#it feels like a door's been shut to keep me out but the door is glass so I can clearly still see inside u know

[ylangelegy]

is it casual now? (teaser) 🫀 seungcheol x reader.

★ seungcheol x makeup artist!f!reader. ★ teaser word count: ~8,000 ★ genre/warnings: mdni. 18+ content. situationship/friends with benefits, light angst, use of pet name ('love'). soft dom!seungcheol, making out, biting/marking, protected sex. let me know if i missed anything! ★ footnotes: this has been on my backburner for months. it's admittedly a full-blown story in need of hard editing, and so i'm posting this in hopes of bullying myself into working on the whole thing. should it come down to it, though, i like to think this can stand on its own. enjoy. <3

Seungcheol has been in the industry long enough to know that everybody had vices.

Trainees, rookies, veterans. It didn't matter. There were dangerous, risky vices. Alcohol, drugs, smoking. There was dating, too, of course. Dating fans, dating fellow idols.

Seungcheol didn't do drugs. He smoked socially, but he would rather not. And he drank, sure, but never to an unhealthy amount. Dating, however—

Did it really count when there was only really ever one person he treated like a vice?

You've been in his life since the group debuted. Nine years, give or take. And then, at one point, he just... tried something with you. And it clicked, fell into place, and now you've been sneaking around for the better half of three years. It's the one place Seungcheol feels like he can breathe, can get away. But it's also the biggest secret he's kept.

You're his makeup artist, after all.

When the two of you started off, you both insisted on nothing serious. To 'keep it casual'.

That worked perfectly for Seungcheol. He likes to think it's still working for him, as he raps at the door of your apartment and waits for you to open up. His wristwatch says that it's midnight, but it doesn't matter. He knocks a little louder, growing a touch impatient.

You open the door, and you're greeted with Seungcheol looking reproachful. "Yah," he chides. "Why haven't you been answering my texts?"

When you rub your eyes with the back of your hands and look over your shoulder to glimpse at your wall clock, Seungcheol almost feels apologetic. Almost. “Cheol,” you say exasperatedly, slowly. “It’s the middle of the night.” 

"So you were sleeping then, hmm?" Seungcheol says. The corner of his lips tilt up, just slightly. He leans against the doorframe, taking a brief amount of time to glance you over. As he does, a small wave of tiredness finally washes over him— just how late had he kept himself up working on new music? "I sent you texts hours ago."

"You didn't even read them." He reaches up, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He sighs, the sound almost exaggerated. "How cruel of you."

You let out a low hum at Seungcheol’s fingers brushing against your skin. “Mmm, I fell asleep with my phone in my hand,” you admit, the words coming out more like a soft sigh than anything else.

You seem to finally drag yourself out of your sleepy state to give Seungcheol a once-over. He knows it shows all over— the exhaustion in his eyes, his stance. He’s tired, and you can tell. You’ve always been able to tell. 

You step aside a bit and he takes that as his cue. Seungcheol moves past you, a small hum in the back of his throat. He toes off his shoes and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. In spite of himself, the moment he's inside, he reaches for you. 

One arm is loosely slung over your shoulders, pulling you in close. He rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose against your neck.

"You fell asleep..." he gripes. "Do you know how many texts I sent you? I sent five.” 

“Five”” you repeat as you bear Seungcheol’s weight. Your hand instinctively raises to stroke the base of his hair behind his neck, and he thinks he could melt then and there— your soothing touch, your light tone. “Oh, how ever will you live?”

Seungcheol huffs into the crook of your neck. The feel of your fingers in his hair does wonders to combat the tired, stressed part of himself. Slowly, his shoulders relax, and he sighs, the sound long and deep.

"Don't get snarky with me," he mutters. But there's no bite to it at all, just a quiet sense of contentment in his voice. "You could've at the very least read the messages." He moves, presses a kiss to your neck. "Would've taken ten seconds."

“I was asleep,” you protest, but— whether or not you notice— your head is tilting around a bit to press a lingering kiss on to the side of his face.Seungcheol's stomach flutters. You're sweet like that. Always have been, always will be. He hums under his breath at the kiss, his hand that's on your shoulder moves up to cup your cheek.

“That’s my penance,” you say drowsily. 

"One kiss isn't nearly enough," he tells you. 

He pulls back from your shoulder to look at you, now. The eye contact, the way he regards you, has a more focused weight. He takes a moment to look you over again— hair mussed, face still flushed faintly from sleep. "Two,” he says in a tone that brokers no argument. 

“Greedy,” you mumble, but both of you know it doesn’t matter. 

Not when your free hand finds purchase at his side and you use your fingers in his hair to pull him down so you don't have to stand on your tiptoes. Not when you press your lips together into a kiss that's soft and sweet, almost sleepy.

All it takes is the sound of your voice for Seungcheol to be pulled in— when you tug at his hair, he follows, his chest against yours. He bends down, his own hands coming up to the sides of your face.

He melts against your mouth, his eyes closing in an instant. But it’s done as quickly as it started. You pull away, your face still inches away from Seungcheol’s, as you smilingly mumble to him, “There. Two kisses.” 

His eyes open again once you pull away, his grip on your face tightening just slightly. "Three," he mutters back, and then he leans back in. 

You hum against his mouth, the sound breaking free from the back of your throat. You’re both so tired from your respective work and it shows in the kiss. No heat, no fire. Your tongue swiping over his lip makes Seungcheol hum, quiet and low in his throat. He's usually so used to being the one who takes control, making the first move, but here with you, in the early hours of the morning— there's something else to it.

He pulls you closer against him, his hands moving down to your hips. Against your mouth, he murmurs, "Four," before his tongue slips in, just to get a taste. Just to linger, just to savor, but not take over.

“Cheol,” you huff, though your reprimand is tempered by the way Seungcheol is intent on keeping the kiss going. “You’re— mmph— being greedy—” 

"Five—" he sighs against your mouth. "Let me be greedy a second more."

One of his hands moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling up in your hair. This is what he likes, this is what he always comes to you for. Something that's simple. This, he can deal with. This, he can handle.

It’s never a second more with Seungcheol. He’s always out the door when he can go, when he has to. He’s never been a glutton for time, and so it’s enough for you to sense that something is wrong. 

You break away from him. 

Seungcheol has to resist a whine when you pull back, his eyes fluttering open in a daze. Your hand has moved to his face and you’re looking up at him with a small frown and a quiet query. “Long week?” 

He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, the hand in your hair loosening its grip, fingers just idly combing through the strands.

He glances at your face— the furrow of your brow, the hint of concern in your eyes— and it makes him sigh. He turns his head to press a soft, quick kiss to your palm.

"Long year," he corrects.

You look like you want to say more. Seungcheol almost begs you not to. This— whatever the two of you have— it’s an outlet that won’t break him, won't ruin him, won't tarnish him or the group's name. He just wants— he needs—

You know exactly what he needs, even if he doesn’t always know himself. “How do you want your fifth kiss?” you ask instead of commenting on his obvious fatigue. 

Your question makes Seungcheol's head empty out in an instant.

It takes him a moment to think, to consider. His mind, hazy and tired as it is, struggles to come up with an adequate answer. All he knows is that he's comfortable, that he's tired, that you're here. And that's all he really needs, in the end.

He lets his hand fall from your hair, to the nape of your neck. "... Soft," he murmurs. "Soft and easy."

You’re back up on your tiptoes to give him what he asked for. A sweet, slow press of your lips against his. It’s a kiss that lovers give each other, even though you’re the furthest from that. 

It's easy, easy, easy for him to fall into the kiss just like that, a shudder running down his spine when your tongue doesn't invade him. It's sweet, it's chaste, it's simple. It's exactly the kind of kiss he needs after a week of work.

His hand on your neck moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. He breaks away for a mere second, a fraction of a beat, to catch his own breath, but he kisses you right back after. 

"Six," he whispers desperately. "Again."

This time, you laugh against his mouth— a slightly muffled sound, not any less amused— but you give in, still. When you separate for air again, one of your hands rests on his chest to keep him away. “You have to let me breathe, Cheol,” you huff. 

Seungcheol has to resist groaning outright when your palm on his chest keeps him from coming in for another kiss. You're adorable like this, in the middle of the night, with sleep in your eyes and annoyance in your voice.

He knows he's being needy, taking advantage, but at the same time? It's all he seems to be able to do. Greedy, he hears you call him, and it's true.

"I'll let you breathe when I get my seventh kiss, then," he grumbles.

He can see the annoyance blooming on your expression, but he’s saved by one thing and one thing alone: The fact that you can get pretty greedy sometimes, too, especially when Seungcheol was involved. 

"Fine," you say haughtily, feigning annoyance. "Just one more kiss."

Seungcheol's eyes glimmer with something akin to mischief. His hands move to your face again, his own lips curving up in a smirk. You give him an inch, he wants a mile. It's his style. "One more kiss. That I can work with."

He brushes a thumb over your cheek again, his grip in your hair loosening only to brush some stray strands away from your face. "Only fair that I get to pick the way, then," he says, his tone low.

He's going to make the most of this opportunity, and you're letting him.

His tongue darts out briefly to lick over his bottom lip. "Open your mouth."

When you let out a noncommittal hom and oblige, parting your lips, he knows he’s gone. Seeing the obedience in your face makes Seungcheol's stomach do a little bit of an excited flip. You're like this, this, even when you're tired, when you're barely awake.

It's a little addicting.

"Good," he says softly. It's all the warning you get before he's got his mouth on yours again.

He kisses you— devours you, his tongue parting your lips, sliding into your mouth, taking. The kiss is almost bruising and seems to throw you off balance, but you quickly recover by pressing flush against Seungcheol and holding the sides of his arms. If he were a better person, Seungcheol would let this be the last one. Would let this kiss end and call it a night. 

But then the smallest of sounds escape you. A whimper, a soft noise that only makes all sense fly right out of Seungcheol's head. It's not fair, he thinks, that you still have a hold on him even in the middle of the night.

All it makes him do is pull you closer— press you up against the wall with his entire body, his hands still gripping your face as he kisses you deep. Harder than he usually would, rougher than he normally did.

He swallows the sound, his tongue still in your mouth.

Your fingernails are pressing into his biceps now. Your tongue is sinking into his lower lip; not quite biting, but enough to drag his focus away for a moment. "Seung," you sigh, and it’s like music to his goddamn ears. 

He was Choi or Seungcheol when he was in your makeup chair. Cheol, when it was just the two of you. But Seung was something different entirely. 

A small moan, low and quiet, gets caught in Seungcheol's throat when you bite into his lip, when you whine out his name like that. He knows what it means when you call him like that— knows what he's in for.

He relishes in it. In moments like these when he gets to be like this. When he doesn't have to be responsible, when he doesn't have to be a leader. He gets to be just Seung.

There isn't a single part of his body that's not on fire right now, not when he's got you pinned against the wall, not when you're all satin and soft against him. His grip on your face tightens, and now his lips are no longer on your mouth, but on your jaw, moving down to your neck, your throat.

A quiet, needy little ah falls out your lips when he nips at that spot on your pulse point, and there, there is exactly when he knows that he's got you exactly where he wants you. Pinned by his body, shaking and shivering like he's touching you for the first time.

If he was feeling a little less riled up, a little less needy, he'd keep up the teasing. But he can't, not now. His hands move from your face to your hips, moving under the satin of your pajamas. It's not enough, never enough.

Every sound that leaves your mouth, every little please, just, already sets a fire in his brain. Every part of his mind turns to static, white noise, as he keeps his lips on your throat, your neck, biting and nipping at your skin.

“Seung,” you hiss, your hands flying to his shoulders as you press your back on to the entryway wall, willing yourself not to crumple. “I’m going to get a noise complaint again—”

“I'll pay the fine,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips against your collarbone now, his hands still on your hips. His brain is starting to grow fuzzy, his thoughts less coherent, but this was the goal.

To get you like this. Soft and shaking and desperate. To make you his for the night, for just a little while. To hold some sort of control over something in his life.

“You can't just keep paying for— ah— the fines,” you’re babbling. “They're going— t-to kick me— Seung, fuck!"

Whatever you’re trying to say dies out when Seungcheol nips at your warm skin. The rational part of him, somewhere deep, deep inside, knows that you're right. He can't keep paying your fines for complaints of loud music and loud sex.

The part of him that's currently working on painting a bruise on your collarbone doesn't seem to care all that much.

"I'll pay," he repeats, between leaving a few more marks on your skin for good measure. "As many times as I have to—"

“Jesus Christ,” you cuss, your chest heaving as Seungcheol’s hand moves higher and higher up your shirt. “My neighbors are so fucking sick of me, and it’s all your fault.”

“My fault?” Even through the haze in his head, Seungcheol can't help the low scoff that he lets out. He wants to say that he couldn't care less about your neighbors— wants to say that your pretty mouth makes up for the noise, but something else catches his attention. The brush of his fingers on bare skin. 

His eyes go wide, his brain suddenly clearing.

"You're not wearing anything underneath your pajamas," he deadpans, his voice coming out in a low drawl.

Of course, that adds up. You hadn’t been expecting Seungcheol, after all, so he can’t blame you for foregoing the underclothes. Still, it only stokes the growing flame in the base of his stomach. Especially when you move your head back against the wall so you’re looking right up at Seungcheol, the ghost of a smirk on your face. 

“Wanna check for yourself?” you taunt. 

A low groan falls out of Seungcheol's mouth as soon as you ask that. Like clockwork, his hands go to the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up slightly. Just a little bit, just to see if you're really not wearing anything beneath.

"You always like to tease," he says, his voice low. That hint of a smirk on your face is only serving to drive him that much crazier. "Go on, then. Show me, since you want to act all cocky."

You give him half an eye roll that’s more affectionate than anything else before reaching over to the back of your pajama collar. You pull the top over your head in one deft, swift movement. Seungcheol's eyes go wide for just a moment, taking in the sight of you, undressed, in front of him. It never stops shocking him, never stops making his heart thump a little harder, his breath coming out a little more labored.

“Happy?” you half-joke, your voice low. 

He looks at you, up and down, before his eyes go back to your face. His hands move from your hips to your waist, fingers tracing over the sides of your chest as he shakes his head.

"Not yet," he says. "But I will be."

His hands keep tracing over your skin, his touch light— almost feathery, as he keeps his eyes fixed on your face. There's something about seeing you so exposed like this that's driving him absolutely insane, something about you being entirely at his mercy that's making his eyes grow dark.

He leans in, bringing his lips just past your ear. "Turn around," he murmurs, almost like a command.

He sees how you swallow hard, how you take in the familiar darkness in Seungcheol’s gaze. You know him, have known him for years, and that comes with trust. Unflinchingly, you twist around in his arms to press your chest against the wall. 

He has you practically trapped, all against his chest and the wall. His eyes look at you up and down, taking in your bare shoulders and back, the way you've submitted to him so perfectly.

His hands go to your hips again, and his eyes look over your back, following the line of your bare spine. "What do you say we find a use for this wall besides me just pushing you up against it," he murmurs. "Hm?"

“Yes, please,” you whimper, and as soon as you agree, Seungcheol's hands tighten on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he pulls you a little closer to him. You're not going anywhere, not when he's got you like this.

He leans in, his body practically pressing up against your back, his chest against your skin. He bites down on your shoulder, pulling a strangled whine out from somewhere deep in your throat. "You look so goddamn pretty like this, love," he murmurs against your skin.

His hands move from your hips to your chest, tracing the skin there before he brings them up to your throat. He presses his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the thump thump thump of your heartbeat.

He can feel your heart thrumming against his hand, can practically hear you shaking. It's driving him absolutely insane— you, underneath him, trembling for him. The knowledge that he's got you like this, the fact that you're letting him take control, letting him do whatever he wants.

He moves his mouth to that spot on your neck again, the skin that's so sensitive that it makes you whimper and shiver. He always finds it so easy to tease those sounds out of you, and always relishes in doing it.

His hands stay at your neck, his fingers still pressed against your pulse point. This had always been one of Seungcheol's little habits— a single finger on your pulse point, as if he liked seeing which actions would make your heart rate spike, which words would have it hammering.

Seungcheol presses his lips on your skin again. "You're so loud."

He marvels at the way you ball your hands into fists, the way you shake all over with poorly concealed want and need as he keeps nipping and marking. "‘M not," you gasp, lurching forward against the wall. "‘M perfectly— hng!"

Everything is working in his favor.

You're shaking, and your heart is racing, and every noise you make is just more fodder for him. God, he loves it. Loves being the one to make you absolutely tremble and shiver like this. Loves the fact that he's the only one to make you feel like this.

"You're mine," he says again, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He bites the shell of it, hard, before letting out a low hum.

This is his favorite place in the entire world— right against your back, feeling your body heat against his chest, his tongue running over your skin. He loves how reactive you are to him, how sensitive you are, how your body just melts under his touch.

"Say it," he mutters against your skin. "Who's in control?"

There it is. The million won question.

The whole reason you started these rendezvouses in the first place. He had been spinning out of control, and you had been lonely, and you clicked into place like magnets. 

You give in, like you always do. The words are a soft whimper, almost a shout in your otherwise empty apartment. "You. You're in control, Seung."

That's all he wants to hear.

He digs his fingers into your jaw and wrenches your head so it's turned to look at him, his lips inches from yours. Even if there's a little pain, nothing in him is stopping. "Good," he mutters, his breath hot against your lips. "Good girl."

The kiss that follows is absolutely messy, the kind of kiss where it's just tongue and teeth and raw need. It's worlds different from the soft and easy kisses that Seungcheol asked for earlier, when he first came in complaining about five unanswered texts.

"Seung," you groan as you pull away for air. "Please—" 

When you moan his name, it's like something snaps.

He growls low, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts, gripping the fabric hard enough that there's a very real chance of them ripping. "Please what?" he mumbles against your neck. "You need to tell me what you need, love. Use your words."

"I hate you," you whine, and Seungcheol nearly smiles. He knows you’re not fond of begging, but he needs to hear it from you. At least, he wants to. 

"You know what I—" you’re saying, but dammit, his control is already razor thin as is. He rips off the last fabric of clothing on you until you’re completely bare, pressed entirely up between the wall and him. 

Somehow, your mind still has some shrivel of coherence to complain, "I liked this set, asshole!"

He grins against your skin at your words, chuckling at your whine, at the way you're just reacting to him. You can act annoyed, you can act like you don't need him, but he knows. "I'll buy you a new one," he hums, finally letting go of your shorts and letting them fall to the floor in tatters. "One for me to rip to shreds all over again."

That thought alone makes his blood sing.

It takes you a great effort to turn around, but somehow you manage. Seungcheol is still fully clothed and so your bare chest presses against the front of his shirt. The sight of you, naked, his hands at your hips, pressed right up against him, against his chest like this— he's gone.

And then you’re asking him, low and sweet as he has you caged in, "Where are you going to fuck me tonight, Seung?"

He can't even manage a word for a moment, his hands holding you so tight that he's definitely going to leave marks on your skin, his eyes fixed on your face.

He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry at the question. "You want me to say it out loud, hm?"

You go to steal the upper hand for a minute or so, and you do it so effectively. Your hand rises almost lazily to his neck, your finger instinctively finding his pulse point. He feels his heart rate speed up as he watches, just watches, you do it. You stand on your tiptoes to raise your lips directly to his ear. 

All he can feel is the thunder of his heart racing against your hand. You seem to notice it, too, if the smile on your face is any indication. 

"How about you just show me instead?" you say, and he’s convinced he’ll pass out then and there. 

"You're a brat," he mutters through gritted teeth, his hand moving up from your hips and up your spine. "A brat who needs to be taught a lesson."

He takes a shuddering breath, almost completely lost in your little game, before he snaps back to himself. Seungcheol's hand leaves your hip and goes to your hand, gripping your wrist hard. "On the sofa," he says, and it’s nothing short of a command. 

He practically drags you on to the piece of furniture, watching intently as you fall back with a small oomph. Seungcheol stands on the edge of the couch as you prop yourself up by the elbows to watch him right back. 

The sight of you underneath him— your hair splayed against the cushions, your eyes half-lidded and fixed on him? It's absolutely perfect. It's the kind of thing that he wants to keep in his mind forever, the sight he wants to always be able to remember.

He lets out a noise under his breath as he undoes the button of his jeans, the sound of the zipper going down obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Gorgeous,” he breathes. 

He gets his jeans undone and kicked off, his shirt following them not long after, and then he's on top of you, caging you in, his hands either side of your head, staring down at you.

The look in his eyes isn't something he really gets to show often— that raw need, that want, how desperate he is for you. He wants you, God, he wants you so badly, and you're letting him have you.

He dips his head to your neck, his lips against your skin, his breath hot against your pulse point, still absolutely obsessed with that spot. His hands find your wrists, pinning them back against the couch, while his knee finds its way between your thighs, pressing up against you.

You arch and squirm underneath him, visibly distressed with the facsimile of friction that you’re getting from his knee. “Seung,” you pant, grinding your dripping core against his knee. It sends a jolt of electricity through him. “Please— don’t wanna wait any more—”

“Where’s all that snark now, hm?” he teases, his teeth running over the skin on your neck. But he’s not any better off, his own self-control slipping through his very fingers as his hips grind down against you desperately. 

"Been driving me insane, love," he whispers, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck. "Been dreaming about this for days. Missing you—” 

A low keen escapes you, and he can only echo it as you tug at the last piece of material separating you. “Can we get this off already, please?” you huff as you hook your fingers at the waistband of his boxer shorts. 

He groans against your skin, his teeth finally letting go when he lifts his head to look down at you, the expression on his face looking like he's fighting for control. "God, yes," he groans, lifting his hips just enough for you to tug them off him.

He kicks them off once you’ve yanked them down, and his hand— which has instinctively gravitated to your pulse point— feels how the beat absolutely skyrockets. One of your arms goes around his shoulder and the other, surprisingly, clutches his jaw.

You’re looking right at him as you say, "Fast and hard, Seung."

"Yeah?" he says, just the slightest hint of a surprise in his voice. "You want me to be rough with you, love?"

Seungcheol was usually a sweet lover. He liked taking his time, liked being gentle and responsible even in bed.

But there were particularly rough weeks, terrible days, where he just needed a means to an end. Where the sex was an outlet, where the best thing you could be for him was his. 

He waits for your permission, because he still always remembers to ask no matter how far deep you’re in. The agreement comes in the form of the best three words. 

"Ruin me, Seung."

You know him too well. You know how he works, you know how he thinks, and you know him better than anyone.

He groans in response to your words, his head dipping down to drag his teeth gently over your collarbone. He's trying to hang on to his control, he is, but it's a losing effort.

"I will, love." His breath is hot against your skin, his hands finding your hips. "Just give me a minute—"

He shifts, just for a moment, to find the condom in his jean pocket. He goes through the motions until he's back on top of you again, one hand coming up to grip your hip again, the other coming up to rest against your throat. He looks down at you, his eyes almost glowing. 

"You trust me?" he mutters. His hand at your hip tightens; his hand at your throat barely clenches around your pulse point, his eyes never leaving yours.

You can feel it, see it. The way the little threads are beginning to unravel and fray. The way this was no longer Seungcheol of SEVENTEEN; not the leader, not the idol. This was something different entirely, someone else completely.

"I do," you whisper back, your eyes so full of adoration for him that he has to bite back the urge to scream. "I trust you, Seungcheol."

His full name is what really does it for him, because then he's pushing in, and you’re gasping, whimpering, trying to adjust around him and the fact that you’re practically clenching him on the get-go. Seungcheol eases in, nice and slow, because you’re too tightly coiled for him to do more than carefully bottom out. You’re both heaving, your breaths coming out as gasps; your own breaths are sharp, harsh, because Seungcheol is still choking you a little. 

His head dips down to your shoulder because he needs something to hold on to, anything, while his mind spins. His head is dizzy feeling you like this, feeling you around him so tightly. He's trembling, his thighs shaking, but he's holding himself back as long as he can.

When Seungcheol gets as far in as he can possibly get, you let out twin groans. He’s completely sheathed inside of you and you’re fluttering around him in a way that’s dangerous. 

“Y’can move, Seung,” you reassure him after a moment, the words coming out strained with desire. “As fast and hard as you want.” 

You sound strangled, just like he feels, and it's taking him a mammoth amount of control to hold himself back. He groans against your shoulder at the sound of your voice, the words you say. He wants to move, to thrust, but he's trying to have some semblance of composure. 

"Love," he says, his voice wrecked. "I—"

His voice breaks. It breaks, because there is only so much he can take, and he's beyond that point now. There's a tremor in his thighs, his hands clenching in the cushion below you.

You drag him right back down, with the sound that you let out that’s halfway a whine and a sigh. One of your hands goes to rest in the space between Seungcheol’s shoulder blades, as if to steady the two of you. 

Your voice is surprisingly firm when you speak. "Let go," you command. And then, softer, "I need you."

Your words, your voice— it's in complete conflict with the situation you're currently in. And yet, it works. He lets out a sound, one that's somewhere between a growl and a whimper, his breath hot against your skin. And then he's moving and he's holding nothing back.

He's hard, brutal, and he's taking. His teeth on your shoulder; his breath against your neck; his nails digging into you.

It's a relentless, dizzying pace. Seungcheol bullies into your weeping cunt, fast and hard, and it draws out the most obscene sounds from you. Gasps, whines, an occasional scream when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. What has him seeing stars is the fact that you can't seem to settle on a name to moan. "Seung— Seungcheol— Cheol—"

Yes, you're saying, yes.

Seungcheol loses himself, utterly and completely, in you. You're on the edge, he can hear it; he can feel it, and God, he wants to hear you say his name. Every single one of them. 

It almost sounds like a mantra, your voice, as he takes and takes and takes, his breathing harsh, ragged.

You go through all of the names you have for him, breathless and wrecked, until you can't even say anything because his hips are snapping into you with a ferocity that's rare but not unwelcome. Your pornographic moans reverberate in your otherwise empty apartment, and Seungcheol thinks he might go insane. 

"'M close," you choke out. "Cheollie, baby, I'm— ah, fuck— Seung—"

His breath catches at your words, his eyes closing for a moment as he groans. You, you, in all your perfect, glorious, undone state. It’s a sight he wishes he could capture, freeze in time.

He lets out a whimper, his words almost slurred when he responds. "Love— I—"

He's never been this rough, never this intense. You're the only one, the only person he's ever let himself go like this with. The only person who he's ever let see everything, take everything.

He's on the edge, he's there, he's—

"C'mon," he whines, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand clenching hard around your hip. "With me, love, please."

It's a miracle that you can even nod, can even find your voice as Seungcheol keeps on going with his erratic, stuttering thrusts. "With you," you gasp. 

He snaps into you, then, and you arch up with a scream of his name. There’s the familiar white-hot flash of pleasure; the impossibly tight clench of your walls around him.

He stays buried in you for several long moments, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. He has never felt so utterly spent in his entire life, never been so completely, utterly drained of energy. He's weak against you. He’s weak because of you. 

"God," he finally manages to mutter.

He lifts his head, just enough to be able to look at you, but he can't even muster a grin. He's spent and he knows you know that.

His hand comes up slightly, to brush the hair off of your forehead. "I think..." he says, his voice thick and hoarse, "I think I ruined you, love."

You let out a breathless laugh, one that you have to push out of your heaving chest. "You—" you try to say, but the words don't form, not at first. You take a few moments to take in some air, to gulp past the lump in your throat. "You're a fool."

His lips twitch into a tired but genuine smile at the sound of your laugh. It’s a soft sound that he's always thought sounds beautiful, especially coming from you.

A hoarse, broken laugh of his own escapes; his hand coming up to rest at your jawline, his thumb gently tracing over the warm skin there. He's still catching his breath, but he's slowly gathering himself.

"Am I a fool?" he asks quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. "What does that make you, then?"

You’re a fool, too, he thinks to himself. For letting me have this. 

Instead of answering him, you press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s the only answer he’s going to get from you for now, it seems. 

He lets out a soft huff, moving his head back just slightly, his eyes closing. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says quietly, his voice still rough with fatigue.

"Every time," you respond. Your own voice is strained, almost tired, but there's a hint of amused exasperation. "You say that every time, Cheol."

His eyes opened once again to look at you.

"Because it's true," he says simply, his voice soft and sincere, the hand resting at your jaw moving to brush your hair back from your face. "It's always true, love."

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes tracing over your face, taking in every inch of you. His eyes pause at your lips for a moment, his tongue gently wetting his own, his gaze finally moving back up to meet your eyes.

You thread your shaking fingers through the back of his hair and answer his unspoken question. "Kiss me soft and easy, Cheol," you whisper.

The moment the words leave your mouth, he's in action.

He leans forward without a second thought, the hand not buried in your hair going to rest on your hip, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

There's no heat in it, no want or need. Just a soft press of his lips against yours, gentle and slow. 

It's languid and unhurried. Like there's nowhere either of you have to be after this. For a moment, you can pretend that this is normal— that Seungcheol will not have to leave, and that you’ll not have to change into new pajamas because he'd broken yours, and that you can be... well, something, anything aside from what you are now.

But it's wishful thinking, you both know, so all Seungcheol can do is kiss you. He lets out a soft sound, almost a sigh, as his tongue slides into your mouth, his hand on your hip tightening slightly. His other hand is in your hair still, his fingers gently tracing over your scalp, his body almost melting against yours.

He will have to leave. He always does. But for now, he's here, with you, and you feel perfect, and—

Five minutes, he bargains. Five more minutes.

And then things end, not really by your own accord.

The sharp, shrill sound of Seungcheol's phone ringing breaks through your haze. You pull away, a bit jolted at the foreign sound— at something other than your words, your breathing, reverberating in the room. It takes you a beat too long to realize someone is calling him— his phone in his discarded jeans— in the godawful middle of the night. 

He lets out a loud groan, the sound tired and drawn out, and he can't help but rest his forehead against your shoulder once again, letting out a resigned sigh.

"God, save me," he mutters, his voice rough. "What time is it?"

You chuckle lightly. "Go on," you urge softly, not because you want to but because you have to. "Answer."

Seungcheol lets out another loud, drawn out sigh, his shoulders slumping in obvious defeat. He reluctantly lifts his head from your shoulder with a grumble, but he can't quite stop himself from pressing a kiss to your cheek just before he shifts up and off of the couch.

Once he’s reached down to grab his phone from where it's stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, he answers without looking at the caller ID. "Yeah?"

"Hyung!"

It's Soonyoung— of course it's Soonyoung— calling.

"Are you still at the company?" the younger member asks. "I think I forgot my headset in one of the practice rooms, and Minghao said you didn't go home with them."

"It's midnight, Soonyoung." 

You shit over on the couch, careful not to make any sound. Not to give Soonyoung any suspicion that Seungcheol might be somewhere where he shouldn't be. You press a small, reassuring kiss to Seungcheol's hip as Soonyoung goes on to whine, "Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's the expensive headset, hyung. If you're still there, could you check? Please?"

Seungcheol lets out a huff— a mixture of resigned affection and irritation— at the feeling of your lips against his skin. He can feel the exhaustion deep within his bones now, and all he wants to do is go back to snuggling into you for the night.

But he can't say no to Soonyoung, especially not at this time of night.

"Fine," he grumbles, letting out a huff. "Which practice room?"

You can hear the moment Soonyoung practically brightens with triumph.

"Third floor!" he says happily, and you bury your face into Seungcheol's side to keep yourself from laughing. "You're the best, hyung! I'll buy you a meal tomorrow for the trouble!"

He reaches down with the hand not holding his phone, pressing his palm to the top of your head, pushing lightly down. A warning of don't laugh. "Just be thankful I'm your hyung, kid," Seungcheol grouses.

Soonyoung ends the call soon enough, saying some things about sending Seungcheol a photo of his headset so he knows exactly which one is missing. When it's back to just the two of you again, you tilt your head up to look at Seungcheol. 

"You're really going back for it tonight?" you ask, even though you already know the answer. 

The corner of his lip twitches into a half smile at the way you look up at him. His eyes takein the sight of you— his hand on the back of your head, his fingers gently twisting strands of your hair.

"Of course I am," he sighs. "I can't say no to him, love."

You shift upward so you can sit side by side with Seungcheol. Both of you have yet to put on any clothes, but you’ve at least gathered your bearings enough to form coherent words now.

"You can't say 'no' to any of them," you tease as you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. There's an almost blinding affection in your tone as you say, "You and your goddamn boys."

Seungcheol reaches out, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you closer to him. Briefly, he presses his lips against your hair. His eyes are almost tender as he speaks.

"They're my boys," he says, his voice soft.

You let the words hang there for just a moment. It’s an admission, one that both of you have known for the longest time, but it's also a reminder. It’s the reason why you and Seungcheol can never be more than this—because he has his boys, and he would never do anything to jeopardize them.

You press your face against the column of his neck for just one more precious moment. You’ve never been selfish about Seungcheol, but there were nights when you thought about it. Just… thought about it.

The thought never wins.

"Let’s clean up, get dressed," you whisper into his skin. "So you can head to the company sooner."

He lets out a soft, almost painful exhale. He knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling; he's thought about it himself, as well. He hates having to leave you, hates having to say that he has to leave you. But his boys are his boys, and one day all this will be over, and then...

He can't think about it right now, though.

Instead, he nods, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Yeah."

It takes about ten minutes or so for you both to gather everything together. Seungcheol still looks tired, though for different reasons now. He’s essentially traded one exhaustion for another.

As he puts on the shoes he left in your entryway, you lean against your doorway with your arms crossed over your chest. "I’ll be holding you accountable for my pajama set," you warn him. "And for tomorrow’s noise complaint."

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, taking a step toward you. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten."

His face softens as he reaches you, his hands coming up to grab your elbows, gently pulling you closer to him. "Sorry," he says. "Again."

 "You’re not sorry, " you sigh pointedly, more out of spite than anything. It’s the truth—he’s not really that apologetic about losing control every now and then, about your neighbors knowing you’re being pulled close every so often.

When you bury your face into his chest, he lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his chin resting gently against the top of your head. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him, just like every single time before.

"You’re right," he murmurs. A quiet, affectionate admission. “Not sorry. Not even a little.”

He holds you there against him, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows himself just a few more moments before he has to leave. You both stay there, allowing yourselves that moment, until the tension in Seungcheol’s shoulders fades and your annoyance at your torn pajamas ebbs. It could’ve been five minutes, maybe less, but then Seungcheol’s phone pings with a text—surely Soonyoung asking if he’s found his headset.

You’re the one who takes the step back, putting some distance between you. "Drive safe," you tell Seungcheol. "Text me when you’re there."

Resigned. That’s the only way to describe the smile that tugs at his lips. "Yeah," he says. "I will."

True to his word, Seungcheol does indeed send you a text about an hour or so after he'd arrived at the company, informing you that he was there and had found Soonyoung’s headset.

He's still exhausted, and all he wants is to be back. Back inside of you, back with you. But he can't do any of that. At least, not right now. Not at this point.

I miss you already, is the only other thing he adds to his text.

Your text comes in only moments later, like you had been waiting by your phone. 

you're a fool. head home. take care.

A soft sigh escapes him the moment he reads your text, his eyes flickering over the words you'd typed, the harshness of it. It's another layer of protection for the both of you, but it's still not easy to read.

He's about to respond with something snarky, some light-hearted joke to tease you a bit, but he stops himself at the last moment. He knows that you're right.

He needs to head home. He needs to take care.

And he’s an absolute goddamn fool, in more ways than one. 

[classyrbf]

CAN U PLZ DO BABY DADDY SUKUNA AND SURUGU TOO?? (i love u)

THAT'S JUST MY BABY DADDY! #3 — GETO + SUKUNA

SYNOPSIS...geto and sukuna being annoying baby daddies that still make their way into your pants

INFO...sukuna x fem!reader, geto x fem!reader, p in v, sloppy kisses, baby daddy drama (yk the drill), jealousy, alcohol mentioned, possessiveness, choking, spanking

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

thanks for the request anon (i love you too)

part 1 part 2

SUKUNA

you finally got your daughter down to sleep, placing her stuffie beside her, shutting her light off and walking out her room. Just as you were getting ready to wash the dishes, your doorbell rang, an annoyed sigh leaving your lips. “Who the hell is ringing my doorbell so late?” You stomp over to the door. “Who is it?” You call out.

“Ryo!” No one other than your baby daddy. As if you weren’t already annoyed, you roll your eyes and open the door to see him standing there. His eyes rake over your body as if he didn’t see you just an hour ago when he dropped his daughter off. “I left her blanket at my place. Thought I bring it back.” He stepped into your house without hesitation.

“Damn, well come on in,” you scoff, shutting the door behind him. He tosses the blanket on the couch. “She’s sleeping, so don’t wake her.” You walk towards the sink, turning it on.

He hums in response, walking around your house, seeing how tidy you keep it, remembering all the moments you two shared before breaking up. He ever so carefully walks up behind you, leaning against the counter. He just looks at you, smirking to himself. “I can feel you staring, weirdo.” You glance over your shoulder.

He laughs, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Can you blame me?” He exhales, stepping closer and closer until he’s inches away from you. His hands reach out and snake around your waist, startling you. “How’ve you been?” He asks, his sultry tone sending chills down your spine.

You shake your head at his weak attempt to get in your pants. “Leave me alone, Ryomen.” You nudge him with your elbow.

“Come on! I know you’re not getting good dick anywhere else. When was the last time we did it, huh? A month?” He questions. You groan in annoyance, turning the sink off and drying your hands on the towel.

“That was the final time.” You stare at him. “We promised no more after that.”

“You really think I meant it? Think a promise is gonna keep me away from you?” He cages you in between him and the counter.

“I’m not just some girl you’re gonna fuck when you wanna get your dick wet.” You push him away from you and walk over to the couch to grab your daughter’s blanket. “Find someone else.”

He laughs at your stubbornness, trailing behind you. “You know no one tastes or feels as good as you. Why do you think I keep coming back, hm?” He narrows his eyes at you.

“Ryomen, I’m not doing this shit with you tonight. Get your dick wet somewhere else,” you say, annoyance in your tone. His warm hands find your waist once again and he’s pulling you closer to him. His soft lips kiss down your neck and back up towards your jaw.

“Just once more. I swear that’ll be the last time,” he whispers. And you don’t know if he casted some type of spell on you or something because within the next five minutes he was in your bed.

Your knees were pushed to your chest, a long whine leaving your lips every time he hit your g-spot, sending waves of pleasure through your body. “Feel so fucking good around me,” he grunts, pressing his forehead against yours. “That’s right, lemme look into those eyes, show me how good I make you feel.”

You’re clinging onto his biceps, nails leaving crescent marks in his skin the harder and faster he goes. God, you hate to admit how good it feels. How good he feels. “Mmmm, Ryo. Fuck!” You moan, your jaw slack as pushes his cock deeper.

“Can feel this pussy squeezing me. You gonna cum, baby? Yeah? Yeah?” He coos, a smug smile on his face as he pushes your legs farther. “There you go, baby. Yes, cum all on my dick. Goddamn.” He watches your eyes roll back, a soft cry leaving your lips, your body shaking.

“This…this is the last time!” You manage to speak, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Shut up.” He kisses you sloppily, swiping his tongue against yours, continuing to pound your poor cunt. He knows this won’t be the last just as much as you know. You’re only saying it to make yourself feel better about cumming on his dick so easily.

GETO

after a stressful week, you were finally able to go out and have fun with your best friend, Shoko, while Utahime offered to watch your daughter for the night. It felt good to get out, drinking, dancing, a change of scenery compared to being cooped up in the house all day. You’re swaying your hips to the music, taking shots and you can already feel the regret coming next morning.

“Hey!” Shoko shouts. “I think Suguru is here!” She looks in the direction where he’s sitting.

“What?” You lean in closer towards her.

“Suguru! He’s here!” She points towards the crowd and to where the seating area is. You follow to where to points and see Suguru talking to some random girl on his lap, laughing his way into some mediocre sex.

“So what?!” You shout back, shrugging your shoulders. “He probably doesn’t even know I’m here! Fuck it!” You smile at Shoko, grabbing her to dance.

“I’m gonna go grab another drink!” She lets go of your hand and walks towards the bar.

You’re too tipsy to even care, in your own little world, dancing and eyeing all the handsome men around you. “Excuse me?” You feel hands on your waist and turn to see a tall, muscular man looking right at you. “Sorry, I just wanted to say you’re beautiful. I saw you dancing from over there!” He points to his seating lounge. “Wanna come sit?”

“Thank you!” You smile, placing your hand on his broad chest. “I’m here with my friend. Can we wait for her—oh there she is. Shoko!” You wave her over and she hurries through the crowd. “He invited us to sit with him, come on.”

“Fuck it, I’m down.” She sips from her drink.

The man grabs your hand and leads you through the crowd of people. It felt good to sit after standing in heels all night. After settling down you could finally get a better look at the man, noticing his sharp features and the scar on the corner of his lip. How handsome he was. What you didn’t notice was how closely Suguru was watching you, eyeing your every move. He took notice of the way your hand ended up on that guys thigh, how easily you laughed at his jokes.

“I’ll be back, gonna grab us some shots.” The girl got up from off his lap.

“Yeah, you do that.” He said without moving an inch, so fixated on you and you only. He couldn’t deny how good you looked tonight. Hands and toes freshly did, your hair in a style he’s never seen, and that dress that hugged your body so tight, showing off every curve you had. Without hesitation, he got up from his seat and walked over.

Shoko looked behind her just in time, eyes wide before immediately turning to face you. “He’s coming over.” She tapped your leg.

“Huh?” Your brows creased.

“Suguru!” She yelled in a whisper. “He’s walking over—heyyyy!” She smiled up at him.

“Hey, Shoko. Hey, y/n.” He greeted you.

You ignored him, sipping from your glass, hugging against the man who you knew as Toji, his arm wrapped around your waist. There was an awkward tension in the air, Shoko clearing her throat as she smiled.

“Y/n, can I talk to you really quick?” He stood in front of you now. “We’ll just be five minutes.” He looked at Toji, grabbing you away from him.

“Ugh, what do you want? Do you have to ruin every fun thing I do?” You follow him into the bathroom. He locks the door, standing before you, looking into your eyes. “What, Suguru?” You fold your arms over your chest.

He knows he’s tipsy, and so are you but he can’t deny what he’s feeling right now and from the looks of it, he can tell you’re feeling the same exact way. “You piss me off. But fuck, you look good doing it. Hugging up on that random ass guy, touching him.” He grits his teeth.

“Don’t be a hypocrite. I saw your little girlfriend sitting on your lap earlier. Where is she now?” You raise a brow.

“She’s a random girl. Don’t even know her name. Why? You jealous?” He walks closer towards you, closing the gap.

“Are you?” You retort, never breaking eye contact with him. There’s several seconds of silence besides the blaring music in the background, until his lips are suddenly on yours, stealing every breath.

Minutes later, you’re bent over the bathroom sink, your skirt bunched up at your waist while he pounds into you. His hand is wrapped around your throat as you grip the sink, feeling like your legs were about to give out any second. “Sugu…fuck!” You whimper. His hips slam against yours, your body jolting forward.

“That’s right, pretty. This is my pussy. Look at how well she’s taking me,” he chuckles, looking down at the way his cock disappears inside of you so effortlessly. “My god.” He lands a few harsh slaps on your ass.

You’re reaching out, pushing back on his stomach in attempts to get him to slow down, feeling like you were going to crumble beneath him. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” You cry. “You’re so fucking deep!” You gasp.

“Yeah?” He pulls you flush against his chest, nibbling on your earlobe. “That’s just how you like it. Deep and slow, hard and fast. I know all the ways to make you cum,” he whispers. He grips your throat tighter. Plap! Plap! Plap! “Better hope your new boyfriend doesn’t realize how long you’ve been gone. Don’t want him to get suspicious.”

Your body convulses as a harsh orgasm takes over you. “Ah! I’m cumming!” You whine before your jaw drops. Geto can feel your pussy fluttering around his cock, making it hard for him not to cum inside. But, now that he thinks about it…that wouldn’t be all too bad.

[millersfinest]

can u make some like generic dating ellie headcannons? (tlou universe preferably)

i love ur writing sm!!

dating ellie williams ◡̈

cw: usual fluff, mentioned love languages, mention of joel’s death (i wanted to be as canon as possible), a little nsfw but nothing too crazy.

note: here are some semi-ooc ellie hc’s!! i feel like im so bad at headcanons, but here you go. thank you for enjoying my work, i hope you like this too pookie!

ellie! is a total introvert to her core, so no matter how she found out about you taking interest in her… she’d probably need some time to think about it.

ellie! would have you freaking tf out over it too. but she means well, she’s just a really bad over-thinker—never wanting to say the wrong thing. but she’d come around and never stop apologizing to you.

ellie! would take a little while to open up to you, if you weren’t friends first. she’s been through a lot in her life, and she fears that her trauma could scare people away.

now, if you were already friends (specifically close friends), you probably would’ve already known her deepest darkest secrets and feelings by the time you started dating. every traumatic event and every fixation she’s had since she was a child.

ellie! thoroughly believes in physical touch and quality time as a love language.

for physical touch: it doesn’t always have to be sexual (she doesn’t complain either way), she just likes to touch you—knowing you’re right there next to her. you could be doing the dishes and she’d come up behind you, leaning her head on your shoulder, with her hands delicately placed on your hips. or standing by the bar at the tipsy bison, with her fingers dipped into any of the pockets of your jeans. keeping you close.

for quality time: she does love her moments alone, but they’re always better with you somewhere near by. sometimes, when she would spend hours painting or drawing in her art room, she’d ask if you could come sit in. so you’d bring your book, or whatever you were doing, and read silently in the same room as her. while a smooth record played in the background. but sometimes, she doesn’t even ask. you could be doing the most boring thing ever, and she’d float around you like a curious bumblebee.

ellie! love, love, loves being babied—even though she’d never admit it. she has a reputation to uphold, of course. during the spring, due to the patrols and supply runs, her allergies would wreck havoc on her. that’s where you come in to nurture her back to health. she’d have tissue stuck up her nose, with her head lying in your lap on the couch. you rubbing your hand over her hair, soothingly.

“if you kiss me right now, i think my sinuses will re-open.”

“ellie, you just sneezed two minutes ago.”

“baby, pleaseeeee! i need it!” and she’d give the craziest puppy dog eyes known to man. and, of course, you’d give in. giving her the sweetest smooch ever. it didn’t open her sinuses, but she knew that. just know… she’s gonna convince you to give her another to be sure.

another scenario would be coming home after a long day at work (idk i feel like doing patrols would be like her main thing). she probably had a rough day with the lingering infected, and came back with a few injuries. the moment she stepped through the door, she’d be calling for you. wrapped in your arms, smelling like the outdoors, you’d slowly undress her and then run a bath. she loved when you’d cater to her in that way—cleaning her cuts, washing her skin from dried blood and dirt. after all that, you’d cuddle in bed, pillow-talking until her eyes shut before yours.

“goodnight, els.” smooch.

ellie! was a little iffy when it came to holidays, but when it came to your birthday it was a special affair. jackson was a healthy and happy little bubble, but because the idea of loss wasn’t foreign to her—celebrating her loved ones was very important to her.

if you didn’t like grand gestures, she’d keep it lowkey. maybe throwing a little surprise for the two of you at home; cooking you dinner, having a movie night, and giving you little trinkets she found on the road. or painting something for you in secret, then giving it to you as a gift.

speaking of cooking…

ellie! has thing for making good food. a part of me feels like joel put her on when she was young, and after he died (yeah, i’m sorry) she made an effort to keep it up. playing guitar was much harder for her since she only had two fingers and a thumb on her left hand—so she decided to pick up something else to stay close to him.

so every chance she can get, she cooks for you or both of you. when you would go on patrols, you’d make sure to pick up cook books from before the outbreak since she found them so fascinating. and you loved being her little food guinea pig. spoiler: she was a fast learner so her cooking skills were pretty good.

ellie! 100% taught you to play the song (that we all know and love) that joel taught her on the guitar. and whenever you knew she needed to hear it, you’d play it for her. and, i swear on everything, there’d be tears in her eyes every time.

and for some freaky stuff… (i won’t get into crazy detail but i just wanna be thorough ;D)

ellie! just loves loving you… making love to you—doing everything that she can to almost prove that you’re everything to her (not that she needs to but she does it anyway).

meaning: at the very best, she’s a service!top. however, i can get behind her being a switch/verse (or maybe i’m bias lmao).

ellie! probably wouldn’t strap as often as the fanfics show. especially being in this apocalyptic world—where would you get them?? if they weren’t hella old… and, i feel like she’d think they were a little silly (but if you wanted to try it, she’d oblige because what you say goes).

ellie! loves to watch the expressions of your features contort into visuals of pleasure. it’s how she knew she was being good for you—doing everything that you asked but better!

your first time: of course she was super awkward. not really knowing where to put her hands at first. but once the heat began to rise, and your bodies began to press together, her entire energy changed! she’s her most confident when she’s in service to someone (in some way)—so she makes it her prerogative to make you feel good and comfortable. you weren’t really expecting that from her, though. it only took one airy moan coming from your lips for her to completely flip the script.

her hands were firmly delicate, and she made sure to be very vocal in your ears and over your body.

overall, ellie williams is a very attentive lover. in many ways than just one.

[nightxcreature]

Do You Wanna Touch Me?

18+ ONLY

Summary: Part Two to Hotblooded, Reader can't help herself. She needs Dean anyway she can get him.

Warnings: Smut, Masturbation, Spice, Dirty Talk

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

A/N: wow. I did not expect that last one to get so much love and attention! Thank you all for being so kind! This is only my second ? time writing smut, so I hope it meets your expectations. I may keep this one going for at least one more part if you guys are interested. :) As always, comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated!

do not copy and share my work anywhere, you don't have permission.

I had been trying to fall asleep for hours now, and yet here I lay, half naked and clinging to a pillow for dear life. The ingredients in my drink from earlier were still running their course through my system and had left me panting at the mere thought of Dean. I’d rid myself of my T-shirt before Sam had even left my room, heat emanating from my body at a rapid pace. Sam had awkwardly averted his gaze before locking me in and reminding me that I should feel better after I rest. And yet even hours later, I feel like I’ll die if I don’t see Dean soon, speak to him, touch him…

                I groan as I shift to snag my phone from the nightstand, my hips rolling deliciously against the pillow below me. Feral thoughts of the hunter a few doors down rack my brain and I quickly pull up his contact before pressing the call button. His ringtone echoes down the hall from where I assume he is in the library before he answers.

                “Hey, Darlin’,” His voice alone causes my heart to race, a gasp leaving my lips, “Are you okay?”

                I shuffle to straddle the pillow below me as he speaks, the worry for me in his voice sending me into a frenzy, “No. I need you.” I practically cry into the speaker, “Need you so bad.”

                He sighs deeply and I can hear papers shuffling in the background, “You should be asleep, Sweetheart.”

                “Can’t sleep.” I mumble, rolling my hips against the pillow as he speaks, “Can only think about you. I don’t think I’ll think of anything else ever again.”

                “I’m trying to find something to help make it easier for you, I’m sorry.” He whispers, papers shuffling again, “I promise, it’s got to wear off eventually.”

                I let out a frustrated sound, my bottom lip jutting out as I whine, “I’m going to die in here! I’m going to die from needing you so bad and you wont even come in here to help me.”

                “I can’t come help you, Baby. It’s not you that’s asking for this.” He whispers and I can hear the frustration in his voice. One part of me is yelling for me to shut up, to hang up the phone and go to bed, try to somehow go to sleep and forget this ever happened…but the other part of me is ravenous, feral for the man on the other end of the line, and she is not going to lose this battle without a fight.

                “It’s your job to help people, Dean.” I cry out, a low blow I know, but the desperation coursing through my veins won’t let up, “Are you really going to leave me here like this?”

                “Don’t do that.” He growls out, “I told you before that we could talk about this when you’re not drunk off some god-level fuck juice. I want to talk about this. I do want to help you, but I won’t go in that room.”

                His take-no-shit tone goes straight to my core, which I know is the exact opposite of what he’s looking for, but I can’t stop imagining the firm look on his face as he scolds me. My hips roll quicker, a ravenous feeling overtaking my thoughts, “Please keep talking.” I whisper as my eyes close. I hear his breathing hitch, but he doesn’t speak for a moment, and I bite my lip nervously. Did I make him upset? I don’t think I can live with myself if he’s upset with me, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-.”

                “Don’t apologize.” He cuts me off quickly, “What are you doing?”

                Embarrassment should flood my system, but the idea of being caught getting off to his voice just spurs me on. I lift off the pillow to roll my shorts down my legs and then position myself over it again, “What do you think I’m doing?” I whisper seductively into the speaker. Hoping, practically praying, that he knows and he’ll throw whatever righteousness he has left out the window to come help me reach my goal. Sweat pours down my forehead and a heaviness sits in my hips, I rut against the pillow again to try and alleviate the feeling, a small moan leaving my lips as I do.

                The rough sound of his chair sliding across the library floor and his heavy boots thudding as he walks stills me. I sit with bated breath listening to the sound through the phone, waiting to hear him outside my door, “Where are you going?”

                I hear him chuckle quietly before his voice finally graces my ear again, “Where do you think I’m going?” I hear his boots come to a stop, but no sound comes from the hallway in front of my room.

                I groan in frustration, rutting against the pillow isn’t bringing the amount of relief that my body needs and the thought of Dean not being here to help me brings a sinking feeling in my stomach, “Where are you?”

                A door clicks closed on his end before he speaks, “What are you wearing?” He whispers gruffly, sending a shock to my core. I stay quiet for a moment before he whispers a bit softer, “You told me to keep talking. I won’t come in that room with you, but I am going to help you. Now, what are you wearing?”

                Though he can’t see me, I nod quickly and glance down to my torso. Thankful for the black lace panty set cladding my body so I don’t have to lie…I don’t think I could lie to him right now, “My underwear.” I whisper, holding my breath while I wait for him to speak again, “It’s black and lacy and I think you’d really like it.”

                He groans quietly and I can hear him lay down on what I assume is his own bed, “I’d like to see that.”

                “Come here and you can.” My breathing is heavy, anticipation building throughout me as I beg him, “Please.”

                “Please? You gonna beg me, Sweetheart?” He whispers lowly, the teasing tone spurs me on and I roll my hips against the pillow again, moaning louder as I do. I hear him suck in a breath before he continues, “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Touch me. Please, touch me.” I cry out, “I need you all over me.”

                He chuckles darkly, “I can’t right now, can I? But, you can.”

 At his words my hips stutter, I glance down at the pillow as I slide back toward my headboard, “You want me to…”

“Touch yourself, Baby. Where do you want my hands?” His voice is low as he instructs me and I dust the hand not holding my phone across my chest as I listen to his breathing, “Where do you want me to touch you?”

 “Everywhere. My chest, my legs, my….” I gasp as my fingertips rub over my clothed nipples; eyes still closed, I imagine his fingers being the ones ghosting across my frame.

I can practically hear the smile on his face when he speaks again, his voice quiet and heavy, “Yeah, I wanna touch you there, too. I can’t stop thinking about the things I want to do to you.”

“What else do you want to do to me?” I whisper, my hands making their way down my body at a slow pace. I play with the hem of my panties, imagining it’s his thick fingers there teasing me as he speaks slowly into my ear.

“I wanna spend all day between your legs, Baby. Wanna fuck you so good, you forget your name.” He whispers huskily, his breathing is heavier and I almost cum at the thought that he must be touching himself, too. I slide my hand into my panties and moan breathlessly at the feeling of relief that rushes my system. I circle my fingers around my opening, brushing my fingertips over the bud at the apex every so often

                “You drive me crazy,” I groan, throwing my head back against the headboard as I picture his face between my thighs and all the filthy noises he would be making while he eats me, “I need more. You make me so wet.”

                He curses into the speaker and I can hear his breathing quicken, “Take off your clothes.” The harshness in his voice causes my eyes to snap open and rushes me to strip bare faster than I ever have. I remain quiet as I lay alone, listening to his rapid breathing on the other end of the line, “You want me to fuck you, Baby?”

                I nod dumbly before realizing that he still can’t see me and quickly recover, “Yes.”

                “I want you on your hands and knees. Arch your back and touch yourself.” I nod again, rolling quickly to my hands and knees to do as he asks, “I can’t see you, Sweetheart. Are you listening to me?”

                “Yes, Sir.” I mumble as I rush to put the phone on speaker and roll my hips against my fingers, “I’m listening.”

                “Good girl.” He replies, chuckling as I moan at the name, “You like that?”

                “Yes. I love that.” I pant, rubbing faster against the bundle nerves between my thighs. My eyes roll back at the feeling and I try my best to focus on Dean’s voice as he continues to talk me through this.

                “All those little sounds your making are getting me so hard, Darlin’. I can’t stop thinking about how good you must feel, about how good I’d make you feel.” His husky whispers sends my imagination into overdrive as I raise up to sit on my heels. A single finger sinks into me and I moan out at the relief, “I’ve been thinking about being inside you all day. Whatever you want me to do to you, I’d do it. I want to be so deep inside you.”

                My eyes roll at his words, my breathing becoming heavier and I barely hear him when he asks, “You close, Sweetheart? Want me to make you cum?” The teasing lilt in his voice urging my hands to move quicker, my fingers rushing in and out of my opening like lightening. My toes curl and my vision goes blurry as the orgasm crashes into me suddenly. His name leaves my lips like a prayer as I come down and I hear him grunt, whispering my name quietly against the phone speaker.

                My breathing is heavy when I finally speak, “Thank you.”

                He chuckles awkwardly and I can imagine the way a blush covers his cheeks when he replies, “No need to thank me, Darlin’. I think I got just as much out of this as you did.”

                I laugh a little in response, feeling the hint of a blush rising in my own cheeks. The relief I feel is insurmountable and I can feel exhaustion taking over my body in exchange for the rabid horniness from earlier. “Do you think this is over? The potion, I mean.” I ask, waiting for the intense feeling of want to return.

                “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” He mumbles, “If you need me again though, just call.”

                “Will do.” I reply, “We do have a lot to talk about when I’m feeling better though…”

                He laughs nervously before trying to hide it as a cough before agreeing, “Yeah, uh, we do.”

                “I’ll see you after my nap, Dean.” I answer with a slight smile, “And then we can see just how quickly I forget my name.”

                He snorts and I can hear the smirk in his voice, “Set a timer, Sweetheart, it won’t take long.”

______________________________________________________________

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[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 4

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 5.3k

c/w - language, small amount of angst, some hurt/comfort. also kinda problematic paige but i get her

a/n - guess who’s endo cramps are killing her!! that’s right, me! fml. as usual this is unedited but i’ll come back to edit later! also, i changed paige’s step-dad’s name from tim to dean because i remembered that azzi’s dad is named tim and i felt like that would be confusing lol. also, thank you so much for all the fic recs i got! i’m so excited to start working on them :3

They’re ten minutes into the thirty-minute car ride and nobody has said a word. Country music is playing quietly over the radio, and Dean and Amy keep glancing at each other. But the awkward silence is deadly.

Nobody spoke earlier, either. After Paige dropped the bomb. It was silent for a good minute before Dean had coughed loudly and turned back to the car, getting wordlessly into the driver’s seat. Amy stared at them for another minute or so, giving them no clue as to what was going on in her head other than her ears, which rapidly turned bright red. Finally, she’d shook her head and said, “We will talk about this when we get home,” before following her husband into the car.

As soon as they were both out of hearing range, Paige had sagged, and Azzi’d looked over at her, concerned. Usually, she’d lay a hand on her arm but she wasn’t sure if Paige wanted to be touched, especially by her, so instead she’d said, “Remember, we can leave anytime.”

Paige had nodded stiffly. And then, without looking at Azzi, she’d gotten into the car as well, leaving the door open for Azzi to follow suit.

And now they’re on the road, Paige and Azzi sitting in the back seat like two little kids in trouble. Azzi wants to go on her phone to avoid the awkwardness but her parents raised her to be polite, no matter the circumstances, so here she sits, stiff and awkward while she rides in this car that smells new and fancy and she hates it.

Chancing a glance over, Azzi sees that Paige is still staring out the window, the same thing she’s been doing the whole car ride, and Azzi hates that, too, because Paige only ever gets quiet when she’s bone-tired or truly upset. And Paige got a pretty good nap on the plane.

Based off the way she acted to Azzi’s words before they got on the road, Azzi’s pretty sure she’s doing that thing where she shuts people out because she’s mad or on the verge of tears or thinking too hard. And when she does this she can get mean, because she’s trying to protect herself, and it comes out all wrong.

She’s always done this, been reluctant to open up about the hard stuff, shut out the people who care about her. She and Azzi have talked about it a lot. She once admitted that Azzi was the first person to get her to actually talk about her feelings. But despite Azzi’s way with Paige, and despite the fact that they just get each other in a way no one else ever has, they still have their flaws. Azzi still doesn’t always know the right thing to say. And Paige still gets mean.

This fact keeps Azzi glued to her seat, thinking sidling closer and trying to comfort her best friend would only end badly. Azzi acts like she has a tough skin but often, the things Paige says when she gets like this cut deep, and it ends with both of them hurt. She’s scared to add a fight between the two of them onto whatever will surely go on with Paige and her parents later. So she stays put, even though every bone in her body is telling her to make Paige better.

Azzi has only managed this for maybe five minutes when she glances over again and notices that this time, Paige’s hand is splayed over the middle seat, fingers tapping anxiously, almost like she’s subconsciously reaching over. And that sight alone is enough to get Azzi sliding over, moving Paige’s hand so she doesn’t sit on it. Dean looks at her through the rearview, but Azzi pretends not to notice.

Paige doesn’t look over when Azzi settles in beside her. But she does reach blindly for her hand before taking it and placing it in her own lap, playing with the fingers nervously. Azzi breathes in relief. Paige hasn’t rejected her outright—she can’t be too upset. At least not yet.

They sit like that for the remainder of the ride.

When they pull into the driveway, Paige gives Azzi’s hand a squeeze before subtly shaking herself out and exiting the car. Azzi follows, afraid to be alone with Paige’s parents for even a second.

Before Paige can close the door, Amy calls, “Bring your bags into your room, Paige. And when you’re done come down and talk to us in the kitchen.” There’s a weighted pause. “Alone.”

Paige doesn’t answer, just slams the door shut. Azzi winces.

Azzi doesn’t say anything while Paige opens the trunk, or when she starts aggressively pulling their things out, or even when she slams the trunk shut. No, Azzi keeps her mouth shut, wanting to allow her best friend to seethe in peace, but when Paige slams into her shoulder when she passes her, Azzi doesn’t want to let it slide. “Ow! Paige, what the fuck?”

“Get your bags,” Paige responds gruffly.

Okay, so it’s gonna be one of those times. Perfect.

Despite not wanting to, Azzi does as she’s told, gathering her bags and following Paige to the front porch. She tries not to think about how usually Paige would’ve carried her things for her.

Paige opens the door without a word and they walk inside. The house is nice, open, smells of cedarwood. Paige doesn’t give Azzi a chance to look around, though, instead walking briskly to the staircase, lugging her shit upstairs with impressive strength, and Azzi thanks God she’s in such good shape because she’s practically jogging by the time they arrive at a room at the end of the hall.

“Paige—“ Azzi starts to stay, but Paige cuts her off by throwing her own backpack off her shoulder and dropping her suitcases, as if she’s trying her hardest to make as much a ruckus as possible.

Azzi places her things much more nicely on her usual side of the bed, eyeing Paige cautiously the entire time. It’s the only reason she’s able to catch her before she leaves, anticipating her movements just like she does on the court and darting between her best friend and the door, blocking her.

For the first time in nearly an hour, Paige looks her in the eye, and there’s fire there. “Move, Azzi.”

“No.”

“God,” Paige sighs, “seriously, don’t piss me off. Get outta my way.”

“No, Paige,” Azzi repeats, keeping her feet planted.

Paige stares at her and then shakes her head. “Why are you being so fuckin’ annoying?”

“Don’t,” Azzi says, trying to stop her before she gets too fired up, but it’s already started.

“No, Azzi, you don’t,” Paige snaps. “I knew you were gonna get like this, do your fuckin’ peace and love shit that you think will solve everyone’s fucking problems.”

Azzi swallows hard. It’s been years since Paige went on a rampage like this, and she opens her mouth to stop her, but is quickly interrupted.

“It doesn’t solve anything, dawg. It actually makes shit worse, because it’s so motherfucking annoying having you acting like everything’s fine when you don’t even know.” Paige shakes her head, taking a step towards her. “And that’s the thing, is you really don’t know but you wanna pretend like you do. You don’t know what it’s like to have your mom fuckin’ leave you for some fuckass guy, for her to have new kids outta state and raise them to be hateful just like her. Just like him.”

At this point, Azzi has tears in her eyes, and she attempts desperately to swallow them down. “Did you forget that my dad fucking left me when I was a baby? I’ve never even fucking talked to him, Paige. He doesn’t want shit to do with me.”

“That’s not the same and you know it.” Paige sends her a withering glare, so different from the way she usually looks at Azzi. “You have Tim. You have your mom and your brothers and they all love you so fucking much.”

“You have your dad!” Azzi responds, throwing her hands in the air. “You have Drew, you have Alora!” A tear escapes, against her will, and she wipes it furiously away. “You have me, Paige,” she says, more quietly now. “I love you so fucking much. So you don’t get to take this shit out on me and say mean things to hurt my feelings. That’s not—it’s not fair.”

As soon as she sees the tears welling in Azzi’s eyes, Paige softens, her shoulders slumping, eyes turning on her with guilt rather than venom. “Az, don’t cry.”

For some reason, this makes Azzi more mad, and she turns away to face the door, always having hated crying in front of others. “Well if you say mean shit to me, I’m gonna cry, Paige,” she mumbles, though there’s not much fire to her weak, shaky tone.

“Hey, no, you’re right,” Paige reaches for Azzi’s shoulder, trying to turn her around, but the tears have started now and they’re not going to stop anytime soon so Azzi stays turned firmly away. “Azzi, I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ Paige cuts herself off on a sigh. Her hand falls off Azzi’s shoulder, and for a second Azzi thinks she’s going to walk away, but then a pair of arms wrap tenderly around her waist and Paige’s chin is wresting on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I was wrong for that, I shouldnt’ve said any of that shit.” When Azzi doesn’t respond, instead burying her face in her hands to try and hide what she’s sure is an ugly cry, Paige squeezes her tighter. “Azzi, please don’t cry, I’m really sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry, for real. I didn’t mean any of it, I was just so scared about my parents and I took it out on you, I fucked up.”

Azzi nods into her hands, taking a deep breath to try and stop the embarrassing flow of emotion. “I know, Paige,” she tries, but it comes out sort of as a whimper and this only makes Paige circle around to stand in front of her, full-on hugging her now, burying her face in her neck and rubbing her back soothingly.

They’re silent for another moment before Paige says, “I’m serious, Az. I didn’t mean any of it.”

Azzi knows this, fundamentally, but there’s still a part of her that sort of cracked at hearing her best friend tell her that she was annoying, that her efforts to help always fall flat. “You shouldn’t have said it, then,” she stutters, letting Paige hold her close even as her face doesn’t come out of its hiding spot.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have. You’re the only person who can ever make me feel better and I—fuck. Azzi, I’m sorry, I can’t believe—I never wanna hurt you.” Paige lifts her head out of her neck to nuzzle into Azzi’s hair, pressing a kiss to the spot just behind her ear. “Never wanna make you cry.” She plants another kiss there, and Azzi’s breath hitches. From the crying or from something else, she doesn’t know.

Sighing shakily, Azzi finally pulls her head out of her hands to look up at Paige, placing her hands at her chest almost as if she’s about to push her away. She’s sure her mascara is ruined by now but she can’t bring herself to care too much. “It really hurt when you shoved me outside, too.”

A pained expression flits over Paige’s face, and she nods, looking almost sick. “Fuck. I’m—I’m sorry, Azzi. I’m so sorry. Is your arm okay? Does it still hurt?”

Azzi can’t take the guilty look on Paige’s face and shakes her head no. It doesn’t seem to relieve much of anything.

Breathing deeply, Paige closes her eyes and then leans her forehead against Azzi’s, bringing her hands up from her waist to stroke over her tear-stained cheeks. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispers, and Azzi’s knows that the nickname wasn’t a slip-up this time, wasn’t just a habit from their pretending. “I’m really fuckin’ sorry.”

And with that, Azzi isn’t mad anymore. Her feelings are still hurt and the things Paige said are still going to replay in her head for quite some time, but at least for now, Azzi just can’t be mad. Because Paige is going through something she could never imagine going through.

“I’m sorry, too,” Azzi breathes, and Paige rears back, but before she can protest, Azzi says, “about your parents. About this whole…situation.” She looks down at her hands on Paige’s chest, and, deciding she won’t be needing to push her away anymore, she slides them up to her shoulders. “It’s shitty and you’re right, I don’t know what it’s like to be in your position.” She shrugs, swallowing back the last couple tears that threaten to fall, trying to regain at least some of her composure. “I’m going to be here for you, okay? I always am.”

Paige nods. “I know you will.”

“And that means,” Azzi goes on, “you can’t do this again. You can’t take it out on me. You can’t push me away. Because that makes it really fucking hard for me to help you, and I want to help you.”

Paige nods again, more solemnly this time, moving her hands back to circle her waist. “Yeah, yeah, I know, and I’m so sorry for—“

Azzi holds a hand up to Paige’s lips, effectively shutting her up. “Okay, stop. I accept your apology, I promise. Just, show me you’re sorry and don’t do it again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Paige says. “‘Course.”

“Good.” Breathing mostly even now, Azzi pulls Paige in for another hug.

With a heavy sigh, Paige hugs her back. “We’re in it together, hm? From now on, together.”

Azzi rests her cheek on Paige’s shoulder, the weight of her arms around her, the feeling of her skin and bones, so familiar. “Yeah. Together.”

Paige pulls back just enough to look at her, and when Azzi reciprocates, she’s uneasy to find that Paige is giving her that same new look. The perplexed, maybe enthralled?, almost worried look that has taken over her face more often than can be explained ever since the first time after their kiss. Azzi really wants to work out what it means.

But, as always, Paige corrects herself and it’s gone as fast as it arrived. “We’re good?”

Azzi nods, smiling softly despite herself. “Yeah, P. We’re good.”

—————————————

Paige has been downstairs with her parents for nearly an hour.

From what Azzi can hear from her spot at the top of the stairs, it doesn’t sound to be going too well. The three of them keep going from yelling to whisper-yelling to yelling again, and Azzi swears Amy has cried like five times at this point.

When Azzi hears Dean say, “We just don’t allow sinners in this house, Paige,” and Paige snap back, “Do not use God against me right now!” Azzi figures it might be time to intervene.

Trying to come up with something quickly, she pulls out her phone and dials Paige’s number. She hears Paige’s phone ring downstairs, and the three of them go quiet before Paige says, “Just—one second,” and then there’s a click on the other line and she’s answering. “Um, hi?”

“Pretend I’m your dad,” Azzi says, hoping she’s not on speaker.

“What?”

“Just pretend I’m your dad, Paige. Seriously.”

“Uh, okay.” The line gets a little muffled and Paige says, “It’s dad.” Azzi can hear both Amy and Dean let out audible groans downstairs.

“Okay, now tell them that I—your dad—am offering to fly you home.”

“I…wha—“ Azzi can tell Paige wants to argue but can’t with her parents right in front of her, so instead she sighs and the line goes muffled again. “He’s, um, he’s offering to fly me home.”

Azzi only has a second to hope and pray that Amy shares Paige’s competitive nature before Amy is saying, “What? You told him about this?”

“No,” Paige answers, “he just knows how you’re like now. And he wants Azzi and I to have a good summer, not a shitty one with shitty people.”

“If you want to go back to your dad’s, go,” Dean says, and Azzi’s heart sinks. Maybe this won’t work.

But then, bless her evil, horrible soul, Amy is stepping in. “No. Absolutely not. I will never hear the end of it if we send you to your father after inviting you over. We just…” Amy sighs, and Azzi thinks she can hear her start crying again. “We want what’s best for you, Paige.”

It’s silent for a moment. And then, “Let me be happy, Mom. Let me see my siblings. Let me and my girlfriend have a good trip with y’all.”

Dean interjects. “We really don’t believe in this kind of stuff.”

“I don’t care,” Paige replies viciously. “I love Azzi. It doesn’t matter that she’s a fuckin’ girl. I…” Paige pauses, quite abruptly, and Azzi wonders if something happened. But then she hears a heavy inhalation and a quiet, “I love her, Mom.”

Azzi knows it’s for the act, but she can’t help the way her stomach somersaults, hearing the words she’s always wished Paige would say.

“And it doesn’t matter what you think of it,” Paige continues. “I’m happy. My faith is strong. And what goes on between me and God isn’t your fucking business.”

“Language,” Amy says immediately. But then it’s silent for another weighted moment and Azzi can imagine Amy and Dean sharing that knowing, judgmental look of theirs. Her heart races while she waits for a consensus, and she’s sure it’s 100 times worse for Paige. But after a few moments, Amy says, “Tell your father that you’re staying here with us. Your siblings will be home tomorrow morning. The four of us adults have a reservation at a restaurant tonight, and we’re all going to go.”

“Mom—“

“We will try,” Amy sighs. “Azzi’s a nice girl. We will—we’ll try.” There’s something tired in her voice when she says, “Right, Dean?”

No answer. But Azzi can imagine him nodding gruffly, and a moment later, with no more words from any of them, Paige appears at the bottom of the stairs. She startles a little when she sees Azzi sitting there at the top.

“Hi,” Azzi says sheepishly, finally disconnecting their call. “I was eavesdropping.”

Paige stares at her, and then starts climbing the stairs, a small smile overtaking their face. “Thanks for saving me.”

“I told you I would,” Azzi replies, waiting for Paige at the top. “So. Dinner with your parents tonight.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Paige gets to the second-top step and stays there, so she’s just a little shorter than Azzi.

“Dinner as a fake lesbian couple with your homophobic parents,” Azzi clarifies, and Paige laughs nervously.

“Uh-huh,” she responds. “I think we needa nap before that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Azzi agrees, pulling Paige up to stand with her. “That is an amazing idea.”

——————————————

Azzi is rudely awoken to none other than an old Tyler, The Creator song blasting through the tinny speakers of Paige’s phone. Azzi groans, and she blindly reaches out for Paige to turn the damn thing off, but her hands only find cold bedsheets. Annoyed, Azzi cracks her eyes open and tries desperately to find Paige’s phone, realizing in the process that Paige’s side of the bed is cold. Strange, considering they still have two hours until dinner.

Finally, after probably thirty seconds of this stupid song playing over and over again, Azzi finds the phone tangled up in the bedsheets and slams the off button. It’s sort of pointless, though, because now she’s very much awake and will not be going back to bed.

She sits up in Paige’s bed, rubbing her eyes and looking around the room. The sun is shining through the curtains, reflecting off the mirror above the vanity and showcasing the off-white walls, the pink door to the adjoining bathroom—which Azzi now realizes is in use, the sound of the shower muffled through the door. She hadn’t noticed before because Paige isn’t awfully singing to some Mariah Carey song. Other than the water, it’s dead quiet in there. She must be nervous.

Fiddling with the pink sheets, Azzi feels nervous, too. Usually, merely being in Paige’s space comforts her, but this room—it doesn’t feel like Paige. It doesn’t smell like her, and it’s too pink. There’s no purple at all, actually. And the vanity—Paige has never known how to do much else other than mascara. In high school, she needed Azzi to tell her what concealer was for, and to teach her how to curl her lashes. She certainly wouldn’t have use for an entire vanity dedicated to makeup. The walls are also decorated with cringy, sort of Bible-thumping quotes and paintings of flowers. There’s not a single basketball poster.

No, this room isn’t Paige at all and Azzi feels an ache in her heart, thinking about how out-of-place she must have felt whenever she came to visit as a kid. How out-of-place she must feel now.

Without Paige to talk to, and without her room to comfort her, Azzi settles for laying on Paige’s side of the bed, burying her face in the blankets, and there she is—vanilla, like her hair products, and lavender, like the lotion she wears and the linen spray she uses, because it calms her down.

Azzi thinks she just might fall back asleep, enveloped in Paige’s scent, but then the door to the bathroom opens and steam billows out just before Paige does, wrapped in a towel, hair wet down her shoulders. Azzi only has a second to ogle the water drops adorning Paige’s collarbones before she’s spotted, and Paige gives her a curious look. “You still sleep? I left my phone here so the alarm would wake you up.”

“Yeah, no, it did,” Azzi says, sitting up quickly, before she looks like a weirdo snuggling up in Paige’s spot. “Just tryin’ to hype myself up for dinner.”

Paige gives her a commiserating look. “Me too. I’m shitting my pants, for real.”

“That why you couldn’t sleep?” Azzi asks, stretching out her back and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

Paige hums, bending down to rifle around in her suitcase. “I’on even know what to wear. Apparently it’s some fancy restaurant but I’m not wearing a fucking dress.”

Azzi laughs at that, lifting her hands when Paige shoots a glare over her shoulder. “I’m serious, dawg! And it’s not like I brought a suit or nothing.”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” Azzi says, standing up. “Just wear jeans and tuck a t-shirt or something. You’ll look cute no matter what.”

Paige straights up and gives her a cocky grin. “You think all that?”

“Chill, P,” Azzi rolls her eyes, shoving Paige’s shoulder a little.

“What were you doing on my side of the bed, anyway?” Paige asks, and Azzi can’t help the way she freezes. She’d thought Paige hadn’t noticed.

Trying to cover her reaction, she shrugs casually. “I didn’t know you owned the right side of the bed.”

“Nah, we’ve always had our sides,” Paige shakes her head, taking a step closer. “Why was you all cuddled up in mine?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Azzi says, trying for sarcastic but she can’t even really make eye contact, “maybe I rolled over or something.”

“Please. You don’t move in your sleep.”

“Maybe I do. You don’t know.”

“I think I’ve slept with you more often than I’ve slept alone,” Paige scoffs, taking a step even closer so that they’re practically chest-to-chest. “I know damn well.”

“Okay, seriously,” Azzi says, taking a small step back and stumbling when her thighs hit the bed, “go get dressed, you weirdo.”

“Mm,” Paige says, pretending to think about it. But before Azzi can move away, she grabs her waist and they both fall onto the bed while Paige starts to tickle her like crazy.

“Paige!” Azzi screams, laughing so hard she almost can’t breathe. “Get—off, oh my God!”

Paige is laughing right along with her, and it’s a miracle her towel hasn’t dropped yet. “Tell me the truth!”

“What the…” Azzi giggles and squeals when Paige goes for her armpit, “fuck!”

“I won’t stop ‘till you admit it!”

“Okay, fuck, okay!” Azzi pushes Paige off her, and Paige lets up just enough for her to gasp and say, “It smelled like you, okay? The sheets, they…” Paige has stopped completely now, staring at her with a shit-eating grin on her stupid face, “they smell like you.”

“Uh-huh,” Paige replies, “and you missed me so much while I was in the shower that you needed to smell my sheets?” She jabs her one more time in the ribs, making Azzi shriek, before rolling off her. “You lil creep.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Azzi insists, even though that’s exactly what it was like. “Now, seriously, go get dressed. You got me all wet.”

What Azzi means by that, of course, is that Paige’s damp towel and sopping hair had transferred to Azzi’s own clothes and hair. But Paige can’t be normal about anything, so she looks over and grins slyly.

“Don’t,” Azzi sighs.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Paige says, sitting up in bed and pulling Azzi up with her. “You don’t gotta be embarrassed. I know I make a lotta girls wet.”

“Stop being weird,” Azzi says, as Paige bends down once again to pull an outfit from her suitcase.

She begins walking back to the bathroom. “I’m not the one who gets turned on by tickling,” Paige calls over her shoulder. Just before she closes the bathroom door behind her, she says, “Don’t worry, we can take care of you after dinner, mama,” and winks at her.

Azzi’s shoe hits the door just as it clicks shut.

—————————————

They drive to the restaurant in silence.

It’s similar to their car ride from the airport, though it is a little less tense than before. Paige isn’t fidgeting too much beside her and her parents aren’t giving each other looks the entire time. That’s gotta be a good sign.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Amy and Dean start chatting idly, Paige and Azzi trailing behind when they walk inside the fancy building and give the hostess their reservation.

It’s only when they’re finally seated that they are addressed.

“So, girls,” Amy says, her voice all forced cheerfulness, “what looks good?”

“I dunno,” Paige mumbles, and Azzi kicks her under the table before saying, “Have you guys ever been here before?”

Amy looks a little startled at Azzi’s voice, but she recovers quickly, looking over at Dean with a forced smile. “Oh, yeah, we come here sometimes.”

Azzi smiles politely. “What do you suggest, then?”

“Um,” Amy says, and then she sort of jerks and Dean winces, and Azzi’s sure Amy has also just kicked him under the table.

Apparently well-trained, he speaks immediately. “We love the spinach ricotta.”

Azzi hums, then nudges Paige. “That sounds good, right?”

“Uh…” Paige looks like she wants to be difficult, but then she sees the warning stare Azzi is giving her and straightens up a little, “yeah, yeah. Sounds good.”

“Wanna share?”

Paige sighs, but luckily it’s barely audible. “Yeah, sure. Let’s share.”

Azzi leaves herself out of the conversation after that, letting Paige answer her parents’ conversation starters. When the waitress comes to take their orders, Paige gets a glass of wine for the both of them. Neither of them really like wine, but it seems classy enough and it might take the edge off just enough that they can actually get through the night unscathed.

It’s not until their dinner arrives that Azzi is addressed again.

“So, Azzi,” Dean says, out of nowhere, “How’s the knee?”

Azzi’s hand goes subconsciously to her surgery scars. “Doing better. PT’s been going good.”

“Good, good.” He leans back in his seat, and Azzi senses trouble. Something about the way Paige protectively rests her arm across the back of Azzi’s seat makes her think she senses it, too.

“You get injured a lot, huh?” He asks.

Azzi sort of hates the way her face gets hot, hoping it doesn’t show up on her brown skin. “I’ve torn my ACL twice, yeah.”

“And your meniscus, right?” he prods.

Without really noticing it, Azzi looks over to Paige, and that’s apparently all Paige needs to jump in. “Hey, let’s not talk about it.”

“Why not?” Dean asks, scoffing. Amy is looking between the three of them nervously. “It’s hard not to talk about. Azzi, you don’t even play basketball at this point.”

“Um,” Azzi replies, her instincts telling her to get hot-headed but with the way Paige is buzzing beside her, she’s gonna need to keep her cool.

“What the hell?” Paige says, her hand going from the chair to Azzi’s shoulder. She looks at Amy. “Mom, you said this wouldn’t happen.”

“Your father is just asking a few questions—“

“He’s not my fucking dad!” Paige exclaims, and Azzi jerks as she’s pulled into Paige’s side. “I already have a dad! He raised me, he loves me, Mom, and he’d never say this shit about Azzi.” Angrily, Paige stands up, tossing a few bills onto the counter and helping Azzi to stand beside her.

“Sweetheart,” Amy says, reaching limply for her daughter while Dean sits beside her looking far too smug. “Paige, where are you going? We’re your ride.”

“We’ll Uber,” Paige responds, wrapping an arm around Azzi’s waist. “I’m not gonna make her sit through your bullshit because you don’t know how to act like a decent fucking human being.”

“He was just asking—,” Any starts, sounding exasperated, but Paige cuts her off.

“You know what he was doing.” She glares at Dean, who shakes his head, smirking. “We’ll go back to the house,” she sneers. “But if this doesn’t change by tomorrow we’re leaving.”

And with that, she takes Azzi hands and leads them both out into the night.

—————————————

Paige keeps it together until they get to the house.

As soon as they’re stepping through the door, she turns away from Azzi and leans down to untie her shoes. Azzi does the same, but she doesn’t miss the sniffling sounds coming from her best friend.

Paige refuses to look at her when they start heading upstairs, and she tries to make a beeline for the bathroom once they close her bedroom door shut behind them. But Azzi stops her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “P?”

Another sniffle. And then a quick wipe at her face before she’s turning around, trying to look nonchalant but her eyes are red and her lip is trembling. “Yeah?”

“Paige,” Azzi says softly, and Paige crumbles, hands coming up to her face as she starts crying.

Azzi steps forward to hug her, pulling her down to hide in her chest. “I’m sorry, P. I’m so sorry, this—this sucks.”

“I’m sorry,” Paige replies, voice all small and muffled in a way that makes Azzi’s heart hurt. “I thought they were gonna try…I wouldn’t have taken you out with them if I knew…”

“Hey, it’s all good,” Azzi responds, running a hand through Paige’s hair. “I didn’t mind, really. I’ve heard worse.”

This is apparently the wrong thing to say, because Paige just cries harder. “Fuck, Az, you shouldn’t have to do this.” She lifts her head up to look at her, and Azzi absently wipes her face. “This sucks. It’s the first week of summer and I—I was shitty to you and now my parents, and I—“

“Paige,” Azzi says sternly. “I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I couldn’t handle it. I can handle it. It’s you that I’m worried about.”

Paige nods, sniffling again. “You don’t gotta worry. I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not fine, P,” Azzi says, and Paige winces, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her shirt.

“I’m okay,” Paige insists. “Really. As long as we do this together, I’m okay.”

She straightens up like she’s steeling herself, and Azzi thinks maybe she should do the same.

This is only the first day of their two-week stay.

It’s going to be a long trip.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa

[loveesiren]

Doing It All For Us (Pt. 10)

Masterlist

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Rafe is safe for now, and their crazy kinks come out once again

Warnings: Language, fighting, smut, blood kink, pregnancy

Word Count: 4.4k+

And just like that, your world came crashing down around you.

You swallow hard, trying to comprehend what Rafe has just said to you. He's staring at you, waiting for you to say something but the words just wouldn't come.

Rafe tried to hold back tears. This was it. You were going to leave him. He was going to prison and he would lose you and his baby and everything that brought him any ounce of happiness in his life.

"Y-you...shot..."You muttered. "I-is she dead?"

"I don't know," His voice was barely above a whisper.

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. "What happened, exactly, Rafe?" You finally managed.

"She was going to arrest my dad. S-she had the gun pointed at him. I-I had to save him, Y/N." He was crying again.

"What? Why was she arresting your dad?"

"John B said Ward killed his dad."

"What the fuck?" You whisper to yourself as you lean back against the frame of Rafe's bed, leaning your head in your hands.

You knew something had happened when Ward took John B fishing. He had come back with a gaff hook wound on his arm claiming John B attacked him. You really didn't stick around to listen to what happened. You were trying to keep your stress levels down but that obviously wasn't happening anymore.

"Where's your dad?"

"He was still at the tarmac. He told me to bring Sarah home. She saw everything..."

"Shit."

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I fucked up. I panicked, I didn't want my dad to get hurt and I-"

"Shh, baby. I know." You tell him, pulling his face to yours. "I know."

"A-are gonna leave me?" His voice was so pitiful, cracking as he spoke. The sound broke your heart.

"No. I told you, Rafe. Forever. You and me against the world." You told him before pressing your lips to his.

He brought his hands up, tangling his fingers in your hair as he pulled you deeper into the kiss. He couldn't believe it. The fact that you were still here. Still here after he just made the biggest mistake of his life. One that could land him in a jail cell forever.

"Listen to me," You told him as you pulled away. You were way more calm than you should have been, but seeing Rafe freak out somehow helped you to keep your head on straight. "We need to talk to Ward. Find out what happened after you left the tarmac."

Rafe nods between your hands. "Okay."

"We'll figure something out, okay?"

"I-I can't lose you and our baby."

"You won't. I promise you you won't."

-

You and Rafe sat silently in Ward's office as you waited for him to return home. Rafe looked over old photos and awards hung up on the walls, smiling as he ran his fingers over a photo of him and his father.

You watch him sadly. The hold Ward had over him. Rafe just wanted to be accepted and the lack of love Ward had given him has now landed him in the worst possible situation.

Rafe sat down beside you with the picture.

"You look so handsome," You tell him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He smiles at you. He always blushed when you called him handsome.

Ward walks in the room and your stomach drops. He stares at you both for a moment before sighing and closing the door. You're trying your best to remain calm but your head was flooded with anxiety. Flooded with thoughts of all the worst possible outcomes.

"Is...she alive?" Rafe asks.

Ward shakes his head.

"No?"

"No."

You clench your jaw and take in a deep breath.

"Okay," Rafe said, trying to calm himself as he could feel the anxiety return to his body. "Okay."

You place a hand on Rafe's bicep, rubbing his skin lightly to try and calm him down.

"What did you tell the cops? Are they coming here?" Rafe asks.

Ward walks to his desk, pouring himself a glass of whiskey before responding. "I told them John B did it."

"Told 'em John B did it..." Rafe repeated his father's words, pondering the idea. "That's good. Yes, that could work!"

You bit your lip as you watched Rafe start to get manic.

"Rafe. I need you to go to your room. Take a shower okay? Get cleaned up. If anyone asks, you were here all day okay? You were doing maintenance on The Druthers." Ward says, glancing to you. You nod your head in agreement.

"No. No, Rose knows I wasn't here." Rafe argued.

"I will talk to Rose."

"What-what about Sarah?" Rafe asks, standing up now.

"What about Sarah?" Ward asks.

"Sarah, listen, Sarah has a big mouth okay?"

"You're sister isn't going to do anything to hurt us."

"No, no, no you didn't see her in the car okay? She was freaking out!" Rafe argues back. You could hear the stress in his voice. "I have a suggestion-"

"Rafe! Stop it! I don't need your help. I didn't need it then and I don't need it now. I just need to think! So please, go clean up!" Ward was yelling now. You could see the pain on Rafe's face.

"You understand, right? Rafe said sadly. "You understand?"

"Understand what, Rafe?"

"Why I did it."

You sat silently, biting back tears. Ward turned to look at Rafe once again.

"You were in trouble and I was protecting you. Okay? Me, dad. Rafe. Not Sarah, okay? It was me!"

You couldn't help but cry now as you watched tears spill from his eyes. This wasn't his fault. You couldn't blame him for what he did. He was so broken.

Rafe backed away as Ward walked towards him. "Sorry," Rafe said softly, nervous of what his dad was going to do next.

Ward slowly pulled Rafe to him. "I know, come here. Come on, come on, bud."

You watched Rafe's face. He was shocked at the fact that his dad was hugging him. But he hugged him back tightly.

"Come on, bud, I'm sorry. I love you. I love you, Rafe. So much."

Rafe smiled at his dad's words. You couldn't help but watch them with sorrow in your eyes. The way his father's approval made him glow. How could Ward not see how special his son was?

"Listen, everything is going to be okay. We will figure it out." Ward promises.

You stand up and grab Rafe's hand. He wraps his arms around you tightly.

"Y/N-" Ward begins.

"Maintenance on The Druthers." You nod. "I'm all in."

Ward offers a sad smile. He's obviously upset that the three of you were now involved in this mess. But he was going to protect his son at all costs and make sure he gets the chance to be a father himself.

-

You and Rafe move in silence. The events of the day heavy on your mind. He pulls you into the shower with him and the two of you just stand there holding each other as you let the warm water wash away your worries.

The feeling of his skin on yours had you crying silently. You don't know what you'd do without him. He trailed the tips of his fingers over your spine and you drag your acrylics up and down his back.

Rafe moved a hand to your stomach, brushing over it softly. You didn't need to speak. Neither of you did. You could feel how much Rafe loved you and your unborn child. You clung to him tightly, reminding him you were still there. That you and Wolf were still there.

Rafe turned the shower off and wrapped you up in a towel, drying you off before he grabbed your favorite lotion and made sure he rubbed it over every inch of your body. You melted under his touch. The way his fingers traced the contours of your skin. The way he worshipped every part of your body, placing kisses all along your limbs.

He scooped you up and carried you to his bed. He went to his dresser and pulled out a shirt for you to wear. You slid it on, clutching the fabric tightly because it smelled like him.

He pulled on some boxers and climbed into bed beside you before grabbing his remote and flipping through the horror movie section.

He decided on Sinister, knowing it was one of your favorites. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. You snaked your legs between his and clung to him like a Boa Constrictor.

He ran his fingers through your wet hair as you concentrated on your movie. He never cared for horror, but he loved watching you get so focused. He worked on detangling each knot in your hair, silently praying that everything would turn out okay. He'd just murdered someone today. A cop. The Sheriff. And somehow, you were still here in his arms.

"You're with a murderer." Rafe whispered against your forehead. The guilt was starting to set in.

"I'm with Rafe Cameron." You responded. "A man that protects what he loves at all costs."

You could feel his tears fall on your face as he hugged your closer.

"Me and Wolf will always be safe with you." You reassured him. And it was true. Rafe loves with his whole heart. If he could get past your flaws you could get past his. He killed someone, yes, but to protect his father. You know he'd kill for you and his baby too.

You felt 100% safe wrapped up in Rafe's arms. Nothing would take you from him.

-

You woke up early. A lot earlier than Rafe. You crawled out of bed and pulled on your jeans. You placed a kiss on Rafe's forehead before sneaking out of his room, desperate for some food. The baby was hungry to say the least.

You could hear Ward and Sarah talking down the hall. You stood outside Sarah's room and listened.

"He shot her!"

"You have to pick between John B or your family!" Ward responded. "Nothing is going to happen to Rafe."

Ward walked out of her room, closing the door and locking it. He spotted you, giving you a look of concern.

"Let me out!" You could hear Sarah pound on the door.

"Why are you locking her in there?" Wheezie asked as she rounded the corner.

"Listen, there was an accident and your sister is very upset so we need to give her some time to calm down." Ward told her.

"Did something happen to the baby?" Wheezie asked, turning to you.

"No!" You told her. "The baby, is just fine, Wheeze." You smile at her. "Let's go have breakfast, yeah?" You ask her, leading her downstairs. You glance back at Ward with a warning look. Telling him he needs to get Sarah under control.

You and Wheezie sit at the kitchen table, nibbling on bacon and talking about the boys in her class.

Rafe rushes into the kitchen. He'd managed to put on sweats but no shirt. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees you.

"Baby, where'd you go?"

"I'm having breakfast with Wheezie," You say, pulling him in for a kiss. "Baby was hungry."

He sits beside you, wrapping an arm around your stomach and the other around your neck. You offer him a piece of bacon and he takes it in one bite.

"Ew, do I have to be like you guys when I start dating?" Wheezie scoffs.

"You're not dating anyone, Wheeze." Rafe snaps.

You chuckle. "No. Never let a boy do something you're uncomfortable with."

Rafe was nuzzling into your neck now, placing wet kisses along your skin.

"Yuck," Wheezie scoffs. "I hope guys aren't like this."

"They are!" Rafe shouts as Wheezie gets up and walks away. "No boys!"

"You know, being all over me like this is gonna have her thinking all guys are like this." You scold.

"They are."

"Maybe at our age, but not at hers."

"No boys."

You roll your eyes as Rafe lays his head in your lap and wraps his arms around your waist, kissing your belly.

"Rafe, this is the kitchen," Rose scolds as she walks in the room.

Rafe groans and leans up. You laugh and go back to eating your breakfast, feeding Rafe some as well as he still keeps his hands on your stomach.

"They're looking for John B." Ward states as he walks in the kitchen. You and Rafe both look up. "There's a reward out for him. $25,000."

You smile. The island was buying it. John B killed Peterkin. Rafe was safe.

Rose knew. She knew Rafe had done it. But she'd never do anything to rat out this family. Especially since Rafe was going to be a father.

You and Rose had actually gotten quite close. She had a miscarriage at a young age. It was hard. But she was more than happy that you were pregnant and she was dead set on making sure you were eating good and taking care of yourself.

She loved her step children like her own. But Rafe was crazy, Sarah wanted to be a Pogue, and Wheezie spent a lot of time on TikTok. But you always gave Rose the time of day. You liked helping her water her flowers and discussing baby stuff and preparing dinner.

-

John B was almost caught the night prior when you, Rafe, and Kelce tried to smoke out the bell tower. But Topper chose to pick his undying love for Sarah and let John B and Sarah get away.

You had found Rafe outside in the morning, starting up his bike and talking to himself.

"Baby, what's going on?" You asked him, forcing him to calm down and look at you.

"Stay here, Y/N!" Rafe snapped at you before hopping on his bike and riding off.

Oh fuck no.

You ran inside and grabbed the keys to his truck. You hopped in, backing out of the driveway quickly. It wasn't long before you spotted Rafe. You slowed down, trailing behind a bit so he wouldn't notice you. You watched as he pulled into Barry's house.

"Goddammit." You muttered to yourself. You were not wanting to see Barry after what happened a month and a half ago. You were in your second trimester now. Pulling into this house gave you anxiety.

You park the truck and sigh. Finally pulling yourself out of the vehicle and heading inside.

"I'm 100% fucked man!" You heard Rafe yell.

"What the fuck is happening?" You ask as you swing open the screen door.

"Y/N," Rafe said. "Why the fuck are you here?!"

"Don't fucking snap at me, Rafe!"

Rafe shut his mouth. You scoffed and went and sat on Barry's couch.

"Look, how long do you think it's gonna take for them to find John B?" Barry asked. "And when they find him, he's gonna start snitchin'."

"You know it was John B that stole that 25k from you right?"

"Exactly my point, Country Club. The hammer's comin' down on them Pogues."

"Let's go get your fuckin' money then." You say, standing up from the couch.

"Y/N-" Rafe starts.

"Rafe, I swear to God, I will knock your ass out." Your hormones were making themselves known.

"I don't got time for you two to argue. Let's go!" Barry yells.

Rafe glances at you and you give him a stern look back before following him outside. He gives you his helmet as you climb on the back of his bike and wrap your arms tightly around him.

After riding around for a bit you stopped at an intersection as you watched a ton of cop cars drive by. "Shit, they're looking for him." You mutter.

"Yo, is that Kie?" Rafe asks as you see a familiar SUV drive past.

"There goes that lil bitch ass now!" Barry said and you all kicked off and followed Kie's car.

You all hopped off the bikes as you pulled up to an old garage. "Alright you two go around that way and I'll take 'em from over there." Barry says, directing you where to go. You nod and follow Rafe.

"Hey, there. What's goin' on? How you guys doing?" Rafe says as he enters the garage and walks towards Kiara. You stand off to the side and cross your arms, eyeing their movements as Barry holds a gun up to JJ.

God you wished you could fucking fight.

Barry took JJ down easily and you watched Rafe drag Kiara away. "It's not you we want, Kie, okay? Where's John B?"

"I don't know!" She screamed as she slapped him hard across the face.

You started forward, it took everything in you not to attack her.

"I know what you did! You murdered Peterkin!" Kiara yelled at him.

Shit. She knew. John B must have told her. You were too distracted by Kiara and Rafe to notice Pope sneak up behind you and hit you in the back of the knee with a tire iron.

You let out a loud cry as you feel to the floor, catching yourself just before your stomach made contact with the cement.

"Y/N!" Rafe yelled, but before he could get to you, Pope was hitting him.

JJ had tripped Barry, causing him to drop his gun and Kiara was quick to grab it, pointing it at you as you looked up at her from the ground.

You clenched your jaw angrily as you held your hands up in surrender.

"Don't touch her!" You could hear Rafe yell, trying to fight off Pope. "She's fucking pregnant, please! Please don't hurt her!"

Kiara's eyes went wide as she lowered the gun. "Pope, Pope! He's had enough dude!" JJ was yelling, trying to get Pope to release his grip on the cord wrapped around Rafe's neck.

"Rafe!" You cried, trying to get to your feet but the searing pain in your leg was preventing you from doing so.

"Pope, look at me!" Kiara screamed, finally getting Pope's attention as he let go of his hold on your boyfriend. "Come on, we gotta get out of here!"

You were crying now, crawling over to where Rafe was laying covered in blood. "Rafe, baby, are you okay?" You asked, holding his face in your hands.

He was breathing heavily and coughing, pulling you close to him. He clung to you, trying to catch his breath, placing a protective hand over your belly.

"I'm okay, Rafe. I promise." You tell him, cradling his head. "I'm okay."

After a few minutes, Rafe's finally able to sit up. "Where'd he hit you?" He asked.

"In the back of the leg. He didn't hit the baby. I promise." You reassure him.

"He's fucking dead."

"We'll get them, Rafe. Right now we gotta make a plan." You glance over to where Barry was picking himself up off the ground. "You good, Barry?"

"Yup!" Barry groans as he stands up and walks over to help Rafe up.

Rafe helped you up and wrapping his arm around your waist as you limped beside him, leading you out to the bikes. Rafe sat down and you wedged yourself between his legs as you looked over his injuries.

"Sheriff Peterkin, huh?" Barry laughed. "You're better than I thought, Country Club!"

You shoot daggers at Barry and he shuts up. You could tell he wanted to say some dumb shit but he bit it back.

"Look, we're gonna get John B, aight? I'll be in touch." Barry says before walking off towards his bike.

"Hey, baby, look at me." You say, taking Rafe's face between your hands and forcing him to make eye contact. You could tell he was on the verge of a break down.

"I let you get hurt. I put you in danger. I put our baby in danger." He said as he bit back tears.

"No you didn't Rafe. I'm the one who wanted to come. I was the one not paying attention."

"I'm supposed to protect you." He leans his head on your shoulder, pulling you closer by your belt loops.

"Rafey, you do. Shit happens sometimes."

He shakes his head.

"Hey, look at me!" You say again, forcing his head up. You bit your lip as you looked at him. The blood coating his skin did things to you. You wrapped your fingers through his hair at the base of his neck and pulled his head back. You ran your tongue up his neck to his chin, licking off the fresh blood that dripped from his wound.

You heard him groan at the sensation, tightening his grips on your hips as his shorts tightened.

You pressed your lips to his, letting your tongue slip into his mouth as you enjoyed the metallic taste that lingered there.

"Take me home, Rafe." You whispers against his lips.

-

Rafe pulled into your driveway and helped you off the bike. You'd been staying at the Cameron's for so long you were happy to be home.

You also didn't want to walk into Tannyhill bloody and limping, knowing there would be a plethora of questions about what happened.

You limped to your front door and fiddled with your keys.

"Baby, let me help you." Rafe says, taking your keys from you and helping you stand up.

Once you were inside Rafe picked you up and carried you to the couch. You both groaned in pain as you sat down.

"Do you feel okay?" Rafe asks.

"Yeah, baby. Are you okay?" You run your hand over the bruising on his face. He nods. "Take your shirt off."

He does as he's told and you examine the bruises forming on his back from where Pope had hit him with the tire iron. He winced in pain as you lightly pressed his skin.

"Sorry baby..." You said.

"It's okay," He mumbles. You bite your lip as your eyes scan his body. The bruising, the blood. You hated seeing him hurt but it fucking turned you on. "What?" He asks with a smirk.

You suddenly felt shy. You felt your cheeks blush as you smile up at your boyfriend. "Tell me what you need, princess," His voice was low as he smiled and moved on top of you, placing soft kisses on your neck.

Your breath hitched at the sensation. "You want my blood, huh, pretty girl?"

"Mhmm," You moan.

Rafe grabs your jaw, forcing your mouth open. You stick out your tongue as he lets his bloody saliva slip from his lips to yours. "Swallow." He demands and you happily oblige. You could feel the warmth at your core. "Good girl."

Rafe tugs at your shirt, pulling it off over your head, leaving you exposed to him. He brings his lips to your collar bone and sucks at your skin, surely leaving bruises.

"Fuck, Rafe..." You breathe.

He brings his hands to your breasts and massages roughly, flicking your nipple between his fingers and you could feel your need for him growing between your legs.

He left a trail of blood and bruises as he sucked and bit his way down your body. He stops at your stomach, placing a gentle kiss on the small bump starting to form. "You're so amazing," He whispers against your skin. "Carrying our baby."

You smile down at him lovingly, running your fingers through his shaggy hair. You watch as he unbuttons your shorts and slides them down your legs along with your panties. "I'm gonna make you feel so good, mama." He whispers, trailing bloody kisses up and down your thighs.

You gasp as he runs his tongue up the length of your core. He gets to work, circling your clit with his tongue. He pushes two fingers inside you and curls, hitting you in just the right spot as he pumps them in and out of you.

"Oh my - Rafe, fuck!" You cry, reaching your hands back to grip the top of the couch as you tried to steady yourself. Wrapping your legs around his head, you're sure he's suffocating but he just seems hungrier.

You could feel the knot form in the pit of your stomach as he flicked his tongue over your clit just right. He looked up and smiled as he watched you come undone. "Cum for me, baby girl."

The vibration of his words against your most sensitive area sent you over the edge. You couldn't control the way your legs shook as squirted in Rafe's mouth. He didn't stop, swallowing everything you offered him and licking you clean, sending you into overstimulation.

You laid speechless, trying to catch your breath. Rafe looked up at you with a shit eating grin, proud of himself for making you feel so good. Knowing he's the only one that's ever made you feel that good.

He crawled back on top of you, picking you up by they hips and laying you down on the couch beneath him. He sat up, quickly undoing his belt and shorts. You watched him, still trying to catch your breath from the intense orgasm you just experienced.

"You're my girl, you know that?" He asked you, grabbing your legs and pulling you towards him. He leaned over, lips hovering above yours as he lined himself up at your entrance. "My girl. Carrying my baby. Yeah?"

He was being possessive. Dominant. His eyes were crazy and you melted under his spell. "Yours." You promised.

He wrapped his fingers in your hair, cradling your head as he pressed his forehead to you. "My family..." He whispered, pushing into you slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size. "Mine."

You moaned, digging your nails into his shoulders. "I'm yours, Rafe. I'll always belong to you."

He groans into your neck as he pulls out and thrusts into you again. "Say it again,"

"I belong to you, Rafe Cameron."

He looks into your eyes as he thrusts into you harder. Small whimpers escape your lips as you stare back at him. The feeling of him inside you made you want to cry. Not in a way that it hurt, no. In the way that this was the closest you could possibly be and it still wasn't enough. The way he made your entire body tingle. The way the two of you fit together like a puzzle. It was the fact that you both knew you would absolutely die without each other. Like the world would simply stop turning if you were apart. And it was the way the love you had for one another created something new. The life growing inside you, belonged to you and Rafe and it was sacred. Something you would protect at all costs.

You didn't realize you actually were crying until Rafe's tears fell on your face. You were both crying silently as he continued to make love to you. The feeling of him sliding against your inner walls was pure ecstasy and you could feel yourself reaching your high once again.

You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist and pulled him into you. You felt his cock twitch as he spilled inside of you, your walls pulsating around him as you came too.

You both sat silently, trying to catch your breath and stop crying. Rafe cupped your cheek and placed a kiss gently on your lips before pulling out of you and rolling to your side, pulling you tightly against his chest. You were both overwhelmed with emotion. You laced your fingers between his and brought his hand to your lips, kissing his skin softly.

"I love you forever," You whisper before drifting off to sleep.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! :)

@outerbankspov @torturedtypewritersdept

[starrrcane]

The Underworld Beneath Piltover chapter two: Unspoken Bonds

chapter one is linked on my master list

summary: After a couple of weeks of working with silcos men, you’re tired, one specific night you go home and hear them talking about you in the corridor. And sevika does not like the way they are talking about you.

warnings:drunk men being creepy towards you(don’t worry sevika is your knight in shining armor) and alcohol

notes: maybe I could’ve split this into two separate chapters🤷🏽‍♀️ who knows, chapter one and chapter two were only posted so close to each other cause this has just been sitting in my notes. P.S this is supposed to be pre-season one!!

But if you want to be apart of my tag list just dm me or comment!

As the days passed, you fell into a rhythm of sorts in the Undercity. You worked tirelessly, patching up the injuries of Silco’s men—bruises, burns, cuts, and broken bones—but there was one person who never seemed to need your help: Sevika. She was always around, yet never injured. She stood on the periphery, watching as you worked with her men, but when it came to her own wounds, she refused your care. It became almost a ritual, this unspoken distance between you and her.

The others, however, were a different story. They’d come in, grinning with all their bravado, eager for your attention. You’d fix them up with quiet professionalism, trying to ignore the constant leers and comments, but it was hard. It was hard because their words, their glances, were a constant reminder that in the eyes of many in the Undercity, you were just another object to be used, a healer with nothing more to offer than your hands and your beauty. The men would speak freely, their voices loud and crude, commenting on how "good" you looked, how they'd love to see more of you, how soft your hands must be...

It made your skin crawl, but you never let it show. You didn’t have the luxury of reacting. You needed to do your job, needed to stay focused.

One night, after a particularly long shift, you found yourself at home, exhausted and alone. The distant noise of the Undercity hummed through your window, but you found no comfort in the quiet. Instead, you were stuck replaying the words of the men. The crude remarks, the way their eyes lingered far too long.

It wasn’t until later that night, when you heard shouting from down the hall, that you realized the bar—the Last Drop—was packed with Silco’s crew. They’d been celebrating some small victory, and the noise spilled out into the hall like a river of chaos. But then, you caught the unmistakable sound of Sevika’s voice rising above the others. It was sharp, commanding—louder than you’d ever heard her before.

“Knock it off," she snapped, the tension in her voice unmistakable. "You think she’s just here for your damn amusement? She’s here to help, not for you to ogle. Keep your mouths shut."

It was the first time you had ever heard Sevika lose her composure. Her voice, usually cold and unflappable, trembled with an anger that was both surprising and—if you were honest—comforting. For the first time, you realized something: Sevika wasn’t indifferent to you. She just... didn’t know how to show it. She was the wall that everyone leaned on in the Undercity, but she hadn’t built the capacity to rely on anyone else. Not until now.

The men muttered, some laughing nervously, others too drunk to care, but Sevika’s command had silenced them. You could hear her footsteps as she approached the door to the bar, her voice cutting through the remaining laughter. She muttered something else you couldn’t quite catch, and then there was silence.

The shift in the air lingered, and you couldn’t help but feel something stir in your chest. It was a strange mix of emotions—gratitude, confusion, and an undeniable pull toward the woman who had always kept her distance. Yet, in that moment, Sevika had done something rare: she'd protected you in her own way, not through words, but through her actions.

You didn’t know where this would go, but you were starting to realize that whatever it was, it wouldn’t be easy. And maybe... maybe that was what made it so compelling.

As the last of the laughter died down, the faint echoes of clinking glass and rowdy shouts drifting off into the night, you stepped into the corridor, your fingers still numb from the long hours spent tending to the wounded. The noise from the Last Drop had only gotten louder, but the thudding of your heartbeat was what kept your thoughts focused. You had barely processed what had just happened when the sound of footsteps from further down the hall drew your attention.

Sevika was alone, standing still at the end of the corridor, her eyes narrowed in your direction. There was no one else with her now—no men, no rowdy backup. Just her. The tension between you seemed to hang heavier in the air than before, the weight of her intervention earlier not fully sinking in until now. Her usually impassive gaze softened, the fierceness that had commanded the room earlier replaced by something unreadable.

You stood there for a moment, unsure whether to stay where you were or to approach her. The quiet seemed to wrap itself around you both, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, you stepped forward, a quiet sigh escaping your lips as you pulled your door open.

“Sevika,” you began, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I just… wanted to say thank you.”

Her gaze flickered to you, and then she looked away, as though suddenly uncomfortable under your attention.

“It’s whatever,” she muttered, her voice rougher than usual. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.” She shifted on her feet, clearly wanting to brush off the moment. But there was an edge to her words—something that betrayed the mask she tried to wear. "I’m not doing it for you."

You didn’t know whether to believe her or not, but you nodded, taking her words at face value. She didn’t seem like the type to wear a facade for long, and even though she was trying to make light of it, the way she'd stood up for you—no one else had ever done that. Not here.

“Well, thanks anyway,” you said, the warmth of the words surprising even you. “I appreciate it.”

Her shoulders stiffened for a moment, and she gave a short nod before turning away. Her retreating footsteps echoed down the hall, but the sting of the silence seemed to carry her presence with you still.

The next day at work, it felt like things had shifted in a way you couldn’t fully understand. The usual crude remarks from the others—loud and persistent as ever—seemed to bounce off you in a way they hadn’t before. And though Sevika remained as stoic as ever, you noticed a few lingering glances. One of those, when your paths crossed near the supply room, made your heart skip a beat.

You’d brought something with you that day. A bottle you’d managed to find tucked away in a dim corner of the bar. Old Deloux scotch—an obscure but highly sought-after bottle that everyone in the Undercity had heard about but few had actually seen. You knew it was a rare treat, and you’d caught Sevika eyeing it in the past, her face betraying the barest trace of longing when she mentioned it.

You slid the bottle across the counter toward her when she was in the middle of patching up a man with a nasty burn.

“Here,” you said, offering the bottle like an unspoken truce. “For you. I know you’ve been wanting to try this.”

Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t hesitate to take it, her fingers brushing yours just long enough for you to notice how unexpectedly warm they felt. She glanced at the label, her lips curling into something of an appreciative smirk.

“Where’d you get this?” Sevika’s voice was low, curious, the edges of her usual tough exterior softening.

You leaned back, crossing your arms and giving her a sly smile. “Well, being from Piltover has its advantages,” you said, leaning in just enough for the words to sink in.

She chuckled—a low, almost begrudging sound that was as rare as it was unexpected. “Always full of surprises, aren’t you?” she muttered, but there was something almost... grateful in her tone.

“You owe me nothing,” you said, your words laced with a quiet challenge. “But I figured you could use a bit of a break.”

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, and then, with a nod, she uncorked the bottle. "Don’t expect me to share," she said, but the playful glint in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t as serious as her words suggested.

For a moment, you could almost forget the tension, the lines between you, the things left unsaid. For just a moment, it felt like a step toward something uncharted, something unspoken, something rare.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be worth exploring—whatever it was.

[bratzbrat]

Hi sweetheart, sorry to keep requesting from you this is my third one already, feel free not to do it if your not up to it

I’ve been having a really shitty day and honestly I try so hard but I feel like nobody appreciates that effort, so if I could have just Kats comfort and saying he’s proud because I just really need to hear it rn 😭 ik it’s kind of pathetic but idk

-💫

hope this helps bug💫 it's not pathetic to me, sometimes u just need to hear that someone's proud of u, whether they're real or not. if it'll mean anything to u, I'm proud of you. and it gets better. but katsuki has more to say to ya'. ;)

you toed off your shoes and dropped your bag on the floor, not bothering to pick it up as you clicked the door shut behind you and shuffled toward the couch.

your day had been brutal—nothing had gone right. and despite your best efforts, it felt like no one noticed, no one cared. you pressed your palms to your face, trying to push the tears back. crying felt stupid, but you couldn't stop the frustration from spilling over.

"oi," a familiar rasp pulled you out of your head. "the hell are you sittin' in the dark for?"

you looked up to see katsuki standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his blond hair still damp from a shower, a towel slung over his shoulder. he frowned as he stepped closer, flipping on the lamp beside the couch.

"what's wrong?" he asked, a bit softer after he saw you, concern written all over his face.

"nothing," you muttered, trying to sound dismissive, but your shaky voice betrayed you.

katsuki knelt in front of you, his hands resting on your knees. "don't gimme that crap," he spat, "i know when somethin's wrong. so spit it out."

you hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip... "i just… i'm tired, kats," you admitted, barely above a whisper. "i try so hard, but it feels like nobody sees it. nobody cares. i don't even know why i bother sometimes."

his frown deepened, and he reached up to gently pull your hands away from your face. "look at me," he said firmly. when you didn't immediately comply, he repeated, softly, "c'mon, look at me."

you hesitantly raised your head to face him "listen," he said, his hands warm on your knees. "i don't give a damn what anyone else sees or doesn't see. i see you. i see how hard you work, how much you put into everything. and i'm tellin' you right now, i'm proud of you."

your throat tightened, and a tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. he reached up, brushing it away with his thumb. "you hear me? you're doin' enough, and i'm proud of you for it."

you let out a shaky breath, more tears following as the weight on your chest began to lift. katsuki shifted, sitting beside you on the couch and he pulled you into his arms. he held you close, one hand gently rubbing your back while the other cradled your head against his shoulder.

"it's okay to be tired," he murmured, "it's okay to feel like shit sometimes. but don't you ever think for a second that what you're doin' doesn't matter. it matters to me, alright?"

you nodded against his shoulder, the warmth of his embrace grounding you. "thank you," you whispered.

"tch," he scoffed softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "don't thank me, idiot. just let me take care of you for a bit." and he peppered your face in soft kisses. (＾ｖ＾)

masterlist.

[rosewood-cafe]

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand's sister.

AN: Omg, I have never written for Eris before, and I am so nervous. Sorry if the ending seemed rushed, I am planning for a part two, but it will take me a long time to do lol.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

The sound of blood trickling down your back and onto the cold stone floor filled your ears. Drip Drip Drip. Another involuntary back spasm had you writhing with pain. Bile burned your throat as you empty out the contents of your stomach onto the floor next to you. Not having enough strength to move further away nor care to. Your cell was dark and cold. There was a small metal fireplace in the back. The fire was down to cinders and ash mocking you with false hope of warmth.

You were going to die here, you thought. Your wounds still have not healed yet. You had no proper clothing to fight off the cold, and you were stripped bare except for a pair of raggedy trousers. Shame hit you, clawing its way up through your chest. If the wounds would not kill you, you would surely die from the embarrassment alone. Being put on display in front of everyone, stripped, and had her wings taken. Even someone as powerful as the 'Princess of the Night Court' could not have saved her wings.

You wanted to laugh at the irony. You fought against Tamlin and his father to keep your wings, only for them to be ripped away years later. A small laugh escaped your throat at the cruel twist of fate. Hours had passed, yet you still bled, your fingers growing numb. Unstoppable tremors racked your body from the shock and cold still running its course. This must be what Hell is, you just knew it.

"I am going to die here." You finally admitted to yourself, tears collecting in your eyes. Dripping down your face in a steady stream, no matter how hard you tried to stop them. Screams echoed through the cell bringing you back to the harsh reality, you are still under the mountain, and you are going to die here.

'Where is Rhy's?" You thought of your older brother, surely he would gave come to help you out by now? No, you thought. There has not been a scrape at your mental sheilds, or no quick visits like times before. Just absolutely nothing since the... latest punishment. You trembled harder, knocking your upper back into the makeshift bed making you cry out in agony. Your wounds bleeding harder from the force, making you dizzy. A scrape of metal on stone grabbed your attention, and your eyes snapped up to the intruder.

"Hello, little Fawn." You looked towards the intruder with wary eyes, desperately trying to stay awake and aware. Your eyes caught the signature fiery red hair and those piercing amber eyes. Eris Vanserra was in your cell. You threw your arms over your bare chest, feeling the sharp claws of embarrassment digging into you once again. His eyes raked over your body, sending icy chills down your spine. A small whimper of pain escaped your lips at the slight movement.

"What are you doing here?!" you all but growled at the Autumn heir. A smirk formed on his lips as he stepped further in and shut the heavy door. You retreated further back into the cell, "G-Get out!" you hissed, venom laced in your voice. He ignored you, his eyes raking over you once again, noticing the blood pooling underneath you. Too much blood, he thought to himself. He wondered how you had even lasted this long bleeding out. "Where is Rhysand?" he asked. "Or does being Amarantha's whore take more priority than his dying sister?" You narrowed your eyes in warning. You knew of Rhys's sacrifices and the game he has to play. Amarantha's whore is a title he will bear for the rest of his life. Your eyes fell towards the stone floor before answering.

"I do not know where he is," you finally say after a few seconds of silence. He lets out a humorless laugh. "His precious little sister, Princess of the Night Court, lies on death's door, and he doesn't even bother to show up for your last moments?" You huff in annoyance, "Don't act like the Vanserras are anything but cruel. I would be careful, Eris. You have a mighty fine bounty on your head. I'm just waiting to see which brother takes it for his own personal gain."

"I doubt you'll get to see it, considering you'll be dead before the morning rises," he stated, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. As if on cue, another tremor hits you full force, and you scream out in agony. "If you only came here to insult me and my brother, You. Can. Leave." you gritted out slowly, the pain seeping back into your body. You let your arms fall from your chest, leaning over to your cot to rest your aching head. Eris studied you for a moment with a calculated stare. "I can help you if you like." A flame appears in his hands, its light casting eerie shadows on the cell walls. "I am no healer, but I can at least stop the bleeding with my flames." You remained quiet, until a scoff interrupts the stretched silence. "Unless you rather die? Let me see your wounds." Not a request, but a demand.

"Why do you care? I'm almost dead anyway," you ask, tears lining your eyes once again. He takes a tentative step towards you, his mask of indifference faltering. "Because you do not deserve to die here." Another step closer. "Because you deserve a better fate than this." He was in front of you now. "Because you do not yield, not now, not ever." Seeing you in this vulnerable state unnerved, Eris; he didn't know why he had offered his help to you. It was, as if he was under a spell, a string tied to his rib, drawing him towards you. Perhaps witnessing you this broken, stirred an emotion he thought had been snuffed out years ago. He did not, could not dwell on the feeling now. A frustrated tear steamed down your face as you let out a shaky breath. "Okay." You said, you feel like you shouldn't trust him, but the way his words seem so sincere... fuck it. You put your trust into Eris Vanserra, and hope it wouldn't bite you in the ass later.

His shoulders sagged slightly with relief as you turned your back to him, revealing your wounds. Eris walked over to the fireplace and with a flick of his wrist, ignited a small fire. "This will not last long; it's nearly all ash," he said. "But I need the light to see your wounds." He moved behind you. "May I?" he asked before touching you. You let out a small hum. "Words, Fawn." You let your head drop, "Yes." You stated weakly, the adrenaline, finally wearing off. He puts his hands on your shoulders and gets on his knees.

"I have dreamed of burning you and your Court with my flames, but never like this," he said, his voice carrying an emotion you couldn't quite decipher. "Forgive me Y/n, for, my flames aren't so forgiving." He places his large calloused hands onto your back. Your back was ablaze with searing flames, the agony so intense it made Aramantha's torture seem like child's play. A guttural scream tore from your throat, accompanied by scalding tears streaming down your face. You were engulfed in unbearable torment. "Stop moving so much," Eris grunted, firmly pressing an arm across your chest to keep you still as he continued his grim task. Your throat felt raw from the incessant screaming, the pain blinding and merciless. The acrid stench of burning flesh was so overwhelming, you feared you might vomit. You gripped onto Eris's forearm as a sob fell from your lips. "Stop! I-I Can't!" You almost pleaded with him, Eris let out a curse under his breath as you bucked against his hold.

"You can, and you will," he snapped at you, his brow furrowed in concentration, a bead of sweat trickling down his face. Blood smeared his hands and stained his clothes. "I am almost done," he muttered, more to himself than to you. The cell door suddenly swung open, crashing against the stone wall with a resounding thud. Eris froze, his eyes darting towards the door. Finally, he released his grip on you, and you exhaled in relief.

"What the hell are you doing to my sister?!" Rhys's voice thundered through the room, his fury radiating like a palpable force. "Rhys..." you whispered weakly, your strength ebbing away. You collapsed onto your side, letting the darkness envelop you completely.

[frudoo]

Husband Kyle has my heart

Warnings: Baby is sick (teething). Heavy topics: postpartum depression, allusions to self-harm/suicidal ideation (but none actually). Smut at the end—cunnilingus. Tagging as DDDNE although it’s not a dark!fic. Fem!Reader.

MDNI

Baby boy has not stopped screaming since he woke up at the crack of dawn this morning. The fever and runny nose are making him miserable, and you’re positive he’s trying to cut a tooth with how much he’s been gnawing on your fingers. Kyle, bless him, has been called away to the base since early yesterday, leaving you to care for the unwell infant in your arms all alone. It’s uncertain when he’ll return home. Usually, the work of being a stay-at-home-mom doesn’t bother you, but today just feels overwhelming.

Postpartum hasn’t been the best experience for you and without the usual support from your husband, it feels like your world is caving in and you and the baby you’re supposed to feel an abundance of empathy for are buried beneath the rubble. It makes you feel terrible, because you do love your baby, but every piercing little screech that leaves his tiny throat makes you want to rip your ears out. Setting him down only makes him fussier but your arms are exhausted and your head is pounding.

Defeatedly and with much guilt, you carefully set the fragile boy into his bassinet and shut the door to your bedroom. You turn on the baby monitor but lower the volume so you can make sure he’s alright without having to hear the shrieks. As you sit on the couch, the weight of your stress finally gets to you in the form of an ache in your chest and an abundance of tears bursting from your waterline. Burying your head in your hands, you can’t stop the sobs that escape you. In your grief you don’t hear the front door open or Kyle step inside.

“Fuck, dove, wha’ ‘appened?” Your husband is frantic, tossing aside his duffel bag and rushing to kneel where you sit on the couch.

The sound of his voice startles you, making you jump. Kyle steadies you with two strong hands on your waist, keeping you sat and encouraging you to explain the situation.

“I-I didn’t know what else to do,” you weep, and he cups your face with shaking palms.

“Baby, baby, talk t’me. Wha’s goin’ on?” You know your husband, and you know he’s thinking the absolute worst—it’s evident by the tremble in his voice and the way he yanks up your sleeves to check for injury.

“Did y’take summat? Dove, y’gotta tell me if y’did, now.”

You shake your head vigorously, trying to calm his nerves. It does little to help.

“N-no! The baby, Ky, he hates me!” You wail, grabbing the monitor and shoving it into Kyle’s hand. “I’ve tried- tried everything! Teething gel, Tylenol, d-decongestant salve… he just won’t calm down and I-I know it’s because I-I’m a- I’m a bad mom.”

Kyle’s heart aches at your words, and he makes sure to keep one of your hands in his as he looks down at the screen. The three-month-old is sleeping peacefully, sucking on his thumb without a care in the world. Your husband smiles a little, turning the monitor over to allow you to see the once screeching babe now at peace in his crib. Your eyebrows furrow and you take the device from his hand, raising the volume. Sure enough, tiny snores sound through the speaker and it makes you gasp slightly.

“H-he’s been…” you trail off, not wanting to seem crazy to the man you love. “I swear, he’s been inconsolable-”

“I believe ya, dove. Little guy was jus’ sleepy, yeah?” Kyle softly interrupts, stroking his thumb over the swell of your cheekbone. “He doesn’t hate ya, swee’heart, and you’re sure as hell no’ a bad mum.”

Your husband stands from the floor, carefully helping you off the couch so you stand as well. He nuzzles his nose against yours sweetly but lets you make the first move, chapped lips meeting full, pillowy ones. He allows you to take the lead, never going too far or holding back too much—just giving you the exact amount of comfort you need from him for as long as you desire. He massages your shoulders when you pull away from the kiss with a wet click, rich molasses eyes boring into yours.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, but Kyle shakes his head, swiping your bottom lip with his thumb.

“None o’tha’. Bein’ a mum is ‘ard work and you’re doin’ a bloody brilliant job. M’jus’ sorry I can’t be ‘ere with ya f’all of it.” Kyle whispers, wiping away the fresh tears that spill down your cheeks. “I love y’so much. I don’t tell ya tha’ enough.”

“You do,” you assure him, leaning in for another tender kiss. “I love you, too, Ky.”

“I’m so proud o’ya, dove.”

A kiss…

“My strong, beautiful wife.”

And another.

“Fuckin’ hell of a woman.”

Kyle’s fingertips dance along the sides of your neck, dimpling the flesh just enough to make you gasp.

“Gonna le’ me show ya ���ow much I appreciate ya?”

Wandering hands move down to grope your full breasts over the milk-stained jumper you wear. You can feel their warmth even through the fabric layer separating skin from skin, and it makes you shudder. His eyes scan your face for any signs of discomfort and you realize you never answered him. Nodding, your fingers tangle into the hem of his shirt, still smelling like heavy machinery and day-old sweat—to you, it smells like heaven. Kyle chuckles, the pads of his thumbs rubbing circles over your pebbled nipples.

“Back on the couch, dove,” he instructs with a grunt, walking you backwards until the insides of your knees hit the cushion.

Instantly he’s on his knees once more, taking his time to push up your sweatshirt and tug off your panties, biting his lip at the sight of your cunt already glistening. Your husband leans in to take a whiff before pressing a long kiss to your labia. His stubble is dewy with your arousal when he pulls back to look up at you.

“Poor thing, so stressed. M’gonna help y’relax, swee’heart.”

Dexterous thumbs spread you open for his enjoyment. At the first lick from your entrance to your throbbing clit the two of you moan in sync. Your fingernails scratch at his scalp as Kyle wraps his lips around your sensitive nub, suckling softly, but the feeling sends electric sparks shooting throughout your body. His hands travel to your thighs and hoist them over his shoulders so that he’s entirely surrounded by you.

“S’fuckin’ sweet,” his voice rumbles against your pussy, the vibrations damn near making you wail.

His hot tongue dips into your clenching hole, gathering your slick to swallow down like honey. You’re already right on the precipice, grinding your hips against his pretty face, and it only encourages him to quicken his ministrations. Kyle drags his slippery tongue back up to your clit, giving it tight circles as he sucks it into his mouth once again. Chocolate eyes stare up at you in a silent plea to give him his fill, let him take you over the edge.

Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, violently, when you cum, heady rasps of pleasure leaving you as you squeeze your eyes shut. He works you through your high, licking and humming and savoring every little tremor that rocks through you. He only stops once your body goes limp, pressing a plethora of kisses along your spent seam as he gently removes your thighs from his shoulders. Kyle stands and carefully guides you to lay on the couch, your head resting on a pillow as he covers you with the blanket that was draped along the back of the furniture.

As if right on cue, the colicky infant starts to cry as soon as you get comfortable. Your heart races as you move to stand, but your husband stops you with a palm on your chest.

“No, dove, y’need ta get some sleep. Stay righ’ ‘ere, and I’ll take care o’the little guy,” Kyle leaves no room for argument, leaning down to press a prolonged kiss to your forehead. “I love ya.”

“I love you, Kyle.”

Sleep comes easy.

[desideriumwriter]

Anyone But You | Chapter 14

Summary: You avoid the tension between you and Fred, you end up sobbing again, and make a decision that you're not sure if it was a mistake.

CW: crying, kissing, yelling

WC: 1.8k

A/N: a shortie but it's the moment you all have been waiting for! somewhat

Series Masterlist | F.W Masterlist | Previous| Next | Navi

You really didn’t mean to stay this many days at the burrow. But you surprisingly didn’t miss your bed all that much. And you were having fun.

Angelina had gone home before lunch, Lee was staying for one more day, and Harry was staying for the rest of break as per usual.

You felt bad for him.

You had shared the same loss, but you felt worse for Harry than anyone else. He was the one to see Cedric die. Then he had to go and battle a dark wizard, and bring the corpse back with him.

Remembering that he was younger than you made it worse, dealing with all that at fourteen obviously is going to take awhile to recover from.

It seemed that the both of you tried not to dwell too much on it, not wanting to think about it, and using this time at the Weasleys as a way to distract your thoughts from that event.

Harry didn’t want to remind you of what happened and you didn’t want to remind Harry of what happened. You still asked how one another were doing and responded to each other in small group conversations at the table. But really no more than that.

Anyways, you’re trying not to dwell on it. This a vacation, you should be happy.

You did your best to act normal around Fred, trying to act as if you haven’t cried in his arms twice, and slept in his bed twice, sharing the bed one of those times.

The hardest thing to ignore was that feeling in your stomach any time he was near to you.

You're not sure when it started, nor how long you’ve been ignoring it. Maybe months? That’s quite terrifying, you won’t think about it too much.

The day was simple. You ate breakfast, watched both of the twins along with Lee and Harry play Quidditch, the twins already using the beaters bats you got them. Lee offered to switch places with you, seeing if you’d like to play a round with everyone. You refused, terrified you wouldn’t be able to dodge a ball in time or fall off your broom and end up with a broken arm.

You all went inside eventually, talked, watched TV, ate lunch, talked some more, watched TV some more, watched everyone play Quidditch some more, ate dinner, talked more.

Nothing very exciting happened most of the day, except when Lee was able to hit George right in the nose with a scone from the other side of the table.

Also, you were actually able to make conversation with the twins without getting annoyed every other minute. That was new.

Other than that, nothing super important happened for most of the day.

Once you went upstairs to change, you realized that you underestimated how many days you’d stay when you packed your bag.

You were out of fresh pajama shirts, you weren’t in the mood to wear the same shirt you’ve chosen to sleep in the past two nights.

It wasn’t ideal, but you just decided to keep on the shirt you had on all day and sleep in that, changing into a new pair of pajama pants.

Leaving the room and passing the twins room, you noticed a light on and the door was cracked open, it’s usually shut.

Peaking your head in carefully, you saw Fred standing and hunched over on his desk, focused as he wrote something on a piece of paper. Probably a new idea.

Pushing the door open a bit more, it squeaked and you cringed at the sound. Fred’s head slowly looked to where you were. He smiled.

“Will you be joining me in my bed again tonight?” He teased, a sarcastic suggestive tone in this voice.

“You got lucky last night, don’t push it Weasley.” You stepped fully into the room, crossing your arms. Fred noticed and looked down at your shirt, his eyebrows creasing inwards for a moment.

“Is that the same shirt you’ve worn today?”

“Oh, yeah. I ran out of sleep shirts. This will do for now.” You shrugged, moving a hand to play with the hem of your shirt.

Fred didn’t say anything, he went over to his dresser and opened the top drawer, the wrong drawer. You got a glimpse of his boxers and immediately looked away. He slammed in shut with panic in his eyes, then clearing his throat as he opened the one underneath.

He pulled out an old shirt, it had a faded logo of some band he liked when he was prepubescent.

“Here, you can use this for the night.” He held out the shirt for you, you took it with a hesitant hand.

Looking down at it and rubbing the finger over the fabric, you bit your cheek. Feeling guilty all of sudden, about so much.

“Fred, why are you being so nice to me?” The words tumbled quickly out of your mouth, sounding painful.

“What?”

“I’ve been so horrible to you, all these years I've been so bitter and mean. Yet, you just let me in. You never held an actual grudge against me. I don’t get it.” You looked up at him, laying the folded shirt on the dresser next to you.

“Y/N, I don’t understand what you’re saying.” He stepped closer to you. He was so close. So close.

“Why can't you just be mad at me? Why can't you hate me the way I’ve hated you.” You whined, shoving him slightly, praying you would finally scare him away, make him despise you. 

Fred held your arms once you tried to push him away again, rubbing your thumbs over your wrists, and weakly saying your name.

“I could never hate you.” Fred spoke softly, you let out a breath of frustration and dropped your hands from his light grasp, wishing he would just tell the truth. He already was. 

“I don’t know why. Maybe it’s ‘cause I understood, I am annoying and I am a bit of an arsehole sometimes with my pranks.” He chuckled and you let out a breathy laugh.

“I just don’t know Y/N, I just can’t hate you.”

“Godric, why are you doing this to me Fred?” You groaned, dropping your head to his chest, leaning against him. 

“I don’t know. I can’t help it.” Fred shook his head as he gently placed his hands on the sides of your face, holding it up to his gaze. You clenched your teeth together.

Can't help what? Can’t help what, Fred? You wanted to push so bad, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Scared to know his response.

His eyes were glazed over, and he took in a shaky breath. You stared at his soft lips, the sides of lips curled down.

He looked so fucking beautiful. You hated him for it.

And you didn't know why you did it. All you knew was that in that moment, while staring into his infuriating eyes and glancing down at his lips that were curled into a frown, you wanted to kiss him. 

Air rushed out of his lungs as you did. It was strange, you expected anger, definitely regret, but all you felt was satisfaction.

Fred took a second before he pushed back into the kiss, his hands still cupping your face. Yours ran through his hair.

That yearning, the strange feeling of waiting you both held in your bodies for so long finally felt relieved as your lips opened and closed around each other.

You’d slept in his bed last night, now you were practically making out with him. What the hell were you doing?

Fred was the first to pull away, his chest heaving and swollen lips. Fred didn’t look regret-filled either but he also didn’t look ecstatic or happy. 

He looked…unsure, which was exactly how you felt. 

His eyes darted all along your face, taking in your features, analyzing them, trying to figure out what your puzzling expression was. 

Though you knew what you wanted to do, you wanted to kiss him again. You leaned in then stopped yourself, pushing yourself completely away from him.

“Oh no. No, no, no.” You mumbled repeatedly to yourself, stress taking over your face as you pressed the balls of your palms against your eyes. “What am I doing?”

Fred whispered your name, disappointed at your sudden denial. You stared at him with puffy eyes, the lamp showed the shine of a tear that fell down his face. The guilt was eating at you now.

“Fred…we can’t. I can’t….I just. Fuck.” You rubbed your hands down your face, nearly running out the room and down the steps. Fred followed suit but stopped at the doorway of his room. Watching you dart away once again, you didn’t stop moving until you were outside.

Fred stepped back and rubbed a hand against his cheek, then using two fingers to wipe his watering eyes.

You sat on the wooden bench outside, your back against the table connected to it. Hunched over with your head in your hands.

With no idea of what you were doing, what you just did, and why you ran out on Fred, you moved your hands from your head to your face.

You were a complete idiot. A complete and utter asshole for what you were doing. You’ve begun to mess with Fred’s head as much as he’s been messing with yours.

You wouldn’t blame him if he held a forever grudge against you for this, you’d understand if he began to resent you.

The door leading into the kitchen creaked open. You brought your head up slowly, even though you really didn’t want to. Knowing who it would be.

“Hey.” Fred had his hands tucked into his pockets, a painfully awkward look on his face. He couldn’t meet your eyes. “You okay?”

“I don’t think I deserve to be asked that.” You let out a breathy laugh. Fred puffed out his bottom lip and shrugged. Moving to sit down next to you on the bench.

The two of you sat in silence, you sat up fully, resting your hand in your lap and fiddling your fingers.

“I didn’t mean to run away like that. I just wasn’t sure what to do.”

“I get it, there was a lot happening in one moment.” Fred lied, he honestly didn’t get it. He wondered why you couldn’t just come to your senses with your feelings.

“It was rude of me though. I’m just not sure about anything really.” You sighed.

Fred rested his hand over yours in a sympathetic way.

“How about we just stay here, as friends? It’d be really nice to call you my friend after all these years.” He chuckled. “I’m just glad we’re not at each other's throats anymore.”

“Yeah. Yeah we can be friends.” You nodded slightly, voice hoarse when the words came out.

“Okay.” A weak grin took over his face.

“Okay.”

It’s hard to stay as friends when you’ve already kissed him.

tell me what you thought here! <3 or ask tba to the taglist for this series!

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@hornyforyourb1tch

[astr-venus]

｡⁠☆Early｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+⁠ 

｡⁠☆Cw: suggestive, she/her, black reader, swearing

Katsuki came home from work early today. Not that you were aware. You, who's still in the middle of cooking dinner while blasting some song that Katsuki can't understand. It's melodic, smooth, and so so sensual. Katsuki may not be able to understand the English song lyrics, but just from the sound he can get the gist.

You don't have the best singing voice in your own opinion, but Katsuki is entranced just from the sound of it carrying through your shared home. He feels like he's floating as slowly follows the melody through the house, not bothering to take off anything except his shoes. He completely skips past the bedroom as well, uncomfortable clothes be damned, all he can think about is seeing you.

It's like a weight lifted when you enter his sight, and simultaneously a brick is placed in his chest. He just barely peaks around the corner, not wanting to interrupt your gentle singing, nor your sybaritic dancing.

It's not like he's never seen you dance before, and by no means are you genuinely shy — plus with enough liquor in your system anything is possible — but it's different seeing you in your element. He can't control how thickly he swallows, or the heat rushing in his chest and his cheeks. He fears he resembles some sort of stupid looking tomato, and god it's so embarrassing how worked up he still gets just from looking at you. He feels like an idiotic high schooler who can't keep it in his pants. Fuck, he feels so full of disgustingly mushy emotions he doesn't know what to do with it all. Katsuki swears he'll kill you if you don't get to him first.

He swallows again watching you rub your hands up your body as you whine your hips in the air. The stove lighting feels more like a spotlight as he stares, your brown skin seeming to glisten in the yellow-orange glow. He has half a mind to just wander into your bedroom and relieve himself before you even know he's home, but tearing his eyes away feels like a crime.

With a flourish you swing your hair around, giggling at yourself when the stiff parts of your curls barely move an inch. You let out a shriek when you finally catch Katsuki standing in the door way, one of the knives you used to chop vegetables seeming to magically appear in your hands. Call Katsuki crazy if you want to, but he can feel his body practically catch on fire when the tip of your knife just barely catches his Adams apple.

What can he say. It's hot as fuck that you know how to protect yourself, whether you're a prohero or not. If he has to go out this way, surrounded by the smell of the dinner his girlfriend cooked him, her eyes glinting with something both powerful and dangerous, well he'd say he must have some damn good karma. Fuck all that dying as a martyr shit, this is the best way to be sent to the grave by far.

"Katsuki..." You sigh, panic easing out of your muscles as you lower the knife. "You can't scare me like that."

Katsuki scowls, trying to hide the real reason his face is burning. "Shut the fuck up. You're the one waving that shit around. What have I told you about situational awareness, dumbass?"

He regrets his words as soon as your little frown over takes your features. He may have been a little harsh, damn it. It didn't even help either, his whole body still feels like it's on fire.

"Bad day at work, Katsu?"

You put the knife back on the counter, and bring your hands up to his face, because of course you do. Katsuki is already having a hard time keeping himself in check, and now you have to look at him with your stupid fucking sweet soft eyes. His chest feels like it's caving in on itself you're just making it worse. The worst part about it, is he even kind of likes it. God fucking damn it.

Katsuki places his hand behind your head and shoves your face into his chest, not able to look you in the eye when you're staring so tenderly. Your hands move downwards to rest on his back, allowing both of you to hold each other close. Katsuki scoffs.

"Didn't I tell you to shut the fuck up?"

You giggle, and Katsuki decides for the who-knows-how-many-th time that he wants to hear that sound for the rest of his life. He doesn't know what he would do without your stupid fucking smile.

Woohoo !! Second post !!

Katsuki feels so much cuteness aggression that he literally gets a hard on. That's it. That's the fic.

I would say "someone save his poor soul 😔" but I fear you are what salvation looks like to him so there'd be no point.

｡⁠☆Requests open

[luvzshy]

hi! can you make a fic about billie and reader meeting at a nightclub and and catching each other’s eyes from across the room leading to them spending a night together? they both know it might be the first and last time they ever see each other and don’t want the night to be over because of the chemistry and passion they share.

One Night Only

Word Count: ~1,000

Summary: A chance encounter at a nightclub leads to an unforgettable night between you and Billie. The chemistry is undeniable, the passion electric, and the connection fleeting. You both know this might be the first and last time you see each other, but for one night, you let yourselves indulge completely.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, and consensual one-night stand dynamics.

The nightclub was alive with heat, pulsing lights, and a bassline that seemed to vibrate through your entire body. You didn’t even want to come tonight, but the moment your eyes landed on her across the room, you knew why you had.

She stood out effortlessly, her oversized blazer draped perfectly over her frame, revealing just a hint of a lacy bralette underneath. Dark brown hair tied back, beautiful blue eyes scanning the room with lazy confidence—until they locked on you.

And then, it was like the rest of the world faded away.

Her gaze didn’t waver, sharp and deliberate. A faint smirk curled on her lips, as if she already knew what she wanted. And what she wanted was you.

Your drink forgotten on the bar, you made your way toward her, the crowd parting as if the universe was aligning to bring you closer. By the time you reached her, you could already feel the tension crackling between you like a live wire.

She didn’t bother with introductions, and neither did you. Her hand slid to your waist as she leaned in, her breath warm against your ear.

“Come with me,” she murmured, her voice low and commanding, sending a thrill down your spine.

You followed her without question, weaving through the crowd until she pushed open a door leading to a private hallway. The thrum of the music dulled as the door clicked shut behind you, but the air only grew heavier.

She backed you against the wall, her eyes raking over you hungrily. Her hand came up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just enough for her to lean in. The first kiss was anything but tentative—her lips crashed against yours with urgency, her tongue slipping past your lips like she’d been starving for this moment.

You moaned into her mouth, gripping the lapels of her blazer to pull her closer. She pressed her body against yours, her thigh sliding between your legs, and you gasped as she ground against you just enough to tease.

Her lips moved to your neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks that you knew you wouldn’t want to hide. “You’re driving me fucking crazy,” she growled against your skin, her hands already slipping under your top to find bare skin.

You didn’t bother with words, too caught up in the way her hands felt—firm, confident, exploring you like she already knew how to unravel you. Your shirt was off before you realized what was happening, and her lips were back on yours, her hands cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitive peaks.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your head falling back against the wall as her mouth trailed down, hot and open-mouthed kisses making their way to your chest.

She didn’t stop there. She dropped to her knees in one fluid motion, looking up at you with a wicked glint in her eyes. “You good?” she asked, her voice rough but still soft enough to check in.

“God, yes,” you breathed, barely recognizing your own voice.

Her hands made quick work of your pants, sliding them down along with your underwear in one smooth motion. The cool air hit you for only a moment before her tongue replaced it, warm and insistent as she licked a broad stripe through your folds.

Your knees buckled, and she chuckled, gripping your thighs to keep you steady. “Stay with me,” she teased before diving back in.

Her tongue moved with precision, flicking and circling your clit in ways that made you see stars. Your hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, and she moaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

You were already close, the coil in your stomach tightening with every movement of her mouth. And just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, she slid two fingers inside you, curling them perfectly to hit that spot that made you cry out.

“That’s it,” she murmured against you, her voice muffled but still clear. “Let me hear you.”

And you did. You couldn’t help it, the sounds spilling from your lips as she worked you over, her pace relentless but oh so perfect.

It didn’t take long before you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. Your body trembled, and she held you through it, her mouth never leaving you until you were too sensitive to take any more.

She stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, that same smirk playing on her lips. “You taste even better than I imagined,” she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

You pulled her into a desperate kiss, tasting yourself on her lips as your hands fumbled to return the favor. But she stopped you, her hands framing your face.

“Not here,” she said, her tone promising so much more. “My place.”

And just like that, the night wasn’t over. It had only just begun.

[professorsnape394]

DAY 13: Unexpected Encounters

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Rating: 🥰

Prompt: Journey

Summary: Snape is interrupted by a beautiful stranger on the journey to back to Hogwarts.

A/N: Feel like we're long over due for a cute lil fluffy piece, so here ya go :-) Comment if you're interested in a possible part 2 to this one?

Warnings:  None.

Word Count: 1977

Credits to Gif Creator.

The journey to Hogwarts was one of the few things that brought peace to Severus’ life. As a child, it meant finally escaping the wrath of his abusive father. As a teen, it meant getting to see his best friend after months spent apart. And as an adult, it meant escaping the loneliness of Spinner’s End where memories of his childhood still haunted him. Severus often spent the majority of the ride reading, occasionally turning his attention out the window to appreciate the scenic views of the Scottish Highlands; it was his last moment of peace before another year at Hogwarts spent surrounded by insufferable children and prying colleagues.

It was known by this point in his career that he liked to keep to himself on the train journey, and pretty much any other time, so the other professors granted him his privacy and left him to occupy a carriage alone. Which is why he was shocked to be interrupted such a short time into the journey.

The doors to the cabin shot open, rattling riskily in the frame. They parted to reveal an attractive young woman; dripping wet and gasping breathlessly.

“Oh, thank God.” She exhaled, shuffling her single suitcase through the doors, quickly abandoning it in the middle of the carriage, sparing no thought for Severus’ personal space.

“I’ve never seen a train so busy before. This is the first free carriage I’ve found today.”

“Did it never cross your mind that maybe there is a reason for that?” Severus droned, not bothering to look up from his book.

Ignoring his underhanded comment, Y/N immediately plonked herself down opposite him.

Barely a beat had passed before she started shedding herself of the sodden layers that had been protecting her from the adverse weather conditions outside. Hat, scarfs, jumpers and a thick woollen coat were quickly discarded to the space next to her. As she fumbled about with her gloves, Severus took the opportunity to evaluate her properly.

Despite seeming breathless, presumably from running late for the train, her pearly white smile had not yet faltered.

The rain had drowned her hair; soft waves becoming strings of tight curls, dripping puddles onto her previously dry shirt. Her pale cheeks flushed red from the harshness of the cold air. But what ultimately drew Severus in the most was her sparkling pale blue eyes, dazzling him with their glimmering curiosity as she too scrutinised him.

He arched a single brow in her direction, shaking himself from the daze she had induced in him.  

“Y/N.” She held her hand out for him to take.

 “Sorry?”

“That’s my name; Y/N.”

Severus’ eyes darted between the woman and the pages of his book, debating whether to engage. With a sigh he folded shut his book, but did not bother to accept her hand.

“A pleasure to meet you.” He sneered sarcastically.

“Ah, so you must be Severus.” She grinned. “The potion’s master I believe, I was always good potions in school.”

Snape’s interest piqued.

“How do you know who I am?”

“A family member told me.”

“The same one you are off to visit?”

“And how do you know I am visiting anyone?” It was her turn to raise an eyebrow at him.

“The size of your suitcase; you don’t plan on staying long.”

“Maybe I’m just a new professor who knows how to pack light.”

“You are not a professor.” He stated matter-of-factly, practically scoffing at the insinuation.

“I’m offended. I could be a professor if I wanted to.”

“You’re too young.” Severus looked her up and down; none of his colleagues looked like her.

“And what age were you when you first started teaching?” She challenged, folding her arms across her chest.  

Snape smirked. “You know a lot about me, when I know so little of you.”

“I do my research.” She smirked

“So, are you going to tell me?” He quickly side-tracked the conversation.

“Tell you what?”

“Who you’re visiting.”

“No.”

Severus shot her a questioning glance.

“Once I tell you, you’ll look at me differently.” Y/N explained.

“And how am I looking at you now?”

“…Curiously.”

Severus shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“I’m curious who you could possibly be visiting who would not also be accompanying you on the train.”

“You’ll find out soon enough, but I do not wish to rush the process.”

Severus sighed, sensing this was not an issue the woman would be moved on.

“I do not believe that a person’s parentage dictates who they are. Whatever I think of you now will not change once I discover who your relation is.”

“You say that now, but it’s not something you can control. It happens to everyone when they find out who I am.” The look in her eyes told him this was an issue that really bothered her.

Snape leaned back in his chair, eying the woman inquisitively. He found himself wanting to know everything about her, but was too nervous to ask anything at all.

Y/N broke eye contact first, hunching herself over to get access to her suitcase.

“What are you doing?” He questioned, watching an array of multi-coloured fabrics spill out of the trunk; his eyes caught on a particularly lacy garment before he averted his gaze, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“I’m looking forrrr… this!” She brandished a small tin box at him.

“And that is?”

“Cookies.” She grinned. “I never go on a long journey without baking myself a batch; their delicious, and a great conversation starter.”

She thrust the container out to him.

“I believe we have already started our conversation.”

“But their delicious.” She repeated, exaggerating her words. Severus’ eyes dropped to her peachy lips.

Sighing, he gave in and accepted the box from her.

“What are they?”

“Oatmeal and raisin.”

“You do not seem like an oatmeal and raisin type of girl.”

“And you do not seem like a triple chocolate chunk kind of guy. So be grateful I had some ingredients that I needed to get rid of. And I might have eaten all the chocolate myself before I had the chance to bake them.” She blushed.

Severus couldn’t help himself from smirking. The embarrassed look on her face refreshing to him after pinning her as an overconfident know-it-all. Plus, she looked adorable.

Her eyes widened at him.

“Are you smiling?” She gawked.

“I’ve been known to do that occasionally.”

“That’s not what I’ve been told.”

“Then you do not know everything, Miss …?” He waited for her to fill in the blank, she only shook her head in response.

“Why are you smiling.”

Severus thought for a moment if he wanted to expose himself for thinking she was adorable. It was too soon to show all of his cards so willingly, but he didn’t want to lie to the woman, so…

“Oatmeal and Raisin are my favourite cookies.” He admitted, finally plucking one from the box.

“Then the universe was on your side, Severus Snape. It’s destiny.”

Severus was beginning to think she wasn’t entirely wrong about that.

~

Chucking the half-eaten box of cookies to her, Y/N showed no intention of closing her suitcase and removing it from the middle of the floor. It had quickly become chaos in their carriage and it was slowly starting to get on Severus’ nerves.

“Does this chaos come naturally to you or is it a learned skill?” He quipped.

Y/N’s jaw dropped at his audacity.

“Is my mess bothering you, Severus?”

“It bothered me when you first barged your way in here. Now, it’s borderline unbearable to look at.” His eyes flicked back to the piece of black lingerie sticking out the side of her case.

The young woman bent over once more, tucking all of her garment away and finally zipped the case shut. She neatly folded her piles of scarfs and coat, placing the cookie tin squarely on top.

“Happy now?”

“I’d be more inclined to say yes, if 90% of the floor wasn’t still occupied by your suitcase. There are compartments for them, you know?”

“I know.”

“So, you’re actively choosing to be a nuisance?”

She blushed again, this time avoiding complete eye contact with him.

“I can’t reach, okay? And even if I could it’s far too heavy for me to lift on my own.”

Severus grunted, satisfied with her excuse.

He stood to his full height, grabbing the handle of her case with ease.

“What are you doing?”

“Clearing some space.”

“You’re helping me?” She said, shocked, watching him lift her suitcase into the overhead compartment.

“I’m putting my mind at ease. I cannot sit for much longer in such cramped confines.”

“Strong as well as smart.” She teased. “You’re not at all the man I imagined.”

“Don’t speak too soon. Your opinion will surely change when we arrive at Hogwarts.”

“Why would it change?”

“Because I am not the man you think I am.”

“But you are the man you have shown me to be.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.”

“I’m very sure. You are more this man, than the man I have heard stories about. You have entertained me this entire journey when you simply could have chosen to ignore me. You gain nothing by helping me.”

“You’re wrong.” He raised the last quarter of his cookie to her, before popping it into his mouth with a smirk.

“I don’t care who you show me you are when we get to Hogwarts Severus. It will not change my opinion of you.”

“What is your opinion of me.” He couldn’t help but ask.

“I like you. You’re a good man, behind all of those scowls and sneers.”

Severus wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He had never illicit this reaction from a stranger before, in fact most people didn’t even bother to introduce themselves now adays. His reputation often proceeded him, in the worst possible way.

“Tell me who you’re visiting.” He ventured again.

“No.”

“Why not.”

“I told you; I don’t want- “

“You don’t want me to look at you differently. But how can you still say that after everything you have just said to me.”

“Because it is not me that you’re forming an opinion of. My last name carries more weight than my personality could ever compete with.”

Severus didn’t push the subject anymore, after all, he would find out shortly. The train wasn’t far off its final destination, and Snape found himself wanting to savour what little time they had left together before they seemingly became two entirely different people.

They chatted about a wide variety of subjects ranging from Potions, to the views outside, to what else Y/N loved to bake. Talking to her was easy, like playing a game of tennis; one person set up the serve for the other to rebuttal with perceived ease, each of them trying their best to throw the other off their game, challenging them both the new heights they might never have otherwise reached.

When they pulled into the station Severus helped Y/N out with her case, allowing her to pile back on her layers of protection from the cold. They stepped off the train in line with each other, unsure of how to begin to part ways.

“There you are!” Minerva McGonagall’s familiar voice screeched through the crowds of excitable students. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you; your grandfather wanted me to escort you to the castle. Let’s go Miss Dumbledore.”

Y/N stared into Severus eyes, looking truly defeated. Severus nodded simply in understanding.

“Will I see you again?” She dared to ask.

“I hope so, Miss Dumbledore.” Severus smiled. “I enjoyed getting to know the real you.”

Y/N beamed up at the Potion’s Master, shaking his hand goodbye.

Severus watched on as she disappeared through crowds of children and the steam of the train’s engine.

He really hoped he would see her again.

.

.

.

Taglist:

@ayamenimthiriel @lizlil @entirelymesmerising @mikariell95 @snapefiction @a-queen-and-her-throne @amazingzou @peridot-pineapple @snapesno1thighrider @kittenlittle24 @forfaehou @caseydoodles98

[jam3sacaster]

“I’m gonna have ‘ta punish ya’.”

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by darling anon 🫶🏽 / You and Declan butt heads, and then some…

Set just after the pageant, messed with the timeline a lil i think but I managed to work the punch in another way <3

18+ FANFIC / SMUT GALORE, angsty & lots of swearing. Fairly long and very HEAVY smut, sorry x Declan you horny bastard, we love you. Reader character aged 21.

As always, request what you wanna see in the ask box 💋

“I can’t just stop working for Corinium, Declan. You cannot just waltz into my life and expect me to give everything up for you!” You shout, feeling rage seep through your veins. Declan and Rupert have been cooking up a ridiculous idea within an hour, desperate to overthrow Baddingham’s Machiavellian reign of television. “They have my balls in a fuckin’ vice, my love,”

“No, they HAVEN’T! You have thrown a ridiculous temper tantrum, on television, because you are so determined to get your own way because you’re a selfish, stubborn bastard.” You interject, slamming your reddened palms on the dinner table, face contorting in fury. “They want me to sell my fuckin’ soul, babe. To sit and judge these fuckin’ superficial pageants whilst that cunt Vereker gets MY spot on my fuckin’ show.” The Irishman bellows, leaning across the table and pointing his finger dangerously close to your face. Declan O’Hara is fucking scary when he’s angry, but my God is he sexy.

Rupert leans against the counter top, remaining silent in embarrassment. It was certainly better for everyone that way. Steaming with rage, you sit back in your seat, stray hairs sticking to the beading sweat on your forehead. “You can’t keep behaving like this, Declan. Like a fucking child.” You tut, avoiding eye contact with him. Declan frustratedly rakes a hand through his slicked hair before pouring himself an intoxicatingly large unit of whiskey. “I’m sure you can coax Tony into some amicable solution. It’s blatant he wants to fuck you. He would do anything for someone willing to open their legs for him.” Rupert pipes up and gestures towards you, cigarette smoke creating an ashy veil across his face. An excruciating silence ensued. Your eyes widened in absolute horror — Declan would certainly not take kindly to this joke. Rupert should’ve kept his mouth shut.

“You fucking what?” Declan asked him, walking towards him slowly, eyes frenzied with wrath. “Calm down, Declan, it was just a joke.” Rupert chuckled, offering his hands up in defeat. “What did ya’ fuckin’ say?” Declan asked again, containing to walk towards him until they were nose-to-nose. Another incredibly painful silence— even Rupert didn’t dare speak. After a few seconds, he opened his mouth to speak but Declan swung at him, landing a brutal punch with a wet smack. “DECLAN.” You bellow, grabbing his muscular arm and pulling him towards you. “Get out, Rupert. I’m so sorry, but just go home.” You shake your hands frantically as Rupert pulls himself from the floor and ushers himself out, clutching his face in agony.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” You scream, voice croaking under the pressure. You push Declan away from you as soon as you hear the front door click. “Ya’ t’ink I’m gonna let him talk about ‘ya like ‘dat? Talk about ‘ya spreadin’ ya’ legs for tha’ CUNT Tony?” Declan matches your enraged tone, pacing around the kitchen table but maintaining eye contact with you. You couldn’t reply to this. He was wildly protective of you — often infuriatingly so, but he could barely stand to see another man so much as look at you. Rupert’s joke was way too far.

“My job is turnin’ me into a fuckin’ laughin’ stock, you t’ink I’m a joke and you’re wavin’ your fuckin’ arse around in front of Tony.” He howled again, enraging himself with his own words. “Oh, fuck off Declan.” You spit, pushing yourself out of your chair and beginning to abandon the kitchen. “Don’t walk away from me.” He tuts, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards him. “Don’t fucking touch me.” You scream and the words can barely leave your mouth — a pathetic mixture of anger and despair. “I am fucking sick of you!” You immediately regret the words as Declan’s top lip curls in vexation. Oh fuck.

•

He hurtles towards you, pushing you towards the wall and almost taking you off of your feet. You close an eye, internally preparing yourself for the crescendo of noise he is about to create. Instead, he collides his lips onto yours, grunting in annoyance as his tongue pushes his way into your mouth. Feeling yourself melt under his touch, Declan’s hand rides under your blouse, ripping it off from the inside and exposing your bare chest — perky breasts wobbling with the force and nipples hard from arousal. The bristles of his moustache send a quiver down your spine as he kisses down your chest before taking your left nipple into his mouth: swirling around the pink bud and sucking it softly. A stifled whimper escapes your lift as you lift your hand to his trousers, rubbing across his hardening bulge.

“Bend over.” Declan demands, pulling away from you and pushing you gently towards the dining table. Hesitantly, you do as you’re told and bend over the table, skirt riding up your thighs. Not that it matters too much, as it was promptly yanked down, exposing your bare arse to the man that owned it. Running his rough hand across the right cheek, Declan smacked it firmly, the harsh noise of skin on skin reverberating across the room. “Ya’ do know I’m gonna have ta’ punish ya’.” He growled, readying his hand for another firm smack. “Mhm hmm.” You whisper, nodding your head, consenting softly. Another unyielding smack made you yelp with aching pressure — a reddened hand print beginning to take form. “Oh fuck.” He groaned, lowering himself to your level and biting firmly into your arse, pleasure taking control of his entire conscience. You keep your eyes firmly pressed shut, awaiting the next smack. Instead, you chomp down on your lip as you hear Declan’s zipper, and the subsequent sound of his trousers dropping to the ground.

“Do ya’ want it?” The Irishman questioned, teasing your slick entrance with the head of his painfully erect cock. You could feel yourself practically dripping as he placed a firm hand onto your waist. “Yes…” You breathlessly moan, pushing yourself towards him, aching to feel his girth inside you. “Yes, what?” He growled. “Yes… Daddy.” You whimper once more, desperation overtaking you.

“Good girl.” Declan praised, and pushed the full length of his cock into you, but thrusted slowly in and out. “Oh, fuck.” You wail, as the walls of your vagina grip him like a vice, already aching with the girth of his dick. “Ya’ like that? Do I feel good stretchin’ ya’ out?” He asks, grabbing a fistful of your hair and increasing his tempo with every wet smack of your arse against his pelvis. Eyes rolling back in ecstasy, teeth firmly planted into your bottom lip, mind fuzzy — you must definitely cannot muster a reply. “Tell me, girl. Tell me how good I feel inside ya’.” He asks again, hand reaching under to stroke your clit, coaxing you even closer to orgasm. Declan lolled his head back, pumping harder inside you as his fingers worked their rugged magic. “So fucking good, Daddy.” You manage to muster a reply.

“Ya’ so fuckin’ wet. Wrapped around my cock. Look at ya’ bouncin’ on my dick like a good fuckin’ whore.” Your lover groaned under your heat as he pounded into you, but the tension twisting inside your stomach was too much to bare. “Dec..Declan, I’m gonna…” You begin, but you feel him pull out in preparation.

The repetitive pounding of his enlarged cock on your g-spot left you in a dazed mess as you squirted onto the kitchen floor, legs trembling insanely throughout your orgasm. Declan watched the obscene mess he’d created with a terrible smirk on his face, full of adoration. “Good girl,” He affirmed again, “Look at the mess you’ve made for Daddy. Fuckin’ good girl.” He thrusted into you again, tempo increasing, hungry for his own release. “Are ya’ gonna let me cum inside ya?’ He asked, but he needn’t. You were already pleading with him to fill you with his seed. You needed to feel his hot, sweet cum inside of you.

“Please. I need it, Daddy. Please fill me up.” You begged, feeling Declan’s cock twitching inside you. The gratifying groans leaving his mouth prompted you to reach under your legs and stroke his cum-filled balls, luring him to ecstasy. “Fuck. Get ready, princess. I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.”

Bracing yourself to feel his warmth inside you, you kept your hands wrapped round his balls whilst pushing your arse into him, goading him to go faster. Spurts of hot cum covered the walls of your pussy, each rope accompanied with a pleasurable groan — absolute music to your ears. “Ahh, fuck.” Declan murmured, pulling his cock from your pussy and pausing for a moment to watch a droplet of his seed drip from your walls.

“Well done, my girl. You’ve fuckin’ milked me dry.” He chuckled to himself, slapping your arse once more playfully and huffing to himself.

[chukys-mouthguard]

oscar winning tears

featuring -> quinn hughes x female reader

genre -> angst, fluff

summary-> inspired by ‘oscar winning tears’ by raye

note -> thinking of this becoming a mini series possibly? If anyone would be interested?

“You’re fucking joking, are you kidding me?”

Quinn’s shouting echoed off the walls of your shared bedroom as he halted his packing. The news caught him off guard as you sat on the bed, arms wrapped around your legs as you held them tight to your chest. Feeling awful for what you’d told him, but you had no choice.

“I wish I was Quinn, but I just got the call an hour ago. I have no choice!”

Quinn let out a snarky laugh as he resumed packing his suitcase, shaking his head as he moved about the room.

“You do have a choice, you’ve had a choice since the day you met me y/n. This is going to be one of the biggest nights of my career, and you’re canceling on me for a meeting?”

“Yes Quinn, a meeting that happens to be one of the biggest in my career! Look, I’m sorry that I refuse to be some stay at home WAG that cooks and cleans the house all day while you’re the one off making money and having a career. But I just don’t understand why you can’t support me in my career like I support you?”

Quinn scoffed as he zipped the suitcase shut, “yeah, some supportive girlfriend you are! I gotta go.”

Pulling his bag from the bed he grabbed his wallet and phone from his dresser as he headed downstairs, his ride waiting to take him to the airport. You knew that it was best to let him go, when fights like this happened it was better to end it once one of you walked away. But you were less stubborn as Quinn, you hated the idea of walking away from one another after saying something hateful. Especially when one of you is about to get on a plane for several hours.

“Quinn, wait!”

Hurrying down the stairs you tried your best to stop him, but he was already loading his things into the car. As he closed the trunk he looked to you, as if waiting for whatever it was you had to say.

“I love you, I’m so proud of you.”

He made his way to the side of the car, climbing in, he didn’t say anything back. Your heart sinking in your chest, though you told yourself it’s just Quinn being Quinn. The sound of the window rolling down stopped you from heading back into the house, a stern look on Quinn’s face as he spoke, “Call you when I land,” and with that he was gone.

-

Quinn was nervous, you could tell by his body language as his fingers picked at the arm of the couch he was seated on. Impatiently awaiting the announcement this entire night centered around for him. How you wished you could have been there. To hold his hand and keep him calm, to reassure him that whether he won or lost you still loved him and were so incredibly proud of him. But alas work had other plans, and you were left to watch from home on the couch with the rest of the world.

“And the winner of the James Norris Memorial Trophy is…”

You could feel your heart in your throat as you crossed your fingers, praying that his name would be called. The calm look on his face was simply a facade as you knew Quinn was probably laced with anxiety inside. His brothers beside him surely were doing the same as you, rooting for him as they always did.

“From the Vancouver Canucks, Quinn Hughes!”

“Yes!”

Your cheers echoed throughout the house as you jumped off the couch, clapping and cheering as you watched Quinn take the stage. You knew it was nothing to get emotional over, but you couldn’t help but shed a tear. Only a few people knew how hard he worked behind closed doors. What he went through day in and day out to be one of the top defenseman in the NHL. And now he could truly say, he was the top defenseman.

Thinking back to the argument the two of you had a few days ago, you started to question if Quinn was right. Despite always telling yourself that you wouldn’t give up your career for the typical WAG stay at home lifestyle, you were thinking of all the moments you could potentially be missing.

Though the NHL awards weren’t the biggest night in Quinn’s career, next it could be the Stanley Cup Final you’d be missing. And simply the idea of missing such a night for Quinn, you couldn’t imagine it. Though Quinn tries to respect your desire for your own career, you know he keeps a lot of his thoughts to himself. But after the last argument, you knew that it was getting harder and harder for him to keep those quiet.

-

“Baby?”

You heard Quinn’s voice echo throughout the house, followed by the sound of him setting down his bags. Quickly you hurried to put the finishing touches on your surprise dinner, the last step being to pour some of his favorite wine.

Just as you’d replaced the cork and set the bottle down Quinn turned the corner, a soft smile on his face as he looked over the candlelit dinner you’d prepared. He let out a sigh as he walked over to you, arms snaking around your waist as he pulled you close.

Taking in the scent of your perfume he loved so much, his hand tracing up and down your back as he took his time appreciating your body in his embrace. Making sure you knew how much he missed you as he pulled back to steal a kiss from you.

“Hi.”

“Hi babe.”

You smiled up at him, slightly giggling as you could see how well you pulled off your surprise by the look on his face. He helped you into your seat at the dining table before taking his own.

“So, what is all this about?”

His eyes scanned the table as you took your glass in hand, holding it out for him to cheers you.

“Like you have to ask Mr. Norris Trophy Winner!”

He rolled his eyes embarrassed as he raised his glass, then pulled it to his lips to take a sip.

“Yeah yeah, I know you didn’t do all of this just for me winning that trophy babe.”

His tone caught you a bit off guard, though appreciative it also seemed laced with sarcasm and assumption.

“Really Quinn? Why can’t I do something nice for you? I mean, you want me to be this stay at home type. Cooking dinner, having the house clean for you when you come home. This is what you want right? And now I’m being criticized for it.”

Quinn immediately regretted his comments, not meaning them to come across the way they did. He just wasn’t used to surprise dinners from you, with work usually holding you up at the office and dinner not a common occurrence, Quinn couldn’t help but feel there was more to the act than just a simple dinner. But he certainly didn’t mean to accuse you of buttering him up.

“I’m sorry, honest. I didn’t mean, I just. You’re right, you aren’t this type of girl to surprise me with dinner on the table. And I didn’t think me winning that trophy was enough reason to become that type of girl. So, for that I am sorry.”

He took your hand in his as you tried to let your frustrations subside, not noticing the tears in your eyes until Quinn reached out to wipe one away.

“I’m sorry Quinn.”

“You’re sorry? For what babe?”

Trying to laugh off your emotions, you simply wiped your tears as you served some salad onto Quinn’s plate.

“I just, I thought about that argument we had. And I think that maybe you’re right. Maybe I should consider giving up my job. I’d be able to do things like this more, come to more games, be at award ceremonies and sit next to you and support you. I can’t do that now, and you deserve so much more than that. So I’m sorry, but I’ll figure something out and try to be better.”

Quinn grabbed your wrist and stopped your anxious serving of food, taking the tongs and bowl of salad from you. Setting them down on the table with a sigh as he could tell how much the argument affected you.

“Baby, please. I love you just the way you are. You don’t need to be better, you’re perfect. I’m a dick for ever telling you that your career isn’t important, or for making you think you needed to give that up for me. Would it be nice to have you around more? Of course! But I don’t want you to sacrifice all of that for me, this should be a compromise. And I can let my emotions or frustrations relax a bit when it comes to your schedule. It’s not like the extra stress on you is at all necessary, work puts you through the ringer as it is.”

Nodding your head in agreement, you tried your best to take what Quinn said as facts, but you knew deep down he hated your work schedule. He hated how often you missed games, or how many nights you spent late at the office missing the opportunity for dinner with him at home. Despite him telling you that your career wasn’t an issue, you couldn’t help but feel like he’d be better off with a typical WAG that stuck to social media or was something more flexible like an influencer.

“Quinn, I hear you, I do. But, maybe you’re just trying to justify things. I know you’d prefer it to be different, and, I’m willing to sacrifice because I love you and I-“

“Don’t you have a big work event coming up?”

“What?”

The question caught you off guard, work wasn’t something Quinn ever asked much about, so you weren’t sure how to respond.

“There’s like a big party or something coming up?”

“Oh, yeah, our company gala. It’s basically to recognize the success of the company over the last year and stuff. Why?”

“You’re being recognized right?”

Quinn laughed at your confused stare, wondering why you thought him being interested in your work was so wrong.

“Can I go?”

“Y-you wanna go?”

“Of course! I don’t think I’ve ever been able to go before, and I wanna support you just as you do for me! I promise I’ll prove to you that you don’t have to be some stay at home trophy WAG for me, okay?”