's coming," Rafe slurred, but his eyes remained sharp, calculating. "Big deals in the pipeline. Major commissions."

Rutherford's lip curled in disgust. "Better hope so, Cameron. Or things get ugly."

The threat hung in the air like smoke. Rafe's fist clenched on the bar, his other hand still burning against your knee, his whole body vibrating with barely contained violence.

His thoughts scattered between the mounting pressure, the need for chemical escape, and the way your pulse jumped in your throat every time he leaned too close.

Without realizing it, Rafe grabbed your shoulder roughly and whispered in your ear, nearly dislocating your shoulder blade in the process.

Rafe's desperation was palpable as he leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur. "I need you to do something for me," he said, his eyes locked onto yours. "There's a guy named Barry. He's got something I need. I need you to pick it up for me."

Your heart raced as you realized what he was asking. "What is it?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Rafe hesitated, his gaze shifting away. "It's a bag of cocaine," he admitted finally. "I need it to clear my head, to think straight. And I need it now."

You knew the risks, but Rafe's desperation was undeniable. He was in deep trouble, and he needed your help, as you looked in those glossy cerulean eyes of his. "Alright," you sighed, "I'll do it. But this is the last time, Mr. Cameron, what will your father think?"

"What he thinks of me already—that I'm just a Rafe, his screw-up of a son," Rafe replied. Despite this, a look of relief spread across his face, although the predatory gleam in his eyes remained. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled business card, pressing it into your palm with trembling fingers. His touch lingered longer than necessary, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

"Barry works out of the Bellamy Building on 5th," he whispered, his hot breath reeking of vodka against your ear. "Suite 401. Tell him Rafe sent you. And for God's sake, don't let anyone follow you."

Rutherford watched this exchange with cold calculation, his jaw clenched tight. He knew exactly what was happening – he'd seen plenty of rich boys like Rafe drag their employees into their mess before.

You gathered your things, trying to ignore how Rafe's eyes followed your every movement. Just as you stood to leave, he grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise.

"One hour," he hissed. "I need it in one hour. Don't disappoint me."

The weight of what you'd agreed to settled heavy in your stomach as you walked toward the exit. Behind you, you could hear Rutherford's gravelly voice resume his threats, but Rafe's attention remained fixed on your retreating form until you disappeared through the door.

The Bellamy Building loomed like a tombstone against the afternoon sky, its worn brick facade a testament to forgotten glory. Inside, the elevator's slow climb gave you too much time to think – about Rafe's hungry cerulean eyes, his lingering touches that burned like brands, how every "yes, sir" seemed to draw you deeper into his web.

Suite 401 lurked at the end of a dimly lit hallway, distinguished only by tarnished brass numbers. Your knuckles rapped against the door – twice, then three times, just as Rafe had instructed. The sound seemed to echo down the empty corridor.

The door creaked open just enough to reveal a sliver of face: tired eyes beneath greasy long black hair, calculating and cold. "Barry?" Your voice emerged steadier than your racing heart. "Rafe Cameron sent me."

The door groaned wider. Barry matched his surroundings perfectly – disheveled but alert, like a crow picking through society's remains. His office was a study in decay: nicotine-stained walls, flickering fluorescent lights that made everything look diseased, and an ancient desk that had witnessed too many secrets.

"Well, well," Barry's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Another one of Rafe's girls." He studied you like a specimen under glass. "You know, you're all starting to blur together. Pretty. Proper. Corruptible." The last word dripped with dark amusement.

He slid a small package across the desk, but when you reached for it, his fingers trapped yours. You jerked the package away.

Inescapably, Barry's raspy laugh followed you as you ascended down the hallway, bouncing off the grimy walls like a bad omen. "Tell Rafe his debt's getting steep," he called after you, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "And honey? Better watch yourself! Pretty secretaries like you have a way of… disappearing around Rafe Cameron."

Barry's laughter echoed through the grimy hallway, following you like a shadow as you rushed toward the elevator. Each click of your heels against the worn floor seemed to mock you: Pretty. Proper. Corruptible. The words burrowed into your mind, mixing with memories of Rafe's heated stares and possessive touches.

Your mind kept circling back to Barry's words – "disappearing around Rafe Cameron" – like a moth drawn to a deadly flame. The phrase echoed in your head, mixing with memories of Rafe's possessive touches and hungry stares. Each floor the elevator descended seemed to bring a new question: How many secretaries came before you? Where did they really go?

The package felt heavier in your hands as you realized maybe it wasn't just cocaine Rafe was addicted to – maybe it was the thrill of watching people fall into his web, one pretty secretary at a time.

The elevator doors couldn't close fast enough. In its mirrored walls, your reflection looked different somehow – as if Barry's words had marked you, changed you. Your phone buzzed in your purse, Rafe's name lighting up the screen, and you realized with a shiver that maybe Barry was right. Maybe you were already corrupted – after all, here you were, picking up cocaine for your boss in a building that reeked of broken dreams and dirty money.

But that didn't mean you were corrupted by Rafe specifically… right? This was just part of the job. Just another task, like scheduling meetings or taking notes while he stared at you across the conference table. Just another "yes, sir" in a long line of things you told yourself were purely professional. Even if your heart raced every time he got too close. Even if you kept saying yes to things that crossed every line you'd ever drawn.

You were just doing your job. At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.

Back at Roots, you found Rafe alone, Rutherford's absence heavy in the air. His hands trembled as you passed him the package under the bar, his relief palpable. Without a word, he grabbed your wrist and led you to the private bathroom in the back.

The fluorescent light buzzed overhead as Rafe arranged neat lines on the marble countertop. You turned to leave, but he caught your reflection in the mirror.

"Stay," he commanded softly. Then, more vulnerable: "Please."

You watched as he inhaled sharply, his body relaxing as the cocaine hit his system. When he straightened up, his eyes met yours in the mirror – pupils blown wide, but somehow clearer than before.

"Barry mentioned the money you owe him," you say carefully, your voice echoing off the pristine walls of the family restroom. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across Rafe's sharp features as he straightens up from the sink, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

"You know what scares me?" Rafe suddenly said, his eyes never leaving you in his backward reflection. "Not the money I owe. Not my father. Not even my fucking addiction." His voice cracked perfectly, a rehearsed break he'd perfected over years of practice.

"I'm nothing but Dad's fuck-up son. A disappointment. A monster." He laughed bitterly, running a trembling hand through his hair. "And you… you're too good. Too pure. The way you look at me like I could be better…" His fingers traced your reflection in the mirror. "It kills me knowing I'll destroy you too. Just like I destroy everything else."

Your heart ached at his words. Without thinking, you turned to face him, reaching up to touch his cheek. "You're not a monster, Mr. Cameron. You're just—"

"Rafe," he interrupted, leaning into your touch. "Please… just call me Rafe."

You saw the vulnerability in his eyes, the pain, the self-loathing. It made you want to save him, to prove him wrong about himself. And that's exactly what he was counting on.

Because what you missed, in that moment of compassion, was the calculating gleam behind his tears. The slight upturn of his lips as you fell perfectly into place. The way his hand tightened possessively on your waist, marking you as his next conquest.

"I need you," he whispered against your palm, knowing exactly how those words would seal your fate. "You're the only one who sees me. Really sees me."

And as you whispered back words of comfort, of understanding, Rafe Cameron smiled into your hand – the same smile he'd worn when the last girl who tried to save him learned exactly what kind of monster he really was.

The bathroom's fluorescent light flickered once, casting strange shadows across his face. In that brief moment of darkness, his mask slipped, revealing something hungry and triumphant in his expression. But by the time the light steadied again, all you could see was the broken man you desperately wanted to fix.

After all, the best predators know exactly how to play wounded.

a/n: thanks for making it to the end of this chapter!! as always all likes comments, and reblog keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

Taglist -

@trapistani @alexxavicry @rafestoothbrush @ttrinity @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4rafey @Itristessedureratoujours @hittmeandtellmeyouremine @yoongling @lilithblackkk

[softestqueeen]

just a kiss

pairing: aaron hotchner x afab!reader

summary: a kiss under the mistletoe with a certain casanova makes your boyfriend, aaron hotchner, question himself.

warnings: 18+ MDNI!! smut, p in v, fingering, jealous!hotch, hurt/comfort, jealousy fucking, slight breeding (i’m just a girl guys), unprotected sex (guys, don’t do that)

wordcount: 1990 words

a/n: better late than never guys, i really wanted to write something for christmas! I’m thinking about writing something short for spencer as well, but i don’t know how much time i will have. But anyways, merry christmas to those who celebrate! enjoy <3

“Oh oh, a mistletoe. You know what that’s means mama, come here and give me a kiss,” your good friend and colleague Derek was already rubbing his hands together before holding them out to you.

You decided to humor him, taking a step closer to him, definitely not expecting him to pull you in and tip you back. Letting out a surprised squeak, you tell Garcia, who was watching the spectacle with wide and curious eyes. “Don’t look Penelope, you don’t wanna see this.”

It was the last thing you said before Derek pressed his lips to you, pulling away with a loud smooch. He lifts you back on your feet again and lets out a laugh, quickly matched by your own laughter.

He gently pats your hip before leaving to join the others in their festive activities around Rossi’s mansion. Garcia immediately lets out an excited squeal which you only answer with a dismissive wave of your hand before following Derek into the heart of the party.

You don’t mind the kiss anymore, until you are alone with your boyfriend Aaron Hotchner. He was standing by the fridge, beer in hand and a frown adorning his handsome face.

Looking around to see if anybody was nearby, you step closer to him, going in for a kiss, which he tried to avert by moving his head. He gives you a tight lip smile before quickly leaving the kitchen, leaving you with a heavy heart and even more confusion.

Why was he acting so weird all of the sudden? Did you do something wrong the last time you saw each other? Yes, your relationship was secret, but you both agreed to keeping it from the team. So, what was wrong?

Following a harmless Christmas tradition under the cheers of Penelope already slipped your mind. You didn’t think it was that much of a deal.

A little while later, while Aaron was still avoiding you like the plague, the two of you unknowingly found yourself under another mistletoe. (damn you, Garcia)

You looked at your (secret) boyfriend, while the team cheared you on. “We don’t have to kiss in front of everyone, if you don’t want to, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s alright. If they want a show, let’s give them one,” Aaron answers you, a rare smile slipping through. His answer confused you, why was he suddenly talking to you like nothing happened?

Leaning up, you place a quick peck on his lips, briefly placing your hand on his arm. As quickly as it started it was already over again. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, knowing he was never one for PDA.

“Show’s over guys,” you announce before going to the kitchen to fulfil your actual plan of getting a refill for your drink.

Aaron silently follows you, even though he just left the massive kitchen. After watching you for a moment, he asked you the question that had been on his mind since you kissed Derek some time ago.

“Why did Derek get a real kiss?”

“What do you mean?” The confusion was written all over your face.

“Just now, under the mistletoe.” Oh, so that is what this is all about. He continues “I only get a small peck, but you kissed Morgan like it was the last time you would ever kiss someone” in a smaller voice he added “It almost seemed more real with him.”

“Aaron, are you jealous?” You almost let out a small laugh, but his almost pained expression made you hold back. In that moment he looked so small and vulnerable, avoiding your eye.

Stepping forward, you take his hands in yours and tell him “Listen to me now, Hotchner. You’re the only one that I want, yeah? I need you to know that.” Your hands now move to cup his face, his dark eyes meeting yours again, the uncertainty in them slowly fading again. “I only gave you a small peck because of the whole ‘we don’t want to tell the team about us” thing. And of course, when Mr. Flirty himself tips you back for a little smooch under the mistletoe you can’t really say no that easily. And why would I, a seemingly single woman refuse to kiss my very good friend Derek Morgan. But that doesn’t matter now, because you Mr. Aaron Hotchner are it for me, I don’t want anybody else. You understand me?”

Hearing you talk like this made Hotch almost feel a little bit silly. Of course, he loved you and knew that you loved him too. And deep down he knows that he never doubted that, but you kissing Derek made something ugly and green sprout in his mind and he was foolish enough to let it overshadow the love you shared.

“I’m sorry, of course I know. I love you like nobody else but seeing you with somebody younger and more charming made me question myself.” It pained you to know Aaron felt hurt by this.

“No, don’t be sorry. I promise I won’t kiss any more colleagues under the mistletoe. Ok, I think that’s a lie, I have the feeling Prentiss is just waiting for her opportunity.” Your joke had the anticipated effect, making you both laugh. Without thinking you lean up, meeting his already waiting lips in an almost passionate kiss. After parting , you both share a knowing look before departing and joining the party again.

++++

The party continued everybody – even you – oblivious to Aarons inner debate. Of course he knew that you were stable, especially after you reassured him, but something still didn’t let him enjoy the time, especially when you were talking to Derek or as as silly as it may sound, Prentiss. He couldn’t get your comment out of his head, even if it was a joke.

Thankfully there was not just the team at Rossi’s Christmas party, but also a lot of his other friends and fbi people, so it wouldn’t be noticed that the two of you were missing.

He quickly found you and thankfully you weren’t talking to anybody at the moment. Closing the distance, he leaned into you and whispered in your ear. “Meet me upstairs, the first bathroom to your left. You go ahead, I’ll join you in about five minutes, darling.” With a quick kiss to your cheek, he left you alone and went back to the party.

Even if you questioned his behaviour, you also trust this man with your life, so you went upstairs and waited. After almost exactly five minutes you heard a knock and a quiet it’s me, making you open the door.

The moment it was closed again, Aaron connected your lips with his and kissed you like his life depended on it. His hands immediately went to your waist, his grip never faltering for even a second. You let out a surprised squeal but weren’t unhappy with how things turned out, so you immediately returned the kiss with just as much enthusiasm, your hands wandering over his arms before letting them rest on his muscular chest.

The unit chief lead you backwards to the sink, turning you around and pressing you against it. The cool tile made you shiver, your thin dress making you feel every dip. You were quickly distracted though, now feeling Aarons massive body against you, his hard cock pressing against your back.

Feeling his length made you gasp. You boyfriends hands rested against your hips again, his lips trailing over the back of your neck and your shoulder.

“You look so beautiful in that dress; it almost kills me to act like I don’t care. Especially when I see everybody looking at you, but you’re mine, aren’t you?”

You were again surprised by his words. Was he really that jealous? Your only answer was a whined only you, before Aaron let his hand wander underneath your dress.

He started stroking your wet cunt through your wet panties, the kissing and his behaviour already having an effect on you. Pressing your ass against his erection, you let out a small moan.

Aaron wanted to be inside of you as fast as he could, so he didn’t hesitate to push your panties to the side and let his finger glide through your folds.

“Already so wet for me, baby. Do you want my cock?” As he was saying that, he slowly pushed one of his thick fingers into you, slowly pumping in and out of you while waiting for an answer.

After a moment you realised he was waiting for an answer, his fingers on you making it hard to concentrate. “Yes, Aaron, need you so bad.”

He swiftly added another finger, now slowly curling them inside of you, preparing you for his length. Letting out another string of moans, your grip his hand, signalling hm to go faster.

“Please Aaron, I’m so close.” It was more of a whine, your head dropping back against his strong shoulder.

Aaron reached forward, hugging your torso against him.

“Let go, come for me, now” it didn’t take more for you. With a breathless call of is name you came undone, your whole body trembling. Aaron supported your weight, his fingers slowly coming to a halt inside of you before pulling out, making you whine.

The unit chief placed a kiss upon your shoulder, before using his now free hand to open up his fly and pull out his rock hard cock. He gave himself a few slow pumps, spreading your remaining wetness over his length.

He properly bunched up your dress to your waist and pulled your panties to the side again, before lining his tip up with your hole. Slowly he buried himself inside of you, his hand now going to your mouth to muffle your moans.

Your eyes closed, you already anticipate the heavenly feeling of him rubbing against your walls and moments later he starts moving. First slowly, giving you a moment to adjust to his length, and then he starts pounding into you, as if to get you both to your release as fast as possible.

The only sounds in the small bathroom were skin slapping against skin and your mixed moans and groans.

Aaron moves his hand, gripping your face and directing it to the mirror in front of you. “Look at you, so pretty. All just for me. I’m the only one who gets to see you like this, huh?” His possessive words make your pussy throb and your walls contract around his cock. You’ve never seen your boyfriend act like this, but you weren’t complaining.

“Only you Aaron, only you,” you breathed out, already feeling your release, the coil in your stomach threatening to snap.

“Please Aaron, I’m so close. Please cum with me, fill me up,” was all you could get out before your whole body started to tremble again, your second orgasm hitting you even harder as the firs. If it wasn’t for your boyfriend holding you up, you would have already slumped forward.

“Fuck,” was all Aaron could get out before his cock twitched and released inside of you. He halted his movements and buried himself to the tilt, now using both of his hands to hug you close to him.

Once you’ve both calmed down, he pulled out and moved your panties back and your dress back down.

“Don’t wipe it away, leave it as a reminder as to who you belong to.” He told you gentle, before adding, “I’m going to go back to the party, follow me after a few minutes.”

He placed another kiss against your lips before pulling away completely to leave the room, leaving you breathless and satisfied.

You were both sure about your relationship now and even when Prentiss eventually gets you under the mistletoe and leaves a very passionate kiss on your lips, the wetness in your panties is a gentle reminder to who you belong to.

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated! i’d like to write more with criminal minds characters, so if you have any ideas/requests lmk!!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueeen

requests open!

taglist: @silvermagnolias @milywatermelon @bigbananaa

[formula-ghost]

Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 4: The Loneliest

CHAPTER SUMMARY:  The end of the Americas triple header brings chaos, scandal, and conflict to your relationship with Franco. And after an unforgivable betrayal, your friendship may be beyond saving.

WORD COUNT: 9.6k

WARNINGS: SO MUCH ANGST, reader is going through it, Franco is mean and lowkey kinkshames reader :( also Franco is a lil freak at the end so SMUT MINORS DNI

TAGLIST: @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824

A/N: HAPPY HOLIDAYS YA FREAKS (affectionate). The long awaited chapter 4 is here! So sorry to dampen your holidays with this very sad chapter, but thank you all for being so patient with me while I was away. I hope you enjoy this extra long chapter as a reward for your patience!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

You’ll be the saddest part of me

The part of me that will never be mine

It’s obvious, tonight is gonna be the loneliest

You’re still the oxygen I breathe

I see your face when I close my eyes

It’s torturous, tonight is gonna be the loneliest

The morning light was torturous. It signaled the end of Franco’s short lived unconscious peace, and the breaking of the dawn forced him to confront the fact that it was race day. He hadn’t slept well. It had been one hell of a night.

One glance to the curtained window showed that the morning light was quickly going to be shrouded by rain clouds anyway. 

But despite his tiredness, he got up. If he had laid there too long he would have started thinking too much. About the race. About what was at stake.

About you.

He didn’t have time for that. He pushed that mixed jump pile of emotions—what exactly they were, he couldn’t name—down to the pit of his stomach as he quickly showered and gathered his things so he could get to the circuit quickly.

But even in the shower, as he tried to wash the memories of last night away, he couldn’t. His own nakedness didn’t even seem to be his, not anymore. The words you had written, imagining every inch of skin, stuck to him.

A wave of nausea hit him, and he felt like he was going to puke.

And it didn’t get any better as he dressed and gathered his things. There was a journal shaped space in his bag now, hollow without the evidence of his deception. He had kept it on him always to avoid you finding out. But now, it didn’t matter. He knew every word. Even if you did discover what he’d done, he had crossed a point of no return.

The journal itself still lay open at the foot of his bed. Had he fallen asleep after reading it, or just not had the energy to return it to its spot after feeling the shockwaves of the words? He didn’t remember.

All he knew was that his head was pounding. His entire body felt disconnected from the mind that governed it. It was too damn early, and too important of a day to be distracted like this. 

But it was all his fault. No one had forced him to read it. No—he had decided, of his own volition, to steal the journal. When you ran out of his room with tears in your eyes and ignored his calls for you down the hallway, he had glanced at the open journal, teasing him to commit this unforgivable offence. He ignored it then, leaving his room, but when he returned that night the temptation had become nearly too much to bear. So yes, just as you had accused him, he did steal the journal that morning before you arrived at the track. And he’d lied to your face about it. 

And you believed him. 

That didn’t matter now. What mattered was getting to the track and doing his job, showing everyone that he could do what he said he’d do. He had talked a big game—now was time to deliver.

So when he didn’t respond to your text that morning, you let it go. You knew how important of a day this was to him. Even though he never divulged the contents of his meeting to you, you had known him too long to not be able to assume that the stakes were much higher than anyone had originally thought. 

Why else would he be so standoffish when you finally saw him at the paddock that morning, brushing you off and quickly leaving? Why else would he not speak a single word to you the morning before qualifying? 

At first, the tonal change from last night—dancing in the pit lane and nearly meeting lips to a morning of being ignored—was shocking to you. But you knew Franco. And he had promised that you’d always have a place next to him. Maybe not this particular morning, when all he needed to do was perform. But always. And you trusted him.

So you let the transgression roll off you like the rain that continued into the morning. You took your usual spot at the back of the garage to avoid the ever present watching eye of the media cameras. After last night's stunt, you knew the world would be watching both you and Franco. You weren’t very keen to give the media what they wanted, knowing every gesture or word would inevitably be scrutinized. The fans, though, had been kind so far. 

All the things that they had said—we’re rooting for you—had hit you like a ton of bricks last night, alone in your room. You, too, had been unable to sleep. 

It was the effect of the ever-present possibility of what could be. You wanted Franco. All of him. His body, yes, but also his mind and his heart. You were in love with him, without a doubt, and since admitting it to yourself only a few weeks ago, you had fallen hard and fast. But at the end of the day, he wasn’t yours. He had a goal to work towards, and it wasn’t you.

But maybe one day it could be. Maybe when all of this was done, you’d still have him. That’s what he promised.

And for once, you’d allowed yourself to really and truly trust him.

You glanced at the screen that showed him sitting in his car before quali. His back was to you, and it felt odd to see him like this, so disconnected, as if you were just another fan rooting on your favorite athlete. 

Sure, he was your favorite athlete too, but he was also your best friend. 

You wanted so desperately to trust those words he spoke when he held you as you cried. You wanted to believe that his job would never come before you. So when those familiar insecurities rose in your throat like bile, you swallowed them down and forced a smile to your lips.

If the people were watching you, you’d give them a show. And if Franco had to perform today, so would you. 

So you let that sparkle come to your eyes when the fans with paddock passes strolled in and out in front of the garage, straining their necks to catch a glimpse of Franco in his car, and you in the background. 

Until it was time for quali. You had wanted to wish Franco good luck, but he had been so laser focused talking with his race engineers and fiddling with the car that you settled for whispering a silent prayer as he expertly rolled his car onto the track. 

You were always nervous for him. Even when the stakes were much lower, you knew the skill it took for him to do this job, and how dangerous it was. And on days like these, where the rain just kept coming and coming in sheets, you couldn’t help but let your anxiety win, knowing that anything could go wrong. 

But Franco was talented, and focused. He would be okay, and he’d exceed everyone’s expectations. You had to believe that right now, on track, all that was on his mind was becoming one with the road.

Unfortunately, Franco couldn’t focus as well as he needed to. His mind wandered, of course, to you. He had brushed you off earlier, unable to look you in the eye after what he’d read. 

Maybe, if there had been more time, he would have figured out what he was feeling. But he had chosen the worst possible night to do what he had done. Maybe his manager was right, he was distracted, and now he had to live with the consequences.

Or maybe, if he had been a better man, he wouldn’t have read it in the first place.

Regardless, he had, and even now, when he needed to focus, the emotions swelled up in him, coming in waves.

The first was shock. He read each sentence carefully, over and over again, praying that something had gotten lost in translation and you weren’t really saying what he thought you were saying. The second was disgust—how could his best friend write such detailed fantasies about him?

The third wave, the one he tried to ignore, was something he couldn’t name. A pool of warmth that settled at the bottom of his stomach as he read each filthy word, and the inevitable vision of the scenes he couldn’t help but imagine. He could feel his blood pulse through his veins as he let his mind give in to everything your words had commanded him to picture.

But the fourth wave came quicker, pushing down whatever the third had been. It was anger. Anger at himself for betraying you like this. Anger at you for writing all this and hiding it from him. Anger at life for putting him in this situation. Anger at his manager because she was right—he was distracted. 

He had been driving completely by muscle memory, even going silent with his race engineers. They angrily instructed him to return to the garage. 

He obeyed, apologizing to them for being so caught up in his own thoughts. But as he pulled the car into the garage and sat, he couldn’t help but let his eye wander the garage to you, standing towards the back as always, hands over the race headphones that they gave all the VIP guests so they could listen in on the actions. 

You looked so innocent. His best friend, just cheering him on from the sidelines, so blissfully unaware of what he had done. But what you’d done, too—the pages full to the margins of your fantasies—well, no one was truly innocent here, it seemed.

You looked up and gave him a reassuring smile, and he felt like he was going to lose it. 

He darted his eyes away, and thankfully, the race engineers cleared him to quickly return to the track. He would one last clean lap to finish off Q1, then return to the garage for Q2. 

But he couldn’t get your smile out of his head, even when he coasted through turn one. And that familiar queasiness returned in his stomach as he approached turn two.

The rain, and his distractedness, was too much to overcome. He spun and eventually hit the wall.

Back in the garage, you couldn’t breathe. The seconds of silence from his end of the radio felt like years as you waited to hear that he was okay.

All he let out was a sad, “Sorry mate,” to his engineer. But to even hear his voice was a blessing.

He eventually confirmed he was okay and made his return to the garage. His head hung low, weighed down by the expectations he had failed to fulfill. As his best friend, you wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to hold him and assure him that everything would be okay. But he didn’t even look at you. 

Turning his back away from you, he just stood solemnly as he removed his helmet and fluffed up his hair, before leaving to go speak with the media. 

As his car was wheeled into the garage, you thanked whatever God was listening to you that Franco had made it back to the paddock in one piece. The carnage was bad—and with the grand prix in only a few hours, the mechanics would have their work cut out for them. 

The garage was soon becoming too chaotic for your liking, so you slipped out to make your way to Williams hospitality to hopefully catch your best friend once he left the media tent. 

But Franco never appeared. You assumed he had been dragged from meeting to meeting, trying to salvage what was left of this clusterfuck of a grand prix weekend. You watched qualifying from the screens in hospitality, wincing when Alex crashed too, and offering another prayer for the sanity of the poor William’s mechanics.

The rain only worsened into the afternoon, when the Grand Prix would have to take place even despite the monsoon that raged outside. You still hadn’t found Franco; you occupied your time by chatting with the fans that were now drenched in the general admission sections. They at least were trying to salvage some joy from the weekend, and you were too.

But it bothered you that you couldn’t find Franco, and that he had been avoiding you all day. It was an odd juxtaposition; on one hand, you had become so comfortable in the space of the race circuit that you no longer hid from the people, but sought them out, taking photos and cheering along with Franco’s many fans. On the other hand, you couldn’t help but feel a prickling sensation at the back of your neck that something between you and Franco was wrong. But your anxiety had lied to you so many times that you no longer trusted your intuition. 

So, again, you tried to shake it off. It was going to be okay. Franco was going to focus and bounce back and get points. And when he did, he’d pick you up and spin you like he always did. And his beautiful smile would be yours again. 

When it came time to return to the garage to get ready for the race, you were hopeful but nervous, your emotions a delicate balancing act of steadying your fear with your desire to support the man you loved. 

As you entered the garage, you saw him, fiddling with the cuffs of his fireproof race suit, clearly annoyed by the scrunched lines in his forehead. And then, his eyes traveled up to meet yours.

It was like time froze. You had two options: do as you usually would and go up to him and wish him luck with a hug that was too close and too long to be strictly platonic. Or, ignore him and just silently wish him luck, praying that at the end of the race, he’d come running to you as he always did. 

You didn’t get to decide, though. Franco’s eyes darted away as quickly as he could move them, a subtle expression of disgust replacing his former frustration.

It felt like a knife to your heart. You slipped on your race headphones in silence. 

He’s just having a bad day. He’s stressed. He wasn’t even looking at you. He did it without thinking. A million thoughts ran through your head, faster than the F1 car that you now watched Franco climb into, readying himself for the race. 

You couldn’t look away from him, but he couldn’t even look at you. 

All you wanted to do was go back to the hotel and cry. You’d always been too sensitive, people had said, and that was part of the reason you started suppressing your emotions in the first place. But since you’d started your healing journey with your journal, you couldn’t stop the emotions anymore. The blush, the tears—all of it was beyond you, now. 

At least, if you cried, the rain would hide it.

That’s what you told yourself as you watched his car roll into the pit lane and onto the track. You prayed to whatever God was listening that Franco would be okay.

But it seems no God was listening to you that day. 

It started almost comically, with Lance Stroll crashing into the gravel on the formation lap. A miscommunication between the FIA and the drivers caused confusion on when the race would actually begin. And when the race finally did begin, it was nothing but chaos.

You held your breath during the first spin. It was Nico Hulkenburg, not Franco. Thankfully. Everyone was okay.

You counted the laps in your head, like you’d counted Franco’s breath when he would fall asleep in your apartment during your many past sleepovers. Like you’d counted his breaths when you woke up next to him in Singapore. 

Lap 32. He was okay. 

In your ears, you heard his race engineer warning him of the wet conditions, advising him to take extra caution with all the water on the track. 

Franco asked to box for wet tires. His engineer refused. He told Franco to survive.

A wave of anger rose in you. Is surviving not exactly what he was already doing?

Franco pushed back, asking if the engineer understood what he was saying. And again, he refused. An argument back and forth. Trust us, the engineer said. 

And then, he crashed.

A hard hit on the wall and a skid across the wet road. 

You felt like your knees were going to give out from under you. Everything was spinning.

The only thing that brought you back down to Earth was his voice in your ears. “I’m okay. I’m so sorry, guys,” he apologized.

In the aftermath of it all, you’d feel sorry for the William’s mechanics. But right now all you cared about was the man you loved and if he was really okay.

You didn’t care that he had been upset with you, for whatever reason beyond your knowledge. All you cared about was that he was alive and unharmed.

Your only want was to run to his arms, feel the warmth of his beating heart against your chest, assuring you that he was okay.

But he stomped into the garage and walked right past you, as if you didn’t even exist to him, like you were an invisible burden.

Your heart was pounding as if you were the one who had crashed. You watched as Franco disappeared into the paddock, likely heading to quickly speak to the media before sneaking off to God knows where.

Again, your mind went to the familiar choice, whether to go to him or hang back. But you’d been hanging back too much. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You followed in his general direction, but the paddock was buzzing with reporters and team officials. You scanned the crowd for the familiar curls of your favorite Argentine, but to no avail; the frustration threatened to bring tears to your eyes. 

Until you saw him darting through the crowd, nearly as fast as his own car, rushing to get away from all the people with their eyes on him. You had become one of them.

You navigated your way to the crowd and back to his driver’s room, waiting until you and Franco were out of the crowd to call to him.

“Franco!” you yelled, “Franco, wait up.”

“Go away, YN.”

That familiar stab in your stomach pulsed again. “Franco, I just want to know that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

He reached his room and slammed the door shut, locked it behind him. You sighed.

“Please, let me in,” you practically begged. He was silent on the other side of the door.

He had never shut you out like this before—literally or figuratively. You felt the tears begin to pool. With a shaky voice, you began, “Franco, I’m your friend. I just want to support you and be here for you when things go wrong. You’ve been ignoring me all day, and I’m just worried about you.”

His silence continued, and the quivers in your voice became more intense. 

“If you want space, I’ll give it to you. But don’t shut me out forever. I want to be here for you. I… I care about you.”

Your heart beat with the near Freudian slip you had said. You were so close to saying I love you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t said it before; you were best friends, after all, but the shift in the nature of your relationship had made the words take on a new meaning. You couldn’t say it now.

It seemed as if nothing you could say would have any effect, judging by the silence on the other side of the door. You had just turned to begin walking away when you heard the click of Franco unlocking the door. 

You knew it was a silent invitation to enter. And when he carefully opened the door, just wide enough for you to enter but not enough so that anyone else could see, you saw the redness in his cheeks and the puffiness in his eyes indicating that he, too, had been crying.

It broke your heart. 

You entered and locked the door behind you, instantly enveloping your best friend in a warm embrace. You wanted no distractions—just you, the man you loved, and the silence of the room that was only broken by your collective cries.

All you could do was hold him close, burying your face in his neck, relishing the smell of his cologne mixed with the sweat from the race and the familiar smell of the garage—mechanical, yet somehow like home to you now. 

“I ruined everything,” he sobbed into your shoulder. The statement was cliche, but by the strength of his sobs, you knew he felt it was true.

“You don’t know that,” you reassured him. “So many other driver’s have crashed today. It’s a mess out there. You did the best you could.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. I’ve fucked it all up. I’ve ruined it. I let everyone down.”

He clearly wasn’t in a state to be reasoned with, and you knew that wasn’t the best thing right now anyway. He just needed someone to be with him. 

“It’s going to be okay. I promise it will.” That, and a warm body pressed to his, was all you could give him.

But the thoughts cascading through his brain were much darker. He really had ruined everything. Yes, his crashes would likely lose him the Redbull seat. But what he really ruined was his relationship with you.

He had done the unforgivable, crossed the line that he couldn’t return from. Everything between you two would be different now, especially when you found out what he had done.

Part of him wanted to lie and act as if it had never happened. You never wrote those words, he never read them, and everything would go on as normal.

But he knew he couldn’t. It had only been a day and the guilt was eating him alive. And now, he had ruined his chance at securing his future.

Still, in the bottom of his stomach was again that jumbled feeling he couldn’t quite name—something like anger, or disgust, something… vile. His manager was right. You had become a distraction, through no action of your own. But the filthy thoughts that went through your head at the sight of him, all which you’d written down and he’d read… it excited and repulsed him all at once.

And these emotions all ran through him as he sobbed in your arms, a quiet solace from the world. Things were broken now.

But in this moment, Franco could act as if none of that was true. He broke the embrace and finally looked you in the eyes.

Your stomach turned with butterflies. He was so beautiful, even with his puffy bloodshot eyes and gentle blush dancing across his cheeks.

And as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world, he gently cupped your chin, bringing your face to his, and kissed you.

The kiss was slow and tentative, soft, like you were something fragile. And this moment was fragile, evidenced by the silent peace between you when the kiss ended and you pulled away, staring at each other. 

Franco was about to go in for another when his manager knocked on the door. 

“Shit…” he muttered under his breath, and the reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. He wordlessly got up and left with her, leaving you alone in his driver’s room.

You were scared of what would happen when he returned, so you spent the rest of the day in Williams hospitality before leaving the track alone.

You never saw Franco again at the track, but you figured he was in deep shit for his crashes, and that you should keep your distance. But sitting in hospitality, your mind in the clouds as you heard the celebrations of Max Verstappen’s win in the distance, you were haunted by the feeling of Franco’s lips on yours.

It was soft, caring, full of… no. You couldn’t say it. 

You felt like there was a stone in your throat. You needed Franco now, but at the same time, you were terrified of what would happen the next time you saw him. So you left and went back to the hotel alone. You knew your usual routine; dinner together, spending a bit of time in his hotel room, then going to bed and heading home on separate flights.

And even though your journal had long left your mind, you imagined what would happen that night in his hotel room.

Another kiss, but rougher this time, more sure of what he wanted; and what he wanted was you. Hands wandering, hitched breaths, waking up next to each other in the morning light.

You felt like you were going to faint. But he never came by that night. No text, no call, no tentative knock on your door.

And even in the morning when you checked out of the hotel and made your way to the airport, still nothing.

You had hoped when you landed and turned your phone off airplane mode that you’d find a notification from him, but your texts were empty.

A day turned into a week. One week turned into two. No word from him. All your messages left on delivered.

It took you two weeks to get him on the phone. You had to call him out of the blue; that was the only time he answered you.

“Hello? YN? Are you okay?” He asked.

“I’m fine. Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you—”

He cut you off. “I’ve been busy.”

“I know,” you answered, slowly, as to not cause an argument. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.” You paused. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

He paused too, but his pause was more awkward than peaceful. Clearly what had happened in Brazil had changed things, to a point where even a phone call felt stiff and unnatural.

You continued, “Do you maybe want to get dinner this weekend? Our usual place?”

It was a neutral enough offer, something that would be absurd of him to refuse. 

“Yeah, let's do that. I’ll pick you up on Saturday.” His tone was cool, but you took any opportunity you had for connection. He had said yes to your invitation; that was enough.

In the meantime, unbeknownst to you, Franco was losing his fucking mind. 

He didn’t know why he had kissed you in his driver’s room. It was like he wasn’t in control of his body. But how beautiful was the result; his lips pressed to yours, so softly, felt like heaven. He relished every second of the slow and chaste kiss as if it would be his last.

And when his manager had ruined the moment, he realized that it might be. He snapped back into reality as he rushed down the hallways of the paddock with her. She was clearly pissed. She led him back to a small meeting room. The room was empty, but he knew soon the whole team would be there, and he walked in like a dog with his tail between his legs.

Before he had even sat, she took her place at the head of the conference table, small but imposing. He was in big trouble. 

She inhaled deeply before beginning.  “Franco, are you okay?”

He nodded. 

“Say it.”

“I’m okay. I’m so sorry, I—”

“You were distracted.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“But it’s the truth.” He was silent. She continued, “Look, I get it. You don’t have much experience driving in the rain. You wanted to switch to wets, I heard the radio. You tried your best during the race.”

He fiddled nervously with his hair like a child being scolded, not even able to meet her eyes. 

“I’m not upset that you crashed. Five other drivers crashed too. What I am pissed about is the media shitstorm that you’ve created. First that stunt last night, then crashing this morning? And I know you were distracted then, because you weren’t talking at all on the radio and then I saw you staring at YN before your last lap. What is going on?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” She was right. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He paused, stretching and scratching the back of his neck. He had always tried to keep his personal and professional lives separate, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that he couldn’t do that for much longer. 

“I… things are just… weird with me and YN lately.”

“I can tell.”

He gathered his courage before his confession. “I think I’m in love with her.”

His manager sighed. “I figured.”

She sat, a more sympathetic expression crossing her face. She explained, “Look, we all love YN. She’s always been there for you. I’m not trying to tell you what you need to do in your personal life, you’re an adult. But I think you know what needs to be done.”

He did know. But he was so scared. So terrified of the unknown future now. He couldn’t even speak it. 

His manager continued, “Well, after today, it’ll be hard to salvage the Redbull contract. But we have interest from other teams, too. Alpine, mostly. You still have a shot at a seat for next year. We can do this.”

She reached over to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. He smiled and nodded, knowing there was much work ahead to be done.

And that work had truly kept him busy in the following days, though not too busy to reach out to you. He just couldn’t do it. He knew if he gave himself anything he’d fall too far in. You consumed his every waking thought—but he couldn’t bring himself to respond to your messages.

Instead, he spent his late, sleepless nights online, reading what everyone was saying about him. A horrible decision, in retrospect.

The commentators had thrown him under the bus, calling him underdeveloped and inexperienced. Hundreds of people calling him “crashpinto” and saying he didn’t deserve his seat. To them, maybe lighthearted, but to him, it meant everything he had ever worked for becoming a mockery on Twitter. 

When you called, he picked up on instinct. You never called out of the blue unless it was bad.

But you had just wanted to hear his voice.

Fuck.

He couldn’t do this. He knew he couldn’t do this. His manager had told him. The entire internet was telling him. But he agreed to see you that weekend anyway. 

At least, that was the plan. But Saturday came and went and no word from him, no knock on your door, no answered text. Even a call went straight to voicemail—he had declined it.

All week, you had been looking forward to seeing him. You were wearing that dress you’d always fantasized about, the one that was his favorite color, the only one you felt truly beautiful in.

You had gotten dolled up for dinner. You wanted to finally tell him how you felt.

And he stood you up.

You cried yourself to sleep that night. How could you not? Franco was sending you mixed signals and you couldn’t do it anymore. 

But when you woke up, it was worse.

A million notifications. At least, that's how it felt. Disoriented, you opened your phone to a video from last night; Franco, walking around Madrid, with an actress. He had stood you up for someone else.

And not just any someone. You had heard of this Argentine actress. She was…controversial. Older. Beautiful.

And Franco had spent the night with her. At least, from the video and comments, that’s what you would assume. They were seen outside his apartment. He was reportedly very…talkative with her. Touchy.

You wanted to puke. The comments didn’t make it any better.

FRANCO BABY GET AWAY FROM HER

How could he do that to YN? 

I know he and YN weren’t official but if a man danced with me in the rain one week and was caught with the most problematic actress of Argentina the next, I’d commit an act of violence.

He is so fucking stupid, does he really think this is gonna help his PR after Brazil?

OMG they are so cute! They could be Argentina’s power couple <3

The last comment made you cringe. The replies to it were not kind.

You read through far too many comments before checking your texts. No message from Franco, of course. But from someone else: his mother.

Call me when you can xx

You took a moment to compose yourself. Taking a deep breath, you dialed her number. 

Her voice on the other line was comforting. 

“YN, dear, how are you?”

“Hi,” you said, “I’m… I’m okay.” You lied, and she knew it.

“Tell me the truth.”

“I’m not really okay. Franco has been acting…odd lately.”

“I know. That’s what I called to ask about. I’m sure you’ve seen the video?”

You swallowed hard, as if you could force the pain down to your stomach and ignore it. “I have.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him. I haven’t heard from him for weeks, since Singapore. I thought I raised him better than this. The press is saying he was covering his face in the video because he didn’t want us, his own family, to know.”

“Seriously?” you questioned, aghast. But your shock was also at the implication of the statement—us, his own family. Even his mother considered you part of the family. But you were invisible to him, it seems. 

“Yes!” She responded. “And for good reason. I’ve never seen his father so angry. He’s throwing away his whole career for some… woman. He’s distracted.”

That word: distracted. It felt more powerful now than ever before. 

“I mean, he hasn’t seemed like himself lately. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“I don’t either. I actually wanted to ask you to check in on him. He isn’t answering anyone, but I just need someone to talk some sense into him. Just go over to his apartment. If I was there, I’d be on his doorstep with a wooden spoon.”

You could hear the frustration and restraint in her voice. The visual of Franco’s mom on his doorstep with a spoon ready to discipline him was almost comical, if not given the context.

“I’ll try. But if he’s not listening to his own mother, I don’t think he’ll listen to me.”

“Well, if you at least try, that’s enough.” She sighed. “YN, I’m so worried for him.”

“So am I.”

The line grew quiet. You could tell his mother had more to ask, but was restraining herself. You were grateful; you didn’t have the energy to tell the insane back and forth you’d undergone with him in the past few days. You were exhausted. 

So you bid each other goodbye and you readied yourself to go to Franco’s apartment and confront him. This couldn’t go on forever. 

You were surprised that he ever even answered the door. You knocked tentatively at first.

“Franco, it’s YN. Let me in.”

He wordlessly shuffled to the door and opened it, not even stopping to greet you as he went back to his couch to scroll on his phone. 

“Hi,” you greeted, awkwardly, as he was clearly uninterested. He just gave you a small nod.

You sat down next to him. You weren’t quite sure what to say. You opened your mouth to begin, but he cut you off.

“If you’re just here to lecture me, don’t.”

“I’m not here to lecture you.” Except, you kinda were. “Franco… everyone’s worried about you. I’m worried, your mom is worried too. She asked me to check in on you.

He placed his phone down and laughed, an exclamation dripping with sarcasm and contempt. “I’m sure she did.”

“Franco—”

“No, she sent you over here to come scold me, didn’t she?”

“No,” you lied. “You’re just not acting like yourself—”

“No, don’t start with that. You’re here to tell me how badly I fucked up, aren’t you? Well you can save it. The entire internet and all my managers and sponsors and everyone else on the planet beat you to it.”

“Franco, will you let me talk?” You asked.

He ignored your question. “I already fucked up my chances at a Redbull seat, so might as well just keep doing it, right? Go big or go home.”

“Don’t you still have a chance with Alpine?” You had heard the rumors. It didn’t matter, though. Franco still had a chance at a seat, yes, but he was no longer the golden boy of F1, the perfect replacement for the driver that always crashed.

“Why does it matter? Redbull or Alpine or… Chinese F4 or whatever the people come up with. It’s over.”

In an ordinary conversation, you would have chuckled. But this was no laughing matter.

“Franco, everyone's rooting for you. We all want you to succeed, and we know you can. I know you can. I believe in you. Why are you doing this?”

He paused. “Doing what?”

You weren’t quite sure how to answer that. Ignoring you? Kissing you? Or spending the night with another woman?

“Doing things that hurt your reputation.”

“What, are you worried about the brand?”

“Yes. I am. And you should be, too.”

“Oh, fuck off. If you were really worried about ‘the brand’ you wouldn’t have been acting like you did in Brazil.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice was full of pain. He’d never used that kind of language or cruel tone with you before.

“Acting like we’re a couple.”

“Franco, you initiated all of that.” The truth cut through both of you, leaving you raw and vulnerable. “And I thought you meant it. Was it all just… a lie?”

It couldn’t be. The dancing was public. But the kiss had to be real. Away from the cameras, the scrutiny, the potential of what could be. Just you and him. Two people who loved in each other—but in what exact way, it was impossible for you to know.

His only response was curt. “Don’t ask me that,” he whispered.

Silence blanketed the room for a moment.

“The actress,” you asked, “Do you love her?” It was a simple question, asked while still ignoring the elephant in the room of what had really happened in Brazil. 

“Why do you care?” he asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

You looked at him with bewilderment. “I care because I’m your friend! She has the potential to ruin your reputation, so I mean, it’s kind of different depending on if she’s the love of your life or just a quick fuck.”

“I just don’t understand why you’re so concerned about my love life. I don’t ask about yours.” 

You weren’t quite sure where his agitation was coming from, but it shocked you nonetheless. You responded back with your own passive aggression. “That’s because I don’t have one, Franco. I’m too busy flying around the world watching you race to go on dates.” It was true. But you left out the obvious fact that you were in love with him.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“You asked me to be here!” His words cut sharper than a knife. He had practically begged for you to be there. 

“Well, if it’s such a bother, then don’t come to the last three races. I need to focus, anyway.”

“It's not a bother. I enjoy being there! Franco, I’m just trying to talk to you, please don’t take out your anger on me.”

“You’re not trying to talk. You’re trying to tell me what to do, just like everyone else does. You all act like I’m a stupid child who can’t make any decisions on my own.”

Your anger grew. “Maybe it’s because you make decisions like this! You have a reputation to uphold and you’re choosing to associate with people like her?”

“You’re just jealous,” he said, with a thick venom in his voice.

Your heart skipped a beat. You pushed your nervousness down and let anger replace it. In an equally snarky tone, you rolled your eyes and replied, “Look, obviously you’re not going to acknowledge whatever happened between us in Brazil. But I am not jealous. I’m your friend and I want to help you. And besides, not every woman wants to fuck you, Franco.”

“Oh, but you do.”

If your heart had skipped a beat before, it had just dropped into your stomach now. Was it that obvious? Before you could even summon any rebuttal, Franco continued, “You know what actually happened in Brazil? You found me out. I stole your little diary when you left it in my driver’s room. And I read every fucking word.”

All the color had drained from your face. Every single word—where you had declared your love for him, and written all your fantasies about ravishing him and him ravishing you. Every fear and frustration and moment of sadness that you had poured into that journal; he had read it. 

“What, nothing to say now?” he snapped at you. 

He was right; what could you say when your best friend had crossed a line, only to find out that you had crossed the line so much further?

You could feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t have the strength to push them away as you had always done. What was the point, anymore? 

Your only response came out like a sad whisper. “Why would you do that?”

But clearly, he felt no sympathy for you. “Why would you do that?” he retorted. “Everyone tells me constantly that you’re a distraction. And they’re right. Because I’m trying to win points and you’re in my driver’s room writing fantasies about us fucking. And then I crash and lose everything and you want to act like you’re so innocent, just wanting to help. Well I know what you really want. And it’s disgusting.”

For a second, you really thought Franco was insane. Somehow, he had managed to manipulate the situation into making this your fault. 

But if he had truly read every word, how could he come to the conclusion that all you wanted was his body? How could he not understand how deeply you loved him?

In mere moments, a million ways to convey this went through your head, But it was no use. He was beyond the point of reason. And your friendship was beyond saving.

You had nothing to say, and it felt like if you didn’t get out of there right that second, you’d go insane. “I think I should just go…” you muttered as you turned to grab your things and exit his apartment. 

“No, you don’t get to do that! You don’t get to just run away from this.”

Your anger returned at his refusal to let you go. “If you can do whatever you want, then why can’t I?” 

This time it was him who was silent. 

Just as you were finally about to leave, you heard his voice behind you, “I’ll prove you wrong.”

His four simple words released the flood of your anger. You turned to him. “Prove me wrong? All I’ve tried to do is tell you that you’re wrong, that you still have a chance to save this if you do the right thing. But what if you don’t, Franco? What if you don’t get a seat for next year? You know what will happen? She’ll leave you. And the entire world will forget about you, everyone except for me, because I’ve always been here, even when you were nothing. But this is how you treat me, you’re mean and you lie to me and you betray my trust and you blame everything on me! So don’t come crying to me when everything falls apart.”

And so you left. And that was that. 

The next few days went past like a blur.

You could only remember small snippets. A set of emails; your VIP passes had been revoked, your flights and hotel reservations canceled. 

A video of him kissing her in a nightclub. A video of her going home with another man. Rumors. Pain. 

All of the sudden, you weren’t in his life anymore. But life just…went on.

You knew it would be best to just get off social media for good, now. Try to move on with your life. But you couldn’t help it. You watched the gossip pages, the F1 updates, his own page.

His comments were full of angry people, lambasting the actress or trying to defend you. His managers even had to issue a statement.

In your head you could hear his manager’s voice, scolding him. You knew exactly what she’d say.

And halfway across the world at the Las Vegas Grand Prix, you were right.

The few days in between the video of the actress, his argument with you, and the Grand Prix weekend felt like a century. But he was here, for better or for worse.

Still, the icy glare of his manager cut through him. He’d gotten an earful after the video leaked. The tension still hadn’t settled. 

But media day had gone fairly well; little mention of you or the actress. In fact, everything had gone smooth—a little too smooth, going into qualifying. 

One last meeting before he’d have to get to the garage. The garage itself had felt oddly…quiet, without you there. Yes, he’d canceled everything in the hot aftermath of your argument. 

But he couldn’t ignore your absence, like a hole in his chest.

He went in and out of focus—he was doing that a lot, these days—as the meeting dwindled and staff filtered out of the room one by one, until again it was just Franco and his manager.

She felt the tension in the room, and knew it was a delicate balance. The wrong mention at the wrong time could ruin everything. So she didn’t mention your name, knowing that it could affect his performance.

“Hey, kid,” she teased him, “You’ve got this. You’ve been through a lot—Hell, you’ve put me through a lot, but you’ve still got three more weeks to show the world what you can do. And I believe in you.”

He only gave her a reassuring smile before he went to the garage. 

The smile was fake. He knew it. She knew it. Maybe the fans knew it. 

You certainly knew it, watching the Sky Sports broadcast from home. It was an odd duality; you couldn’t stop watching, but every time they showed Franco, you felt like you’d been stabbed right in the heart. 

And across the world, Franco felt that same pain. His manager hadn’t brought you up, but her words were far too similar to yours. I believe in you.

Of course she did. That was her job. But you? You believed in him when he was fourteen and couldn’t figure out how to wash his clothes alone. You believed in him when he was sick and when he crashed and when he fucked everything up. 

Everything you had said just echoed in his mind, over and over, every night. He hadn’t been sleeping well. 

But this was his own fault. He had ruined it. He had read the journal. He had revoked your VIP passes. 

He had no one to blame but himself. And it was eating him alive.

When he was younger, he fell in love with racing because of the freedom it gave him. When he was in the car, it was just him and the road. No one could touch him—he could drive into oblivion if he wanted to.

But now, even in the former bliss of that sacred space of his F1 car, his shoulders were weighed down by the weight of all he had done. 

The quali session was almost over when he crashed. 

There were no words anymore. He retired the car and went back to the garage in silence.

At home, you just cried. There was nothing else you could do. 

It wasn’t long before Franco heard a familiar knock at his driver’s room door—his manager. He had spoken to the media, answered all the questions perfectly. But he had cost the team more time and money. He had let everyone down.

He opened the door without speaking a word, bracing for his scolding. 

But when his manager entered, her expression was not one of anger. “Franco, talk to me. What’s happening?” 

“I don’t know. I just lost control of the car and—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He paused, a strange sense of deja vu washing over him. He sat down and brought his head to his hands. The words wouldn’t come out.

“Where is YN?”

“She’s not here.”

His manager’s tone grew angrier. “Yeah, I’m aware. Where is she?”

“At home.”

“Why isn’t she here? What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Franco said, his frustration growing at his manager’s insistence. 

“Well, obviously something happened, because she’d have to be dead or in jail to not be attending one of your F1 races.”

He looked up, furrowing his brow. “You told me to do what I have to do. So I did.”

“She didn’t take it well? That's… surprising.”

His anger was now tinged with confusion. “Well, most people don’t take it well when they’re called a distraction.”

“...Franco, did you tell her that?”

“Yes, that’s what you wanted me to do!”

“Oh my—no, God, Franco, that’s not what I meant!”

The driver got up, ready to angrily speak with his hands. His manager didn’t cower one bit. She asked, “Franco, what the hell did you tell her?”

“I told her she was a distraction and that she didn’t need to come to the last races. And I told her that she doesn’t need to scold me because you already do that enough. I did what I had to do, exactly what you told me to do!”

His manager took a deep breath. “When I said that you should do what you had to do, I meant that you needed to sit down and tell her how you feel.”

Oh.

She continued, “Yes, you were distracted because of your feelings for her. But she isn’t a distraction. She’s your friend, right? And you love her. So why would you say that to her?”

He began, “I—I don’t know. I don’t…” He couldn’t even finish his sentence. 

“Jesus Christ, Franco. What has gotten into you?”

He couldn’t even speak. 

“Is there any chance in hell that this can be smoothed over before the race next week?”

He shook his head. No. Not after he had deliberately stood you up to go out with the actress. Not after he had spent the night with her, imagining your lips on his instead of hers. Not after everything he had said. Not after he’d rescinded his gift he’d worked so hard to give you by univiniting you to all the remaining races.

No, things were definitely not going to be smoothed over anytime soon. 

Qatar. Still no word from him. 

You’d contemplated reaching out a few times, but every time you’d gather up the courage, you’d remember what he said. There was no point anymore.

He crashed within the first laps of the race. It wasn’t even his fault, but still. The damage was done. 

The once promising young driver was now the laughing stock of the internet from all the work he’d made for the Williams’ mechanics. Unfortunately for your mental health, you’d still been keeping up with F1 news. 

Your absence hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Has anyone else noticed that since YN hasn’t been at races, Franco hasn’t been performing well?

REPLY: Yeah, he does seem kind of off, even in interviews :(

REPLY: He didn’t do well in Brazil and she was there tho

REPLY: Yeah, but Brazil was a mess, no one except Max did well

REPLY: Call me parasocial but I 100% believe that he confessed his feelings and she didn’t reciprocate them. Why else would he immediately crash twice, hook up with a famous actress, and then YN isn’t at any races?

You laughed from the sheer absurdity of it all. Their assumptions couldn’t be further from the truth. 

But time kept passing, like your entire world hadn’t been destroyed.

And again, as Franco traveled across the globe for races, his world was crumbling too.

It was becoming apparent that he wouldn’t get a seat for 2025. His time in F1—at least, for now—was coming to an end. And you were gone.

As he checked into his hotel room in Abu Dhabi, he could feel that familiar weight coming to rest on him. It hadn’t let up through the entire triple header. 

And when he was alone in his room, he couldn’t hide from it anymore.

You were just a phone call away. All he had to do was press a button and apologize. You were kind—he’d always loved that about you—you’d forgive him.

Or maybe you wouldn’t. Or maybe you couldn’t. 

He couldn’t bear the thought. So he didn’t call. Instead he tried to shake it off and take a shower, washing away the grit and grime of the airport, and the metaphorical dirt that now clung to him, the guilt of all he’d ruined. 

But even in the shower, his thoughts wandered to you, back in Brazil. You had held him, and he buried his head in your shoulder, taking in the sweet scent of your perfume and the warmth of your embrace. 

His hand trailed from his hair, where he was rinsing out his shampoo, to lower on his body, over his toned stomach and the happy trail that dotted his stomach.

He imagined his hand was yours.

No. This was wrong. But you had done it, hadn’t you?

He finished his shower in record time. Now, sitting on the edge of the bed in just a towel, he remembered that night in Singapore.

Had you thought about him like this? You must have. Yes, he remembered, you wrote about it. 

He had kept the journal. It was there, in his backpack, at his feet. 

He didn’t even think when he did it, reaching down to grab the small leather bundle of sin, letting his towel fall to the floor and not bothering to pick it up. 

Climbing on the bed, he opened the journal again. His hand gripped his aching cock, but God, how he wished it was yours. 

He read. I keep imagining that night at the hotel in Singapore, when he came out of the bathroom with just his towel on. 

Yes, he remembered. The memory of your closeness made his hard length twitch. His eyes darted further down the page. 

So I get on the bed and straddle him, the only thing between us being my skirt, panties, and the thin fabric of the towel. I can feel him, how badly he wants me.

He pumped himself up and down, slowly at first, then harder as your words got filthier. He imagined the scene; you on top of him, his hand being yours. God, how badly he wanted you, no, needed you right now. 

Then I’m in control, kissing his neck, leaving love bites up and down so that everyone knows he’s mine. 

Yes, he was yours. His body was yours. His mind was yours. Everything that he was, was yours. How badly he wished he could tell you that. But all he could do now was keep himself on the edge, denying himself the sweet release as you’d imagined. 

He moans softly into my ear, bucking up his hips into me for just a bit of friction. “No,” I tell him, “I didn’t give you permission for that.” He whines in protest, but I just smile at his frustration. “My sweet boy…”

He mimicked the scene when his hips jerked involuntarily, eliciting a low groan from his throat as he released all the pent up anger and frustration. He hadn’t meant to finish this early, but your words and the memory of your lips on his had an effect on him that he couldn’t control. 

But even as his breathing slowed and he moved to clean up the evidence of his debauchery, he couldn’t help but wonder how you’d punish him for disobeying your commands.

God, he fucking missed you. 

Even with the clarity of his release, he didn’t seem to be thinking clearly. His phone still lay open, the screen on your contact. 

One phone call. That’s all it would take. One phone call and you could be there at the end of it all, just as you’d always been there at the start.

But he still couldn't do it. 

He tapped the settings icon and hit “block caller.”

[catcze]

I feel like Wrio would be a little nervous for his first Christmas with you because he’d be nervous if you’d like the present he got for you or not 🥺

He would !! The way he would have spent so long toiling over what to get you, too? He probably spent days upon days deciding what to get you <3

In hindsight, Wriothesley knows that it's a dumb thing to worry about. He knows that he's probably overthinking it, probably making a mountain out of a molehill.

It's just buying a gift, how hard could it be?

Turns out, when it's for you, buying a gift is very hard.

He doesn't even get why he's making this so difficult for himself. He knows what you like. He knows the things that make you smile, that make you laugh, that make you run up and embrace him from sheer glee. He knows all of these things, but the thing is, for this holiday season, he wants his gift to you to be special— he doesn't want it to be something that he would get you any other day of the year just because he could. This is your first time celebrating the holidays with you, and he wants it to be special.

And, when the day comes that you're excitedly staring at the gift he got you, he can feel the nerves crawling up his throat and his heart doing nervous backflips in his chest.

The gift he got you is a small thing— a palm sized box that he had wrapped all on his own. The wrapping is a little shoddy, a little imperfect and the paper a little crinkled and not as taut as it would have been if he had gotten it done professionally, but he wanted to do it himself. it only felt right.

You shake the box at first, gently and just a little, and Wriothesley can't help the small smile that forms on his face when you pout in disappointment, unable to hear anything from inside.

"You have to open it to find out what it is, sweetheart," he teases you good-naturedly, leaning forward to watch your reaction keenly, resting his chin on his palm as he tries his best to quell the growing worry bubbling in his stomach.

You roll your eyes in response, but you're smiling still, clearly excited for whatever it is he had gotten you. "It better not be some gag gift," you grumble to him, even though you know that Wriothesley wouldn't do that to you— he's too sincere for that. Too sweet.

You carefully unwrap the gift, only to be presented with a pretty white box with a logo emblazoned on the top. It's simple, yet elegant, and you recognize the name written on the box to be one of the most famous jewelers in the whole nation. One that's expensive and notoriously difficult to buy from.

In your chest, your heart rate picks up and there's a shock of disbelief in your system, followed by anticipation. Your jaw drops in surprise, eyes widening as you all but snap your neck to Wriothesley, who continues to watch you with rapt attention. "Well? You haven't opened it up yet," he prompts, eyes flicking down to the gift, the smirk on his face not betraying the way his heart is pounding and the way his mouth is dry from anxiety.

With utmost gentleness, you lift the lid of the box, and are presented with two rings, both fitted snugly in a velvet cushion, and your jaw snaps shut as you admire them with wide eyes.

Both bands are simple in nature, devoid of any extravagant gemstones or gaudy designs, made to look instead like vines weaving together on the finger. Made of white gold that's been polished to perfection, practically shining like a mirror in the lighting, there are small, understated diamonds inlaid between the vines, making the rings glitter.

"They're not engagement rings, so you don't have to worry just yet," comes Wriothesley's teasing— you hadn't even noticed his approach, too stunned by the simple and subtle beauty of the rings in your palm. With utmost gentleness, Wriothesley carefully plucks one of the rings out of the velvet cushion and takes your left hand, carefully slipping it onto your ring finger with near-reverence, and all you can do is watch, mouth agape as you still try to process the whole thing. The ring is a perfect fit, down to the centimeter. Crafted, you think, just for you.

"They're promise rings," he says, voice soft and near-fragile with his sincerity. Slowly, he grasps your hand with his own, and the ring twinkles prettily as he does so. Its pair continues to glimmer on the cushion in your hand. "Do you like it?" Wriothesley asks, soft, his eyes intently searching your face for any sort of reaction.

And honestly, you have to will yourself not to let tears gather in your lashes. Not to sob right then and there at the sincerity, at the sheer sweetness of this man with his hand in yours. Part of you wants to bury yourself in his chest and hold him and cry, because you genuinely don't think that you can take how caring he is. How thoughtful. How utterly devoted he is.

But you will yourself to keep your composure, though it takes every ounce of your will. With a hitching breath you carefully take the remaining ring out and take Wriothesley's own left hand. You're almost clumsy in your haste as you slip the ring onto his finger now, blinking back tears as you do so and trying your best not to make it obvious that you want to cry. Wriothesley mercifully doesn't say anything about your state, but instead you hear his breath hitch too as the ring slips onto his finger, as perfect in fit as yours had been.

You swallow heavily as you weave your hand with his, then, both your rings glinting in unison under the light. When you face Wriothesley, he's already watching you, something soft and sweet on his face, and you realize that you're not the only one who's about to cry.

"They're perfect," you murmur between the two of you, hand tightening around his, heart flipping and racing and practically imploding in your chest. When you speak, you're not only talking about the rings. "I really love them."

[v6quewrlds]

ALL MINE, TEE HIGGINS.

pairing⠀⁎⠀tee higgins x ex!reader. word count⠀⁎⠀7.4k.

summary⠀⁎⠀two years ago, you thought you had left tee higgins in the past. both ja'marr and tee's mother have been waiting to bring you back into the loop, at any means necessary.

author's note⠀⁎⠀i think i've written and rewritten this fic at least 4 times in the last two months. pls suspend your disbelief and imagine car sex isn't a semi-miserable experience. lost the original request for this but sorry it took me forever, here it is <3 warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, smut, jealous!tee, mama tee & ja'marr meddling, forced proximity trope, car sex, fingering, male masturbation, oral sex (m. receiving), facial lol, feelings, etc.

You took your seat, balancing your nachos in one hand and your soda in another. You couldn't believe you had agreed to come to the game tonight. The stadium lights reflected off the field, creating a kaleidoscope of color against the night sky. The roar of the crowd washed over you like a wave of nostalgia, a stark contrast to the quiet solace of your usual Sunday nights at home. You had hoped the distance between you and the game would be enough to keep you from seeing Tee, but the universe had a twisted sense of humor.

When Ja'Marr had bribed you with free tickets and the promise of seeing your hard work on his shoulder in action from the VIP suite, you had felt a flutter of excitement. It was the kind of experience you had always dreamed of, a chance to see the game you loved from a perspective most fans could only envy. But the moment you walked in and saw Tee's mother, your heart had sunk. You knew that look in her eye, the one that said she'd been waiting for this moment for nearly two years.

You knew Tee and Ja'Marr were extremely close, but you hadn't anticipated their families sharing a suite for the season - an oversight on your part that had led you straight into the lion's den. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the awkwardness to come. Tee's mother, gave you a knowing smile - one that mirrored Tee's - and a wink that made your heart race.

"Is that who I think it is?" You heard Tee's mother wonder out loud as you approached the suite. Your heart skipped a beat. You had hoped you could fly under the radar, but you should have known better. Tee's mother was sharp, and she hadn't missed a beat when it came to her son's love life.

You had met Tee's mother twice before, both times ending in an unspoken promise that you would help her son get his life in check. Now, as the woman's gaze fell on you, you felt a strange mix of dread and comfort. She was the kind of person who didn't miss a beat, and she wasn't about to let you slip away without making her intentions known. She wanted you back with Tee, and she wasn't afraid to play Cupid.

"I'm so happy you made it," Tee's mother said, her voice warm and welcoming despite the tension in the air. "It's so good to see you, baby." The Southern warmth enveloped you. You forced a smile, your eyes glancing at the field where Tee was warming up with his team.

"It's nice to see you too," you managed to say, your voice tight. You knew that the woman's welcoming tone was a loaded one, filled with expectations and hopes for a reunion you weren't quite ready to entertain.

Tee's mother leaned in, whispering in your ear. "You look gorgeous, darling. Tee's so hard-headed, but I know he'll be happy to see you." You felt a warmth creep up your neck as you took a sip of your soda, hoping the cool liquid would calm the storm brewing inside you. You knew that you had to be as normal as you could muster, especially considering the circumstances of your breakup with Tee. But as you watched Tee on the field, your thoughts drifted to those passionate nights the two of you had shared, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was still something there.

The game kicked off, and you found yourself lost in the excitement of the plays, the cheers of the crowd, and the occasional glance at Tee, his muscles rippling as he sprinted across the field. Every time he caught a pass, celebrated with his teammates, or flashed that million-dollar smile, you felt a twinge of something you had been trying so hard to bury. You focused on Ja'Marr's performance, nodding with professional pride at each catch and cringing at each hit he took.

The game ended just as explosively as it had started, with the Bengals claiming victory. The suite erupted into a roar of cheers and laughter, and you found yourself being swept up in the excitement despite your apprehension about seeing Tee. As the families began to filter out of the suite and into the hallway leading to the players' exit, you tried to hide behind Ja'Marr's parents, hoping to go under the radar just until you could congratulate him. But fate had other plans.

As the players began to pour out of the locker room to greet their families, you were quickly spotted by various team members who had become familiar faces at your clinic. They greeted you with smiles and updates on their recoveries, making small talk that you returned with genuine enthusiasm.

Tee stepped out of the locker room, standing head and shoulders above the vast majority of the crowd. His eyes scanned the hallway, looking for his mother and Ja'Marr's family. The sight of your signature sleek jet-black hair tucked between the sea of heads stopped him in his tracks. The jean shorts and jersey you had worn teasingly hid your curves in a way that had his thoughts drifting to the nights the two of you had spent together. He felt the heat of his shock and desire mingling, unsure which would win out.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder as he stood frozen in his spot. Ja'Marr's laugh only seemed to push his irritation further as he watched you interact with his teammates, all smiles and gentle touches that made his blood boil. "You can thank me later," he said, a smug smirk playing across his lips as he stepped in front of Tee to greet his family. Tee's mother pulled Ja'Marr in for a quick hug, whispering, "It's about time you got her down here, good job," before releasing him and turning her attention to her brooding, silent son.

The tension in the air was palpable as you and Tee locked eyes over his mother's shoulder. He couldn't read the emotions playing out on your face, but he knew you were just as annoyed as he was. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before he made a scene. He didn't know what to say to you, didn't know how to act with you so close to him. The last thing he wanted was to ruin the victory night for everyone with your personal drama.

Ja'Marr reached you before Tee could say a word, pulling you into a warm hug and breaking your eye contact with Tee. "Thanks for everything," he said, sincerity in his voice. "Couldn't have done it without you." The other stray players nodded in agreement, sharing their appreciation for your work. Tee felt his jaw clench, the jealousy bubbling to the surface as he watched you laugh and joke with the men he shared a locker room with.

But as the crowd thinned and the congratulations grew quieter, you turned to leave, your eyes avoiding Tee's gaze. You didn't want to deal with this, not now, not here. Tee's mother, ever the opportunist, called out to you. "How are you getting home, sweetheart?" She feigned innocence.

Your eyes snapped to hers, a silent plea to convince her to ease the pressure. "I'm all good. I didn't want to deal with the parking headache so I ubered over. I'll just order one to get home," you replied, hoping to keep the conversation moving.

Tee's mother, however, had other plans.

"Why don't you let Tee take you home," Tee's mother said, her voice a blend of sweetness and command that left you with little room to argue. To make matters worse, Tee nodded, seeing an opening and taking it without question.

"Yeah, you still live at the same place?" Tee asked, his voice low and gruff. You nodded, unable to hide the irritation in your eyes. You didn't want to be here, didn't want to deal with this, but you had no escape. Tee's mother had set the stage, and now you had to play the part.

"Good," he said decisively, leaving you no room to argue. "I'll take you."

The walk to Tee's car was a silent battle of wills, with each step echoing the unspoken tension that had grown between the two of you. You felt a storm of emotions brewing, a tornado of anger and desire that you hadn't felt since the last time you were together. You were torn between pushing him away and throwing yourself into his arms, but you knew the latter was a dangerous path you couldn't afford to take.

As you approached the sleek black sports car, you could see his eyes scanning the parking lot, looking for any sign of recognition or potential interested eyes. It had always been like this with Tee, a constant dance of public and private personas. You knew the weight of being a public figure's girlfriend - or fuck buddy - all too well, and you weren't sure if you wanted to step back into that world again.

But as the two of you climbed into the car and the door shut behind them, the outside world faded away. The leather seats were perfectly pristine, and the scent of his cologne filled the space, a heady mix that was both comforting and infuriating. You sat in silence, jaws set and tense. You were the first to break it.

"Why'd you say that?" you spat out, your eyes on the floor mat as you fidgeted with the zipper of your purse. "Why would you put me in that situation in front of everyone?"

Tee's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his head shaking, already rejecting your frustration. "What situation? You looked like you was having the time of your life flirting with my teammates," he shot back, the edge in his voice betraying his own jealousy.

"Flirting? I was talking to my patients," you retorted, your voice rising slightly. "But that's always your go-to, isn't it? Accuse me of shit when you know damn well I'm just doing my job." You glanced up at him, your eyes flashing with anger.

Tee met your gaze in the mirror, his jaw tight. "And what about you wearing my boy's jersey?" He gestured towards you, the frustration in his voice palpable. "That's not sending a message?"

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Tee, it is just a jersey. And last time I checked, I can wear whatever the hell I want." The words hung in the air, charged with the electricity of your unresolved feelings.

"Yeah, but why his?" Tee countered, his voice thick with irritation. He started the engine and pulled out of the garage, the tires squealing slightly as he hit the gas. The darkness of the night outside the car mirrored the tumultuous emotions inside.

"It's not just about the jersey, Tee," you sighed, your voice filled with a mix of frustration and longing. "It's about respecting me as a person. You don't own me. I can't believe we're even having this conversation."

Tee clenched his teeth, feeling his blood pressure rise. "You're right, I don't own you," he said, his eyes never leaving the road ahead. "But you know damn well that ain't what this is about." His hand reached over and rested on your thigh, his thumb making slow, deliberate circles.

You felt a shiver run through your body despite the warmth of his touch. "Then what is it about?" you asked, your hand hesitating before pushing his hand away. You shifted in your seat, crossing your arms tightly.

Tee's hand hovered over your thigh for a moment before retreating. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's about... us. And how we always seem to end up in the same fucked up situation." He paused, glancing over at you before continuing. "It's about how every time I see you, I want to love on you so badly it hurts."

Your eyes searched his profile in the dim car light, the glow of passing streetlights casting shadows on his sharp features. "And what about when you don't see me?" you challenged, your voice laced with bitterness. "You still get to fuck on whoever you want, whenever you want. But the second I try to live my life, you act like I'm the one who's wrong."

Tee's eyes never left the road, groaning in response to your argument. "You think it's easy for me?" he bit back. "You think I don't miss you every fucking day? That I don't lay in bed at night thinking about you?" His voice grew softer, the anger momentarily subsiding. "But every time we talk, it's the same shit. You push me away, and I don't know how to fix it."

You stared at your hands in your lap, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. You had missed him too, but you weren't about to admit that. Not now. Not when you had worked so hard to move on. "You can't fix it if you don't know what's broken," you murmured, your voice barely audible over the hum of the car's engine.

Tee sighed. "Then tell me. Tell me what the fuck I did wrong, because I've been playing this shit on repeat in my head for two years, and I can't figure it out." His frustration was clear, but so was the desperation in his voice.

You turned to face him, your eyes searching his for a moment before you spoke. "You didn't do just one thing wrong, Tee. It's like you never knew how to just be with me without all the drama and the games. And when we tried to get serious, you just... you just didn't get it."

Tee's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Get what?" he asked, his voice tight.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh. "You didn't get that I needed more than just... this," you said, gesturing between the two of you. "I needed someone who could handle being with me without all the bullshit, without treating me like a fucking trophy to show off to your boys. I just wanted you to be able to chill the fuck out around me."

Tee remained silent, his eyes focused on the road as he digested your words. The silence grew heavier, each passing second feeling like an eternity. Finally, he spoke. "I know I fucked up. But you gotta know that when I'm around you, it's like... I just can't control myself. I can't think right."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't deny the flutter in your stomach at his confession. "Well, maybe you should learn," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. But you knew he had a point. Whenever the two of you were together, it was like your emotions had a mind of their own, a tornado that wreaked havoc on everything around you.

"I'm trying," Tee said, his voice gruff. "But it's hard when I see you with other guys, talking with my mom, wearing another man's jersey..." He trailed off, his voice thick with unspoken frustration and something else - something that made your heart race.

"I'm not with anyone, Tee," you said, your voice softer now. "I've been focusing on work, on myself."

Tee glanced at you, his gaze lingering for a moment too long before returning to the road. "For real?" His voice was tinged with skepticism.

"Yeah, for real," you snapped, feeling the heat of his stare. "Why can't you just believe me?"

Tee didn't respond, his eyes flicking back and forth between the road and your profile. The two of you drove in silence for a few minutes, the tension in the car thick enough to cut with a knife. The city lights flashed by, a blur of color that matched the chaos in your mind. You could feel his eyes on you and the corners of his lips pulling into a smug smile. It was infuriating, but you couldn't help but be drawn in by his magnetic energy.

"I can't stand you," you huffed, your eyes never leaving his profile.

Tee chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "You never mean that shit," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through you. He pulled into your parking garage, looking for a guest spot as he casually added, "When was the last time you got fucked right?"

Your eyes widened in shock, your breath hitching in your throat. "What the hell did you just say to me?" you hissed, your hand itching to reach for the door handle.

Tee's grin grew wider, his teeth flashing in the dim light of the garage. "You heard me," he drawled, pulling into an empty spot. "It's a damn shame you can't remember."

Your hand hovered over the door handle, torn between the desire to cuss him out and the heat that was spreading through you at the thought of your past encounters. "Why are you doing this?" you demanded, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and arousal you couldn't hide.

"Doing what?" Tee feigned innocence, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he turned to look at you. "Just trying to have a conversation, that's all. Remind you of what you've been missing." He stepped out of the car, the sound of the door slamming echoing through the garage.

You sat in the car, seething, trying to compose yourself. You didn't need this shit, not from him. But as you watched him walk around to your side, you knew you couldn't ignore him. You stepped out, your legs wobbly from the mix of emotions. He leaned against the car, arms folded over his broad chest, watching you with a smug look that made you want to scream.

Your eyes squinted, "Tee," you warned, "Don't start with me."

"I'm not starting anything," he said, his voice smoother than you remembered. "You remember that weekend you missed your flight?" Your cheeks grew warm, the memory rushing back. "You were so busy screaming my name, you ain't even notice the time."

Your nostrils flared, but you couldn't argue with that. It had been one of those weekends - passionate and all-consuming. But that was the problem with Tee. He had a way of making everything feel ten times more intense than it should have been, and you had been swept away by it every single time.

"Don't flatter yourself," you said, trying to sound unaffected. "It was just good dick."

Tee's grin never wavered. "Is that all it was to you?" He stepped closer, closing the space between you, your back pressed against the car. "Just good dick?"

Your heart hammered in your chest, his proximity making your head throb. You could feel his warmth, smell his cologne, and it was doing things to you that you didn't want to admit.

"Tee, don't do this to me," you whispered, your voice barely a breath. But it was too late. The dam had broken and you could feel the passion and frustration boiling over.

"You know it wasn't just that," Tee said, his voice dropping to a whisper. His hand reached up, cupping your cheek delicately, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. "It was never just about the sex. Like the week before we broke up, you remember that, don't you?"

Your eyes narrowed, trying to fight the memories that flooded back. That week had been intense, a whirlwind of success after the Bengals won the AFC North Championship, and the private moments you had shared in the aftermath had been more than just physical. "You can't just throw that in my face," you murmured, your voice strained.

Tee stepped closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "But it's the truth, ain't it?" he whispered, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "You can't tell me you don't miss that connection."

Your eyes fluttered closed, the memories of your passionate encounters overwhelming you. "Fuck," you breathed, your voice trembling. "Sprayed me with champagne, didn't you?"

Tee's smile grew as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur. "And then I ate that pussy good, just how you like," he whispered, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. Your breath hitched, and you couldn't stop the images that flashed through your mind. That night had been explosive, a celebration of victory and passion.

Your body responded despite your resistance, and you felt yourself leaning into him, your hand reaching up to push against his chest. But instead of pushing him away, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. You whimpered softly, your resolve wavering.

Tee took this as an invitation, his hand moving to the nape of your neck and pulling you in for a deep, possessive kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, and you could taste the victory of the game on him, the sweetness of his triumph mixing with the bitterness of your past. You kissed him back with a ferocity that surprised even yourself, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions - anger, desire, and a hint of nostalgia. You didn't want to be here, didn't want to feel this way again, but you were powerless against the gravitational pull of your history. As you broke apart for a moment to catch your breath, Tee's eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of surrender.

"Fuck you," you whispered, your eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and need. But even as you said the words, your body betrayed you, arching into his touch, your breasts brushing against his chest.

Tee chuckled against your lips, his hand sliding down to your ass, and squeezing gently. "I'm trying," he murmured, his teeth grazing your bottom lip.

The garage lights were dim, casting shadows over your bodies as you kissed, a silent symphony of passion and anger playing out between the two of you. You felt his other hand move to your waist, pulling you closer. You wanted to push him away, to scream and yell and tell him to leave you alone, but you couldn't. Your body was responding to his touch in a way you hadn't allowed it to in almost two years, and you were powerless to stop it.

With a low growl, Tee whispered, "You want this?" Your eyes searched his, a war of emotions playing out in their depths. Finally, you nodded, and Tee didn't need any more encouragement. He yanked you closer, his mouth devouring yours, his hands roaming over your body, relearning every curve and angle.

"Upstairs?" Tee murmured against your neck, his voice thick with lust.

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of desire that clouded your thoughts. "Can't wait that long, backseat's fine," you murmured. The words slipped out before you could think better of it, but once they did, there was no turning back. You crawled into the back seat, shooting him a searing glare as he slapped your ass before climbing in after you.

In the confines of the car, the tension between the two of you was thick. Tee didn't waste time, his hands roaming over your body as if he knew every inch of you. Your resolve crumbled as his lips found your neck, kissing and nibbling along the sensitive skin. You let out a soft moan, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as you straddled his strong thighs.

"You missed this," Tee murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "Admit it."

You gritted your teeth, trying to keep your voice steady. "Just good dick, remember?" But your words held no conviction, and Tee's smug smile grew wider. He knew he had you, and the thrill of it was written all over his face. He reached up, cupping your cheek gently. "But it's more than that, baby," he whispered, his voice a seductive purr. "It's always been more."

As he spoke, his hand moved to unbutton your jean shorts. Your chest heaved as you felt his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties. The touch was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body that you hadn't felt in what felt like an eternity.

"You’re so fuckin' wet, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Your breath hitched as Tee's fingers found your entrance and circled it with a skill that had you biting back a moan. The friction was exquisite, and you couldn’t help but rock against him, your body begging for more.

"Tee..." you whispered, your voice a mix of warning and need. But he ignored you, his focus solely on the pleasure he was giving you. His fingertips found your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your toes curl in your sneakers. Your eyes fluttered closed as you gave yourself over to the sensation, the anger dissipating like smoke in the wind.

"Just like old times..." Tee murmured as he slid two fingers into you, the sudden fullness making you gasp. The leather of the passenger seat headrest behind your head was cold against your skin as you leaned back, your eyes fluttering closed. The sound of your breathing filled the small space, punctuated by the occasional moan that escaped your lips. You had missed this, the feeling of being filled and desired by someone who knew your body so well and on instinct.

But you weren't about to admit it. Not now, not when you were trying so hard to keep your walls up. "Don't get too cocky," you managed to say, your voice strained. "It's just been a dry spell."

Tee chuckled darkly, his thumb continuing to circle your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you. "Dry spell or not, still got the wettest pussy I've ever had," he said, his voice filled with a possessive edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

You couldn't help the moan that escaped you as he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss that left you gasping for air. His hand slid from your neck to your chest, cupping your breast through the jersey and teasing the nipple into a tight peak. You felt his cock strain against his pants, and the urge to feel him inside you was almost too much to bear.

"Take this shit off," he hissed as if suddenly remembering you were wearing Ja'Marr's jersey. The material of the jersey was pulled away from your body, revealing your plain black bra. The sound of the fabric tearing filled the car, echoing the chaotic passion between the two of you. Tee's eyes darkened with desire and a hint of possessiveness as he stared at your exposed skin.

His gaze dropped, and he leaned in to kiss the soft swell of your tits, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin before biting down gently, causing you to gasp and arch your back. His other hand remained between your legs, his fingers moving in and out of you, the rhythm increasing as his kisses grew more urgent.

You felt the beginnings of an orgasm building, your hips moving in sync with his hand. But you didn't want it to end there. You wanted more, needed more. With a growl of frustration, you pushed him back and began to undo your shorts, pulling them down over your legs as Tee chuckled, watching your impatience. You kicked them aside, straddling him again, and reached for his pants.

You leaned down to kiss him, your hand fumbling with his belt buckle. The sound of metal clicking open was music to both your ears. You felt his cock, thick and hard, pressing against the fabric of his briefs. Tee groaned, his hips bucking up to meet your hand as you freed him. The sight of him, so eager and needy, made your core throb with desire.

"Fuck, I've missed this," you murmured, your voice thick with lust.

Tee gripped your hips and pulled you down onto him, his erection pushing past your wetness in one swift motion. Your eyes rolled back as he filled you, the sensation of his thickness stretching you almost too much to bear. He began to move, his hips bucking up into you with a fervor that spoke of his own desire. The leather of the car seat was cool as it dug into your knees, but you didn’t care as you leaned into his thrusts, your breath coming out in gasps.

The car rocked slightly with your movements, the sound of your skin slapping together echoing through the quiet night. Your hands gripped the back of the seat, your nails digging into the leather as Tee’s hands roamed over your body, his mouth finding your neck again, sucking hard enough to leave bruises. You knew you would wear them with a disconcerting mix of pride and shame, but right now, you didn’t care. All you cared about was the way he felt inside you.

Tee’s hands slid up to your chest, squeezing your tits roughly, fingers tugging at the clasp, allowing them to fall from their restraint before wrapping his lips around a nipple. You moaned, your hips moving faster, urging him on. His other hand held you in place, keeping you tight against him as he picked up the pace. You could feel your orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that was going to shatter you into a million pieces.

"Tee, oh my god," you gasped, your body trembling as you felt yourself getting closer. His teeth grazed your skin, his hand moving down to grip your ass tightly, his hand soothing over the skin before delivering a firm slap that echoed through the car.

"You like that?" he groaned, his voice muffled against your skin. "You like when I fuck you like this?"

You could only nod, your voice lost to the sensation of him filling you so completely. 

Tee wasn’t satisfied by that alone. He pulled away from your neck and stared into your eyes, his own filled with a dark hunger. "Say that shit," he demanded, his voice low and rough. "Say you missed this dick."

Your eyes flashed with defiance for a moment before you gave in, your voice a needy whine. "I missed this dick." The words left your mouth in a rush of air, and Tee's eyes lit up with triumph. He began to pump into you harder, his grip on your hips tightening, his movements more deliberate. The car rocked with each thrust, the leather of the seat squeaking slightly under your weight.

"Good girl," Tee murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. "You know you missed this." His thumb found your clit again, pressing down as his fingers continued to explore the depths of you. The sensation was too much, and you felt your orgasm build rapidly, a crescendo of pleasure that you hadn't experienced in so long.

"Tee, oh god, I'm gonna..." your voice trailed off as you bit your lip, your eyes squeezing shut. The words hung in the air, a declaration of your impending climax. Tee's strokes grew more deliberate, his hips meeting yours with a force that had the car bouncing slightly.

"Tell me what you need from me," Tee demanded, his breath hot against your neck. His strokes grew deeper, more powerful, as if he were trying to claim your very soul with every thrust.

Your breath was ragged, your voice strained as you whispered, "Just make me come, Tee. Wanna flood your dick, baby." The words were a mix of submission and challenge that made Tee’s eyes burn with lust. He knew you were close, your breath hitching and your pussy tightening around him. He reached up and pinched your nipple hard, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch your back and cry out.

Your orgasm washed over you like a wave, your pussy clenching down on him as you threw your head back, your eyes squeezed shut. Tee watched your face, the way your mouth fell open in a silent scream, the way your eyes shut and your dimples deepened. He could feel your juices coating him, making every stroke slick and hot. It was like coming home, a feeling he had craved for so long.

"Yeah, baby, just like that. Take what you need from me, baby." Tee murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he watched you come apart in his arms. He could feel his own orgasm building, his balls tightening as he pumped into you slowly. He waited, savoring your climax before kissing you, his own climax still quite a ways away.

Your kiss grew sloppier, more desperate, as Tee’s thrusts grew more erratic as he bucked up into you. Your body was hum of sensations, your pussy still clenching around him as you rode out the last of your orgasm. He felt his own approaching, the base of his spine tingling with the promise of release.

With a rush of movement, he lifted you off his lap and dropped you to your knees. You stared up at him, chest heaving, eyes blazing with a mix of anger and lust. Tee took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort. He leaned back against the car seat, his erection still standing proud. "Open your mouth," he said, his voice a low growl.

You didn't argue. With a flick of your tongue, you tasted the precum leaking from his tip. The familiar flavor of him washed over you, and you felt a sense of homecoming you hadn’t expected. Tee's hand wrapped around the back of your head, guiding you closer to him.

His hand gripped the base of his cock, stroking slowly as he watched you. You leaned in, taking him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip. Tee's eyes rolled back, his head falling back against the seat. He groaned, his hips jerking upward involuntarily as you took him deeper, your mouth sliding down his length. You knew just how he liked it, the way he liked to feel your tongue on the underside of his shaft, the way he liked to watch you take him in until he was all you could see.

You moaned softly, indulging in the taste of your love-hate relationship, your anger now a distant memory in the face of such raw desire. Tee's eyes never left yours, the silent communication speaking volumes about his need for you. He watched you intently, his hand still guiding your movements, his breathing growing harsher with every stroke of your tongue. Your cheeks hollowed as you took him deeper, your eyes watering slightly as you fought the urge to gag. It had been so long since you had done this, but your body remembered the rhythm, the way to make him moan and squirm.

He gently pulled you away from his length, strong hand moving to jerk himself off. "You gon' swallow what I give you, baby?" he panted, tattooed hand moving frantically over his thick shaft that glistened with a mix of your spit and arousal.

You nodded, eyes never leaving his. You hadn’t expected this turn of events, but you were too far gone to resist. Tee’s hand moved faster, his abs tensing as he approached the edge. Tee's head fell back against the headrest, and he let out a strangled groan, his hand tightening around his dick. You could feel his thighs tense, and you knew he was close.

You stared up at him, arousal and submission swirling in your eyes. "Mmhmm," you murmured, Tee's eyes snapped back to yours, his hand at the back of your head again, holding you as close as possible to his cock without allowing you the satisfaction of taking it in your mouth again.

"So fuckin' pretty, baby. Lookin' at me like that," he murmured, his hand stroking his cock. The sight of him, so lost in his own pleasure, had your pussy pulsing with a renewed hunger. You leaned in, your tongue darting out to lick the tip of his shaft. Tee groaned, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before snapping back open, a hint of challenge in his gaze.

He stroked himself faster, the sound of his hand against his cock filling the small space. Your mouth watered as you watched him, your tongue slipping out to catch the beads of precum that formed at the tip. "You want it, baby?" he asked, his voice tight.

"Mmhmm," you murmured again, eager to please him, to show him that you still knew his body, that you still craved his pleasure.

Tee's hand tightened around his shaft, his hips jerking upward as he reached the peak of his climax. With a final, guttural groan, he spoke, "Open your mouth, baby, take it from me." You eagerly obeyed, your mouth open and waiting. He erupted with a moan, the hot spurts of his cum painting your face and tongue. You took it all, savoring the taste of him, the feel of him on your tongue, the power of his release under your control.

For a moment, you stayed like that, Tee panting and you swallowing, your eyes locked. The tension in the car was palpable, thick with the scent of sex and desire. Tee leaned back, his chest heaving, and you wiped your face with your thumb a smug smile playing on your lips. "Missed me, huh?" you quipped, trying to lighten the mood, but the words hung in the air, loaded with the weight of your tumultuous history.

Tee chuckled, his hand moving to caress your cheek gently, wiping away a stray drop of cum. "More than you know," he admitted, his voice softer than before. You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand sending a shiver through your body. You didn't miss this, you missed him, you realized with a jolt. The way he looked at you, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

But you couldn’t let yourself get lost in that feeling. Not again. With a shaky breath, you sat back on your heels and reached for your discarded jersey, pulling it over your head. You had to get dressed, had to get out of the car, had to get away from him before you did something stupid.

"I'm starting to remember why I threw your ass out my apartment," you said, trying to keep your voice light as you pulled yourself together. Tee threw his head back, laughter filling the car. It was a sound that still made your heart melt.

"You know you liked it," he teased, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to tell your Mom you were a good boy," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Tee's laughter grew louder, and you couldn't help but smile, the sound of it bringing back a flood of memories you had pushed aside.

"You still got my Mom's number?" Tee quipped, still chuckling as he tucked himself back into his pants, watching you struggle to maintain your composure as you dressed. You threw him a glare that would've made a saint sweat, but he just grinned back, unbothered. That was the Tee you missed the most. Not the arrogant superstar, but the goofball who knew how to make you laugh even when you were pissed.

You reached for the car door handle, but Tee's hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could make your escape. His grip was firm but gentle, a silent plea for you to stay for a little while longer. You looked down at your entwined hands, the tension in the air thick with unspoken words. When you looked up at him, you could feel your knees practically give out.

"Look," you began, your voice a shaky whisper.

He shook his head, both hands reaching for your waist. "Don't say it," Tee said, his eyes searching yours. "Don't push me away again. I can't handle that shit." The desperation in his voice was raw, a stark contrast to the cocky confidence he usually exuded. He swallowed slowly, trying to decipher the emotions playing on your face.

You looked down at his grip on your waist, not even realizing you were straddling him again, feeling the heat of his skin against yours. You didn't know what to say. Part of you knew better than to let him back in, but the other part of you, the part that had missed the warmth of his arms, the sparkle in his eyes, and the taste of his mouth, was begging for more. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

"You make this so hard," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. You didn't want to give in, not after all the pain he had caused you, but you could feel the wall you had built around your heart cracking.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as he pulled you closer, his forehead pressing against yours. "I know, baby," Tee whispered, his voice a sweet promise that sent shivers down your spine. "But we can make it work. Just give me another chance. I swear I'll do better for you."

Your eyes searched his, looking for the lie you told yourself had to be there. But all you found was sincerity, a desperation that mirrored your own. You didn't want to be that girl, the one who took him back after all the shit he had put you through. But you were that girl, and you knew it. With a sigh, you nodded, your body melting into his embrace. "Okay," you murmured, the word a barely-there whisper that seemed to echo in the car.

Tee's arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, as if he was afraid you would change your mind. His lips found yours again, a gentle kiss that spoke of his gratitude and his love. You kissed him back, your hesitance dissipating like mist in the morning sun. You had missed this, missed the way he made you feel. A nagging need for his touch, his warmth, his love.

The two of you sat there in the car, kissing, until the reality of your surroundings began to seep back in. You pulled away with a final peck, your eyes wide with the sudden realization of where you were. "Your family's probably wondering where the fuck you are," you said with a laugh, pushing him back gently.

Tee's smile didn't fade. "They'll be fine. They should know better than wait on me when I'm with you." He kissed you again, and you felt the warmth of his affection spread through your body. The moment felt so right, so perfect, like a scene from a movie. But you knew that life was rarely a fairy tale, especially for the two of you.

"Look, I'm not saying we're back together," you began, setting clear boundaries despite your wavering resolve. "But maybe we can see where this goes."

Tee nodded, understanding the cautious tone in your voice. He knew he had to tread lightly. "Whatever you need from me, I'll do it. Just don't push me away again, please," he whispered, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your stomach flutter.

You shared one more lingering kiss before you finally climbed off of him, fixing your clothes with shaky hands. Tee watched you, his own need to touch you still strong. "Need me to walk you up? It's dark as hell out here," he offered, his voice still thick with hope.

You nodded, unable to resist the comfort of his company. The cool night air hit you as you stepped out of the car, the garage lights casting a stark contrast to the inky blackness outside. Tee took your purse in his hand, the other reaching to hold yours, a gesture that felt both familiar and foreign. As the two of you made your way through the now-desolate garage, the sound of your footsteps echoing, you allowed yourself to lean into him slightly, the weight of your decision hanging heavy in the space between you.

[wildlybewitched]

This is all way better then I could have written, but is a point I recently tried to make. It’s so nonsensical that Vi’s character, which has supposedly found the ability to see complexity and shades of gray as it benefits the Enforcers and Piltover, doesn’t ever apply the same lens to viewing Jinx, Silco, and Zaun as a whole. Like, this girl was born in Zaun and used to talk about fighting for something more and yet that’s all seemed to have fallen out of her brain.

I understand now that the writers sided with Piltover and that Jinx, to be healed and to have any semblance of a reconciliation with her sister needed to be ‘redeemed’ and in order to do that would need to shed her at least partially, her alliance with Silco and with Zaun. Hence the weird rewriting of her connection with Silco and dimming the revolutionary spirit that we did see glimpses of in S1. She’s now aimless and ready to be molded to her new alliance.

But I hate it lol. What should have happened fro the story to be coherent, is probably something similar to how @silcobrainrot suggests, that both Jinx and Vi need to be able to leave the prior generations fight behind them and accept each other differences. Which is funny bc for Jinx, so easily considered to be “crazy,” actually recognizes this by the end of S1 and Vi just doesn’t ever seem to digest it. I feel like basically until the end she’s saving the inner “powder” that she sees in Jinx, even though that is a poor understanding of her character.

ngl I'm disappointed that Jinx and Vi's interaction in the mines didn't include even just a brief confirmation from Jinx that Silco was like a father to her and wasn't abusing her. That conversation didn't happen at the dinner scene, Vi was still under the impression there that Silco had been cruel to her. I think it would have been on theme for the episode. Jinx smells his old jacket, can she have just one line to say "hey, he never hurt me, he actually cared about me, and I cared about him too." Doesn't have to be a whole conversation, just let her say it out loud.

[urmum-lovesme]

Angel Baby - Rafe Cameron x Kook!reader P7

pairing: Best Friend!Rafe Cameron x Kook!Best-Friend!reader

summary: Rafe and Reader have known each other since kindergarten, always side by side, the king and princess of Figure 8. So why now does he start feeling different towards her, when all she's ever been is his best friend?

a/n: MERRY CHRISTMAS MY SEXYS!!!!!!! For the holidays thought I'd ramp things up, Let's see, Y/n's a bit of a diva in this tbh, she's a little cheeky, get it ig she's just a girl after all. Midsummer's is well underway, little feature from the gangs group chat and y/n and rafe? well cue careless whisper and shut your eyes *wink wink nudge nudge*. I've never actually written smut before so cut me some slack but it's lowkey inspired by Chappell's 'Picture You' iygwim... Love you all so so so much, enjoy and have a great holiday!!!!!!!!!!

warnings: nsfw! smut, self pleasure (rafe), kinda pervy rafe? (idk idk don't shoot me) dismissive mother figure (y/n lowkey got mommy issues ngl), drugs, smoking, alcohol, driving under the influence, suggestive behaviour (y/n).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Midsummers was lingering around the corner, Y/n pacing at her front door anxiously as she waited for the courier, peering out the window by the door in hopes of sighting the van pulling up by the gates. If he didn’t show up in the next five minutes she was going to have a meltdown. Her phone ringing loudly made her jump, she looked down to the device vibrating on the counter as she picked it up the name ‘Rafey’ shining up at her,

“Hey Princess”

Rafe was sat in his room, lounging back on his bed, mindlessly staring up at the ceiling fan which was revolving in slow turns. It was Midsummers today, and he was feeling antsy, knowing he needed to get a gift for the girl, he wanted to get her the best gift possible, their little tradition starting when he got her a small bouquet of flowers a few years ago, he liked to say that it was her early birthday present, but it was truly just an excuse for him to get her something. Of course this year it had to be better, after the night a few days ago, after his.. realisation that the girl was more than just a ‘best-friend’, he knew the evening was his chance to talk to her.

If that's what you wanna call it then-

Y/n pressed the phone to her ear, her voice slightly breathless as she answered, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Where are you?” Rafe’s voice rang out over the phone, straight to the point as usual.

“At home. Waiting for the courier.” She started pacing again, one hand holding the phone, the other tugging nervously at the hem of her shirt as she started to ramble. 

“They’re late, and if they don’t show up soon, I’m screwed. I need this dress or I’m literally not coming. I’m not coming Rafe -do you know how embarrassing it would be to wear the sam-“

“Relax,” Rafe said, his tone steady but with the faintest hint of amusement. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack.”

“I can’t relax!” she snapped, her frustration spilling over. “Do you know how much this means? If I don’t have it ready by tonight-”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted, the girl was prone to overthinking, his voice softening. “It's a big deal. You’ve been talking about it non-stop for the past two weeks but freaking out isn’t going to help.”

Y/n groaned, slumping against the wall near her door. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one on the verge of public humiliation.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, then he spoke again, quieter this time.

“What’s really going on..?”

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the phone. She opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of a car pulling up outside made her stop. Her head whipped toward the window, and she exhaled in relief.

“Courier’s here,” she said quickly. “I gotta go.”

“Y/n—” Rafe started, but she hung up before he could finish.

Whoopsies

Fucking brat

She shoved the phone into her pocket and opened the door, stepping out onto the porch as the courier climbed out of their van. The man carried a medium-sized box toward her, looking apologetic.

“Sorry for the delay,” the courier said, handing it over.

“It’s fine, thank you.” Y/n muttered, clutching the package to her chest like it was a lifeline. She watched the courier leave before heading back inside, shutting the door behind her. Her phone buzzed again, and she pulled it out to see another call from Rafe. She sighed, debating whether to answer. Part of her wanted to ignore it and focus on the package, but the other part of her knew Rafe wouldn’t just let it go -he was probably going to scold her for hanging up.

“Hi, again-”

“-Don’t ‘hi’ me,”

Rafe shot back. “You hung up on me. What’s going on?”

The girl sat down on the couch, setting the box beside her. She took a deep breath. “It’s just… a lot, okay? Everything has to be perfect tomorrow, and mom’s been on my back about it and I’m scared I’ll mess it up.” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“Right” Rafe spoke out, though she could already hear the knowing tone creeping into his voice.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, though her cheeks were already burning, she felt embarrassed she was so bothered,

Always overthinking

Just a dumb party

“Listen,” Rafe said, his tone turning serious again. “You’ve been stressing yourself out, I get it—you want to impress everyone.”

She didn’t answer, but the silence spoke volume.

“Y/n, you’re already... pretty amazing,” he continued. “You don’t need some big, grand gesture to prove that.” His words caught her off guard, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. Finally, she whispered, 

“Thanks, Rafe.”

“Anytime,” he said lightly. “Now go open that box and finish whatever masterpiece you’re working on. And stop overthinking.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, a small smile creeping onto her face. “Talk later?”

“Always,” he replied before hanging up. Y/n set the phone down, staring at the box beside her. Rafe’s words lingered in her mind as she reached for it opening it, fingers sliding over the soft silky material. 

You better look good bitch

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The girl sat at her vanity, dabbing a final touch of highlighter onto her cheekbones, as her hands moved down to tighten the belt around her waist of the fuzzy robe she had on. The soft music filled the background as she admired the dress hanging nearby, waiting to be put on. She picked up her phone, her fingers tapped against the screen, nails causing little clicks to rise into the air of the room, mixing in with the soft sound of the music playing in the background. She typed to the group chat,

Princess. :  Lowkey might be late … 

She hesitated for a moment, then hit send, her phone buzzed almost immediately.

Young Rich & Sexy (1 unread message)

Rafey  :  u got ur whole life planned out to the minute tf u mean ur late 

Princess  :  Fashionably ofc 

Kels :  Why are you such a 

Kelc  :  Wait what is it she says 

T-man : Diva 

Kels  :  Yeah 

Kels  :  Why are you being a diva 

Princess  :  You guys are so dramatic. I’m just finishing up, okay?

T-man  :  Nah

Rafey  :  “finishing up” means ur still running around in a robe and slippers

Princess  :  It’s nothing!!!

Princess  :  Just running a little behind

Rafey  :  Oh, so you’re spiralling

T-man :  Got it

Kels  : How many outfit changes are we at? Three? Four?

T-man  :  Five Minimum

Princess  :  I hate all of you

Rafey  :  Big words. 

Rafey  :  Are you actually leaving, though?

Kels  :  Yeah, just get here before Rafe starts flirting with himself in the mirror

Rafey  :  Shut up

Rafey :  At least I don’t take an hour deciding on a bowtie like you

Kels  : ...

Kels  :  Fuck you 

T-man  :  Y/n, this is what happens when you’re not around to keep us in line

Princess  :  Are you guys drinking already? 

Rafe  :  Yes 

Kels  :  No 

T-man  :  Yes 

Kels  :  Oh 

Kels  :  Yes? 

Kels  :  BAHAHAHAH

Princess  : You’re all hopeless 

She grabbed her clutch and slipped her phone into it, giving herself one final once-over in the mirror before heading out the door of her bedroom to meet her parents downstairs. The group chat continued buzzing, but she ignored it, feet padding down the stairs to slip on her heels.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The driver eased the car to a smooth stop in front of the country club, a line of luxury cars wound behind them, each filled with kooks dressed to the nines, ready to celebrate… what was it again? 

Something about tradition, about status-  

She stepped out of the car, the setting sun warm against her skin as she adjusted her dress. She followed closely behind her parents, her father offering a polite nod to the valet while her mother stepped forward, her sharp eyes scanning the scene. Before the girl could take another step toward the entrance, her mother’s hand landed lightly on her arm, stopping her in her tracks. Y/N turned, surprised by the tight grip and the serious expression etched on her mother’s face.

“Wait,” Marie said in a hushed tone, her voice low but firm enough to cut through the murmurs of the other guests near the entrance. She straightened, smoothing an invisible crease on her dress before turning her full attention to her daughter. Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I want to remind you to be on your best behaviour tonight.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’m always on my best behaviour.”

“Don’t be clever,” her mother snapped quietly, her tone just sharp enough to sting. “This isn’t just some casual get-together. It’s important. People are watching, Y/N. People who matter.” She emphasised to the girl.

Classic

“Watching for what, exactly?” Y/N shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“To see if I chew with my mouth closed or if I trip on my heels?”

Her mother’s jaw tightened. “To see if you’re worthy of standing in this room. To see if you reflect the family we’ve worked hard to build. You think reputation doesn’t matter, but it does. It matters more than you realise.”

Y/N crossed her arms, her posture defiant. “Right, because it’s all about what they think, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” her mother said sharply, her eyes narrowing.

“You don’t have to like it, but you will respect it. Your father and I have done everything to ensure we’re respected. I won’t have you undo it with some thoughtless remark or petty argument.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, biting back the words bubbling on her tongue. She hated these conversations- hated being reminded that she wasn’t just herself but an extension of her family’s carefully constructed image. Her mother’s gaze softened slightly, but her voice remained steady. 

“This isn’t just about us, Y/N. One day, it will matter for you, too. You’ll see that eventually.”

Before Y/N could respond, her father’s voice cut through the tension. “Are we going in, or are we standing out here all night hmm?” The man could never notice the tension between the two women, he only saw his caring wife and sweet daughter. He leant down pressing a kiss to his wife’s cheek before wrapping his hand around Y/n’s waist pulling her towards him holding both women closely, “my girls.” 

Her mother straightened, her composure snapping back, she gave Y/N a once-over, her expression unreadable, before turning toward the entrance taking her husbands hand and walking with him. The man turned his head back shortly, sending a wink in the girls direction, her fathers action brought a small smile to her face. With a deep breath, she pushed her frustration from her mother comments aside and followed her parents into the club, the sound of clinking glasses and polite laughter greeting them as the door swung open.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The scent of champagne and roses hung heavy in the air as Y/N stepped further inside, clutching the stem of a freshly poured flute. She felt the weight of eyes on her as she moved through the room, the navy fabric skimmed her body, hugging her waist before cascading to the floor in soft ripples. It was all so curated, so polished, but Y/N barely registered the scene. Not until her eyes landed on Rafe. He was standing near the bar, leaning casually against the counter, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His sharp jawline caught the light as he turned slightly, his shoulders broad under the perfectly tailored suit jacket he wore. 

As if sensing her gaze, he looked up. Their eyes met for a split second, his brow raising slightly as a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

His grip on the glass tightened as he straightened subtly, his attention narrowing entirely on Y/N as she entered the room. She was impossible to miss, even in the crowd. The navy satin of her dress shimmered under the light. His eyes trailed upward, catching on the delicate V of the neckline that framed her collarbones, which glowed faintly with a soft sheen. Her hair, threaded with tiny white flowers, was swept back to reveal the curve of her neck. She looked…

Wow

His throat felt dry.

Rafe’s gaze followed her as she moved toward the bar, her posture poised but relaxed, her fingers curling around a champagne flute. As she made her way towards the boy, she noticed Topper and Kelce standing behind him, eyeing up a group of girls giggling by the tables.

“Surpriseeee.”

She sang out as she did a little spin in front of the boy, the silk swaying with her. “Only,” she looks over to the clock on the wall, “15 minutes late.”

His eyes ran down over her body as her movement, a little smirk on his face before he chuckled at her comment,

“15 minutes? Might as well have not showed” He teased her as he tilted his head, looking down at her once again.

“Asshole.” She mutters out shoving his shoulder slightly before she looked over at him. 

Damn

“You look good,” she spoke genuinely, her hand coming out to smooth down the blazer she’d shifted as she pushed him, she spoke playfully,

“handsome.”

He watched her as she smoothed the non-existent wrinkles in his blazer, his heart faltering at her compliment.

Handsome huh?

“You look….you look beautiful Y/n” He spoke out quietly, leaning in a little closer to her, his eyes roaming over her face.

A pink hue lifted to her cheeks at his words as her hand trailed down from his chest where she’d smoothed the blazer out, down his arm, to his hand, where her fingers brushed against his, a warm feeling settled in his stomach as her fingers danced over his hand.

“Thanks.” She spoke out quietly. Their moment was interrupted by the sound of a wolf whistle, Topper and Kelce stumbling over towards them as they looked Y/n. 

“Kook Princess does it again!”

“Looking good.”

Kelce and Topper speak out to her, both stepping forward, one placing a kiss on her cheek as the other wraps his arms around her in a hug.

“You look like you just stepped out of a magazine. Like, one of those fancy ones with the shiny covers.” Kelce started to babble, Topper following soon after, 

“Like the ones you collect what are they cal-“

“Vogue?” The girl asked amused smile on her face at their antics.

“Fuck yeah you look fresh out of Vogue.” Kelce spoke with a shake of his head.

Never heard that one before

“You two always know how to make a girl feel special.” She shot them a playful wink of her own, clearly unbothered by their banter.

“Well I’d hope all those hours of getting ready weren't for nothing.”

She speaks as she looks over to the group of girls huddling together, a hushed giggle breaking out as Topper and Kelce turn around to look at them, one of the girls lifting her hand and wiggling her fingers in a small wave. She spoke to the two boys as Rafe watched, leaning back against the bar counter,

“But you guys clean up well, heard you’ve been turning heads tonight..” 

“More like giving head..” 

The girls eyes widen as she lets out a loud laugh hand coming up to cover her mouth. 

“Are you being for real?” She whispers out in a hush as the boy next to her shrugs his shoulder in a nonchalant manner a smirk rising to his face, she pushes Kelce away from her, his hand dropping from her waist, 

“Ew you freak” she giggled as she shakes her head. 

The boys rambled to each other defensively as she shook her head rolling her eyes at them turning back to Rafe. Y/N reached up absentmindedly to adjust her necklace, a habit she couldn’t seem to shake, only to freeze when her fingers brushed against bare skin. Her brow furrowed as she searched for the familiar chain, but it wasn’t there. 

Shit

“I forgot my necklace.” She spoke out frown on her face.

Rafe, who had been watching her from the corner of his eye, leaned in with a teasing smile, the missing chain on her neck was one of the first thing’s he’d noticed when she’d gotten closer to him. 

"You wear it everyday? How’d you forget it tonight"

"I don’t know. I just got distracted.” She shrugged as hint of disappointment in her tone.

Rafe’s smile softened, and he raised an eyebrow. 

Perfect 

“Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

“What is it?”

Y/N glanced up at him, surprised her head tilting slightly.

He flashed her a grin “C'mon," he said, gently taking her hand. 

"Follow me."

The girl slipped her hand into the crook of his arm which he held out for her as he led her away from the main group, stepping out from under the harsh lights and into the quieter side of the party, where the music felt distant and the crowd’s chatter muffled. She followed him curiously, the sound of her heels tapping against the floor drowned out by the thrum of the distant bass. When they reached a secluded corner, Rafe pulled away from her and slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his blazer. Y/N raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. 

“Here.”

He pulled out a small, velvet blue box, holding it out to her.

“It’s your Midsummer’s present."

Y/N blinked, taken aback. "What?" She hadn't been expecting anything, especially not tonight.

What-

Rafe’s smile was genuine, one that didn’t appear often.

“Our tradition? We’ve been doing this for years, -yeah well I have I guess"

Y/N’s heart fluttered in her chest. A small gift- something thoughtful, not extravagant, but always meaningful. And somehow, she’d forgotten about it this year, she’d been so fussed with her dress and her mother, the boy being occupied with his family's business, she didn’t think Rafe would bother this year.

Her fingers brushed over the soft velvet as she took the box from him, her heart skipping a beat as she opened it. Inside lay a dainty, golden necklace, delicate but elegant, with a tiny heart-shaped pendant hanging from it. The pendant was engraved with their initials-

Y/N . R  

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at it for a moment, a soft smile tugging at her lips. The necklace was beautiful, but what really moved her was the thought behind it. It was a symbol of their years of friendship, of the connection they shared that went beyond just tradition.

"Rafe… this is…" She looked up at him, her voice soft with gratitude. “It’s perfect.”

“Yeah? You like it”

"I love it Rafe seriously.”

Y/N held the small velvet box in her hands, her fingers still lingering over the necklace inside. Rafe stood in front of her, a soft smile on his lips, watching her with a quiet intensity that made her heart race. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but something about the way he was looking at her made the whole moment feel different—more meaningful than it was in the past years when he’d given her presents.

He smiled, his gaze tender. “I’m glad you like it.”

She nodded, the gesture simple but meaningful. She felt a lump form in her throat, a surge of warmth filling her chest. “Thank you.” She closed the box and stepped forward, pulling him into a tight hug. “Really. I love it.” Rafe returned the hug, his hands resting gently on her back. When she pulled away, he held her at arm's length, a playful glint in his eyes. 

“Want me to put it on for you?”

Y/N laughed softly, feeling a mix of warmth and comfort from his presence. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Without breaking eye contact, Rafe gently took the necklace from the box, the soft gold chain catching the light as he held it in his hands. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he was savouring every moment. He stepped a little closer, and Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart fluttering in her chest. She felt his warmth before she even saw him move, the proximity suddenly making the air around them feel heavier, charged with something unspoken. His hands were steady, sure, but there was a tenderness to them as they reached out, the chain dangling between his fingers.

Rafe’s fingers gently grazed the back of her neck as he moved to place the necklace around her, his touch barely there but still enough to send a shiver down her spine. She held her breath for a moment, feeling the heat of his skin against hers, the soft brush of his fingertips making her skin tingle.

There was something so simple, so intimate about it.

"Hold still," he murmured, barely audible.

She felt the coolness of the chain against her skin, and then, the soft click of the clasp as he fastened it around her neck.

“There,” he said, his voice low but warm. “Perfect.”

When he stepped back, his gaze never leaving hers, Y/N’s heart was still pounding in her chest. She touched the pendant, feeling the cool gold between her fingers, but her mind was still caught on the feel of his touch.

“You look beautiful,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper.

“Rafe,” she said, her voice thick with emotion she hadn’t expected to feel. 

“This… this means so much.”

"I’m happy," he began, his voice lower than usual, as he fidgeted with the cuff of his blazer. 

"I didn’t know what to get you this year, so-“

“You didn’t need to get me anything.’

“-I wanted to.”

He swallowed hard, trying to gather his thoughts. He hesitated as he looked at her, the necklace catching the light, glimmering as it rested against her skin. His bowtie suddenly felt awfully tight his tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, his breath feeling short. His shaky hand raised to his neck, finger shoving between his shirt and neck to loosen the material. Standing there right in front of him, he couldn't look away from her. His gaze lingered on her, a mix of admiration and something deeper—something he had been fighting to ignore for a long time. His heart was thudding so harshly against his chest he felt like he was going to pass out, he stepped just a little closer, his breath catching in his throat. 

Say it now

He needed to.

“Y/N,” he started again, his voice quieter, but no less intense, he hesitated, his pulse racing as his eyes met hers. 

"I lo—"

“Y/N!” 

He jerked his head up, the words dying on his lips as he looked toward the source of the loud voice.

Wheezie yelled out as she pranced over to the girl happily wide smile on her face, Y/n’s head turned to look to her arms reaching out to catch the younger girl who’d bounded straight into her arms.

Fuck 

Y/N’s expression softened immediately, and before she could even say a word, Wheezie was already wrapping her arms around Y/N’s waist, pulling her into a tight hug. Y/N let out a strained laugh and returned the hug. 

Any time but now...

“Y/N!” Wheezie squealed, her voice full of excitement. “I missed you so much! I haven't seen you in like forever!”

Rafe stood there, frozen, watching them. His heart thudded heavily in his chest, the weight of the moment hanging thick in the air between them. His confession- his almost confession- had been so close.

So close, in fact, that it almost felt like it was still hanging there, unspoken. 

Y/N smiled down at Wheezie, her arms around her tightly. "I know, I’ve missed you too, Wheezie," she said warmly. 

"Things have been a little busy lately,” her eyes glanced over to Rafe as she spoke out. The boy cleared his throat, trying to shake off the tension, obvious to his sister. His eyes flicked from Wheezie back to Y/N, the opportunity was gone now. 

The words he had almost said to her- words that had been building in him for weeks, months even- seemed to slip away, lost in the noise of the party around them.

He gave a tight smile, feeling a mixture of frustration and amusement. "Yeah," he said, trying to sound casual, even though his voice felt heavier than usual. 

"Real busy."

Y/N, sensing the shift in the air, gave him a small but reassuring smile. She knew him too well, probably more than anyone else did. Wheezie ignored their silent interaction, eyes wide with excitement. 

“You will not believe what I just found out!” She looked back and forth between them.

Rafe groaned at his sister.

Fucks sake

“Wheezie, not now…”

“You know Audrey and Max? They’re hooking up! For real!” She threw her hands up dramatically, as if she announced the discovery of the century. 

“I heard them talking at the bar. They think they’re being all secretive, but—hello?!

Y/N’s brows furrowed slightly as she processed the gossip, but she couldn’t help but laugh. “Wait, seriously?”

“I was like, what? Audrey and Max? So sneaky!” Wheezie shook her head. The younger girl smiled smugly, then turned her attention to Rafe, who was standing there, still trying to regain his bearings. She raised an eyebrow, noticing the odd tension hanging in the air. 

“What’s going on here?” she asked with a sly grin.

“Are you two like, having a moment?”

Rafe blinked, caught off guard by her sudden shift in focus. His heart was still racing and now, his younger sister was teasing him about it. He forced a smile, shaking his head slightly. 

“No, just… catching up,” he said, his voice a little more strained than usual.

Wheezie raised an eyebrow, her playful expression shifting to something more teasing, glancing back and forth between them. She squinted at them, clearly working out what she thought was going on. 

“Are you guys fuc-” 

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise, her cheeks flushing slightly, 

Uh-

“What!? No, we’re just…” She stumbled over her words, clearly trying to keep things casual. 

“Wheezie, don’t be ridiculous.” Rafe spoke out to the girl in a disapproving tone.

Really not helping here.

Wheezie just raised her eyebrows, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh, sure, sure. But just so you know, I’m, like, really good at reading people.”

Y/n laughed awkwardly as she looked over at the girl, “right well-” 

Wheezie suddenly grabbed the girl by the arm and began tugging her away toward the drink table. “Come on, let’s get a drink. I need to fill you in on the drama.”

Y/N, looking apologetic, glanced back over her shoulder. “Sorry,” she called, offering him a small smile. 

“It’s fine,” Rafe quickly replied, forcing a smile, even though a part of him was disappointed as he watched his sister drag the girl away, the navy fabric sewing around her legs as she got lost in the crowd of brightly coloured dresses.

It’s not fine. 

He had almost said it- almost told her how he felt, how much she meant to him. But now, the chance had passed, and the more he thought about it, the more he felt like he’d missed it. That perfect moment was gone, stolen by Wheezie’s innocent oblivion. He sighed, shaking his head, trying to push the frustration aside. He had another chance, right? He just needed to be patient. The music continued to thump in the background, and the party went on, but Rafe couldn’t shake the feeling that the one thing he wanted most had just slipped through his fingers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rafe lingered by the edge of the party, his gaze fixed on Y/N as she laughed and talked with Wheezie,

“You okay, man?”

Rafe was startled out of his thoughts by the voice of Topper, who had appeared beside him, a beer bottle in hand. Topper's eyes were trained on the boy's expression, clearly picking up on the tension. Rafe swallowed hard, forcing a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Just... tired,"

he said, but even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. He cleared his throat, wanting to change the subject before Topper could press. He glanced over at the group of girls, including Y/N, who was chatting with the boys sister.

“You’ve been kind of quiet all night.”

Rafe shifted on his feet, feeling the weight of Topper’s observation. "I'm fine," he said quickly, brushing it off again. But this time, it wasn’t as convincing.

“Okay, man,” Topper said with a skeptical smile. “If you say so.” He took a long swig of his beer, then added, more casually,

“Y/n liked her necklace?”

Rafe’s breath caught, and he nodded stiffly.

“Yeah, why?”

Topper shrugged, seemingly nonchalant, but Rafe could tell he was watching him closely. The boy let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humour behind it.

Seriously?

“What's the problem.”

Topper just grinned, his tone dropping to something a little more playful but still serious. “Look Rafe, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but you should just… say something.”

Rafe’s chest tightened at the words, like a weight had just settled on his ribs.

“What’re you talking bout Top-”

“Come on.”

Topper leaned against the nearby wall, clearly in no rush. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you're into someone. And I know how much you care about her. But don’t wait until she’s looking at someone else..”

The boys eyes drifted over to Y/n, who was now talking to Cooper, a smile on her face as she pushed her hair over her shoulder, laughing at what the boy was saying. Her hands reached out fixing his slightly bent tie, before the boy pulled her towards the floor where couples were dancing, he spun her clumsily to which she shook her head at him happily, her hands now resting on her shoulders.

“You think it’s that easy?” Rafe muttered, as his hand rubbed over his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The lights strung up around the club now flickered softly, casting a warm, inviting glow over the crowd. Y/N, with her head tilted back in laughter, let out a genuine chuckle as Topper dramatically reenacted a conversation from earlier in the night, his exaggerated gestures making everyone laugh even harder. Kelce was leaning against the bar, his smile wide, eyes gleaming as he added his own commentary. The girl brought her hand up wiping away at the tear in her eye, maybe she had one too many of those champagne flutes that were being walked around. A warm buzz started in her chest and radiated outward, making everything feel just a little giddier. She glanced around, half-focused on the conversation unfolding before her, the words blending together in a pleasant, almost melodic hum.

Her gaze wandered for a moment, eyes catching on Rafe. The way his smile lit up on his face, the way he looked at her, even from across the room, made her chest flutter, but in a way that felt hazy. Maybe it was the alcohol. 

Maybe it’s him?

 She wasn’t sure. But everything seemed just a little more intense, despite the slight fuzziness clouding her thoughts.

A grin tugged at Kelce's lips, and he straightened up, pulling a blunt from his blazer pocket with an almost practiced ease. He held it up casually, letting the group see it, a playful smirk dancing on his face. 

“How about a little fresh air, some space to breathe?”

His gaze lingered on Y/N for a moment, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth,

“I’m feeling like the beach is calling my name.”

Rafe, still nursing his drink, glanced at the others, his gaze drifting back to Y/N, a bit of quiet time away from the buzz of the club felt like a good idea. He met Kelce’s eyes for a second before shrugging. 

“Couldn’t hurt,” he said. Kelce, sensing he was starting to win the group over, gave a knowing nod and flicked the blunt again. 

“Exactly. So, what do you say? Beach, fresh air, good company—

“I’m down” Cooper spoke out as he stood up from his seat, Topper nodding along in agreement. Y/N hesitated for a second, but the thought of the beach, the quiet, cool night air felt tempting. She finally nodded, her lips curving into a small smile. 

“Why not?”

She glanced at the group, who were already starting to make their way toward the door, then back at her mom. She wasn’t sure how long they'd be gone, and she didn’t want to leave her mom completely unaware of her whereabouts. The girl took a deep breath and made her way back to the bar, where her mother was still chatting away with a few friends, her laughter ringing out louder than it should have.

"Hey, Mom," Y/N said, leaning in close, tapping her lightly on the shoulder.

Her mother turned toward her, blinking as if surprised to see her daughter standing there. A wide grin spread across her face, and she let out a small giggle. “Oh! Hi sweet girl," she slurred lightly, “You havin’ fun?”

Y/N smiled, already feeling that familiar warmth spreading through her at her mother’s carefree attitude. 

“Yeah, gonna head to the beach with the others... get some fresh air.”

Her mom squinted at her for a moment, still a little disoriented but clearly not at all concerned. She waved her hand dismissively, 

“Oh honey, that’s fine, go, go... fresh air is good. Go. Have fun." She paused before pulling her daughter into a quick, tight hug. Y/N squeezed her mom back, her heart a little lighter. 

“I will. Love you,” she said, stepping back. Her mom waved her off with a lazy grin, already turning back to her conversation. 

"Love you too, baby!"

Her heart clenched slightly, her mother was only ever that way when she was drunk, and she wished it was more often that she got to see her like that. The drunken version of her mom- full of giggles, playfulness and affection- was a rare sight, one that always disappeared by morning. Y/N turned and walked back toward the group, as much as she loved her mom, as much as she appreciated everything she did, there was always a part of her that wished she could hold onto this lighter version of her just a little longer, that maybe one day she could see it without the help of alcohol or the haze of exhaustion. She turned back toward the door, catching up with the group stepping outside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She walked a little further toward the back of the club, the sound of her footsteps soft against the path leading to the beach. Her eyes caught sight of the others already moving down the sandy shore, their figures distant in the night, laughing, talking, stumbling around, but someone was waiting for her by the edge of the club’s back entrance. Rafe leaned casually against the brick wall,

“You makin me wait, huh?” 

Rafe teased lightly, raising an eyebrow as she stopped in front of him, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. The tensions of the early evening seemed to wash away, he couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol he’d drank over the night or if it was the girls presence, she seemed to put him at ease in a way. 

Y/N smiled, feeling a little self-conscious as she glanced at him. “I had to tell mom where I was going,” she said, a slight shrug. “You know how it is.” Rafe’s smile softened just a little, his eyes flickering over her. “Yeah, I get it.”

As they stepped away from the club, the noise and lights faded behind them, leaving just the quiet hum of the ocean and the soft rustle of the wind through the trees. The beach stretched out before them, waves lapping gently at the shore. Rafe was moving ahead of her, his stride confident, hands tucked into his pockets. He glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of her slowing down a little, her heels sinking into the sand with every step. He smirked, clearly noticing the struggle, but there was a softness in his eyes that made it seem more endearing than anything else. Y/N sighed, shifting her weight to one foot as she tried to pull her heel free from the stubborn sand. 

“Great” 

She muttered under her breath, her gaze on the ground as she wiggled her foot, trying to free herself from the sinking trap. The sand wasn’t ideal, shifting beneath her with every movement, and the heels she wore weren’t exactly beach-appropriate. Rafe took a few steps back toward her, his grin wide but his expression amused. 

“Need a hand, princess?” 

He teased, the nickname slipping from his lips, she rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. 

"I’ve got it," 

She said, trying to sound determined, but the truth was, the more she tried to pull her foot free, the more stuck she seemed to get. Before Y/N could respond, or even protest, Rafe’s strong arms slipped around her waist. With one swift motion, he lifted her effortlessly, pulling her off the ground and into his arms in a bridal hold.

Y/N let out a surprised hum, her breath catching at the suddenness of it. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself, her heart skipping a beat as the world shifted.

That was unexpected

“What—Rafe?” she exclaimed, voice catching with a mix of shock and something else she couldn’t quite identify. The surprise was quickly replaced with a strange sense of comfort, the boy shot her a teasing grin, his arms strong around her as he held her securely,

"You didn’t think I’d leave you stranded in the sand, did you?"

Y/N blinked up at him, still a little stunned. Her voice came out slightly breathless as she muttered, 

"You better not drop me."

His smirk deepened, and without missing a beat, he glanced down at her with that same playful gleam in his eyes. 

"Drop you?" 

He repeated, as though considering it. Then, just as Y/N was about to give him a skeptical look, he slackened his grip just slightly, as though he was going to drop her entirely. Y/N’s eyes widened. 

"Rafe!" 

She squealed, her hands instinctively tightening around his neck, pulling herself toward him. The sudden shift in weight had her clinging to him tighter, her heart skipping a beat as she could feel the way he was teasing her. 

Oh my fucking go-

"Don’t you dare!"

"Gotcha,"

he laughed, lifting her back up his grip firm again as he steadied her. Rafe’s grin only deepened as she clinged onto him.

"Yeah, well, you’ve got a death grip on me now," He teased, his lips almost brushing against her ear as he spoke. "Maybe next time, I’ll actually drop you.” Y/N rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face was undeniable. 

“I’ll remember that,” she said, but the words came out softer than she meant. As the others came into view, Kelce, Cooper, and Topper all gathered in a loose circle, passing something between them, Rafe slowed his pace.

"Alright, princess," he murmured with a small, amused smile, "this is where I put you down."

How about you don't?

Where did that come from-

Y/N, still nestled in his arms, raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You mean you’re done showing off?"

Rafe's grin softened just slightly,

"Something like that."

With a small chuckle, he gently lowered her feet to the sand, his hands lingering on her waist for just a moment longer than necessary, like he didn’t quite want to let go. Y/N felt a slight chill from being on her own two feet again, but the warmth from his touch lingered. Rafe’s gaze flicked up to the group as they passed the blunt around. Kelce was the first to wave them over with a grin. 

“Took you long enough, you guys finally fuck or what?” He said, his tone light and teasing, his eyes already hazy from whatever it was they'd been smoking.

“You wish,” Y/n spoke back as she flicked her middle finger up at him. She glanced at the blunt in Kelce’s hand, 

"Thanks for sharing,"

she said, her voice casual, though there was a slight challenge in her tone as she reached out for the blunt taking it from Kelce. Holding the blunt, she exhaled a soft laugh before bringing it to her lips. She took a slow drag eyes fluttering close, feeling the familiar, slightly heady warmth settle in her chest as she held the smoke in her lungs for a second before releasing it into the night air.

Kelce grinned, watching her. "That’s what I like to see," he said with a wink, before reaching for it again.

Y/N passed it off to him, the buzz from the first drag already making her feel a little lighter. She turned her attention to Rafe, who was watching her with a slightly amused, almost thoughtful expression. His gaze that lingered just a moment too long.

“See I can handle myself,” she teased, nudging him with her shoulder as she leaned back against the sand. 

"No need to carry me around like a princess all night."

Rafe chuckled, shaking his head, but there was something almost protective in his demeanour as he shifted closer, taking a seat next to her. 

"I’ll carry you whenever I feel like it," he said with a shrug, his grin returning. "Besides, I think you secretly liked it."

Y/N rolled her eyes and she gave him a small smile. 

“Maybe. But don’t get used to it.”

The night had stretched into a lazy, hazy blur, the joint passed around clouding any coherent thoughts. The group was lost in their high now, their conversation drifting like the smoke in the air. The beach was quiet, save for the soft sound of waves crashing against the shore, and the occasional laughter that spilled from one of them, the sound of the party behind them occasionally breaking the calmness. Y/n, thoroughly buzzed from the weed and the champagne, was nestled against Rafe, her body leaning into him seeking his warmth. He was resting on his elbows, his posture relaxed, his gaze shifting between the distant shore and the girl every now and then; the sea breeze tousled his hair slightly, but he didn’t seem to mind, his usual tension gone.

The girl, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with laughter. Everything seemed funny to her- Topper’s latest comment, the random thoughts floating through her mind, even the way the sand beneath her seemed to shift with every movement she made. Her giggles were light and contagious, Rafe’s eyes flickered down at her, the corners of his mouth curving into a small smile. 

Her fingers, wobbly, were fiddling with the buttons of his shirt, moving from one to the next as though they were the most fascinating things in the world. His shirt was loose, the fabric stretching slightly as she moved her fingers, Rafe felt a light tension coil in his chest. He couldn’t quite explain it, maybe it was the way her fingers traced his shirt, or the sound of her voice when she spoke.

He didn’t pull away, though. Instead, he let her keep fidgeting with his shirt, his focus shifting back and forth between her and the sound of Kelce and Topper laughing as they waded through the waves. They had made their way to the edge of the water to cool off, their carefree chatter and occasional splashes rising over the sound of the ocean.

Y/n shifted, her fingers brushing under one of the buttons on his shirt again, causing her hand to graze his skin. The brief contact made Rafe’s breath catch slightly, and his body went rigid for a split second, though he did his best to mask it.

So warm

“Stop fidgeting with my shirt,” he said lightly, though there was no edge to his tone, just a quiet humour in his voice. The girl looked up at him then, her lips curled into a, playful smile. 

“I can’t help it,” she replied, her voice teasing, her eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and warmth. “I’m bored…” She whined. Rafe chuckled, his gaze flicking between her and the others in the distance before he let his eyes rest back on her. 

“Bored, huh?” he repeated, leaning just a little closer, the warmth of his body mixing with hers. 

“Maybe I could entertain you...”

There was a pause, a charged silence hanging between them. Rafe’s words were a playful invitation, but his tone had shifted ever so slightly, an underlying edge of something more subtle in between them. His gaze softened as he looked down at her, his eyes lingering on her lips for just a moment before snapping back to her eyes.

Y/n didn’t seem to notice the shift, her giggles still bubbling from her chest, softening as her breath caught, fingers pausing on his shirt, her hand resting lightly against his chest for a brief second.

“Maybe you should,” she said, her voice a little dreamy. 

Her heart was racing, thoughts a little jumbled from the joint she'd kept bringing back to her lips, she cursed herself for her lack of self restraint. She could still feel the heat of Rafe’s body beside hers, his arm brushing against hers as he shifted, his eyes never left hers, and the soft amusement in his gaze now mixed with something more intense, more uncertain.

Don't do it-

But what's the harm?

Her fingers trailed up to the top of his shirt, her eyes looking at the black bowtie done up under his neck, her finger looped around the material loosening slightly, watching as it falls around his neck. Her teeth bite at her bottom lip as she pops open his top button, trailing down to the next two opening up the material, his skin now exposed to the cool sea air, her breath hitched but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in just a little, her lips barely grazing the skin of his jaw. The move was slow, almost hesitant, but it was enough to make Rafe’s eyes narrow just slightly. He seemed to hold his breath for a moment, as if he was waiting for her to make the next move.

His hand, without thinking, shifted a little closer to her. His fingers brushed lightly against her side, a soft touch that sent a jolt through her. As she pulled away from his jaw slightly, her breath shallow, Rafe could see the flush spreading across her cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted, her pupils dilated, the hint of glassiness in her eyes betraying the effects of the drug. The subtle tremor in her fingers as she rested them on his chest didn't go unnoticed, and neither did the way her gaze wavered—she was there, but not entirely there.

Rafe’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched her, the air between them thick with an electric tension. She seemed so close, so present- but at the same time, there was a layer of fog surrounding her that made him pause. The way she looked at him, her eyes soft but unfocused, her body language so open and trusting… it created an urge within him, something that made him want to pull her in. 

But the longer he looked at the girl, he came to terms with what was going on and his stomach tightened slightly. This wasn't right.

She's high you gotta stop 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her, God, he wanted her more than he could put into words—but in that moment, he saw the vulnerability in her that he hadn't before. The haze in her eyes, the way she was almost floating in her own thoughts, disconnected from the world around her. He could see the haze in her expression, the slight confusion, the softness in her gaze that wasn’t entirely hers. She wasn’t fully present. She wasn’t fully aware of what was going on, not the way he needed her to be.

His hand hovered at her waist, but he didn’t pull her closer now. He couldn’t. He was aware- too aware of what this moment would mean if he crossed that line without her consciousness.

He wasn’t that guy. He never would be.

Her fingers brushed his chest again, but this time, he didn’t respond the way he normally would. His eyes took in the way she looked up at him, her breath still shallow, the lightness in her smile tugging at his heart.

He exhaled, fighting the urge to pull her in, his heart beating louder with every passing second. She deserved more than this, she deserved clarity, not confusion. He could already see the trust in her eyes, an unspoken invitation in the way she looked at him, but it wasn’t real- not in the way it should be.

“Y/N,” 

Rafe said quietly, his voice steady but with a hint of concern. He reached up, his hand brushing her hair away from her face as his thumb gently stroked her cheek. 

“Don’t think this is a good time princess” His words were soft, but they held a weight. She blinked slowly, her expression still dreamy, and for a moment, Rafe couldn’t tell if she’d even heard him. But her lips parted, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to focus.

“Why not Rafey,” she mumbled, words slower than usual, the lack of clarity in her voice made his chest at her vulnerability. 

So fucking stubborn

He could feel the tension building again, the desperate longing inside him clawing at his chest. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to pull her into him and lose himself in her. But something inside him, a voice that was louder than his impulses, told him to stop. He was starting to realise why she only smoked when he was around, he didn’t want to imaginer like this, so innocent and trusting at a party by herself, surrounded by people she didn’t know. 

The thought made him nauseous.

He leaned back, his gaze holding hers, steady, but with an edge of hesitation.

“Not like this,” he said softly, almost to himself, but loud enough for her to hear. She tilted her head in confusion, her lips pursing as if trying to understand, but Rafe shook his head slightly. He could wait. He could wait until she was fully aware, he wouldn’t take advantage of her- he couldn’t- he'd never even think of it.

“Y/N, look at me,”

he whispered, reaching out gently to hold her face, his thumb grazing her soft skin. “I’m not going anywhere. But I’m not doing this with you like this.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of the waves and the distant laughter of the others in the background, and then, finally, she nodded, her expression soft, a slight pout tugging at her lips. She was still out of it, but she understood the sincerity in his voice, and it made something flutter in his chest.

With a sigh, Rafe pulled back just slightly, releasing his hold on her but keeping his gaze on her face, his heart still hammering in his chest. She didn’t say anything more instead she leaned into him ever so slightly, head resting on his shoulder, just enough to let him know she wasn’t pulling away, but she was still there, still trusting him.

And that was all he needed.

The boy took in a slow breath, then dropped his hand back to his side. He could feel the pull, the heat, the temptation to kiss her, but he resisted, allowing the silence to settle between them. 

She's won't remember any of this. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Rafe pulled outside the girls house, the soft hum of the engine and Y/n’s occasional delayed mumble of the song lyrics playing were the only sound between them, the night air seemed thicker now, charged with something unspoken. The glow of the streetlights flickered over the girl's face, catching the soft curve of her jaw, the faint flush still lingering on her cheeks. He had barely said a word to her since the conversation on the beach, unsure of what to say, his mind still buzzing from the way things had shifted and he knew she hadn't noticed, too preoccupied in her own little world.

He's got a nice nose

You know what they say about big noses-

Girl shut the fuck up

The car slowed to a stop in front of her house, but neither of them moved immediately. He kept his hands firmly on the wheel, trying to calm the sudden pressure that had started to coil in his chest. Every little shift of her body, every soft breath she took, seemed emphasise in the silence between them. Y/N didn’t seem in any hurry to get out, her fingers fiddling with the slit of her dress as she looked out the window, exposing her thigh to the air of the car. She leaned just a little closer,

“Thanks for bringing me back,”

she said softly, her voice sweet and laced with a quiet giggle that clung to the walls of the car. He nodded, his throat tight, trying to keep his composure. 

“Of course. You okay?” 

He asked, though he noticed the way her fingers were now tracing the fabric of his seat, the way her gaze lingered on him a little too long. She turned to face him, her lips pulling into a playful, almost mischievous smile. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” she said, her voice insistent, as if she were trying to convince herself. She leaned toward him just slightly, her shoulder brushing against his arm as she shifted closer. Rafe felt the heat rising in his body, a surge of something he was desperately trying to control. She was still so touchy, so close. Her hand, which had been absentmindedly resting on her lap, now slid to his arm, her fingers lightly brushing his shirt, making his pulse hitch.

The light touch sent a spark through him, one that made him clench his jaw. He had to remind himself that she wasn’t fully in control of her actions, but it didn’t make it any easier. His muscles tensed as her fingers lingered for just a second too long on his forearm before slowly tracing up his sleeve. The soft caress sent an undeniable shiver through him, one that made it harder to concentrate.

He swallowed hard, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as her fingers trailed up to his shoulder, her palm resting against the side of his neck. It was too much—too much of her, too much softness in her touch, too much of the way she was looking at him like she wanted more. Her gaze, still slightly unfocused, held a curiosity, a gentleness that was intoxicating. She pushed herself slightly closer to him over the centre console, her dress dragging down slightly, the v-neck exposing her skin to him, the low cut revealing more of her chest than he was expecting.

"Rafe..." Her voice was barely a whisper now, like she was testing his name on her lips, her fingers now slowly sliding over the side of his neck, her touch sending goosebumps across his skin. His jaw locked, his teeth grinding together as he fought the growing desire inside him. 

“Y/N, stop,” he said through clenched teeth, his voice low and strained, but firm. He turned his head toward her, his gaze intense, trying to pull her back into reality. 

“Need to go home yeah? You’re not yourself right now.”

Don't wanna go home want you

She didn’t seem to hear him- or maybe she didn’t care, he couldn't tell. Her hand slid around to the back of his neck, her fingers brushing the nape of his hair, it almost made his resolve crumble. He forced himself to meet her gaze, but his heart was hammering in his chest, and he was so aware of the way her body was leaning closer, the heat radiating off her.

She smiled up at him, leaning in, her lips brushing against his neck in a soft, teasing kiss. “You’re so serious all the time,” she murmured, her breath warm against his skin.

“Why can’t you just relax?”

His whole body stiffened. His grip on the wheel tightened so much his knuckles went white. He tried to focus on anything but the way her lips lingered near his neck, the way her breath caressed his skin, how close she was.

“Y/N, you need to get out of the car,” he said, his voice strained, the words slipping out before he could stop them. 

“Go inside, I’m not going to do this with you, not when you’re not yourself.”

She pouted, her gaze flickering down to his lips and back up to his eyes. “You’re no fun...” she said with a playful giggle.

Rafe let out a long, slow breath, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings,

“C’mon princess” he said quietly, his tone more affectionate, yet still firm. 

“Go inside for me, yeah? You’re not thinking clearly.”

She didn’t resist. 

After a long beat, she finally pulled her hand away, glossy eyes looking at him as she pushed open the door. Before she stepped out, she turned back to look at him one last time, her smile still lingering but faint; she pushed herself back into the car and placed a soft kiss onto his cheek.

“Goodnight, Rafey.”

She whispered, her voice wavering and slightly off-balance. She wiggled her fingers at him in a wave before closing the door behind her, and Rafe watched as she staggered up to her front door, her steps a little less steady than usual. She fiddled with the doorhandle, and he debated whether he should get out and help her open the door. Somehow she managed to crack the door open, she turned back to him blowing him a kiss before closing the door behind her. 

Once she was inside, Rafe sat there for a moment, his jaw still clenched, trying to shake the weight of everything that had just happened. Her touch had been too much and as much as he had tried to keep his distance, it didn’t matter because his body was betraying him.

He shifted uncomfortably in the seat, feeling the tightness of his slacks against him, and he swore under his breath. The pressure between his legs was undeniable, a constant reminder of how wrong it all was.

She's high.

AND she's not herself. 

He dragged his hand through his hair again, frustration gnawing at him. He had to leave. But the thoughts came anyway- the image of her lips, the soft weight of her body against his, the way her smile made his chest tighten. He could feel the pressure building again, the ache in his body, and for a split second, he imagined what it would be like to pull her back into the car, to kiss her until she forgot everything except him. To hear her moan his name, to feel her hands on him the way they were on his neck...

Rafe’s breath hitched.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The boy's hands gripped the wheel tighter as he rolled into the driveway of Tannyhill, the tires crunching over the gravel as he parked the car in front of the empty house. The quiet of the night surrounded him, only the distant hum of a few streetlights and the rustling of leaves in the breeze breaking the stillness.

He sat in his car for a moment, head resting against the steering wheel eyes closed and jaw clenched tight as he tried to push away the memory and the feeling of her touch. He felt guilty, but he also couldn't shake the feeling of wanting more. His body was still trembling as he remembered the way she'd touched him, the way she'd looked up at him with hazy, glazed eyes. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, slacks straining against him. 

A glimpse of pink catches the corner of his eye, Rafe’s gaze lingered on the pink jumper in the backseat, the soft fabric wrinkled from weeks of being tossed around in the car, yet it still carried the faint scent of her. His heart thudded in his chest, and he couldn’t help the surge of desire that bloomed inside him. The memory of her wearing it, her figure draped in the soft jumper, rushed back with vivid clarity.

He reached over slowly, almost as if he was afraid it would disappear if he moved too quickly. His fingers brushed against the fabric, and the sensation sent a small shiver down his spine. Grabbing the jumper, he lifted it from the backseat, holding it in his hands like it was something precious. The soft material felt almost too delicate against his skin, his breath caught in his throat as his mind wandered. He could almost feel her body against his again, the way her soft hands had pressed into him.

He let out a shaky breath, the air in the car feeling warmer than it had moments ago. His fingers traced the edge of the sleeve, the softness reminding him of the girl. Rafe’s grip on the jumper tightened, and his chest rose with a slow, deep breath as he brought the soft fabric up to his face. The scent of her hit him again- intoxicating and something uniquely Y/n that made his stomach flip. His eyes fluttered shut as he inhaled, the softness of the material pressing against his nose, his lips. The familiar scent settled deep inside him, and he couldn’t stop the grunt that slipped out, low and unguarded, his head tilted back against the seat.

His mind swirled with visions of her, of what could have happened, of how easily he could have pulled her back into the car; the heat between them had been undeniable- much too strong to ignore. 

He could feel the burn in his chest, the low, insistent throb heavy between his legs. 

Rafe’s jaw clenched as he pulled the jumper closer to his face again, breathing her in deeply, letting her scent consume him. His hand drifted down his body, fingers fiddling with his belt as he loosened it, the rattling of the metal buckle filling the car. 

He lifted his hips up slightly, shaking hand slipping his trousers down past his hips just enough. His breath was harsh and ragged, his body burning, the feeling of her scent surrounding him; the memory of her touch still fresh in his mind, making him twitch with want, he groaned aloud as he wrapped the jumper around his hand, needing to feel the softness against him.

The jumper was wrapped around his hand in a tight, desperate grip as he moved it down to his crotch, palming himself slowly through the fabric, the friction making his breath come out in quick, uneven huffs.

He let out a low, moan his voice thick with need, but it wasn't enough, it wasn't what he really wanted. 

In a hurried movement, he slid his hand inside his briefs, grasping his length, and began to stroke himself, eyes closed as he let out a guttural groan, his head falling back against the seat as his body responded to the touch of his hand and the soft material wrapped around it.

He imagined the girl in the passenger seat, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire, her lips parted in anticipation as she was moments before he’d told her to leave. 

He swallowed harshly as he circled the tip of his throbbing cock, beads of pre-cum coating his thumb.

His mind flickered back to the golf course weeks ago, the girl on her knees in front of him, innocent doe eyes looking up. He pictured the night going differently, his sweet best-friend leaning over, her lips wrapping around the head of his cock, her tongue swirling and teasing his tip, cheeks hollowing around him. He let out a heavy breath at the image of the girl in his mind, his hand gripping himself tighter. He imagined his hands threading through her hair, pulling it up into a ponytail as her eyes fluttered shut, pushing his hips towards her, the girls nails dragging down his thighs as she gagged around him. Her whimpers and whines echoing in his mind, his hand, still holding the jumper trembled slightly as he pressed it harder against his face, as he thrusted himself up into his fist at the smell of her. Rafe's strokes grew faster, his breath coming out in short gasps, his hips bucking up into his hand frantically as he envisioned the girl pulling away from him, eyes teary and glazed over like they were tonight, looking up to him her mouth open for him awaiting, lips reddened and wet with her spit. 

“Fuck y/n” he groaned shakily as the slick sounds filling the car came to a stop, warm ropes of cum landing over the soft pink material wrapped around his hand.

Rafe's heavy breaths filled the car, windows now fogged up. The boy sat there motionless looking down at the mess in his lap, mind reeling.

What the fu-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @evermorx89 @bellaed1t @user381953 @lovemanheim @loves0phelia @yourcrackleflame @kundaquarius @matthewswifeyy @pillowprincess4him

[peachhcs]

oohhh that was adorable !!

what do samy and will get each other for christmas?

sweet, sweet gifts

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

part 2 to sweet, sweet memories where some pretty special gifts are exchanged!

wc: 2.4k

merry christmas to everyone who celebrates today! here is the part 2 to probably one of my favorite fics i've written for this au! i know a lotttt of people have done the tattoo initials before, but i really wanted to join the trend and can totally see samy + will doing this for one another:) but happy holidays!!

au masterlist

both families were gathered around the living room taking turns exchanging gifts after the extravagant wake up and cleaning up all the silly string. the hughes siblings started first with their sibling gift exchange where every year they would pick names out of a hat like secret santa. the parents and smiths watched in amusement as the four huddled in a circle together.

"alright, go ahead and pass," ellen smiled and the siblings quickly exchanged their gifts to who they got. samy passed hers over to jack, jack passed to luke, luke passed to quinn, and quinn passed to samy.

"i fucking knew you got me," jack mumbled in a small smirk as he admired his sister's signature reindeer wrapping paper.

"what? you make luke tell you who he got so you could do process of elimination?" samy giggled.

"hey, it's hard when we live together," the middle brother defended himself and samy just rolled her eyes.

"okay, youngest opens first. open your gift," quinn poked her knee and the girl grinned. she quickly tore through quinn's vancouver blue wrapping paper. it was a rather big box so she wondered what he got her that could be so big.

when she got down to the cardboard box she grew even more curious, reaching for the scissors to cut into the heavy cardboard. finally, she got to the bottom where a white frame facing down revealed itself. the girl carefully lifted it from the box, flipping it over while jack and luke leaned forward to see what it was. quinn sat beside her nervously awaiting her reaction to what became a very sentimental gift.

"oh my god. is this all of my state wins and my recent win?" samy examined each of her game winning photo reactions collaged together into one big picture frame.

"yup, i asked mom for the pictures. i figured you'd want a huge photo of them all together," quinn explained and samy reached over to embrace him in a hug.

"thanks, quinny. i love it. it's so sentimental," the girl hummed and flipped it around so everyone could see better.

"wow, what a gift, quinn," jim nodded.

"it came out so well, i'm so glad," ellen grinned.

"good luck getting that back on the plane," luke snickered and quickly tore into his gift next. the others watched as he shredded the devils red wrapping paper—each sibling seemingly matching their wrapping paper to their team colors this year. jack had a big grin on his face which could only mean so many things from him because he was the master at gag gifts.

out came a little box and luke's eyes widened when he realized what it was. the other siblings leaned in to see, "holy shit, it's me!" the second youngest exclaimed.

he flipped it around so everyone could see him as a little funk pop dressed in his new jersey devils uniform holding his hockey stick. "oh my god! that's adorable!" ellen gushed.

"how'd you even do that?" samy wondered and admired her brother in a box.

"a few emails back and forth with the company. they were more than happy to do it," jack explained.

"this is actually sick, rowdy. thanks," luke patted his brother's back where they exchanged a small hug.

"his frontal lobe must be developing if he didn't get a gag gift this year," samy teased making her brother roll his eyes.

"okay you next," luke nudged jack and the boy quickly tore into the wrapping paper.

samy watched with a smile, hoping jack would like his gift. the reindeer wrapping paper went flying as the middle brother tore through it and luke caught a glimpse of the gift first, his eyes widening.

"no fucking way," jack said when he saw what it was. he pulled it out further so everyone could see the two water guns and now everyone's eyes widened.

"you always say how you want more water guns, so i went ahead and got some for you. you can use them on luke back in jersey or at the lake house," the girl explained.

"no, not at me. save that for the summer," luke quickly shook his head making everyone else laugh.

"this is fucking sick, thanks pop," jack reached over to hug her.

"glad you like them. i know yours wasn't really a gag gift, but i wanted to gag gift you back," everyone shared a laugh and finally, it was quinn's turn.

the oldest hughes was a pretty simple guy and never wanted much, so he looked surprised when luke pulled out a rather large gift for him. because he was such a simple guy, sometimes the siblings struggled what to get him because he never wanted much.

"now, technically i did get you, but we all kind of put thought into this," luke explained making the older boy raise his eyebrow. he glanced at his parents who only shrugged because they had no idea.

they watched in anticipation as quinn carefully opened his gift. it looked similar to samy's with the big white picture frame, but when he flipped it over, the older boy was pleasantly surprised with what he saw.

at the top of the frame was a picture of all of them together at the game quinn was officially named captain of the canucks. beneath the picture was one of his jersey's where the C was proudly displayed on the top right corner. all around the picture were hand written notes from all of his siblings telling him how proud they were of him. quinn's eyes quickly watered, not expecting such sweet gift. the others nervously watched his reaction.

"q, that's so sweet," ellen broke the silence first as she also examined the picture from over his shoulder.

"wee wanted to memorialize such a special moment for you so you'd have it forever and you know how much you mean to us," luke said.

"he's crying, i knew we'd make him cry," jack chuckled and reached over to rub his older brother's shoulder.

"this is the best thing i've ever gotten. i have no words," the older boy quickly wiped his tears to bring his three younger siblings into a hug.

ellen quickly pulled out her phone to snap a picture of the sweet moment.

once the sibling gift exchange was over, it was now time for everything else. colleen and bill handed out their gifts, ellen and jim distributed theirs, and there were a few extra gifts exchanged a long the way that the siblings got one another and between will and grace too. samy got her dyson air wrap as she predicted along with some more necessities she asked for like new mascara, lip gloss, face cream, and perfume.

after everything was opened, the dads worked to clean up the wrapping paper while the moms got to the kitchen to start brunch. samy and will shied away a bit from opening gifts from one another in front of their families, so they disappeared to his room for a second.

"i hope you like it, i literally talked with ryan and gabe about it for weeks," samy chuckled as she slid the two big boxes towards the blonde. he raised his eyebrow a little bit, his curiosity growing.

"hearing that makes me worried," will mumbled because they knew how much ryan and gabe also loved giving gay gifts.

samy watched as he dug into the first big one. the familiar white frame revealed itself which also seemed to be another running theme in the household with these sentimental picture collage gifts. will carefully flipped it over, wondering what would be on the other side.

"we know how much playing at boston meant to you, so gabe and ryan managed to pull a few strings to get your jersey. i printed the pictures and put them all together, so i guess it's sort of a joint gift from all of us? i was thinking you can hang it in your room to remember your time at boston and the legacy your family has to the school," the brunette explained the thought behind the gift and the boy was smiling again as he admired all of the photos of him on the ice or with his friends.

"wow, this is so sweet. i love it, thank you," will glanced up at her, a soft expression on his features which she quickly returned.

"i guess all of us were thinking alike this christmas, but once luke mentioned what he was getting quinn i wanted to do something similar for you," will leaned over to give her a tight hug.

"this is really special, thank you again. i love you," the hockey player hummed, kissing her cheek. he went to tear into the next box which was a bunch of clothes samy saw and figured will would like since he always told her how he watched to change up some of his style.

"hell yeah, i wanted this," the boy said when he saw the abercrombie and fitch sweatshirt and matching jeans.

"i hope they fit. i like kind of knew your size, but not really. i have all the receipts if you need to exchange," samy giggled.

"they're perfect, thank you," he kissed her cheek again. he began passing his gifts over to her until the youngest hughes stopped him. this last gift she was a bit nervous for because it was something she did on a complete whim and didn't know if will would like it or not. he raised his eyebrow when she stopped him for a second.

"i do have one more thing," she began which made the blonde glance at her in confusion. "hopefully you won't think it's stupid or cringey, but i've been thinking about doing it for awhile and i finally did it a few days after i saw you in san jose. it's just a little something..like..to remember you're always with me even when we're miles apart," she rambled a little and will just wondered in amusement what the last gift could possibly be.

when samy stood and began pulling her pajama waist band down, the boy's curiosity grew. was she about to show him her underwear or something? will definitely wouldn't complain if that was the case, but samy stopped about halfway down her hip. will looked closer and that's when he saw black ink marking her skin with 2 simple letters and a number. w.s. 2

his initials. his initials in her skin forever. his eyes widened in disbelief.

"holy shit, no way.." will reached out to gently brush his thumb across the somewhat fresh ink. he actually had zero words, yet it was the hottest thing he's ever seen.

"is it cringy? you can tell me if it is," the girl said nervously when all will did was stare at her upper hip bone. his fingers were delicate across her skin, so mesmerized with the way it looked.

"no way. i love it. i'm on you forever," he looked up at her, such a lovestruck expression on his features it made the girl blush.

"yeah, you are. it's like our own reminder that you're right here with me all the time," she ruffled her hand through his curls, a bit caught off guard when will leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the area.

"god, i love you," he mumbled.

"i love you," samy grinned.

"you know, i really do think we think the same because i also have a surprise for you," will said and stood up too. the brunette watched as he pulled down his own waist band where on the same exact side as hers was will's own tattoo on his hip except it was her own initials and #6.

samy's eyes widened seeing her boyfriend's hip. "no fucking way," she mumbled.

"i also got mine done a few days after you left san jose. we were probably on the same brain wave length or something, but i've also been wanting to this for some time or at least get your number somewhere. i guess the 6 is a tribute to my time at boston college too," the blonde chuckled, watching as samy reached forward to brush her finger over her initials.

"i was thinking about getting a 6 too, but i'm glad i didn't. i can't believe we did the same thing, that's hilarious," samy looked back at her boyfriend who smiled.

"no matter where we are or how far apart we get, i'll always come back to you," will cupped her cheeks, pressing a kiss to her nose before going in to her lips.

"i love you," samy mumbled when they pulled apart again.

"i love you," will hummed and then went to grab the rest of samy's gifts. she carefully worked through them, mumbling how will didn't need to get her so much. he never listened though because his girl deserved nothing less.

she popped open a jewelry box that had small s and w pendants hanging off a little chain. "you keep bugging me how you wanted a necklace," will poked her side and the girl grinned.

"i did, thank you. i love it," she kissed his cheek. he also got her san jose clothes since she always stole his (not that will minded at all, but he wanted her to have her own too).

when they were done, the couple just sat on his bed admiring their gifts and taking in the moment together. "these were all so sweet, thank you," samy said again.

"of course. i hope you like everything," will said and she quickly nodded.

"i love it all. you're the best," she leaned forward to embrace him in a tight hug.

there was a sharp knock on the door making them pull apart in surprise even though they weren't even doing anything. luke poked his head in, "we're going out to the beach if you lovebirds aren't just."

"we'll be down in five," samy said and her brother nodded before disappearing.

"are you gonna join our polar plunging?" the girl got up from the bed to find her swimsuit.

"i think i'd like to not freeze, so i'll sit this one out," the blonde laughed.

"okay, suit yourself," samy giggled. she quickly changed, pulling pants and long sleeve shirt over for now so she didn't freeze too much.

her and will were downstairs a minute later.

"last one in loses!" jack exclaimed and rushed out the door. the others called after him, quickly following while the parents just laughed to themselves, opting to also stay inside away from the snowy day.

[luneemeritus]

"pilot Stolas was better!!" no, he wasn't.

"bring pilot Stolas back!!" no ❤️

You want an evil, manipulative, abusive villain with little to no redeeming qualities that is a Goetia and has cool powers? We have two of them: Stella and Andrealphus. If it's only about the 'asthetic', a character doesnt have to be evil to be cool, Stolas's demon form and powerful moments are already amazing, and although he's powerless now, I'm pretty sure he will get his status back at least for a while to make a badass scene.

What the Hellaverse doesnt lack is amazing villains. If critics were so much better and creative than Vivziepop, they wouldn't turn a complex, well written, well designed and well acted character like Stolas into a boring Valentino 2.0 just because the pilot version seemed creepier. Lmao Stella is literally what all of Stolas's haters claim to want, look how well they're handling her. Seriously I've seen people saying that Stella needs a sympathetic reason to be a fucking abuser, but when Stolas (not an abuser) has sympathetic reasons to be who he is and do what he does, it's suddenly not okay.

Stolas is the only character I've ever seen who: sacrifice his life to his lover, and is still called "selfish" and "not enough for Blitz"; is seeing being abused by his wife since EP2-Season 1, even singing about how his life with her was miserable yet he remained strong for his daughter, and people will still claim that Stella turned out to be abusive "out of nowhere"; is forced to marry someone he doesn't love, is abused by said person, spent years alone and enduring that misery, and when he finally chooses to stay with the one person that never abused him, he is an "evil cheater"; sacrifices his own safety and happiness to make his daughter safe and happy, and ALWAYS — always — take accountability when he fails her (or when she thinks he failed her) as any good parent would do, and still be called a bad father (addition: forced to have said child but loves her anyway🤡). Just say yall alergic to character development.

I lost the Tiktok now because I blocked OP, but the big argument about "how much pilot Stolas is better" is a lie basically: canon Stolas, (abuse survivor, has the best development of the show alongside with Blitz, a loving father who remained strong for his daughter), is a "loser" (also a twink in a derogatory way, which is funny like, just say the f slur, we know that's what you mean🤡 specially calling a male abuse survivor "coward" and "loser" lmao like we know), while the pilot Stolas is a "manipulative, inteligent, cold villain" uuuuh no he wasn't lol hate to tell you dude, Pilot Stolas wasnt an evil interesting genius that was sooo intimidating, nah he was just creepy and honestly as funny as the canon one. Yeah you just hate the gay owl being well written. Pilot Stolas has 2 minutes screen. Canon Stolas has two seasons of development, he is the better one, I'm pretty sure people who say this don't even remember half of the pilot.

So it's not really about Stolas's actions, or mistakes, or him being a good or a bad person (he is a good person). He could be the most perfect, excellent, flawless victim, the 'wokest' most self aware pure angel, it's still not enough. Because it's not about him, it's about a version of him that never came to be but haters love to whine about it.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Glory Hallelujah

Written for day 25 of the @steddieholidaydrabbles and the 12 Days of Christmas bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Christmas & Glory Hole

Rated: E

Tags: Post-Vecna; Everybody Lives; Rockstar Eddie; Sex Clubs; Glory Holes; Blowjobs; Reunions

Notes: I did a poll to determine which prompt from the bingo card I should combine with the Christmas prompt of the holiday drabbles. Merry Dick-mas, you filthy heathens, I love all of you! ❤️

Eddie isn’t sure what the correct word for someone like him is. He’s been pondering it over four beers now, watching the bored-looking girl at the center of the room spin around her pole, but without any success. 

Pathetic springs to mind, but that isn't strong enough. There must be a stronger word than pathetic for someone spending Christmas at a goddamn sex club. But he was lonely, and he had nowhere to go, so it seemed like a good idea. 

It wasn’t. The place is glaringly empty, even Indy’s kink scene having better places to be on this most magical of nights.

He should’ve gone to Kentucky with Wayne. 

Except this is the old guy’s first time meeting his girlfriend’s family, and Eddie can just imagine how this would’ve played out if he’d tagged along.

Hi, I’m Eddie, Wayne’s nephew. Yeah, I might look familiar. Yeah, I was on the cover of Rolling Stone last month. Thanks, I’m happy your grandkids like my music. Yeah, no, I didn’t commit those satanic murders, that was- Listen, can we talk about my uncle? 

So, instead, here he is. 

Fuck, he hasn’t felt this miserable and mad at himself since that one time he told Steve Harrington to get back with his girl while inconspicuously ogling the guy’s sweaty chest hair under his own battle vest. 

Eddie sighs, getting up from his chair. He might as well head home while he still has some self-respect left.

He's almost at the exit when something catches his eye. There's a row of stalls in the wall, each with its own lockable door. 

The light over one is on. 

There's no fucking way, he thinks, even as his feet carry him right over and into the adjacent cabin. Someone probably forgot to kill the light. There's no fucking way anyone is in there. That would be at least as pathetic as a fucking rock star going to a fucking sex club on fucking Christmas day because he's a depressed moron. 

Still, he goes in, locks the door and pulls down his pants. The hole in the wall stares back at him like it's trying to mock him. Eddie tells himself to stop being silly. 

Worst case scenario is he stands here with his limp dick poking through a hole in the wall like an idiot. Nobody will know, because nobody’s there. Best case scenario is he gets to blow off some steam. 

Nothing happens. 

Eddie sighs and is just about to pull out when suddenly, there's movement. His heart leaps into his throat. He hears it all through the thin wall. A sharp intake of breath, like whoever is on the other side is just as surprised as him. They probably are. They've probably been in there a while. Then, the thud of knees hitting the floor. Eddie has just enough time to think that the mystery person must be really eager for this before he feels soft, warm lips wrapping around his tip. 

Whoever the person in the other stall is, they sure know what they’re doing. They start out gently, slowly sliding Eddie’s swelling cock in and out of that deliciously warm mouth, tongue teasing the length of him. Once he's fully hard, the tongue is joined by a hand, alternating soft licks with firm strokes, and Eddie feels something urgent and hot build at the base of his spine. He moans, fingers grasping the top of the stall for leverage as his hips buck, trying to get closer to that mouth even with the wall between them. 

They keep this up for several minutes. Eddie tries to keep his voice down, but it seems like each of his groans and whimpers spurs the other person on. And then, they scrape their teeth over his tip, and a startled curse escapes his lips, and they swallow him all the way down, as far as the wall allows. 

Eddie comes with a hoarse shout, spilling hot and wet into that mouth. The other person doesn’t pull away. Eddie feels their throat constricting around him as they swallow.

“Fuuuck,” Eddie groans, forehead sagging against the wall. His arms feel like jelly from supporting his weight. “Shit. Jesus. Shitshitshit.” 

And that is when the other person pulls off. 

“Eddie, if it’s you, please come out?” 

“Wait a sec,” says a voice. A voice garbled and wrecked from sucking his cock and swallowing his come. A voice that Eddie hasn’t heard in ten years.

Eddie’s heart stops. On the other side of the wall, a door opens.

“Eddie?” Right outside his own door. “Shit, is that really you?”

This isn’t real. It’s some bizarre, orgasm-induced pipe dream brought about by too much beer and seasonal depression. There’s no way the person outside is who Eddie thinks he is. 

He does. At least he remembers to pull up his pants first.

The door swings open, and there he is. Steve Harrington, ten years older but no less gorgeous, clad in skintight denim and a silky purple shirt, lips turned up into a delighted smile. They’re still swollen and shiny. 

“I knew it!” he cheers, pulling Eddie into a hug. “Nobody else babbles curses like that.”

Eddie grunts. Steve pulls back, holding him at arm’s length. 

“Looking good,” he smiles. “Even better than on that Rolling Stone cover. How have you been, man? Dustin said you talk sometimes, but you never-” 

“What the fuck is going on here?” Eddie blurts. His knees are wobbly and his head is spinning. “You aren’t- … You just sucked my- … You’re straight!” 

Steve laughs, and it’s every bit as breathtaking as Eddie remembers. 

“Yeah, no, I figured that out a while ago. Which you would know, if you’d just kept in touch.” He winks right into Eddie’s gobsmacked face, then takes him by the shoulder and steers him towards the bar. “How about you buy me a drink? We can celebrate this little Christmas miracle, and I’ll bring you up to speed.” 

More holiday drabbles

More Steddie Bingo

[backseatsoldier]

"Broken", Not Stupid - 4

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unusual omega!OC (13)

CW: Omegaverse; cult-like situation; dehumanization

Author's Note: I can't stop. Oops. If you want to be on the tag list, drop a comment to let me know <3 Also, I feel the need to warn you that CoD fic is what got me into Omegaverse and this is the first time I've written it lol

Thirteen hours.

It took thirteen hours for the paperwork to be filled out and processed. They'd dragged Simon off immediately to fill out the paperwork and I was "escourted" (dragged) to my space to wait.

The last thirteen hours have been spent with staff members pampering me. Bathing me, doing my hair and makeup, dressing me in clothes that aren't Salvation's omega dresscode - all of it. There was even something of a literal photoshoot?

I don't know why they needed photos of me, but I always knew these people were weird.

However, all of that lead to me being prettily posed in the room they keep omegas in while they wait for their new alphas to arrive. Specifically at 10:30 pm. I almost want to shoot Simon for the insistence of immediate pick-up.

Could be asleep by now.

A knock at the door pulls me from my whirlwind of thoughts and I sit up straighter, putting on my best "submissive omega" impression for whoever enters.

"UK-009-0013? Your alpha has arrived," an employee calls from the other side of the door.

I stand quickly and tug gently at the way-too-big black skull tshirt that they ended up putting me in at some point.

"Come in."

The door creaks open and reveals Jenny - who looks way too happy - and Simon.

"There she is, sir. In the clothes you dropped off, as you requested," Jenny says a bit too proudly.

"I can see that."

I have to suppress my laugh at the look of hurt on Jenny's face at Simon's lack of praise. Instead, I continue my "submissive omega" act and begin fidgeting with the edge of the tshirt while looking up at Simon through my lashes. The more smitten I appear the better.

"Simon," I call to him softly, meekly.

He wastes no time crossing the room and scooping me into his arms at the sound of my voice. My arms wrap tightly around him and I grab fistfuls of the back of his hoodie.

"Anyway you can tone that shit down a bit?" he whispers into my ear, voice a bit strained.

"Not if you want any chance of getting me out of here without roadblocks," I whisper back with my face burried against his neck. "Don't make it weird."

I'm acting, to him, like I'm unphased by having an alpha but the seemingly-dormant omega portion of my brain seems to be waking up. She's still drowsy and unsure what's happening, but with my face shoved against his neck...

I can smell him.

I've never been this close, physically, to any alpha before. The fact that doing so is triggering the omega part of my brain is royally pissing me off. Thankfully, Simon loosens his grip on me and steps back. One of his hands drops to mine, his fingers lacing through mine.

"Everything is settled. Correct?" Simon addresses Jenny agan as he turns. "I'd like to take my future mate home now."

My cheeks warm slightly at the comment and the implications, but I remind myself that it's part of the act to get me (and hopefully other omegas) out of Salvation's grasp.

"Of course! Everything is settled and you're both free to go." Jenny's smile is unsettling, as per usual, but so is her choice in wording. It's clear from the way Simon's grip tightens around my hand that he also finds it strange. However, as promised, we are allowed to leave with no problems.

As soon as we're out of view of the property, I feel my entire body relax. My muscles ache from being tense for so long - literal years - and I'm tearing up out of relief.

Bless Simon, though. If he noticed my change in demeanor, he didn't comment or react.

"Are these... your clothes?" I ask once I manage to force the tears back.

He stays quiet for so long I start to think he didn't even hear me.

"Would it bother you if I said yes?"

Not... the response I was expecting, but alright.

"Not really, no. It'd be expected. Giving me things with your scent and all that." I toy with the strings on the sweatpants. They're long and hang low from how tightly I had to tie them to get the pants to stay up.

"This, whatever it is, doesn't have to be like that." His voice is gentle, unlike what it has been 99% of the time. Even when we were playing our parts to get me out of there there was a mostly gruff, gravely tone to his voice. I glance at him, confused as all hell, but his eyes are trained on the road.

"Didn't you go to Salvation to find an omega? A mate?"

"Yeah, I guess," he shrugs, eyes forward still. "But there are more important things in the world than finding a mate and reproducing for the sake of having a mate and reproducing. Like rights and safety. Especially that of omegas."

The omega in my mind seems sad at his offer and point of view of our situation, but I couldn't be happier. Salvation is not what it implies and I knew I would never get out of there or be able to help my fellow omegas while stuck in their grasp.

An alpha who seems to actually care about the wellbeing of others. Even if he is a bit... odd.

Things could be worse. A lot worse.

Masterlist | Part One

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