#it's always the exact same shit every time too

[fernbruises]

★ soccer player!ellie + cheerleader!reader

content warnings: modern!au, college soccer player!ellie, female reader, some very mild sexual references ( but still sexual references nonetheless so minors do not interact ) + that's about it!

word count: 2k

⟡ ellie had clocked you immediately – leaning against the wall, water bottle in hand, looking as effortlessly pretty as ever and already dressed in your cheerleading uniform. you were too engrossed in conversation with a teammate to pay her presence any mind as she made her way down the corridor, hair tied back in a low bun, gear bag gripped in her right hand. noticing you had been almost automatic, but as she brushed past you and neared the entrance to the teams' changing room, she hesitated for a moment. her eyes lingered a little longer than they should have, long enough to admire how you looked in your attire (as if she didn't see you in the exact same uniform every week), and to also clock the small, dark blue bow that decorated the top of the ponytail that hung down your back. she bit back a smile at the sight of it, before making her way around the corner and disappearing into the locker room.

⟡ it hadn't always been this way. you weren't even sure of the moment it had first started. one moment you were strangers – just two people who caught glimpses of each other on the field a couple of times a week – and the next you were swapping playful comments across pre-game hallways, and purposeful glances across the vast, open playing field. that's how it had been for months. just playful and innocent –nothing more. you couldn't remember when things had shifted. perhaps it had been at dina's party, when the two of you had shared a joint and you made a snarky comment about her shitty roll, just for her to shoot back that she was sure "a pom-pom princess couldn't do any better." after that, the back and forth became easy – almost like a pre-game ritual, some might say. the two of you faultlessly found each other, like muscle memory, and your chemistry was electric, always buzzing there – low, but impossible to ignore. things began changing, slowly. brazen bets turned into low whispers, lips flush against ears in crowded rooms; playful jabs turned into gentle touches that lingered, warm and careful, across each other's lower backs. there had been moments, plenty of opportunities for things to happen. where things almost happened. the odd afterparty where your hand had remained wrapped around her wrist just a second too long as she led you through the packed room, or during an alcohol-induced game of truth or dare where you had somehow found yourself pressed against her inside a closet, both of you breathless with drunken laughter while taking full advantage of the tight space. but somehow – somehow, the line had never been crossed.

⟡ she couldn't help herself. it was getting your attention in that moment, or having to wait until you saw her on the field, and ellie was feeling impatient. as she passed you a second time, her knuckles purposefully brushed your shoulder blades and her fingers caught themselves in the ends of your hair, where she gently tugged at the end of your ponytail. it was harmless – one quick pull, barely more than a light flick of her fingers, but still enough to pluck your scalp at the root and pull your head back slightly. "nice ribbon."

⟡ you whipped your head around, your hand coming up to touch the back of your hair as your eyes fell on the culprit. you blinked, a small grin tugging at the corners of your lips as you realised who was to blame, watching as ellie continued down the hallway, never once breaking her stride. how hadn't you seen her arrive? you shot her a knowing look when she took another glance at you from over her shoulder, a shit-eating grin spreading over her face. "keep it cute, cheerleader." oh, she was on top form tonight.

⟡ the warm up drills were already in full swing when you found the perfect spot on the sidelines to watch, leaning your full weight against the metal fence with folded arms. the neat grass was a vibrant green as it stretched before you, and the evening was humming with that unmistakable game-day energy. ellie was already tuned in, everything else around her tuned out – her movements were fluid, the ball dancing between her cleats, almost feeling like an extension of her foot. you watched as she moved in and out of the cones, dribbling the ball with a kind of confident control that was unlike anything else– so magnetic. it was no wonder ellie was always named mvp; nobody else did it like her– nobody even came close. as she shifted position, ready to pass the ball to a teammate, she glanced in your direction from beneath her lashes. her brow furrowed a bit, a hint of a smirk wavering on her lips, before she looked away. you knew she had seen you, and she knew you were watching.

⟡ the floodlights cast ellie in a wash of brilliant white as she moved fast across the field, almost too fast to keep up with – her footwork effortless and fluidity unstoppable. she was all anybody could look at– not only because she played center forward, but because her energy was magnetic. she hadn't even broken a sweat, despite now pushing well over the seventy-minute mark, and her gaze remained focused and steadfast – except for the couple of instances when she would reach a hand up to push the loose strands of hair from her eyes. her command of the game was impossible to ignore. and the power she held over her opponents was undeniable. she was in her element.

⟡ your squad was maintaining perfection; pom-poms shaking in the air, catchy chants cutting through the noise and hitting the crowd from every angle, keeping their spirits suspended at a new high. the volume of their whoops and claps was almost deafening, but even amidst all of that, one thing was clear; ellie was unstoppable. every aspect of her emanated determination; the way her eyes narrowed, muscles and tendons rippling beneath her skin as her body weaved through her opponents', while her feet scooped and dragged the ball like it was tethered to her. then, with one calculated strike, she sent it hurtling past the goalie, straight into the back of the net with shocking accuracy. the crowd, yourself included, went wild– they always did for their star athlete.

⟡ she always knew where to look. ellie had managed to perfect the skill of seeking you out in the hub of onlookers over months and months, getting it down to a fine art as if you were anchored to her gaze. she had already stolen an abundance of short glances in your direction that night, watching you do what you did best– she loved watching you cheer; your squad was beat-for-beat perfect, and everything you did was infectious. but the way you looked at each other tonight, in particular, felt different from any other time. after scoring the final goal in the last two minutes and catapulting your school into the playoffs, her eyes were quick to find yours amidst the deafening roar of the crowd and the crush of her teammates.

⟡ the flash of her dark blue number 7 jersey kept the two of you linked together between the mass of bodies that piled onto her in celebratory jumps and shouts, their hands clapping against her back and shoulders. her gaze never left you, and a wide smile spread over her face, like a kid in a candy store. she loved knowing you had been there to watch, to see her at her best, to be a part of her triumph. but ellie knew to give credit where credit was due – she could run the field, for sure, but there was no denying she played better when you were there to cheer her on.

⟡ "look who's still here." her voice was laced with that same sarcastic edge that you loved to hate, and you glanced over your shoulder to watch her lean against the doorframe of the locker room. "waiting for me?" without missing a beat, you shot back, "i could ask you the same thing, seeing as you're the one seeking me out." you swung your legs around and pivoted your body on the bench to face her completely, eyebrows raising. "also, perv, there could have still been girls changing in here. don't you knock?"

⟡ "oh, i'm only interested in seeing you naked." ellie's grin was effortless, and it only grew wider as she watched your mouth fall open slightly, whilst you desperately tried to bite back a grin of your own; you weren't very successful. "you wish, williams," you rose from your seat, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder before making your way towards the door. "maybe when you score four goals, yeah?" you teased, followed by a small chuckle. you watched as the girl's eyes widened momentarily and she let out a low whistle, sparking a slightly competitive fire.

⟡ she loved a challenge. "ooh, careful. you know i might just do it." ellie stepped out of the doorway and into the corridor to let you exit the locker room, leaning against the wall opposite. "think you could?" "if i'd had another two minutes out there tonight, you'd be down to your panties by now." her quick responses were almost addictive, each one sparking a certain sort of prickling heat beneath your skin – a reckless desire to push the possibilities further and further. "bold of you to assume you would have lasted two more minutes. could tell you were getting tired after that second goal." you shot her a sideways glance as you walked past her, tongue pushing up against the inside of your cheek before you spoke again. "...also bold of you to assume i'm wearing panties." ellie lifted her gaze to the ceiling for a moment, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she processed that devastating visual. "you're dangerous, you know that?" she pushed off the wall and fell into step beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. you chuckled lightly to yourself. "in all seriousness, though, you were great tonight."

⟡ ellie relished in praise from anyone, but from you, it felt different – it made her feel euphoric. untouchable. in one fluid motion and without even thinking about it she switched her bag to her opposite hand and draped her arm around your shoulders, as if she had done so a hundred times before. "yeah?" "yeah," you nodded, reaching up and looping your fingers loosely through hers as you made your way outside, into the cool summer air. "you're always great."

⟡ "mm. maybe it was that little ribbon that did it. a good luck charm," ellie doused her earlier comment in buttery praise, which caused you to roll your eyes playfully and earned a low chuckle from the girl. "gonna have to wear it for me every game, now." you furrowed your brow. "pretty sure you were still scoring goals even on the nights i didn't have a bow in my hair, don't know if i'd call it a good luck charm." you teased, cheeks flushing very slightly. ellie paused for a second, like she was actually considering it, before looking over at you with a small smile. "ah, well. maybe it's just you, then."

⟡ her response was faultless – just enough to make your chest ache in the most delicious way, a certain sort of yearning drenching you from head to toe – and you could do nothing but grin right back at her. "okay, fine. but please don't pull my hair again..." you paused, toying with the idea of whether or not to continue. "...well, not until i ask." ellie's jaw flexed, and she dragged her head back and forth in a slow shake. "just two more minutes, i swear to god. that's all i needed."

author's note: this was fun! very very fun. i love giving college / soccer player!ellie her deserved air time *bites my knuckle* like bro she is so hot it hurts? i need her? anyway let me know how you feel about this!!! and if you want a part twoooo maybeeee? ok byeee love u see u soon 𖹭

[ponderingmoonlight]

As a request, may I ask: How would Dante react if his partner got hurt ???

The gunfire's still echoing through the busted-out cathedral when you collapse behind a ruined bench, your hand pressed hard against your side. Blood soaks through your fingers. Fuck, this is way too warm, way too much. Almost immediately, that signature sharp pain starts occupying your abdomen.

You’ve been hit. Pretty bad this time, to be exact.

Dante’s voice cuts through the chaos, breaks you out of your numbness for a brief second. Right, you were on a mission together. You were supposed to stay behind him like he always instructs you to.  

“Hey! Where the hell are you?”

You try to call out, but it’s more of a gasp rather than real words forming. Fuck, this is even worse than you thought. Every breath you take feels like a knife stabbed into every inch of your skin. You hear his boots crunch stone, rapid and close.

Then he’s there. His eyes - usually glinting with some cocky one-liner waiting on deck - go sharp when he sees you, when he catches a glimpse of what definitely feels like a pretty ugly wound.

“Shit.”

“You already called me worse than that”, you huff out barely audible.

He’s kneeling beside you before you can blink, rebellion dropped with a clang. His hands hover for a second, like he wants to scoop you up and rip the world apart at the same time.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he mutters, voice low but ragged, carefully ignoring your last remark.

“Charging ahead like that…what, you think you’re me?”

You manage a weak smirk, a silent whine escaping your lips when his hand inspects the gaping wound you don’t dare to look at.

“Trying to keep up.”

That earns a shaky laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes like usual. He presses his palm over yours, steadying it in order to stop the bleeding of your wound. Warmth rushes through the contact, demonic energy humming at the edge of your skin.

“Don’t do that again,” he replies, and you can immediately tell it’s not a joke.

“Next time, I’m the one taking the hit. Got it?”

You nod, and his expression shifts just a flicker. Softer. Like the world narrowed to you, bleeding and broken, and nothing else.

Then, in true Dante fashion, he scoops you up, arms gentle despite the strength.

“You know I hate it when you pick me up like a baby- AH!”

“You’re lucky I like you. Let’s patch you up before I go back and finish mopping the floor with that ugly bastard.”

And as he carries you out, blood-streaked and cursing under his breath, you know this isn’t just a job to him. Not anymore.

Dante is way more than your comrade.

Tags: @moonlighteevee @elrondswifeyyyy @levisbrat25 @dragon-lord-lysander @punem699

@sunshine7queen @dreamywisterias-blog @mizzowizzo

[thawthebeez]

i love reading haikyuu tiktok shipping discourse comment sections. it's so entertaining seeing so many people with such bad taste.

[millers-angel]

patrol!joel x female reader

summary: joel scolds you because you messed up a patrol, until he makes you cry and realizes he crossed the line. warnings: scolding, mean joel, thumb sucking, smut ig, they get caught by tommy.

“are you stupid? you wanna die?” he grunted, clearly upset with you.

ha had been upset for a while, lecturing you on how you have to be more careful, but as he did, you both kept walking till you got inside the safe place—an abandoned house in the middle of the woods.

“i always have to repeat myself every goddamn time. stay quiet, do what i say, and most importantly, don't do anything stupid," he said, dropping his gear onto a table. "and that's exactly what you do."

you stayed quiet, holding back tears. you liked coming on patrols with him, except this time tommy came with you, but you fucked up. you didn’t listen, you put yourself in danger, and joel had to come find you—again.

he scoffed, shaking his head. “should’ve just left you out there. maybe then you’d finally learn.”

his words hit hard, and you felt your throat tighten, your vision blurring.

“you don’t listen, you never fucking listen,” he went on, voice rough with frustration. “i tell you to stay close, i tell you to stay quiet, and what do you do? the exact opposite. every goddamn time.”

he ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “you think this is a game? you think i like risking my ass for you every time you decide to be reckless?”

you bit your lip, trying to keep it together, but the lump in your throat only grew. he was mad—really mad. you were looking at your boots wipping your tears away, you didn't want him to see you like this.

he exhaled hard through his nose, his breath heavy with frustration. his hands were on his hips, fingers digging into his belt as he tried to calm down. but when he looked down, he saw you sitting there on a worn couch, head bowed, your pants dotted with tiny dark spots.

tears.

his jaw clenched. maybe he’d been too harsh. maybe he’d gone too far.

“you good?” his voice was still rough, but quieter now.

you nodded quickly, wiping at your face.

“use your words,” he muttered. “now you're quiet, huh?”

you swallowed thickly, voice barely above a whisper. “i’m fine.”

he huffed, unconvinced. “look at me.”

you shook your head.

joel sighed, deep and slow, forcing himself to be patient. then, with a gentleness that didn’t match his earlier anger, he reached out, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face up.

watercolor eyes. tear-streaked cheeks. swollen lips.

his grip tightened just slightly, his own frustration shifting into something else.

you sniffled, wiping at your nose with your sleeve, but it didn’t do much to stop the way your shoulders shook. joel exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard. without a word, he grabbed you and pulled you onto his lap, his arms firm around you as he sat.

you didn’t resist. you never did.

“i’m sorry,” you murmured, voice unsteady. “i didn’t mean to put you at risk. or tommy. i won’t do it again.” you swallowed, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket. “i get it if you don’t want me on patrols with you anymore. or if you just want to give me the easy routes.”

joel sighed, his chest rising and falling against your back.

“i tell you this shit for a reason,” he said, voice quieter now. “it’s dangerous out here. you keep acting like this, and it’s gonna catch up to you. and i don’t want that. i don’t want anything happening to you.”

you hesitated, then whispered, “really?”

“yeah, really.” his grip on you tightened just slightly. “i get so goddamn mad ‘cause you’re stubborn. you don’t listen. you scare the hell outta me.”

you were still new to patrols, still learning the way things worked out here. and you liked going with joel for two reasons—because you wanted to learn from him, to be as capable as he was, and because no matter how bad things got, no matter how much he yelled, it always ended the same way. with him pulling you close, keeping you safe... and his cock deep down inside you.

you loved being with joel on patrol, the way he moved with such ease, like he was made for this. every step was calculated, every decision precise. the way he handled the knife, the rifle—how it all seemed so natural to him, like he was in complete control. when danger came, he didn’t hesitate. he knew exactly what to do, and you couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly he commanded the situation.

and when things got tough, when he needed to push you out of harm’s way or pull you into cover, there was something about the way he manhandled you that drove you crazy. it was rough, but it was him taking control, keeping you safe. and in those moments, with his hands on you, you felt safe. you felt protected—like now.

you hiccupped, the sound shaky from how much you’d cried. joel’s thumb brushed your cheek, his hands gentle as he lifted your face to meet his eyes.

“i’m not gonna put you with anyone else,” he said softly. “we’re gonna keep going together, on patrols.”

you looked up at him, surprised. “really?”

“yeah, really,” he muttered, his voice a little rough. “i wouldn’t leave you with anyone else, not when you’re putting yourself at risk every damn minute. no one else is gonna risk their ass for you like i do.” he paused, a flash of frustration in his eyes before he noticed your lip trembling.

he softened, his thumb tracing your bottom lip, trying to calm you. “you’re damn stubborn, you know that?”

he pressed his thumb on your lips, parting them, so you sucked him. "that it," he said softly—too softly. "that's gonna calm you down."

you closed your eyes, holding his hand close to you, sucking his thumb as if your life depends on it, you pressed your tongue on it, lips tight around him. he loved the sensation, he loved when you sucked on his fingers just as you suck on his cock.

you opened your eyes when you felt a growing bulge beneath your thighs, meeting his gaze, all dark. nothing but desire behind them. he could yell at you all he wants—make you cry even, but you'll always end up like this.

his other hand made its way under your shirt, the feeling made you squirm. he played with the tip, squeezing it between his fingers, pulling it gently, getting muffled moans on his thumb in response.

and that was enough for him, he needed to fuck you now. he took his thumb out your mouth to tug your shirt over your head, your skin prickled when the breeze hit your bare breasts. he loved seeing thoes perky tips all hard for him. he got rid of your jeans too, throwing them somewhere in the dusty cabin.

"joel... we should go looking for tommy," you mumbled between gasps.

"he can take care of himself, i'm taking care of you."

he loved having you like this, all naked and vulnerable. he had fucked you behind a tree, over a rock, on the grass, in old cabins like this one, even in the back of an abandoned jeep, its wheels long deflated and covered in dust. he knows he's the only one who got to see you like this, back in jackson you're all shy with everyone, they don't know you're his personal little sex toy.

he made you stand up for him to unzip his jeans and then, he made you lean over the coach, while you positioned yourself on your hands and knees, you knew the drill, you knew what he liked. what he liked to see.

by god he loved the view.

all you felt then, was his dick trailing your slit, you were wet, and he can tell you got a while like that. you love being scolded, the tone of his voice, the way his eyes gets dark, the way you know it's because he wants to protect you. yeah, it got you wet.

he slammed his cock in you, you let out a gasp and gripped to the backrest of the couch. he dug his fingers on your hips when he thrusted. you were warm, too warm and soft inside, always making him feel like he's about to come as soon as he gets in, like a goddamn teenager.

"you take this cock so good," he muttered.

you were biting your lip to not moan, cause you had to be careful, right? he said it. you must be careful from now on.

"lemme hear you, baby," he grunted, fingers going white from his grip on you.

your grip on the couch loosened. "b-but you said we must be quiet and careful—"

he almost chuckled, you're adorable. "i don't want you quiet when i'm fucking you"

and his approval was all you need to let those breathy little moans bubble up from your mouth. he went harder, couldn’t stop once he saw how your skin jiggled with every thrust. he loved that.

he was leaving his fingerprints on your skin. one of his hands slipped between your thighs, making its way to your clit. you held your breath. he could feel it, swollen, probably aching and needy. he drew circles around it.

“poor baby,” he cooed, your legs trembled cause it was too much, he was too thick, and his fingers stroking your most sensitive spot, you went weak. “you like causing trouble?”

he pressed his fingers on your clit, feeling how it throbs. “no—“

he slapped it. “be fucking honest.”

you squirmed, it felt too good. “i do.” you admitted in a moan. “i like causing trouble.”

he rubbed the little button harder. “i know," of course he does, weird thing you always do the same to end up with his cock buried deep inside you. you love being trouble so he can fuck you right after. "stubborn as hell."

you curl your toes, his fingers worked so good, he sent you to a bliss, your walls choking him. he wasn't being gentle. he loved seeing you falling apart, seeing your legs get weak.

"joel, please—" you cried out.

"this mine, yeah?" you. you're his. "you ain't goin' on patrols with anyone but me, understood?"

you whimpered. "ah—yes."

he let out a chuckle, delighted to see you like this. he knows you're his, but he likes to remind you.

"i'm gonna get you all round so everyone in town knows you're mine too." his hand drifted to your belly. "right here."

he moved his hand a little lower just enough to feel himself, stretching you out. "attagirl," he cooed. "come f'me."

you fell apart beneath him, your body squirming, trembling legs, spasming walls that milked him out, but he didn't stop thrusting, not until he was sure you were filled up.

the cabin was a bunch of whimpering from both of you.

until…

the door swung open. you’ve been caught.

by tommy.

he had been looking for you since you didn’t show up to the meeting point they have in case something happened—so he came looking for you, thinking the worst, it’s been a while and he’s exhausted, sweating. he should be upset because you made him worry and waste his time when all you were doing was fucking.

but more than upset he was… aroused. the quiet girl he knew back in town wasn’t being that quiet and shy right now. the quiet girl loved having a cock buried inside her.

he had to adjust his jeans before coming further. “what the fuck is this?” he asked.

your face went pale and you tried to cover yourself but it was pointless—joel didn’t let you. he knew his brother well enough.

“‘s this what you’ve been doing? you have an idea how many time i’ve been looking for you? you—“

“cut the shit tommy,” joel growled.

“so this is the quiet girl from jackson, huh?” he leaned, fingers on your jaw, making you look at him. your lip was trembling.

joel pulled out with a loud pop sound, his cum dripping from your cunt, your thighs all sticky with the mess you made.

"you're gonna explain?" tommy asked to his brother, but not letting go his grip on your jaw, you were curling your toes, being in the middle of the miller brothers always got you nervous. "is she your

"she's mine," joel said firmly. "but i'm sure she wants you to fill her up, don't you sweetheart?"

you nodded, holding eye contact with tommy, then your eyes drifted to the bulge on his pants.

"she can be our secret."

[chronicowboy]

Eddie calls him about ten minutes after he finishes unpacking. And Buck doesn't—panic. He doesn't! He has no reason to panic. Tommy doesn't know a damn thing about him and Eddie. And Maddie, well. She doesn't know anything either. Not this.

Nobody but him and Eddie—and Chris—understand what they are to each other, and that's okay. Buck made his peace with that long ago. Long before he even knew he liked guys. Which. Not that that matters or has any sway on his perception of his and Eddie's relation—friendship. They're just BuckandEddie. Doesn't need to be any more than that. Just his best friend.

All this to say: when Eddie calls, he doesn't panic. He takes a very respectable three deep breaths, tries not to grimace at the leather squeaking under his ass and hits the green button with a hand that absolutely isn't shaking.

Because he's not panicking. He's happy. He's so happy. He gets to talk to Eddie. For the first time since he left. Why would he be panicking? Because of some stupid assumptions from an insecure ex? Sure, right. Like he'd ever let that touch him and Eddie.

Competition, he thinks, like Tommy ever could have competed with Eddie Diaz.

"H-hey, E-eddie." Buck isn't sure why he stumbles over Eddie's name. He's had enough practice over the past few days. Said it enough times in his life that it should be able to slip out seamlessly every damn time.

"Hey, Buck." And there's Eddie sounding sure and confident and a little tired and warm and soft and so much like his best friend. Buck aches. "Just finished unpacking. Told myself I couldn't call until I was done. Incentive, y'know?"

And Buck grins. Grins so big his face hurts and he forgets all about the stupid leather couch underneath him. He imagines the two of them unpacking at the exact same moment, finishing in the same breath, still in sync even 800 miles apart. And then the second part of it hits him. Calling Buck his reward for menial, mind-numbing labour. The idea of hearing Buck's voice getting him through all the organising and reorganising and rereorganising. Fuck, he misses him.

"I, uh, I-I actually just unfinished packing too," Buck replies. A beat too late maybe. Doesn't matter. Eddie huffs a laugh, nothing matters but that.

"No shit. Should've known it'd take us a while to shake off the synchronicity." And Eddie's voice is so warm, so fond, it soothes the ache of the inevitable loss of their bond. That special tie between them that never let them stray too far soon to be severed. And then, like Eddie can hear him, "still a team even two states apart, huh?"

"Always a team," Buck replies, too soon this time probably. Doesn't matter. Not when he can hear Eddie's smile.

"How's the house treating you?" he asks, words shaped into something beautiful by the curve of Eddie's lips. But still, Buck's heart drops right out of his ass.

How does he answer that?

I missed you so much I couldn't sleep here without you. I didn't unpack because the house still feels like yours. The house still feels like yours because I wish it was. Yours. I couldn't sleep because you weren't snoring down the hallway. And the one night I did sleep here I had to fuck my ex as a distraction just to try and forget that you should be the one in that bedroom.

But he can't say any of that. He can't.

"Uhhhhhh." He blinks. Has forgotten every word in the English language.

"Buck?" Eddie's smile is gone.

"Why'd you stop talking to Tommy when we broke up?"

Silence. Fuck.

"He broke your heart, Buck," Eddie says slowly, evenly, too controlled. Hiding something. "Why the hell would I talk to him?"

"B-because. You guys were friends before me and him got together."

Eddie's straight. Tommy scoffs. Friends.

"And I promised to have your back five years before I even knew he existed," Eddie replies simply. "There was no competition there, Buck."

Oh. Oh, shit.

"How, um, how did you find out about that anyway?" Eddie asks when Buck's silence stretches on too long. "Not that it was a secret or anything. I just... I didn't tell you because I didn't think it mattered. And I know you didn't call Tommy, so..."

"No, n-no, I didn't call him." And he didn't is the thing. Didn't call him to apologise like he said he would to Maddie. Just. Let it lay.

"What aren't you telling me, Buck?" Eddie sighs. Buck misses his fucking sighs.

"Ravi called him. Well, found him. At the bar. And brought him over."

"Jesus Christ." And Buck can see him clear as day, bridge of his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger. "Remind me to send Ravi a strongly worded e-mail on how to be your partner."

Buck kind of really wants to read that fucking email.

"We slept together," Buck blurts out.

Silence. Fuck.

"You and Ravi...?"

"No." Buck barks out a laugh. A startled sound. "No, not Ravi."

"Okay, okay, good," Eddie breathes out. "Because that would not be one of the points of the e-mail." Buck snorts again. Sobers instantly. Gets a sharp little pang in the pit of his stomach. No reason. "So. Tommy."

"Yeah." Buck ducks his head. "Tommy."

"Did you..." Eddie struggles with something for a moment, and Buck finds himself sitting up straighter, bracing for whatever comes next. "I mean, did you... When you... y'know, did you go to his or-or... yours?"

Buck bluescreens. Blacks out maybe. What the fuck?

"Um, y-yours or, no, mine. M-mine. It was closer. To the bar. And I—" And he what? What? What is it lurking in the shadows of his brain, slipping through his fingers like sand every time he thinks he's close enough to hold?

"Okay." Eddie says it like he's taking a punch.

"Is-is that, I mean, th-that's okay, right?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd classify sleeping with your ex as okay." Eddie makes some sort of noise. Half anguished and half furious. "Where the hell does he get off—" your bedroom, Buck thinks deliriously "—hooking up with the guy who's heart he broke?"

"He didn't break my heart, Eddie." Says it. Realises it's true.

"Oh, yeah, sure."

"He was scared I was gonna break his, remember?"

"Dumb," Eddie says succinctly. Buck snorts.

"I'm not getting back together with him or anything. It was just a one time thing. You don't have to worry about me showing up on your doorstep to brood again."

Silence. Again. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

"I think I'd be okay with it, if it brought you to my door," Eddie whispers.

Tears sting in Buck's eyes. He presses the bottom of his phone into his forehead until it begins to hurt. Clears his throat.

"How's the fixer-upper?"

Best friends. Nothing more. Nothing less. But.

[covetyou]

solstice

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader  rating: Explicit (18+ only!)  warnings: smut (PiV), competency kink, grumpy/sunshine, he falls first, yearning, angst, almost enemies to lovers, Tommy being a little shit, no use of y/n, Jackson!Joel word count: 4k  summary: Three little words. Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days least of all.

A/N: happy holidays @trulybetty! thank you for being so lovely about this being a little late. I was only going to go for one or two of your prompts for the @pedrostories secret santa, but then my brain went why not all of them, and now here we are. 

divider by @saradika-graphics

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Three little words.

"I got it."

Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days the least.

You said other things too, of course. He heard you speak to other people. Not always nicely, but he heard you. You said more to him on occasion too. Out my way or put it down were some particular favorites, but none said more so than those three, tiny, little words.

I got it.

Because you did. He had never met a woman who had got it more than you. Strong, capable, and everything he ever tried to be. He watched every day how you'd got it. Climbing up ladders with tiles stacked on your shoulder, hauling wheelbarrows full of gravel, chopping wood in bitter wind and cold. You had it, and he watched, wanting it too.

The only problem was, he wasn't too sure what it was.

To begin with, it was the respect you commanded that he yearned for. He had that, once. Not here. Fuck, never here. The people here would barely look at him for the first few weeks. But you? They listened to you. If you said move they listened, even if it was with a roll of their eyes. If you told someone to fuck off to medical, they went without a grumble. They trusted you. Even if you weren't particularly generous with your smiles.

You were the exact opposite of what Joel was finding he had to be.

In Boston, people feared him, and that kept him, and Tess, safe. It was for the best. The people here feared him too, at first. Maybe even still now, if he was to be honest with himself, but he'd worked hard to change that. He met the mumbled good mornings with as much of a smile as he could muster. He went for drinks with his brother, made small talk with the locals even when he didn't want to. He tried to get into Maria's good graces, but never quite succeeded.

And he worked. With you mostly. Jackson didn't have much use for hired muscle or someone who could smuggle shit discreetly - not outside of the daily patrol shifts they wouldn't let him on yet, anyway - but they did have use for contractors. Plumbers, electricians, carpenters, anyone who was good at doing shit with their hands. Those were things that had value behind these walls and, luckily for him, that meant he had value too. For the first time in a long time, he meant something to people.

Just not to you.

As much as he smiled, and made small talk, and helped out fixing shit in this place that was now his home, he could never get through to you. He'd try to help you out, only to be knocked aside - sometimes literally. You barely looked at him. Spoke only when necessary. Once, you'd even told him to fuck off.

He did.

At first he took it all personally. He moped, and kept his sour mood hidden from his brother and Ellie. Then, he saw how you were with, well, just about everyone else, and that lessened the sting.

But, as time wore on, Joel saw other things too. Where at first you'd seemed rude and abrasive, he now saw the kindness and compassion you treated everyone with. If you told someone to go the fuck home, it wasn't because you wanted them gone it was because you wanted them rested. If you let people struggle, strike their thumbs with a badly aimed hit of a hammer, it was to help them learn. You never did let anyone make the same mistake twice. And, because of you, no one did.

It was with the waning of spring that his desire to be you changed into something different and entirely more confusing.

As the gardens and trees exploded in the frenzy of summer, you shed your layers. Literally, not figuratively. You still stayed firmly closed up as your jacket disappeared and made way for a shirt hung loosely about your shoulders. Then, even that found its way around your waist and Joel had to come face to face with the bare, strong expanse of your back while you worked in nothing but a tank top, the patch of sweat at the small of your back blooming while he watched.

It was for the best that he didn't think about what you looked like walking towards him during those relentlessly hot months, with nothing but a thin tank top pulled across your chest. It wasn't something he should think about in public, anyway. It was something he kept for late at night, when those three little words echoed around his head and you showed him just how much you really, truly got it.

By October, Tommy had caught on. Your jacket was fastened back around you, and you were as hostile as ever. You breezed past him one morning, hooking a ladder over one shoulder, toolbag gripped in your other hand.

"I got it."

By now, Joel knew you did.

By now, he wanted to come with you anyway.

So he did, grabbing his own set of salvaged tools and heading up to the latest reno with you, only to have you square up to him the second you saw him.

"I said, I got it."

Five words. It was a good day.

So good, that he couldn't keep his eyes off you in the Tipsy Bison that night. You weren't in here often - from what he could tell, you didn't do much outside of work - but the people who shared your company seemed to enjoy it. You sat soft and quiet in the corner, listening in to their conversation more often than you contributed. But, when you did, they laughed, and Joel caught himself smiling, and Tommy caught him too.

"Never thought you'd be more of a ray of fuckin' sunshine than anyone else, but there's a first for everythin', I guess," he'd said, tilting his glass to the table in the corner where you sat. 

Joel took a swig of the last fresh cider of the season and shrugged.

"You got an eye for her."  

He sputtered, choking on the tart, sweet liquid. "No I ain't."

"Well you got somethin'," said Tommy, clinking his glass against Joel's own. "If it ain't an eye it's your-" 

A harsh kick, and a grunt loud enough to turn every head in the bar later, and Tommy dropped it entirely.

For about a week.

Tommy ribbed him at dinner, drinks, lunch and just about every time in between. Called Joel 'Sunshine' even as he scowled. Asked about his girl as if you were anything other than a person who hated him. Slung his arm around Joel's shoulder and told him all about the birds and the bees, as if he'd ever forgotten.

He couldn't forget. Not with you running around barking at him and keeping him in a seemingly permanent state of arousal. If it wasn't your voice and that angry way you talked at him, it was just about anything else. He couldn't escape it.

It was how you did everything he could do, and more. What he had in strength, you had in technique. Your hands - fuck, did he watch your hands - were rarely unblemished with dirt or scrapes, but they were adept at everything you put them to. He couldn't look away, even if he knew each minute he looked was a minute quicker he'd be when he touched himself to the thought of you later that night.

The taunts stopped with the first snowfall.

"If you're really that interested, should talk to her," Tommy said instead. "Bark's worse than her bite."

"You're still sayin' she bites, though."

"Sure she would if you asked nice enough, brother."

Joel didn't ask.

He didn't ask the morning he woke up early to see the town blanketed in thick snow either. He simply went out, picked up a snow shovel and began working until the sun came up. He didn't expect to find you at his door that evening, or for you to grab him and throw him outside, pushing him up against the side of his own house.

"What do you think you're playing at, Miller?" you growled up at him, pushing him firmly against the siding.

Joel stared, dumb-founded, your hands curled in the front of his shirt - touching him - and blinked down at you.

"I don't give a shit who you are or what you've done out there. I am not scared of you and I am not having you take my job."

You ignored him more after that. Days went by with barely a word to him - not even a scowl thrown his way if he made too much noise or offered to help someone out on a job.

As for him, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every day for weeks that night played through his head, memory of the feel of your hands on his chest and your face so close he could feel your breath, until Christmas was on the horizon and a pit of fear began stirring in his stomach. You were a balm to it, somehow. Something to focus on when the fear got too much and kept him inside, away from the crowds of happy people.

Every single I got it was more of a comfort than the last. It could have been the familiarity of it, or the way those words came softer and softer as the season wore on. Sometimes he'd head by the workshop to ask if you needed a hand, just to hear that soft rejection one more time.

Until late one cold afternoon, it didn't come. You were alone, blowing warm air onto gloved hands, and when he asked you simply nodded, and he followed.

You worked together in silence until the sun set, when you turned to him as you parted ways.

"S'hard this time of year, but joy and grief can exist at the same time, y'know."

He didn't go to the Bison that night. Or the next. He let the grief crack open his chest instead, and let it pour out over his bedroom floor for two whole days.

On the third, he let the joy back in. Ellie reeled off new jokes from a book she found in the Jackson library. He held his nephew and rocked the teething babe to sleep. He went back to the Bison - you weren't there - and celebrated the impending holiday.

Seven months, three days, and about as many hourssince he stepped foot back in Jackson. Damn near every day he's heard those three little words, and he'll be damned if he goes another without them.

With the day as short as it could ever be, the sun tracking low in the sky, he finds you.

"I got it," you say softly, when he asks you that very same question he always does.

"I know."

He doesn't know how your lips end up on his - because it is you who kisses him. He doesn't know how his fingers find themselves under your shirt either, the coldness of them making you gasp into his mouth until you're pulling apart, both wide eyed.

He does know you taste like fruit, even in the dead of winter. He always suspected it - knew your sweet tooth by the berries you couldn't resist and the sweet treats gifted to you. He knows your fingers are as cold as his when you hand him a shovel.

He does know, even though you got it, you let him help anyway.

You clear streets and roofs of snow together until the sun goes down. He follows at your heel in the dark, cold biting through your layers as you both stomp the snow off your boots, shovels thrown down, workshop locked up. You barely even look at each other until you're staring through the fog of your own heavy breaths on Joel's front porch. He doesn't know how to welcome you in - he never was too good with words - so he simply unlocks the door and pushes it open.

You step inside.

Layers are shed before the door even closes. Heavy coats dumped on the couch, boots toed off and left this way and that. The hat on your head stuffed in a pocket - he can't remember which.

You move upstairs - worked on this house, you say - and pull him into his own bedroom before his lips even touch yours again. But when they do, they do. Joel's frantic with it, feeling the softness of you so close to the hardness of him. His hands hold your waist, rooting you to him, but then you're moving them up and under your shirt to the flair of your ribcage. The curve of your breasts fit perfectly against the cradle of his thumb and forefinger, and he thinks of everything his hands have done, this is what they were made for.

It must be. When you whine at the feel of this thumb stroking across your pebbled nipple, he thinks for the first time in a long time that maybe his hands aren't so monstrous if they can pull such pretty noises from you.

In fact, the things they've done don't seem to matter at all when he gets to touch you, to pull sounds from you so sweet he'll be tasting you on his tongue all over again just from the memory of them. For all the harm these hands have done, they could never hurt you. You would never let them. You'd tear him apart first.

And he'd let you.

You swallow his groan when you palm his length over his jeans. He stiffens beneath your touch, warm and firm, and grinds into your hand. It's been so long since he's felt the touch of anyone other than himself. He could come just grinding himself against the firm press of your hand against him, if he thought about it too hard.

So he doesn't. He focuses instead on the soft plink plink plink as you run a nail up his ice cold zipper, the way you bite his lip, tangle your fingers in his hair.

He tries to take off his own belt, cold fingers fumbling against even colder metal, but you mumble I got it into his mouth, and his knees quiver.

You do. You always do.

His belt is pulled off and you're tugging him by the loops of his pants and pushing him against his own bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning. You slip off your own and toss it to the side too, tangling it with his on his bedroom floor. Then, you're so very close to him again, his thigh between your legs as you nip and suckle on his bottom lip. He holds you close - one hand finding its way under your shirt again, cupping your breast fully this time, and the other pulling you firmly against his strong thigh.

You warm his thigh with the burning heat between your legs, grinding yourself against him, the seam of your jeans pulling tight against you. Moans you were pulling from him a moment ago are silenced by your own, your nails digging crescents into his arm as you burrow your face into his neck in an attempt to stifle them.

You're better than he ever dreamed. Softer. Warmer. Stronger. The sounds you make so much prettier than he ever thought. Those three little words so much sweeter within these walls than any other.

Even when you strip off layer after layer, it's better than he dreamed. Summer was barely a taste of you, he realises, when your shirt, your tank, your soft bra, all tumble to the floor and you climb onto the bed behind him.

You kick your jeans off, and he pulls his down too. He can't get his shirt off quick enough, the scars on his body forgotten as he strips bare for you as you watch, lust barely turning to curiousity as you take in the sight of his body.

"Come here," you tell him, and he obeys. You're softer with him when he lies beside you then. Grasping hands turn to gentle strokes, his own hands on your bare flesh mimicking your gentle movements across his skin.

When your hand trails down to his cock, squeezing once again when you feel him throb in your palm, he has to pinch his eyes closed and pretend he's anywhere but here.

"Been a long time," he says through gritted teeth. "Long, long time."

Me too, he thinks he hears you whisper before your lips latch to his again and his soft, worn boxers are slipped down his legs, kicked to the side, forgotten.

You don't look at him, and for that he's grateful. He's less grateful when you start to play with your own nipples and toy with the edge of your panties. He presses a kiss to your shoulder instead, hiding his face against you and breathing you in.

When he opens his eyes again, your panties are off, thighs spread, one hooked lazily over his own, the other stretched out on his sheets.

"Don't have to," you mumble, when he looks down at you, stunned look obvious on his face.

"I want to."

He touches you and you let him. His hands run all over your body, rough, calloused palms dragging across your soft belly, your hips, your thighs. He's dreamed of this, and still it's better than his wildest fantasies.

When your hand wraps around his bare cock, pumping his length once, twice, he thinks that's better than any fantasy too. You practically drag him by the cock, tugging gently to pull him towards you until he's kneeling between your thighs. You lazily stroke him, swiping precum across his tip and making him jerk in your grip. His own hands play with your thighs, massaging and squeezing them, drawing his fingers closer and closer to your apex.

Seven months, three days, and twenty-something hours since he stepped back into Jackson, he slips into you for the first time.

And, fuck, is it divine.

You're slick, and wet, his cock gliding across your skin before he pushes into you, and you both gasp.

He's slow. He trembles. His fingers make dents in your thighs as he grips them. You shuffle your hips, make yourself comfortable, and he holds steady while you adjust to the intrusion. Then, you pull him in, grabbing him by the neck to steal a kiss while he makes space for himself deep inside you, rocking each tentative inch into you until he's rooted inside.

You adjust - let the tenseness in your core release - and he barely holds on. And, just when he thinks he's got a hold of himself and begins fucking you in slow, languid movements, your hand moves and you say those three little words.

"I got it."

For the first ever time, he stops you. His hand pins yours to your hip, his movements stilling as you frown up at him, a threat on the tip of your tongue. So, he begs.

"Let me. Please."

And you do. He slowly swipes a spit slicked thumb against your clit, and watches as you melt into his sheets. By the look of you, the pure relief on your face, he thinks this could be the first time you've ever truly let go, and his ego soars.

It soars again when your legs tremble, rocking his thick cock in you as his thumb works slowly over your clit. You moan his name, and he groans too. He can't keep it back. It's the first time he's ever heard you say it, and he doesn't think it could sound better. Your eyes find his when you say his name again, testing him, only to pull another groan deep from his chest.

A small nod is all you give him as a sign you want more. His thumb moves quicker, popped into his mouth to taste you just for a moment before it swipes around your cunt where you grip him, and back up to your clit.

You come on him, face turned into his sheets, brow furrowed, mouth open as you moan and shake, trembling and pulsating on his cock as you come.

For you, he keeps going. Let's you ride out the waves, fluttering against him, as he barely holds back from the brink himself.

If this is all he gets - if you push him off and walk away now - it would be a good day, he thinks. But you don't. He doesn't even get chance to ask if you want him gone when you're pulling him down, kissing him, rocking your hips against him and murmuring against his throat for him to fuck you.

So, he does.

It feels sloppy, and awkward, his hips not quite knowing how to move any more as he snaps them against yours.

"Don't stop," you whisper to him with a scrape of your teeth against his shoulder. "Don't stop."

He's never been able to disobey you, he realizes. He's never had reason let alone want to. Even now, he does as he's told, keeps fucking forward into you, mattress squeaking and bed rocking as he finally, finally, finds his rhythm.

It's easy then. You spur him on, grip him tight, wrap your legs around his waist. He grunts, growls, can barely stop himself from panting, looking down at you and how you stare back at him and he thinks fuck, this is what it's like to be trusted by you.

With a sudden gasp, he pulls out, slipping from your wet heat to rut against your sopping cunt until he's spurting ropes of come against your mound and belly.

He apologizes, tries to admonish himself for being so quick. You tell him to shut up, hitting his shoulder. He does.

You both sigh in the afterglow. Even in the before, he never had times like this, he doesn't think. It was always frantic, too quick, too drunk, too fumbling. In the after, he could never quite relax enough to enjoy it fully. In the now, it's just about the best he's ever had.

You're still covered in him. Your fingers play idly in it on your belly, and he glows. He'd trace patterns with it over your skin, if only you'd let him. But then, you're up and gone, and he fears you're gone for good until you waltz back in and throw yourself next to him, mess cleaned from your skin as you stretch and yawn beside him.

"I aint tryin' to take your job, y'know," Joel tells you some time later, when the afterglow wanes and sleep pulls at him.

"Right."

He looks to you, the roll of your eyes and tug of a disbelieving smile on your lips visible in the glow of the bedside lamp.

"I promise. I'm just tryin' to... be some place."

You're still. And silent. He thinks he's fucked up for all of one second, until you're smiling sadly up at the ceiling.

"I get that," you say softly. "This is a nice place to be, all things considered."

And, though he thinks he knows what you mean, Yes, he thinks, this is a nice place to be.

This is a good day.

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[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: stalking, yandere, anxiety, paranoia, isolation tactics

♡ GN reader

You’re anxious. You probably shouldn’t be, and you tell yourself that. You’re being silly. Utterly silly. It’s most likely just coincidences—a string of oddities, enough to freak you out. And you’ve always been too easily spooked.

You just happen to have the same situation and routine, is all. So what? You live in the same building, both of you grab coffee at the same cafe on your way to college, where you both happen to go, both of you get off at the same time despite having different classes, both of you go grocery shopping every Monday before coming home, and both of you do laundry down in the basement every Sunday before bed.

It’s not such an original schedule, you tell yourself. Jeez, he's not stalking you! No. It’s natural to buy everything at the start of the week and even more standard to do laundry at the end of it. It’s normal! Totally normal!

You’re just imagining the rest. The way he looks at you. You’re just freaking out because it’s your first time living alone, out in the big world, all on your own. He’s probably in the same shoes as you. New city, tiny apartment, big campus, long lectures, broke shit. 

Yes! That’s why he offered to do laundry together. One washer, one coin, one dose of detergent—that’s two for the price of one and half the price for both of you. Of course! That must have been it—and not any of the creepy things you’ve suspected. Obviously, he isn’t asking to do laundry together to steal your underwear like some freak—what are you even thinking!?

You’re such a bad person. It’s not like he’s done anything directly off-putting. Asking you over for dinner is a nice thing, after all. Again, it saves money and keeps you both company. It’s lonely living alone, after all. It’s not like you think it’s swell spending every evening with your nose in your textbook, just waiting for the school to plan a social gathering or something so that you can make some friends. 

You’re such a dumbass. Wanting to make friends, yet shunning the one friendly guy in your building just because he’s been a little too forward. It’s not as if he’s asked you out or anything! He’s just being nice! You’re the one being weird! Thinking weird things—condemning him of doing weird crimes he hasn’t even done!

“Hey, neighbor,” he says. Right on time, just like always. Doing his laundry at the same exact moment as you.

“Oh–hey,” you greet back.

It’s not weird, you have to remind yourself. You’re here on time, aren’t you? How come you’re allowed to be consecutive, but it’s suddenly weird when he is? How does that make sense? It doesn’t. You’re being paranoid.

Oh, but then he picks the empty washer right next to you, even though there are plenty of others to go around. No one else does their laundry at this hour.

He’s being friendly, you tell yourself. Neighbourly. It would be awkward if he chose a washer at the other end of the room, wouldn’t it? Yes. Yes, that would be awkward.

“D’you do anything fun this weekend?” he asks as he empties his basin into the tub, pouring a cub of powdered detergent over it��the same type you use.

Leaning against your machine, you watch him from out of the corner of your eye, trying to silence your inner thoughts—at least enough to not let any of your unfounded suspiciousness leak into your voice. “Mh-no, not really. I just studied. What about you?”

He turns the machine on, smiling lazily while saying, “Nah…” then turns around, mirroring your leaning stance, standing shoulder to shoulder. “Though I heard one of the frathouses had a party…”

He tilts his head down, looking at you—friendly-faced, asking, “You didn’t go?”

You try to stop yourself, but you blanche despite the effort. Head hot, you fold your arms over your chest, hugging yourself a little.

There was a party? When? This weekend? How come… nobody told you?

You swallow, unable to look back at him—suddenly feeling a little bit sick. 

“Uhm… no,” you say. “I didn’t feel up to it...”

His eyes slim at your obvious lie, but you don’t see it—now too wrapped up in your own embarrassment to pay attention.

His smile curls. You’re an open book if there ever was one.

But you don’t have to feel embarrassed. Of course, you didn’t go to the party. You didn’t even know there was one. And how could you? When he broke into your locker and took the invitation—just as he’s done with all the other party fliers every single week. 

“Not your thing?” he says, trying to hold back his glee.

You still don’t look at him—too chagrined—looking like you want to dig a hole and bury yourself in it. “I guess so…”

Oh, he could just lick that expression right off your cute little face.

“Not mine either,” he chuckles, rummaging through the bag at his hip, pulling out a book, and flashing the cover to you with a grin. “I’m more of a book club type of guy.”

You blink. Reading the title with big round eyes.

“Have you joined one yet?”

You look at him then, shaking your head, “Oh, no—uhm, I couldn’t decide…”

He hands you the book. You receive it in both hands. Your fingers brushing each other.

“You should join us then,” he offers. “You’re gonna get burned out if all you read is textbooks, y'know?”

He watches your eyes widen—looking like a peasant, beholding him as a saint who’s just offered you shelter from the storm.

“Thank you...”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shinso ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo, Megumi, Yuuta ♡ HQ – Sugawara, Kuro ♡ CSM – Aki, Yoshida ♡ AOT – Armin ♡ DS – Tomioka, Tanjiro, Zenitsu ♡ HxH – Kurapika, Leorio ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[seattlesellie]

ೀ spoiled. ( part one )

📞🕯️🎀 ₊˚⊹♡ “ baby , can you call me back ? i miss you … it’s so lonely in my mansion … “ 🧸🪽🍬

pairing: ellie williams x rich fem!reader

synopsis: the mansion you live in is getting too cold , the silence is way too silent , and not even reruns of sex & the city can help … long story short , you’re feeling lonely . wonder if you can think of someone in your contacts that can help and warm you up , a certain classmate perhaps ?

warnings: girly reader , kind of desperate loser ellie , bratty spoiled rich reader so don't read if that annoys you , allusion to smut , actual smut will be in the second chapter , this is dirty so mdni as usual !

an: i wrote this such a long time ago and it wasn't supposed to be two parts but well now it is !! i will start writing the second part if u guys want to so don't be shy in my inbox. not proofread unfortunately ♡

A perfectly manicured hand rests on the fluffy white and silky smooth duvet. the Egyptian cotton, to be exact, is nothing but lavish, a sanctuary of indulgence in the realm of your own private luxury. Then, you tap your nails atop it, and the fabric crinkles. You gently sigh, but it's more so a grumble, and reach over for the ‘Dunkin’ cup standing on your wooden bedside table. It perfectly matches every single one of the furniture in your extravaganza of a walk in closet, and the bed-frame as well. You take a slow, indulgent sip out of the icy cold drink, take an ice cube out with a straw, and gently suckle on it. You place the drink back on the table, shifting your gaze back over to the flat screen television.

Carrie forgave Mr. Big again, and now she’s seen frantically pacing around the streets of New York City in her shiny Manolo Blahniks. You arch your brows, humming in high pitched amusement. you have the exact same pair!

Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda always seem to bring you a sense of comfort. Usually, your bed brings you a sense of comfort as well, and so does an icy drink with specifically eight cubes of ice. Your room smells like French vanilla, a tinge of cinnamon, and the sweetest pie you’ve never learned how to bake. Most of the time, you’d bask in the scent and feel nice, and cosy, and your nose would scrunch and your nostrils would flare out, then you’d open your favorite food delivery app and order a nice ol’ package of nine chocolate chip cookies. Then, you’d pop open a bottle of champagne and indulge yourself in the sweets deliciousness.

But your appetite is less existent than snow in the middle of August.

You’re also freezing cold, fuzzy socks and all — goosebumps rising on your skin and feeling sharp like Japanese knives.

Your best friend of a white home cat, Toodle, elegantly extends his supple frame, his lithe form gracefully ascending to nestle within the cradle of your neck. His bell gently dingles, he yawns and mellifluously meows. Right now, it sounds more like an old mans groan.

“I know, Toots… m’bored too. And cold, Jesus…” you mutter towards Toodles, who, in his usual aloof manner, closes his eyes and surrenders to the soothing hum of his purring. You puff some air out of your mouth, brain wheels turning as to find out what’s the cause of this blue mood. The air conditioning is completely turned off, you’re sure of it, and the fireplace crackles with warmth. Your entire moisturized body is covered up by a ridiculously expensive thick blanket, and it’s not the short VS nightie that makes you feel freezing, you’re convinced of that. For some reason, the frosty sensation persists. You smack your lip-glossed lips before bumping your head against your mountain of pillows, emitting a low grunt of exasperation.

You don’t know the reason for your boredom, or for this bum mood, because albeit you’ve seen this episode about a gazillion times, it never fails to entertain the shit out of your brain.

Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re entirely alone (except for Toddles, of course, can't forget him) in a 10,000 square feet mansion. or perhaps it’s because the only lit room inside the mansion is your own.

But then you roll your eyes, because your parents are always away (at St. Tropez this time), so feeling alone isn’t a new and strange concept.

Alas, being alone isn’t the same as being lonely.

Your face twists at the depressing thought, ew. You’re not lonely, just… bored, and unamused, and the icy drink isn’t sweet enough and Carrie’s getting on your last nerve, and the 1,000 dollar blanket is starting to itch the hell out of your hyper-sensitive skin.

Which is why you get up from the bed in a moment of eureka, landing your feet against the fuzzy carpet and slide them into your Ugg’s. “Uh huh!” you chirp, you finally got it.

You’re experiencing an old friend of a feeling called (drumroll…) — anxiety, over your unfinished chem project! It must have masked itself in the form of frigidness and discomfort and loneliness.

But the project isn’t even due till next week, and you rarely get stressed over college stuff unless they’re due the next day and you’re sitting, staring down at your laptop screen, trying to communicate with it through telepathy or something of that sort.

Somaybeit’snotanxiety and maybeyou’rejustloney.

You shake away that uneasy and irritating thought, and sit your pretty butt down on the rolling chair. You click your shiny glittery pen (that always sheds some glitter onto your hand) and open up the thick as brick textbook.

You read the first question out loud.

The correct formula for aluminum nitrate is…

Valentino’s Lòco Toile Iconographe shoulder bag in hot pink?

Nope.

You shake your head, you have got to focus. You place your chin atop your palm and click the pen once more.

Al(NO2)3? or maybe it’s Al(NO3)3…

or maybe you’re so far off you need to close the book shut and throw it out of the window. You’ve always sucked at chemistry.

Which is why you were assigned to be tutored by that auburn haired, green eyed, slightly sullen, tatted up girl who went by "Ellie" — or "El", but you didn't know her like that.

Ellie, is the one who stuttered out your name as she realized you weren’t paying attention to her tutoring, as you had your gaze fixated on the black ink etched on her forearm, a half-covered flannel and a canvas of delicate veins. A bug, adorned with intricate botanical details, unfurled its wings across her skin.

“S’uh… A moth, with ferns around it n’stuff. It’s kind of faded now though”

Her voice was raspy and husky, and she stuttered out your name. Usually, you’d hate it when people got nervous around you. It made you feel odd, ostracized, and you always insisted — you were so damn sweet, there’s nothing to be nervous about. You wore sweet perfume, sweet as goddamn cherries and cupcakes, and your voice was soft and you always smiled brightly, and so what if your purse cost more than a college tuition?

But her nerves didn’t annoy you. In fact, you found them charming, and you found her sweet. You found that all of her “Uhhh” ‘s, and her “Mhhm” ‘s, all of her stammering and her lack of ability to keep eye contact with you to be… infatuating.

Then there was that rich voice, and those eyes, that smile, those hands, those damn toned arms, those biceps and the haircut, the way two short strands of hair always framed her face perfectly and her scent — that you could tell was just a cheap cologne, but mixed with her unique fragrance, proved nothing short of intoxicating.

It was also the fact that she seemed to damn know everything — and that she was always ahead of you, and that her face always bore that coy little smirk when you got a question wrong (which you seemed to get more often than not), and that she would grab your Swarovski pen out of your hand and scribble down the answer for you, just to explain it in detail later.

The way she licked over her bottom lip and bit as wrote down.

With her long fingers and all.

When she spoke, her breath smelled of mint and the faintest tinge of weed, which made you think of how lovely it must be to be able to transform into a damn joint just so she could place you in her mouth and suck —

now you’re sticky, and god now you really are distracted, and not by a cute purse or the sound of rain pouring down on your window. Toodles stretches his tiny limbs and you hear his bell faintly dingle again. He climbs down from your princess bed and jumps up to sit at your lap. You caress down his white fur and he purrs.

You wonder if Ellie likes cats.

You know she likes pussy.

You have got to get a grip.

You massage your temples, attempting to focus on the written down questions again, but the words and the numbers seem to mix into a cacophony of odd symbols and letters, and you’re still so goddamn cold.

Albeit your eyelids droop down slowly, eyes spazzing out of focus, the assignment must be done today.

“Just, finish the damn work and go to sleep. Yup.” You mumble to yourself, a habit you picked up as a result of being alone for most of your childhood, and having to opt for the help of imaginary friends to keep you comfort. Alas, you’re older now and only have yourself to talk to.

You try and follow your command.

The problem is, you don’t know jack shit.

You wish Ellie was here, with her hair sticking to her forehead and your pen in her hand and her old chuck’s glued to her feet, as she sits down on the spare chair aside you with her jaw resting on her knees.

You wish you could hear her faint chuckle as you get another question wrong.

As a tutor, of course.

Not even as a friend, because she’s not.

Definitely not as a lover, obviously, because that would truly be so far fetched from reality — although… right now, you can’t help but think of the way her eyes fall down to your chest as a crimson blush creeps up her cheeks.

And you keep thinking about the time you purposely let your bra strap cascade down your shoulder, just because you wondered how she’d react — Which was with averting her gaze to the side and clearing her throat. Now you think of the time you wore an extra short mini skirt, not that different from the rest of them although a bit tinier, and how you kept rubbing your thighs together just to see whether she’d notice or not, which she did…

You groan and slap your palm against your forehead.

Then, you stare at another question and then at your phone. Toodles chimes in with a high-pitched meow.

“Oh my gosh Toots, so true! I should text her the questions, duh”

You’re not delusional at all, by the way.

So you send her your address.

In the meantime, you make sure your studying environment and your room are as tidy as possible. You grab your sparkly pink pen and place it near the textbook, and you grab a matte black pen for Ellie as well, a thoughtful gesture.

You also apply some strawberry scented moisturizer on your body, and spray your sickly sweet perfume on your pule points.

You slip your feet out of your slippers, and you wear your favorite heels. However, you keep your little nightie on. You’re supposed to feel comfortable, this is your house after all, and the heels — are just a courtesy, you are expecting company, and opening the front door with house slippers is entirely rude, and the silky robe… It’s long enough and proper. Ish.

You stare at your reflection down the mirror, and for some reason, you feel utterly nervous. You’re all dolled up for a person who isn’t a stranger, but who also isn’t a friend. When you coat your lips with some minty gloss, Toodles stretches his tail upwards and meows.

“Psh. Do not judge me, Toots. This is normal, I do this all the time”

Which again is a total and complete white lie, because if it was a regular friend coming over, you wouldn’t have even bothered to fix up your makeup, and you’d barely even get up from the comfort of your own bed.

As a matter of fact, not many people come by your house at all. You have your fair share of friends, but you’d much rather hang out by the mall or at one of their mansions, yours always feels just, utterly suffocating — as giant and spacey as it might be. And sure, you’ve had hook ups before, but you always went rigid when they tried to slip past your panties, and you were always… dry, as an autumn leaf.

Ellie makes you feel anything but dry.

Physically — you shake your head and try getting rid of the thought by giving yourself some good old whiplash.

You find yourself pacing around your room, until you manage to cascade downstairs as soon as you hear the bell ring. With each step you take, your heel taps the lavish ceramic pavement.

“Stay”, you gesture towards your fluffy feline companion, who responds with a squinting of his eyes. “Don’t freak out our company”

You look at Ellie’s face from the intercom’s shiny screen. You look at it so hard you nearly forget to press on the button that’s purpose is to let your tutor-guest in. A couple of strands of her auburn bangs stick to her forehead. Ellie scratches her eyes with the back of her hands and she straightens up her spine. As she waits for the gate to open, she puffs some air from her cheeks. She attempts to fix her eyebrows with the tips of her fingers, and seems to be murmuring something underneath her breath.

You’re not the best at lip reading, but your gut tells you she just whispered a “Hi”, and added your name, then — “Hey” adding your name once more.

It’s absolutely impossible for her to not be aware of how stupidly and irritatingly cute she is.

You press on the button and clear your throat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t practice your greeting in front of a mirror as well. Your robe cascades down your shoulder, you fixate on it and contemplate pulling up the fabric.

Toodles meows once more.

Yup. You should keep it down.

It takes Ellie a good five minutes to walk the full distance from the front gate to your huge white door.

Then she knocks three times on the wood, and you squeak like a mouse although you really were fully prepared.

Your tutor wears a blue flannel with a white undershirt tucked beneath. The first button is opened, revealing a tiny piece of her pale skin. Below, her legs are covered with tight skinny jeans with a tear on the knee (you’re not sure if she fell or if it’s done purposely so), and to your surprise — no Chuck’s, but Doc Martens.

Noted. She has more than one pair of shoes.

When you greet Ellie with a cheerful — yet ever so relieved and breathy “Hi”, you kiss her on the cheek like you do all of your friends, and you can smell that cheap cologne again.

Amber, citrus, musk, lavender.

There’s a hint of actual Ellie in the mix as well — smoke, herbs, sweat… did she run here?

When you hug Ellie you focus on her scent.

When you hug Ellie she focuses on absofuckinglutely nothing — Her body goes rigid and stiff and she doesn’t hug you back until two way too long seconds pass, and she finally manages to place her hand on your waist.

But she doesn’t hug or squeeze, she rests it there.

Then she coughs.

“Hey”

You take a step back and you can tell she’s a bit flushed, or flustered — but you take it as her just running. You lean your hand against one of the thick pillars. Her orbs travel frantically from your eyes down to your… legs, that are completely bare and smooth and shiny, then they run down to your feet, which are covered with heels…

You think she might say something about it, about you, how ridiculous you look, so you’re washed up with self consciousness and shyness which is something you rarely get to feel, unless you’re with that damn girl for some reason.

Then her eyes hyper-focus on… the ceiling?

You grant Ellie a half smile and you really yearn to break the silence — but she’s ahead of you. Again.

“It’s… you have a really high ceiling” she says, then immediately glues her eyes on to the floor.

“Uh, shiny floor…” she chuckles so freaking awkwardly, grazing the bottom of her left legs doc’s on the floor so it squeaks. Immediately, Ellie apologizes.

“Shit, sorry, my shoes fuckin’ muddy. I uh, ran here”

You gingerly smile and furrow your brows. You theory has been proven correct. “You ran?”

“Walked, like, not ran ran”

There’s the tiniest droplet of sweat on Ellie’s forehead, which she wipe’s swiftly and clumsily with the back of her hand when she notices your eyes scan it. Oh, she ran ran alright. You do feel a little bad, picturing Ellie’s shoes hitting below her ass as she runs through the streets of your city, with a packed and awfully heavy mauve backpack — smacking against her back with every step she takes. You almost pout, you’re still leaning against the pillar and you smack your lips together — gloss and all, out of habit.

“Could’a given you a ride, y’know” you light sweetly. Ellie’s scarred eyebrow arches up in response. “You have a license?”

You so want to shove her shoulder playfully, but you’re convinced it’ll make her go absolutely rigid again. Physical contact bricks her up — noted.

“Why is that such a surprise?” you flash her a teasing smile. She smiles back at you.

“S’just, thought you’d have a personal driver. Can’t really imagine you driving that monster of a Rover back there —“

You nod in complete amusement. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Ellie teases, followed by a throaty chuckle. “Plus, took you more of a passenger princess type of girl”

And that sentence shouldn’t make you stutter the way you do next. It shouldn’t, but it does. You back away slowly and Ellie follows your footsteps.

“T-that’s, awfully presumptuous” you chirp. Her boots stomp on the floor and your heels click clack. “Plus, I don’t drive that Rover. My car’s in the garage with the rest of ‘em” you say matter-of-factly.

Ellie scoffs impishly behind you. You walk up the stairs and she follows suit. She’s confident when she teases, you think, which is a tad different than her usual awkward self, but if only you knew she nearly slipped down one of the steps as she noticed the tiniest, delicious, most precious piece of your flesh that was just exposed behind you as a result of your incredibly short nightie.

“Psh, so presumptuous”

As you walk towards your room, Ellie walks behind you although she has more than enough space to walk besides you. You get the feeling that she's nervous, even after her teasing and all, and you don't have to wonder why too much. Your house is huge, intimidating, filled with strange sculptures and paintings by obscure artists regular people have never even heard of. You don't have just one living room, you have three, and in each and every one of them stands a different technology piece of some sort. Also, your heels cost more than her outfit, could be more worth than the entirety of her damn closet, and most importantly — you're walking with a pink robe and some heels on.

When you reach your room, Ellie awkwardly smiles and straightens her muscular back. Then, she holds on to the straps of her backpack.

"First of all" you sigh, and now it's your turn to feel coy. "Thank you for coming over so late. I know it's like, absolutely ridiculous, and you know, you don't get paid for this so...", you flash Ellie an endearing smile, the apples of your cheeks rising sweetly as a humble thank you. "And, second of all... jus'... brace yourself?"

Ellie's brows arch up, but before she has time to ask — oh.

You both step into your lit room. Toodles follows by closely, entering the room as well, whilst rubbing his furry back against Ellie's calves.

"Yup..."

Ellie's fingers instinctively clasp onto the straps of her backpack once more, her eyes widening ever so slightly, but she fights to seem as unsurprised as she can — she fails miserably, because she gasps a little.

Your room is nothing but a... cotton candy dream world. A wall that's painted in pretty dusty pink, a princess bed that's nothing but a regal centerpiece. Above the bed, a canopy of gossamer silk drapes from a custom-crafted wrought iron frame, And the final sophisticated touch, a grand crystal chandelier, suspended from the ceiling. There are also clothes everywhere, empty water bottles, used sheet masks, a stack of books — some half-read, others forgotten, teetered precariously on a random corner. Ellie sticks out like a sore thumb. She stands out like a neon sign in a library, a skateboard at a black-tie gala.

You like it.

She clears her throat, stepping further into your room. "I take it black is your favorite color?" she titters sarcastically.

You giggle.

"Mhm, also I'm clearly very organized, and I hate clothes" you murmur and point out the pile of dresses haphazardly bunched in the corner of your room.

She should feel out of place. She should probably laugh, even sneak a pic — tell all her "cool" friends about how mindblowingly ridiculous the prissy rich girls room is. Instead, she thinks about how cute you must look cuddled up in a bed this big, how adorable it'd be to see your bed-head poking through the sheets at 8am, how sweet it must be to watch you skip around your room, trying on your shitload of clothes, throwing them in the air and huffing like a medieval brat of a princess. She wants to place a fucking tiara on your head. She sees your sticker collection from the corner of her eye, your vinyls, your candles, your crystals and Toodles' sofa.

And she likes it.

You take a deep breath. You shouldn't even care if she likes it or not, you shouldn't be bothered by it at all — you rarely are, but something inside of you yearns for... something.

"It suits you" she murmurs.

And that's certainly good enough, because it does.

You gesture Ellie to sit on the rolling chair next to yours, and her eyes still roam over the space of your room. “My room looks exactly the same, by the way… same uh, size too… n’stuffed animals… Shit, I like the elephant one”, she sarcastically remarks as she sits on the chair and hunches down, manspreading as she often does. Your eyes can’t help but roam down, because her damn thighs flexed under those jorts and you heard her, but you also kind of didn’t.

Ellie clears her throat and narrows her eyes. Jheez, she thinks, you must be absolutely exhausted since your eyes don’t seem to be able to focus.

“Huh?” you say, startled. You’re still standing up on those heels. Ellie sniffles and chuckles and her voice goes all quiet.

“Said pink nauseates me, that I hate those stuffed animals and that your elephant doll’s ugly as shit”

You roll your eyes and your tongue swipes over your glossy bottom lip. You bite it and you sit down on the chair. Ellie’s eyes scan over your chest and she averts her gaze like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hate you, chem tutor” you huff, resting your head on the palm of your hand. Ellie doesn’t maintain a second of eye contact but she chuckles and it’s cocky.

“You need me, and you need an A in chemistry”

You like that side of her.

You let your eyes blink lazily at her, a cheeky little smirk forming on your lips. When you open your mouth again, just to smack it on your glossy lips, you brush your leg ‘accidentally’ against hers, and rigid she goes. “Mhm, I definitely need you, Ellie…”

The apples of Ellie’s cheek shine in bright crimson and her hand flexes. She grabs her pen and clicks on it once. You didn’t mean it like that, she so obviously knows or believes, but it matters nonetheless. You like that side of her so much more.

You cross your pretty legs and let the tip of your heel graze her chair. “So, you want a drink before we start studying?”, you’re way too damn close, she nods — but she doesn’t need a ‘drink’ she needs a damn water fountain that directly flows onto her mouth and satisfies that damn drench. Is it possible for her damn knee to feel hot? Why is her knee feeling hot?

“Anything specific?”

“Jus’ waters fine” Ellie manages to murmur, lips forming a teeny tiny, shy, crescent smile.

“I was thinking more… like, wine? I have a wine cooler n’my room… if you wanted water i’d have to like, go downstairs and… It’s so lonely in there” your voice is saccharine, delicate, and it and coaxes Ellie’s mind.

“Wine’s perfect, I love wine” says Ellie.

She hates wine.

“Mhm, red or white?” — Your question comes when you lift your butt off the chair and walk slowly towards the cooler.

“Uh, r-red. S’much… richer” Ellie falters, remembering vaguely the time Joel had mentioned white wine’s for pussies. When she tried a red one, she gagged.

“Impressive” you note.

Ellie rolls the chair with the help of her heavy Doc's, and watches as you pour the red liquid into two delicate glasses. Your leg, she notices, is clad with a shiny, delicate golden piece of jewelry. Her eyes scan upwards, towards your bare thighs — the flesh is glistening, almost appearing as if it's covered with oil. Her mind drifts elsewhere, to a world in which your nightie is nothing but nonexistent, and those thighs...

Her stomach grumbles, she firmly holds onto it. Why NOW.

"Hungry?" you place the glass on the table, slightly nudging it towards Ellie.

She's starving.

you flash her a devilish smirk, cocking your head to the side.

"Oh, uhh... nope"

Famished.

[hoshigray]

꯳⃘꤫⃛✿ contents: Gojo x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! gym friends - oral (f! + m! receving) - clitoral play (licking + sucking) - boobjob - prone bone position - unprotected sex - creampies - pet names (angel, baby, princess, sweetie) - gojo is a perv, ngl - pussywhipped + whiny! gojo - mention of sweat and drool/spit.

Been going to the gym lately and can’t stop thinking about gym friend! Gojo, who indisputably has a massive crush on you. 

Why else would he drag you in to do something that he loves to do? To share the same interests as his POI? To see you all the time? His reasons could be endless; however, those exact reasons seem to be doing more harm than good as his eyes can’t stop watching your body move on the elliptical, the sweat on your body shimmering on your gorgeous skin, or the positions you do as you stretch. All it does is add more fuel to the erotic thoughts that gnaw his heart out the more his azure orbs gawk at you. 

“Ahaahhn!! S-Satoru, don’t lick so fa—Mmm!—Fffuuuhuuck!!”

Or stir up more guilty fantasies for his perverted brain to think about.

On his life, Gojo wishes he’d snatch you off your feet and take you to the locker rooms to devour you utterly. If he has to look at your ass shielded under those leggings one more time, he will rip them off the seams and stuff his face into your panties. And he knows you’d make the cutest sounds as he does so, shrilling up above with hands grabbing tuffs of his silver snow hair while his teeth tug your panties to the side and latch your folds to his mouth. 

You looked way too good not to do so! He would have you hunched on the locker room bench, your knees to your chest, while his tongue ravishes your labia and eats you out. Jesus, your taste is intoxicating enough for his head to pound, spiraling the muscle to every cranny of the orifice to drink your fluids. “Holy fuck, so good…”

“‘Toruuu, waait!!” You plead with teary eyes, unsuccessful attempts to escape the tall man’s hold. “You’re going too fassst. Please…! Slow do—Oohoo!”

“No can do, baby~,” he’d lift his face and reveal his chin, just drenched with your essence mixed with his spit, before placing his tongue back to lap around your clitoris. “You said you’d cum for me three times, remember? Can’t just stop with one!”

“Bu-But…! I cannn’t, I’m too sweaty—“ you hasped aloud at the suck of your clit, Gojo letting his tongue run wild by licking and pressing on the pearl feverishly before sucking it in again. “—Tahaaa…!! Stop, stop! Let me shower firsst!!”

“C’mon, angel,” he kisses your vulva idly, enjoying the shudder of your thighs. “We can shower plenty together right after this, ‘kay? So, just keep cumming on my tongue for me, yeah?”

It doesn’t stop there. Because what’s hidden under your pants isn’t the only thing that drives him crazy — your cleavage peaking from your sports bras will always have him in a chokehold, the sweat shimmering across your attractive skin…All it needs is for his cock to be stuffed inside.

Oh fuck, it’s insane to even think about! Those lovely tits of yours giving his aching cock the time of its life has shivers crawling up his spine. That’s a sight that he’d store in his memory forever, watching his dick be swallowed up by the understrap of your bra and into the warmth of your chest. Fuck—he can’t think of anything better!

“Gosh, Satoru,” you’d look at him with a hooded gaze and smile while your hands press on your breasts to push together and trap his erection. The plush sensation makes Gojo’s hips buck, and you giggle. “What am I going to do with you? I can’t even work out in peace without you eyeing up my tits. Hmm, what do you have to say about that?”

“Hahhh…ahaaa, shit, I can’t—“ Gojo bites his lip at the display of your chest motioning up and down, his cock gliding in between your soft mounds making his eye twitch.

“Oh? Do you like watching my tits?” You inquire with a playful glint in your eyes, blowing on the pink tip to make the man moan. Precum trickles down your chest and joins the excess fluid that pools down to your bra and his sticky pelvis. “Does my pervert friend like my tits so much he wants to stuff his dick inside and make them dirty like him?”

“Fucking shit, yesss,” he throws his head back, his thighs trembling. “Yes, I love those cute tits like crazy.”

“Really?” You bat your eyes — holy hell, you were too much for him. “Would you like to cum on them again? Tell me, tell your gym partner how much you wanna stain these precious boobs you love so much.” You tease the cockhead with a flick of your tongue, nearly having Gojo bite on his. 

“Oh, my God, sweetie, please!” His blue eyes sparkle with a misty wanton, drunk on this sensation between his legs. “I can’t think right now…Lemme fuck your tits like crazy!”

You smirk with no words, sticking your tongue out to drizzle your warm saliva on his tip, the poor partner choking on the air before you suck his entire tip into your mouth. Greeting his sensitive glans with your tongue, your chest continues to squeeze and stroke his shaft to have him a whining mess. Shaky hands find your shoulders, but it doesn’t stop your rhythm that can easily have him melt to the floor. And if that doesn’t do it, then your tongue flicking and teasing his urethra sure will—shocks travel across his body as you suck harshly for his precum, and his head is too mushy to stop his peak from crumbling down.

He surprises you with a burst of his semen, screaming with a gleeful smile as his white substance protrudes out and paints your chin and your messy chest. You lift a bit to have him come into your bra, seeing his come create a damp and sticky spot as your nipple rubs on him. “You’re so bad, Satoru~,” you titter. “So naughty and dirty.”

That’s precisely what he feels: bad and dirty for thinking of you like this…and worse, he keeps going.

“Ohhh!! ’T-Toruuu, yer going so faast! Nooohh!!

If Gojo is likely to lose his mind at your chest, it’s entirely plausible that he’d go wild at the snug feeling of your vaginal walls clamping around his dick. Oh, he can just picture it: your legs locked between his as he pummels his cock into your bare cunt, your hands tied to your back with a headband, and your firm hands placed on your shoulders as he drills himself to churn your insides. 

Nothing can keep him at bay; his hips going buck-wild, slamming his pelvis down to your ass to make the flesh jiggle, moaning aloud at the sensation of you squeezing him whenever the tip grazes your sweet spots accurately, and thinking about nothing more than stuffing you full of his load. Fuck, you’d look so pretty, all fucked out and coated in his cum, filling it to the brim nonstop until his limb goes limp. Now that’s a workout he’ll get behind til the end of his days!

“Satoruuu!” You cry out his name, drooling escaping your pretty lips as you writhe. “It’s shoo muuuch, ‘oo muuuch!!”

His eyes roll to his skull from how much you are clenching around him, grinding his hips down to your ass to rub on your G-spot to the point of unintelligible babbles. Tighter, tighter! “Ahhhh, shiiit, baby, you feel so good,” he hiccups with abrupt ruts to your chasm. “So fucking…good!”

“Nnnmm, mmph!” Your eyes are sewn shut as the pleasure becomes overwhelming to bear, Gojo’s curved dick making it easier to scratch your vaginal walls to a euphoric itch. A poke to your cervix causes a sharp gasp and eyes to widen again. “—Gahaaa, wa-wait, Satoru, stop! If you keep—Mmmph!”

“Ahaah, there it is,” he draws his length outward before shoving it back inside to hit your womb once more. You yelp and tighten around him again. “Your little weak spot is right here, huh?” More gnashes to your ass cause frequent jabs to your womb, your lower half jerking to every single one.

“Ohhh fuuck, I’m gonna cummm…!!”

“Yeah, I can feel it,” Gojo licks his lips before kissing your nape. “But not yet, right? You said you’d help me with my endurance training, so hold on a little longer, okay, my princess?”

Before you could retort, his hips began to jackhammer into your cunt at an irregular pace, your screams only fueling him to pound you even more. “OhhhhGod, Satoru, go slooow…’Toru, please!!”

SNAP, SNAP!!

“Hey, Satoru, you okay? You’re daydreaming again.”

With the snap of your fingers, Gojo is brought back to reality, realizing he’s been adrift with his thoughts yet again as he sits aimlessly on the adjustable bench. “Ah, sorry, what were you saying?”

“I said, let’s get outta here; I’ll treat you to some burgers.” You beam before turning on your heel. “Now, hurry up; the place is closing soon!”

The white-haired man watches you go, eyes lingering on your finger and thanking the stars you hadn’t noticed the pink of his cheeks and ears flourishing. Nor the white towel that he held by his groin and quickly covering the tent protruding from his shorts.

…Fuck!

© HOSHIGRAY2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ⊹ dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[roosterforme]

In the Navy Now | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: When Bradley and Jake catch their wives in the midst of a lie, Bradley wonders what made you think you couldn't be honest with him. He soon realizes you have a trick up your sleeve, one that makes his work day a lot more exciting. 

Warnings: Fluff, smut, adult language, math as foreplay

Length: 3900 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time but it can be read on its own! Check out my masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

"You know what really sucks?" Bradley mused as he sat at a table for two in the cafeteria on base.

"What's that?" Jake asked in response, digging his fork into a bowl of pasta.

Bradley looked around the room at everyone else and sighed. "You and I are forced to socialize all the time now, because our wives are best friends."

He saw Jake on Saturday, and also last night at the bar, and again every damn day at work.

Jake shrugged as he took a bite of his lunch. "It's not that bad."

"Speak for yourself. I literally can't understand what Jessica sees in you."

As soon as he heard Jake's laugh, Bradley knew what was coming. "You're literally the last person who should be making comments like that. Your wife is so hot, it's absolutely unbelievable she is with you willingly. She had ten years to come to her senses."

Bradley smiled as he thought about you. "She missed me."

Jake was shaking his head. "She must have been with some seriously ugly guys or something in those ten years."

Bradley was laughing now as he said, "I'm telling you, she missed me as much as I missed her."

"Riiiight. I'm about to text her and ask for verification on that one."

Bradley poked at his salad and murmured, "Don't even bother. She's in some sort of math seminar with Dean Walters all day. Told me not to try reaching her unless it's an emergency."

"Are you sure?" Jake asked, giving him a funny look. "Jess said she had a department meeting with the dean today. For the science department."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "Yeah, of course I'm sure. I even packed her an extra snack. Unlike you, I actually listen to my wife when she talks. I'm sure you're wrong."

But Jake was already digging in the pocket of his flight suit for his phone, and when he unlocked it and slid it across the table, Bradley picked it up. He skimmed a text that Jessica sent just a few hours ago.

I love you! Don't forget, I'll be unreachable most of the day. Physics meeting with Dean Walters. 

Bradley frowned. If this was true, then you lied to him. You never lied to him. He tried his best to let you know that you never had to do that. But now he remembered that you even went so far as to tell him you didn't need a ride home from campus today, and that actually seemed suspicious, too.

"Why do they want us to think they're busy all day?"

"It doesn't really make any sense," Jake said as he set his fork down. "Damn. Jess knows she can talk to me about anything."

"Yeah," Bradley grunted, "I don't like this shit." The uneasy feeling seemed to spread through his entire body as he stood. "We need to get going. Special class today, remember?"

"Fuck," Jake muttered under his breath, clearly as excited about the guest lecturer as Bradley was. Sitting in the classroom for a few hours was usually always tedious compared to flying, but the lectures that Cyclone had been adding to their schedules randomly over the past few months were worse than the most boring class Bradley ever took at the University of Virginia.

"Let's get this over with," he said, dropping his tray off and fighting the urge to text you just to see what you'd have to say. Now he was going to have to figure out a way to call you out about lying later. But it was still puzzling him as to why you and Jessica would both tell the same exact lie. What was the point of that? If you didn't want Bradley to bother you at work, that was all you needed to say. But it wasn't like he was annoying like Jake was; he could understand Jessica needing a break from her husband, but did you need one too?

He was still trying to figure out if there was something going wrong with his marriage when he walked into the classroom. Cyclone was standing at the front, hands on his hips, glaring at Bradley and Jake as they walked inside with two minutes to spare. The only seats left were both up in the front row, and Bradley groaned as he dropped down into one of them. The last guest speaker they had spit the entire time he talked, and the one before that spoke at full volume like she was teaching a room full of hundreds of people rather than the twenty four that were gathered.

"I regret not getting here early," Jake murmured, and Bradley nodded as he shifted in his seat and messed with the cuffs of the sleeves of his flight suit. He was really hung up on what you could possibly be doing today, and he knew that he wasn't going to be able to pay attention to this lecture topic at all. And that's when he noticed what was written on the white board behind Cyclone.

THE PHYSICS OF PROPULSION AND MATHEMATICAL FORMULATIONS IN SINGLE SEAT F/A-18 JETS

He groaned, because even the word mathematical made him think about you. This was about to be a long afternoon. Then Admiral Simpson cleared his throat, and Bradley forced his attention to the man in front of him.

"Welcome. Today's lecture topic is of the utmost importance regarding updates that will be made to your aircrafts this year. We will take a look at jet propulsion and the calculations specific to your F/A-18s before the new NATOPS is even released. We have two guest speakers who are professors from San Diego State University's math and physics departments, and they have graciously agreed to spend some time on this topic with us."

"No way," Bradley whispered, convinced it had to be you. He swiveled around in his seat so fast, he thought he might have broken it as he hung over the arm into the aisle when the classroom door opened. He could hear her high heels on the floor before he realized he was looking at Jessica enter the room, but then his heart skipped around in his chest just like the first time he saw you over ten years ago at his fraternity house. You looked fucking hot as sin, strolling in behind Jake's wife with a folder in your hand and a smirk on your red lips. Your eyes found his immediately as he sat there gaping at you while you made your way to the front of the room, but other than a little nod in his direction, you gave him nothing.

"Holy shit," Jake hissed next to him as Bradley nodded in agreement, his eyes glued on your body as he heard Cyclone introduce you and Dr. Jessica Reed by name. You gave the room at large a little wave, but your eyes flicked him, and Bradley let out the breath he had apparently been holding as he relaxed into his seat. So this must have been why you tried to make it seem like you were extremely busy today. Maybe you and Jessica didn't want him and Jake to catch on to the fact that you'd be presenting their class.

As Jessica started talking, he took in every inch of your appearance. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, and you were doing it very well. Bradley was proficient at calculus, having attended many of your college level math lectures. Sometimes he surprised you, but sometimes you knew ahead of time that he planned on being there. It didn't hurt that the lectures he attended usually ended with sex or a blowjob for him. Somehow math had turned into a form of foreplay for the two of you, and Bradley couldn't get enough. You'd praise him when he was able to solve a difficult problem, and the rewards were always sexy.

He was used to seeing you like this when he visited San Diego State University, but getting to witness your brilliance on the Naval base was already so exciting. Right now, he was already having a difficult time sitting still as he grew hard at the sound of your voice.

"The calculations related to your Super Hornets are so precise, we'll just take a look at a handful of examples to give you an idea of what we mean," you said, opening up your folder on the table as Bradley ran his sweaty palms on his flight suit. You were only a few feet away from him. He could smell your shampoo. He could count the little silver buttons on the side of your skirt. He had to bite his lip as you turned toward the white board and uncapped a marker as you said, "Please, let me know if I'm going too fast."

He could pick your writing out easily, but there was something about the way you always chose the letter B for your variables when he was watching. Your smooth penmanship started to fill the board as you talked your way through the problem, but Bradley could barely take his eyes off your ass. He turned around briefly to make sure nobody else had the same idea he did, but it was hard to tell. The younger guys looked a lot more enthusiastic than they usually did, and he might have to pound some sense into them later. Didn't they know you were his fucking wife?

But maybe they didn't. You kept your name the same when you got married. So did Jessica for that matter. Now Bradley sat a little taller in his seat as he realized he was married to one of the two extremely hot PhDs who all the other men in the room were drooling over.

"Does that make sense?" you asked, turning back to face them with a satisfied look on your face. "Dr. Reed can take over explaining the actual physics of the aircraft propulsion, and then I'll jump back in with the next calculation."

Bradley smiled at you while Jessica started talking again, and he could tell you were trying not to look at him as your lips curled into a grin. God, you were just fucking perfect. Smart and silly and sexy. And the two of you had so much history together, he could practically read the thoughts on your face.

"Did they dress like this on purpose?" Jake croaked softly.

"I know mine did," Bradley whispered. Your little tweed skirt and loafers screamed east coast academic. It looked as good on you as his tie dye shirt always did. It was just as sexy as lingerie. It was almost pornographic to him at this point. But today you had them paired with a blazer and a bodysuit. A bodysuit. He loved those things with the little snaps that held them closed as they hugged your curves. He was almost certain you'd skipped a bra. He couldn't wait to find out for sure.

Jessica was still talking about jet propulsion. Bradley would ask you to explain it to him later if it was actually important. Right now, you were slowly buttoning and then unbuttoning your blazer over and over again while you alternated between consulting your notes and stealing glances at Bradley. He was too warm as he watched your fingers work, and your eyes caught his as he leaned forward in his seat.

"Hey, Sugar," he mouthed, and your gaze dropped back to your folder as you bit your lip and smiled. He was ready to go home. Take you to bed. Or maybe get a private lecture in your home office. Or maybe drive all the way to the college and visit one of the library study rooms. You made everything so exciting, he wanted all of it.

When Jessica handed the lecture back over to you, Bradley squirmed in his seat as you wrote another calculation on the board. Jake was really no better in the seat next to him, and he realized the two of them must look like idiots at the moment. But you were making a subtle math joke that he understood, and when you glanced over your shoulder, your engagement ring sparkled under the fluorescent light.

"Now this is how the updates will actually make your aircrafts more fuel efficient," you said as you easily worked through a calculation that looked so complicated, Isaac Newton wouldn't have been able to solve it. Bradley's cock was still half hard, and he wasn't exactly sure how he was going to be able to stand up after this. But then you really threw him for a loop when you casually added the equation from your tattoo into the middle of the mess of mathematics on the white board. Now the only thing he could think about was your tits. Or rather, him running his lips along your math titty tattoo.

Bradley wasn't going to be able to sit still for much longer, but you turned around and asked, "Does anyone have any questions?"

He had to sit there and listen to several of the other guys ask you the most idiotic questions just so they could have your attention. Then Bradley raised his hand and waited until you pointed at him and said, "Lieutenant Bradshaw?" with an amused look on your face. "You have a question?"

"Yeah," he said, voice raspy. "I do, professor. If the variable B is directly related to propulsion, then how is that going to affect my thrust?"

He kept a straight face while you fought to do the same. You cleared your throat, took a step in his direction, and said, "You're going to need to have some additional thrust, Lieutenant."

Bradley nodded and gave you a thoughtful look. "Hmmm, that's what I thought. And it looks like a very complicated calculation."

You stood there in front of everyone in your little tweed skirt and the diamond ring he gave you and said, "If you'd like a more thorough explanation, I wouldn't mind spending a few minutes with you afterwards, Lieutenant."

As he leaned back in his seat, he told you, "I look forward to it."

So Bradley listened to Jessica while you occasionally interjected, and he kept his eyes on your face as his excitement started to build even more. When the afternoon lecture was finally over, he and Jake both stayed in their seats while Cyclone shook hands with the two of you.

"How long do you think they've been planning this?" Jake whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Not sure," Bradley replied as you collected your notes into your folder. "But I intend to find out." He was impressed as hell that you managed to pull this off without him noticing, but his skin was tingling with need. He desperately wanted to get his hands on you after you worked him up with all of the intellectual teasing. 

As soon as Cyclone dismissed everyone, Jake was on his feet, dragging Jessica out of the classroom, but Bradley didn't move an inch in his seat. His cock was hard, and you were running your hand along your tweed covered hip as you smiled at him. But then he had to endure one of the younger aviators who was new to Top Gun trying to chat you up when he should have just left the classroom with the others. When you turned to face him instead, annoyance washed through Bradley's veins.

"Uh, hi, uh I actually studied mathematics at the Naval Academy, and I graduated three years ago, and uh, I was just wondering if you would want to get a drink with me sometime and talk more about, um, some of the topics you covered about propulsion and thrust-"

"Fuck off, man," Bradley barked. "She's wearing goddamn wedding rings. And she's not interested."

Your hand slipped over your lips as you laughed silently while the younger man looked at Bradley in shock. "Oh. Right. Okay," he muttered before hightailing it from the now nearly empty classroom.

"That wasn't very nice," you said, fighting against a smile. "He seemed really sweet. I was going to let him shoot his shot."

Bradley stood with a soft groan, his erection pressing against the zipper of his flight suit. "I was promised a private tutorial session, Dr. Sugar. I'm not about to let a twenty-something year old take up any of my time."

Without hesitation, you walked over to him and started to slowly unzip his flight suit. "Hate to break it to you, Beer Boy, but you were a twenty-something year old when I fell in love with you." 

You ran your fingers along his undershirt, and Bradley glanced at the open classroom door as he whispered, "I hope you know you're not leaving this room until you're full of my cum."

"Lieutenant Bradshaw!" you gasped, eyes wide and surprised. But your hand was dipping lower to his abs, and he could tell you were as turned on as he was. "This is a tutoring session!"

Bradley wrapped his hand around your wrist and gently led you toward the door which he immediately closed. "I want to know how the hell you managed to pull this off. I had no idea you and Jessica were going to be teaching a class for the Navy."

"We've been working on our lesson plan for weeks," you said with a smirk as Bradley placed both of your palms on the door and flipped the light switch off. In the dimly lit room, you whispered, "We wanted it to be a surprise."

Bradley stood behind you, facing the door and kissed your neck above your unbuttoned blazer. "And here I thought you lied to me about your plans because you needed a break from me."

You moaned softly as his nose traced the shell of your ear. "Oh, please. It's not like you're annoying like Jake. I don't need a break from you, Beer Boy."

"Hmm, then what do you need from me?" he asked softly, letting one hand slide up your bodysuit while he confirmed that you were not wearing a bra. Your nipples were tight peaks as he stroked them through the fabric with one big hand, and you bumped your ass back against his erection.

"I need you to tell me what you know about thrust, Lieutenant," you stated in your teacher voice which made him grind against you.

"I know you like it when I give you a little thrust," he grunted, guiding your tweed skirt up your thighs as you gasped.

"Is this a good idea?" you asked, still pressing your body back against his. "Should we wait until we get home?"

"Can't," he growled, yanking your skirt up over your ass and wrapping his hands around your hips as he looked down at the perfect view. "You got me too worked up. You know what your lectures do to me. And this time it was on my home turf."

Your hands were still planted on the door as you glanced at him over your shoulder. "Almost like I'm in the Navy now. Lieutenant Sugar? Should I get a uniform?"

"Oh, fuck. You know I couldn't handle that. Besides, I'm really partial to your tweed." He was running his knuckles down your rear end as he whispered, "Please, let me fuck you. I'll be quick, Baby."

His fingers were already at the snaps on your bodysuit that hid your pussy from his touch when you said, "Do it."

With a flick of his wrist, the snaps sprung free, and he ran his finger along your slit. Your back arched as he carefully pulled his cock free from his unzipped flight suit and underwear, and then he was guiding you to your tiptoes as he slipped himself inside you.

Bradley wrapped one hand around your waist and braced the door closed with the other as he buried himself deep inside you. Your soft gasp sounded beautiful as he sucked on your neck and gave you a few deep strokes. When he started to go faster, your fingers curled against the door as you whined his name, and he asked, "How's my thrust?"

Your head tipped back against his shoulder as you whispered, "You're just about there. Maybe a little harder."

Always wanting to be your top student, he did exactly as you told him and picked up the pace, letting himself slam against your ass. Your tight pussy felt so fucking good, and normally he'd draw this out as long as possible, but not today. He let your grip on him take over all of his senses, and soon he was grunting next to your ear, lips parted as he fucked you up against the door in a classroom at Top Gun.

"This is filthy as hell," he muttered, jerking his hips in an uneven rhythm. "Fucking my perfect wife on base. During work hours." 

"Beer Boy," you gasped when he slammed deep and held himself there. He did it again, loving the sound of his body meeting yours so intimately. A third time, and the pull along his spine as you moaned was too much. You had complete control over him.

Bradley gave it to you hard until he was panting. He let himself come as you turned and looked back at him, licking those sinful lips. "Jesus, fuck, holy shit," he groaned before kissing your lips softly as he gave you a few more thrusts before pulling himself free.

He was still a little hard as he tucked himself back into his flight suit and zipped it up again. When he went to fix your bodysuit, he ended up with his fingers coated in your arousal mixed with his cum as he did the snaps once again.

"Good as new," he murmured as you tugged your skirt down and turned to face him. He kissed you again before he said, "We should get out of here."

You nodded and collected your folder before pulling the door open and strolling casually out into the hallway like you didn't have his sticky cum rubbing against your inner thighs. "Now that you're all squared away with your thrust variable," you told him as he licked his fingers clean, enjoying the way the two of you tasted together, "you'll be even faster, Lieutenant."

Bradley snickered as you and he rounded the corner. "I hope you mean in the air. Quickies aren't really my thing, unless we're in a library study room or apparently an empty Naval classroom."

"There you are, professor." Cyclone was trying to flag you down, and Bradley watched you stumble as you headed off in his direction. He wasn't even sure if Admiral Simpson knew you and he were married, but the other man looked overjoyed as he said, "I've already been getting wonderful feedback about you and Dr. Reed, and I'm hoping you'll both agree to come back next month for another lecture on a different topic."

Bradley groaned and just kept walking. He would wait for you in the parking lot where he'd have a moment to himself to collect his thoughts. More sexy tweed and his hot wife in the classroom? Another lecture topic? Hours of mathematical foreplay that nobody else seemed to pick up on? Quickies were about to become his thing.

------------------------------

I missed Beer Boy and Sugar SO MUCH! She's such a queen, she literally just has to exist to make him lose his mind. But she knows what she did here. She knows. Thanks for reading!

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[itneverendshere]

ooo what about reader getting jealous over brothers best friend! rafe … maybe at like a party or something u know they love a good hallway randevu also when they gonna admit they like each other i cant with the longing im like a dog in heat i need my babies together already

some fights you're never gon' win, just keep your eyes off him- r.c (+18)

pairing: kelce's sister! x hockey!rafe warnings: smut; angst (just a little); they like to fuck in public spaces MY BAD

You weren’t the jealous type, never had been.

You’d had boyfriends before, hooked up with guys, even had a situationship or two that never quite made it to the finish line, thank god. But you never cared about what they did outside of you.

You never felt that ugly, possessive twist in your gut when they so much as talked to another girl. You didn’t keep tabs on past hookups, didn’t lurk at parties, watching who they left with. You didn’t waste time wondering if they were thinking about you when they were with someone else.

It just wasn’t you.

And yet—

The sound of Katherine Hughes’ voice made your skin crawl.

You had only gone to the bathroom to fix your lip gloss, but the second you stepped in, you saw her standing at the mirror, practically pouting.

Her friend leaned against the sink, clearly exasperated. “You’re really still mad about it?”

Katherine huffed, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “I just don’t get it. Last year, Rafe—”

Your body went still, nearly dropping your lip combo on the floor.

“—he was all over me.” She ran a hand down her torso like she was admiring herself. “I know I’m his type. He literally shoved me off his lap."

Wait— she sat on his lap? At camp? Who the fuck does she think she is? And more importantly— why didn’t he tell you? Then again, why would he tell you?

Her friend rolled her eyes. “Maybe he’s just over it.”

Katherine scoffed. “He’s a guy. They don’t just get over good sex.”

You knew he had a past, you did too, you weren’t naive. But still

Her friend laughed. “Oh my God, shut up. How long was it again?”

Katherine smirked, a slow, satisfied thing. “Two hours.”

Your stomach twisted into na ugly shade of green.

You didn’t care. This wasn’t you—jealousy, possessiveness, the kind of messy, insecure shit you always swore you’d never fall into. Two hours, not twenty minutes, not a drunken mistake, not some meaningless, forgettable fling.

You forced yourself to breathe, fixing your lip gloss, to keep your face neutral even as your heart pounded. It was stupid, so stupid. This was old news, before you. Right?

Her friend’s eyes widened. “Wait, was that in the hot tub?”

Katherine’s smirk deepened.

“Obviously.” She sighed dramatically. “I don’t know what changed. I thought for sure when I saw him at camp this year, we’d pick up right where we left off. But he rejected me.”

That ugly jealousy turned into something stupidly satisfying, you knew you were fucked when you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling like a vindictive bitch. Rafe had been at hockey camp last week, he had been surrounded by the same girls at hockey camp this year—had the chance to do it all over again.

He could’ve had her again.

But he didn’t, he said no and came back to you the second his feet touched the campus grounds.

Not that it mattered, it didn’t change the fact that he had touched her at all. That was the part you couldn’t ignore, it wasn’t that she had him first—she was the type of girl Rafe had always gone for.

The exact opposite of you.

Why didn’t he tell you? Not that you ever asked, not that you wanted to hear about every girl who ever touched him. Suddenly, you weren’t just picturing them together. You were hearing it. Feeling it, like a splinter wedging deeper under your skin.

You weren’t just different from the girl he used to date, you were the opposite of them, and as stupid as it was, as irrational as it felt, the insecurity stuck under your skin like velcro. 

You knew your worth, had seen the way men fell over themselves for you, their voices dropped an octave when they spoke to you, their hands got restless, needing an excuse to touch you. But you never liked them enough to second guess yourself.

You hated that it hurt, it was so stupid of you.

You hadn’t even been with Rafe last year. Shit, you were probably with someone else at the time. You weren’t some virginal, untouched thing waiting for him to realize you were right in front of him.

But none of that mattered, because you’d already come to terms with your feelings. You liked him, liked him so much it made your stomach act up.

By the time you made it back downstairs, your mood was shit.

The music was too loud, and you didn’t want to be here anymore. You spotted your group in the corner—your brother, his teammates, Kie laughing at something JJ was saying—but your focus zeroed in on the one person already watching you.

Rafe.

His brows furrowed instantly, not giving time to fake a smile before he was moving through the crowd without hesitation. You hardly made it two steps toward the couch before he was in front of you, ducking his head to meet your eyes.

Stupid height.

“What happened?” 

You didn’t want to answer or admit that some stupid conversation in a bathroom had gotten to you.

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him. “Nothing.”

He didn’t buy it, following you without hesitation, his fingers brushing against your wrist. His face was frustratingly serious, like whatever was bothering you had become his problem the second he saw it.

“Princess,” he murmured, using that tone that usually got you to fold like a pretzel. “You were fine five minutes ago.”

You dropped onto the couch, crossing your arms. “I’m fine now.”

Rafe snorted, settling beside you, thigh pressing against yours.

“Yeah, sure.” He tipped his head, studying you. “Did someone say something to you?”

You’d rather die than let him get the embarrassing information out of you. This wasn’t like you, you didn’t let jealously could your judgment.

“No.”

“Who? Do I have to punch another guy?”

“No one.” You stared at the drink in your hand.

Rafe scoffed. “That’s a lie.”

“Would you drop it?”

“Not a chance.”

You exhaled sharply, tipping your head back against the couch. “It’s stupid, Rafe. Let it go.”

Rafe snorted, settling beside you, thigh pressing against yours.

“Yeah, sure.” He tipped his head, studying you. His toned arm settled along the back of the couch, fingers trailing lazily across your shoulder. “Then why are you pouting?”

Your head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “I’m not pouting.”

He grinned, “You are, though.”

He just looked so soft, so amused, fond, and it made your stomach squeeze in a way you hated. His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your chin just enough to meet his eyes.

“Talk to me,” he murmured, a quiet, earnest plea.

Your lips parted, but you didn’t know how to say it without sounding crazy or revealing how deep he’d already gotten under your skin.

“No wonder people think you two are dating. Can y’all scoot over and stop touching?”

Your face burned instantly at your brother’s lack of inner voice, and you moved slightly, but Rafe? The asshole just smirked, draping his arm over the back of the couch again, still playing with your braids.

Half the school already thought you were dating, the other half knew it was a joke, but no one knew you were sleeping together.

Well—maybe Kie. But no one else.

Your brother just shook his head, going back to his conversation about Star Wars with Pope, while Rafe leaned in, “You’re gonna make everyone think the rumors are true.”

You scoffed, shoving his hand away. “Shut up.”

You knock back the rest of your shitty mixed drink, hoping the burn do something to you. It didn’t.

“C’mon,” he said suddenly, standing and reaching for your wrist.

You hesitated. “Where are we going?”

“We need more drinks,” he said easily, flashing a charming smile at your brother before tugging you up.

You knew better.

You knew Rafe well enough to know that wasn’t why he was pulling you away, he was already guiding you through the throng of people toward the kitchen, grip firm, and within seconds, you were stepping into the quieter kitchen, away from prying eyes.

Rafe turned to face you, leaning against the counter . “So, are you gonna tell me what’s got you looking like you wanna kill someone, or do I have to guess?”

You crossed your arms. “I told you, it’s stupid.”

“Don’t care.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t. You just don’t want me to know.”

Your breath hitched, and his smirk widened.

Bastard.

“You gonna keep standing there glaring at me, or you gonna tell me?” he pushed, stepping closer.

You should’ve walked away, but he was too close now, fingers already playing with the hem of your skirt, his breath warm against your temple. Your body betrayed you, leaning in instead of pulling back, craving his touch more than your next breath.

You had always been the problem—wanting too much from someone who probably didn’t even think about you half as much as you thought about him.

“Katherine.”

Rafe blinked. “What?”

You clenched your jaw. “Katherine. Hughes.”

Recognition dawned in his eyes before something else flashed across his face—and then— he laughed.

You shoved at his chest, pretending his pecs didn’t make you want to let him fuck you against the counter. “Fuck you, Rafe.”

“Relax,” He caught your wrist easily, his thumb pressing against your pulse point. “You jealous?”

No. Yes. God, yes. You hated the thought of him with someone else, hated that he had the power to make you feel like this. You wanted him in a way that scared you, a way that made you feel dizzy and reckless and so completely gone for him you hated it.

“No,” you snapped.

His smirk deepened. “You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You huffed, trying to yank your wrist free, but he didn’t let you go. Instead, he reeled you in, forcing you to look up at him. Your heart pounded against your will, screaming at you to give in, and stop pretending like he wasn’t exactly what you wanted.

“Two hours? Really?”

“You mad about the time, or the girl?”

Your jaw tightened. “Neither.”

“Right.” He dragged the word out, playing with the hem of your skirt again, content with just standing there, crowding your space, keeping you close “So you don’t care that she’s talking about it? Saying my name, braggin’ about it like it meant somethin’?”

You rolled your eyes. “Why would I care? We weren’t even—” You stopped yourself, hating the way your voice wavered.

Rafe hummed, fingers trailing higher, teasing the inside of your wrist. “We weren’t what?”

You didn’t do this, get insecure over some girl talking shit in a bathroom, and you sure as hell didn’t let men get in your head.

“I’m done talking about it,” You grabbed a red solo cup and poured yourself another drink, pretending you didn’t feel him watching your every move.

Rafe let the silence sit for a second before he spoke again, “Y’know she don’t got shit on you, right?”

Your hands stilled.

“She doesn’t,” he continued easily, “Not last year, not this year, not ever.”

You turned to him slowly, narrowing your eyes.

“Did you—” You hesitated, your stomach tightening, but you forced yourself to ask. “Did you sleep with her again? At camp?”

Rafe’s head jerked back like the thought alone offended him. “Fuck no.” He reached for your hip, tugging you in, molding his body against yours, lips ghosting over your ear. “You wanna know why?”

You swallowed. “No.”

“Because I was thinking about you.”

His grip on your wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go, his fingers sliding up to lace through yours.

Friends with benefits, that was the deal, it had been easy, simple (no, it hadn't). You weren’t supposed to think too hard about what it meant, because it didn’t mean shit.

You straightened your spine, pulling away to get some space. 

“You’re single, Rafe. You can sleep with whoever you want.”

The words felt like poison on your tongue, but you said them anyway.

His grip tightened before he forced himself to let go, clicking his tongue in annoyance. 

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

His nostrils flared, and for a second, you thought he might snap—but he never did, not with you.

“Talk like that. Like I don’t give a shit.”

You swallowed. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

You had settled for this—late-night or early morning sneaking around, whispered conversations in the dark, pretending like it didn’t mean something to you.

You were scared of ruining everything, of losing him, of making things weird with your brother. You hated this, how he looked at you, he was waiting for you to say something you weren’t ready to admit. 

Rafe groaned, pulling back just enough to look at you, exasperated.

“Princess, I don’t even remember what it was like.”

You lifted a brow. “Two hours and you don’t remember?”

His lips twitched. “The only time I care about is the time I spend with you.”

Corny. Stupid. But effective.

He took the cup from your hand, setting it down before gripping your chin, and tilting your face up.

“I’d do two hours with you, though,” he mused, deliberately, enjoying the way your breath hitched. “Maybe three.”

“Rafe—”

He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, a taunting almost kiss. “Might make you beg for four.”

“You love pissin’ me off, don’t you?”

“A little.”

He knew exactly what you wanted from him, even if you were too stubborn to admit it. You scowled, yanking your wrist again, but his other hand found the small of your back. You loved how easily he manhandled you.

“You mad?” His voice was soft.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignor your skin burning where he touched you. “No.”

“Yeah?” He dipped his head, his lips brushing against your temple. “You sure?”

Your fingers curled into fists. He smelled so good, like cedar and expensive cologne, you wanted to drown in. It made you dizzy, it made you stupid.

You swallowed, exhaling through your nose. “I don’t care.”

His lips brushed lower, the edge of your jaw this time, a ghost of a kiss that sent your stomach into knots. “Mmm.”

You felt the smirk against your skin before he pulled back enough to look at you, eyes burning into yours. You were so fucked.

“You gonna admit it? That you’re jealous?”

You lifted your chin, eyes narrowing. “You wish.”

You wanted him to kiss you, shove you against the counter and make you forget every single thing that had you in your head five minutes ago. You wanted him to ruin you in every possible way—because, at this point, wasn’t he already?

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does if it’s making you look at me like that.”

His fingers pressed, against the pulse at your throat. God, how was he so good at this? At getting under your skin? At knowing exactly what to say to make you melt?

“You’re still thinking about it:”

“I’m not.” You tilted your head away, a mistake, because it let him drag his lips along your throat, featherlight, ruining you.

He hummed, not believing you for a second. You think it was the way he held you, or how your brain was fried from the way his fingers splayed against your back, pressing you into his chest, but suddenly, you couldn’t shut up.

“It’s just—” You exhaled sharply, hating how the words came out unfiltered. “It’s not even about her, okay? It’s just—she’s really pretty.”

Rafe pulled back just enough to look at you, brows slightly raised.

You kept going, couldn’t stop now.

“I mean, maybe it’s just me, but I don’t like the idea of being one of many—”

You barely had time to yelp before Rafe moved, hands curling around your waist as he lifted you like you weighed nothing, squirming against him in protest.

“Rafe!”

You gasped as your ass met the cool marble of the counter, legs automatically parting as he stepped between them, caging you in.

His hands spread over your thighs, his grip possessive, “Who the fuck said you were ‘one of many’?”

You glared, mouth opening—probably to be a brat, deflect, keep running—but Rafe wasn’t having it. His hands flexed against your skin, fingers digging in enough to make you inhale sharply.

“You think I do this for anyone?” His nose skimmed yours, so close you could taste his breath. “That I look at anyone else the way I look at you?”

He leaned in, lips ghosting over yours, so close it was agonizing.

“Look at me."

You did, you shouldn’t have.

Rafe had always kissed you like he meant it—needy, but this was different. His mouth slanted over yours, stealing the breath from your lungs, tongue sweping against your lower lip, before slipping inside to taste you.

You felt his broad chest against yours, his fingers digging into your waist, one hand curled around the back of your neck, tilting your head so he could kiss you the way he wanted to, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek with tenderness.

His other hand gripped your thigh, yanking you closer, leg over his waist, until there wasn’t even a sliver of space between you.

And God, his mouth—You wondered if he wanted you to feel him, know him in a way no one else ever had. His lips parted just enough to let out a needy groan, your hands weren’t much better.

You clawed at him—at his shoulders, at his hair— pulling, as the kiss spun you further into something overwhelming.

“Y’think I could ever fuckin’ touch them like this?” His voice was all gravel, punctuated by the way his lips traced a desperate path on your skin, his teeth scraping, nipping, “Could ever kiss anyone like this?”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, coming out in soft, needy groans between kisses. 

“OH MY FUCKING GOD—MY EYES! WHAT THE HELL?!”

You didn’t have a second to register your brother’s voice before Rafe groaned against your mouth, forehead falling to your shoulder as he exhaled sharply.

You, on the other hand, scrambled to push at his chest, heart pounding. Your lips were swollen, still tasting Rafe on your tongue.

Kelce made a gagging noise from the doorway.

“Seriously! Seriously?! In the kitchen? Where I eat? My sister, really?!”

Oh God. You ruined it.

Your eyes burned. “Kelce, I—” You stammered, hands tightening on Rafe’s shoulders without thinking. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

Kelce groaned, dragging a hand down his face, and your breath hitched, chest tightening with guilt. He was going to kill Rafe, he was going to kill him, and then he was never going to speak to you again, and their entire friendship was—

“Oh, my God, stop looking like you’re about to cry,” Kelce cut in, exasperated. “I knew y’all were gonna do this eventually, but in the kitchen? That’s so nasty.”

You blinked.

Rafe snorted.

Kelce pointed at him immediately. “Don’t laugh. I’m not over this. I’m in shock. I need time. I need alcohol.” He spun on his heel, muttering under his breath. “I knew this was coming, but did they let me prepare? No. No, they did not.”

You stared at Kelce like he was the dumbest person alive.

“You’re not mad?”

Kelce stopped mid-stride, turning back with a look of pure disbelief.

“Mad?” He scoffed. “Oh, I was mad a month ago when I first realized y’all had this weird, unresolved tension. But I worked through it. I processed it.” He gestured vaguely between you and Rafe. “I’ve had time to grieve.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Grieve?”

“Yes! My best friend and my sister! Of course, I grieved! I had to come to terms with the inevitable—but did I expect to walk into my kitchen and witness a live-action Bridgerton scene? No! No, I did not! I’m traumatized!”

You swore he was obessed with that show.

Rafe nuzzled into you like he wasn’t the reason your brother was spiraling. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t usually kiss her in the kitchen.”

You shoved him, feeling your face heat. “Rafe!”

“I’m leaving. I need to bleach my eyes, and if either of you ever do this in a common area again, I’m calling Mom.”

Your stomach dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

Kelce’s eyes gleamed with pure older brother menace. “Try me.”

Rafe grinned against your jaw, “You sound a little dramatic, man.”

Kelce threw up his hands. “Yeah? Well, tell me how you’d feel walking in on me sucking face with your sister, huh?”

Rafe’s whole body went stiff. “I’d kill you.”

Kelce clapped his hands together. “Exactly! Thank you!” He pointed a finger at Rafe as he backed away toward the living room. “Y’all need to relocate. Immediately.” He turned on you. “And I need so much therapy for this.”

The second Kelce’s footsteps faded down the hall, Rafe’s mouth was on you again. You didn’t have time to breathe before he devoured you.

“You still think I want anyone else?”

 “I just—” You tried to speak, but he didn’t let you. His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging to make you whimper, and the sound made him groan like it was his favorite fucking thing in the world.

Your head fell back against the cabinets, hips arching into him, chasing his body. He was so big, caging you in, making you feel small in the best way, and it was driving you crazy.

“Say it, baby,” Rafe rasped, dragging his lips back up to your ear. “Tell me you know.”

It was so easy now.

His hands pushed under your skirt, finding the soft lace underneath. It’s why you wear them more now—skirts, the tiny little panties that barely cover anything—because it meant Rafe could take what he wanted faster.

And fuck, did he want you.

"Always so ready for me, huh?" he murmured.

You whimpered, shifting your hips, silently begging for him to move, to stop fucking around, and he laughed. 

"Lucky me," he mused, finally slipping a finger inside.

You nodded—not thinking, just chasing the way his touch made you feel.

"Words," he ordered, slipping another finger in, slow and teasing.

"Yes," You gasped, body arching against his. "Always for you, Rafe. Always—"

You broke off into a moan when he added a third, stretching you right, curling in that way that made your knees weak, pumping his fingers harder, faster, pressing his palm against your clit. He was hard against your thigh, you yelped at the friction, rocking against him, chasing the release you knew he was going to drag out—because he loved to watch you fall apart for him.

"Rafe," You breathed, pawing at his belt. "Please, I need—"

But the door swong open for the second time.

A sharp, choked inhale—like someone just got punched in the stomach.

Your lashes fluttered open, and there she was..

Katherine.

Standing in the doorway, eyes darting between you and Rafe, lips parting like she was trying to find the words. But here’s the thing—Rafe didn’t stop, didn’t even notice her.

His fingers, if anything, he curled them deeper, pressing up against that perfect spot inside you that had your knees buckling. Your moan was breathy, desperate, and you didn’t bother quieting it—why would you?

Katherine was still standing there, eyes blown wide, her mouth opening and closing like she was trying to say something. Ohhh, now she got it, she understood why Rafe never wanted her.

You tilted your head, watching her as Rafe dragged his lips down your neck, sucking bruises into your skin, and smirked. And then, just because you could and you were a petty jealous bitch, you lifted one hand and gave her a little wave.

Her face crumpled, running out of the room. But Rafe still didn’t notice and the second the door slammed shut, he was grabbing you, placing you on the ground, spinning you around, bending you over the nearest surface.

And all you could do was laugh because in about thirty seconds when Rafe finally shoved his cock inside you, you wouldn’t be thinking about anything else.

A sharp slap landed on your ass, making you gasp, trembling against the countertop. “Keep your legs spread.”

You bit your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction, but then—then he was pushing inside, stretching you open, and your smirk vanished into a breathless moan.

Rafe groaned, his fingers digging into your skin, “Always letting me fuck you where anyone could walk in,” he tsked, his tone full of amusement. “You love this shit, don’t you?”

He was pulling out slow and slamming back in, setting a pace that had your fingers scrambling for purchase against the cold countertop. His rough hand slid up your back, curling around your, pushing your cheek against the counter, the pressure sending a shiver down your spine, making your walls flutter around him, and he hissed, hips stuttering.

His lips ghosted over your ear, “Bet you get off on it. Knowing someone could see you like this. Knowing I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Your stomach clenched at his words, your breath hitching, you did love it. Loved the way he lost control when it came to you, how reckless he got when he needed you.

“Rafe,” you gasped, your fingers slipping against the countertop, struggling to keep yourself up as he slammed into you. The edge of the marble bit into your hips, but the pleasure drowned out everything else.

He chuckled darkly, dragging his lips up your spine, “Yeah, baby?”

Your head dropped forward, your nails scratching at the surface beneath you, but you didn’t answer, couldn’t really. He was fucking you too good, ruining you in the best possible way.

Rafe wasn’t having it.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his hand slipping between your legs, fingers finding your clit. He pressed down enough to make your whole body jolt, clenching around him. “Use your words.”

A desperate whimper slipped from your lips, your brain melting into static. “F-Fuck, I—” You swallowed hard, shaking against him. “I’m close.”

His fingers tightened around the back of your neck, not enough to hurt, only hold you where he wanted you. To keep you right there—his.

“Fuck, Rafe—”

“I know, baby,” he sighed, pressing his chest flush against your back, “Feel good?”

You could only embarrassingly squeal in response, hips twitching as he rolled his into yours, setting a tempo that had your legs shaking.

He smirked, knowing what he was doing to you. “Yeah, you do,” he murmured, dragging his tongue along the shell of your ear. “Always take me so fucking good.”

His hand slid around your front, fingers trailing down your stomach before slipping between your legs again.

“Rafe,” you gasped, your head falling back against his shoulder.

He nipped at your jaw, his pace never faltering. “Say it.”

Your walls squeezed him at the command, “Feels so—” You sucked in a sharp breath as he suddenly rolled his hips in deeper, you felt him in your stomach. “God, Rafe—”

He groaned, his pace quickening, “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.”

His other hand curled around your throat, tilting your head back so he could kiss you—hot, wet. His tongue swept against yours, claiming you in a way that had you melting into him, completely fucking his.

“You like this, huh?” His fingers slipped lower, teasing the spot where you were wrapped around him. “When I fuck you like this? When I take what’s mine?”

Your breath hitched, “Yes—fuck—Rafe, I—”

He pulled out suddenly, leaving you empty, throbbing, whining in protest, but he spun you around, gripping your thighs and lifting you onto the counter. His hands hooked under your knees, spreading you wide.

“Look at you,” he murmured, dragging his cock through your slick folds, teasing, torturing. “So fucking pretty like this.”

Your hips jerked, desperate for friction, for anything. You scowled, about to snap back, but then he thrust into you again, deeper this time, stretching you wide, making your mouth fall open in a silent cry.

His dropped to your shoulder as he bottomed out. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You clenched around him just to be a brat, and he growled, pulling back and slamming into you harder, making you yelp. His hands found your thighs, gripping them tight as he set a brutal rhythm, fucking into you with long, deep strokes that had your head spinning into another galaxy.

“God, Rafe,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back.

He lifted your legs higher, adjusting the angle so he could hit deeper, his hands slid down to the backs of your thighs, spreading you wider, lifting your legs higher against his waist, and you swore you blacked out for a second. 

“You gonna come for me?” he murmured, dragging his lips across your shoulder, biting, soothing with his tongue. “Gonna make a mess all over my cock?”

A sharp, breathless moan tore from your lips as your orgasm crashed over you, pleasure making you go limp in his arms, your thighs trembling against his waist.

Rafe groaned as you pulsed around him, his rhythm stuttering, “You feel so fucking good—”

With one final thrust, he followed you, his body going tense, a low groan leaving his lips as he spilled inside you, eyes stuck on the way his cum flowed down your skin.

He bent forward, his lips ghosting over yours, his other hand moving to press against your stomach, just above where he was still inside.

“You feel me? Still full of me?”

You nodded because truthfully, you were still too dazed to do anything else.

Rafe moaned, tilting his head to catch your lips, but he didn’t kiss you right away. Instead, he stayed there, so close, his breath fanning over your mouth, thumb pressed against your lips, coaxing them open, and you let him. Neither of you spoke, just listening to each other breathe.

Then, softly—

“Be mine.”

Your eyes fluttered open. “Rafe—”

“I-I don’t want anyone else. I don’t even look at anyone else."

Your heart pounded.

 “Say yes.”

Your fingers curled around his nape, pulling him in. “Yours.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief, “Don’t wanna pull out.”

A shudder ran through you at his words. You felt every twitch of him still buried inside, still hard, needy, he could keep going forever.

“I wanna keep you like this,” His lips trailed up your neck. “Dripping with me, stuffed full of me.” You whimpered, and he smirked, “You like that, don’t you?”

You did. God, you did.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me hard again,” he warned, his voice tight, breathless.

His hand was still pressed against your stomach, feeling himself inside you, and he groaned into your mouth as he rocked his hips again, still buried deep.

“You’re still so fucking tight. Squeezing me—god, I can feel you pulsing.”

Your breath hitched as he rolled his hips again, slow, torturous, making you whimper. Your body was too sensitive, every nerve ending raw, but it didn’t matter. The ache just made it sweeter.

“Rafe, I—”

“I know,” he murmured, dragging his tongue along your lower lip before sucking it between his teeth. “You’re still shaking. You came so hard for me.”

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding the mess between your thighs, dragging his cum back inside you with slow, deliberate strokes. Your thighs clenched around him, a shiver running through you at the filthiness of it.

“You take me so well,” His forehead rested against yours. “Made for me.”

You moaned as he pressed his fingers deeper, teasing, his cock twitching inside you at the feeling.

“Too much,” you gasped, but even as you said it, your body betrayed you, arching into his touch, seeking more.

“Liar,” Rafe chuckled darkly, nipping at your jaw as he pulled his fingers away, only to lift them to your lips. “Open.”

You did, letting him press them into your mouth, tasting both of you on his skin. His eyes darkened as you sucked his fingers, his hips jerking involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “I can’t get enough of you.”

Rafe turned your head, capturing your lips in a slow, consuming kiss, he wanted to mark you in a way that went deeper than bruises. When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice was hesitant.

“You meant it?”

You blinked up at him, still dazed. “What?”

“When you said you’re mine.” His thumb traced lazy circles over your mouth. “You meant it?”

You reached up, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I meant it.”

A shaky breath left him, and then he was kissing you again. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing them open, and you let him, melting into his touch as he kissed you. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your hip, his other hand sliding up your spine.

When he pulled back, it was only by a breath, his lips still brushing against yours his blue eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, locked onto yours. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Your heart flipped, and before you could even process the words, he was kissing you again. You sighed into him, tilting your head, deepening it, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging just a little, and he groaned, pressing himself closer.

“You’re not even trying to stop.”

“Why would I?” he complained against your skin. “Not done with you yet, baby.”

[writeriguess]

hiii can i request a kiri x reader who gets caught in kiri's dorm by the bakusquad LOL

thank you ILYYY

Busted! (But Make It Awkward)

You always knew sneaking into Kirishima’s dorm came with risks. The guys were always around, especially Bakugo, who had some kind of sixth sense for knowing when people were up to no good. But after a long week of training and classes, neither of you could resist.

Your boyfriend’s hands are all over you, calloused palms gripping your thighs as he presses you against his mattress. His lips are warm, moving hungrily over yours, and you’re just about to completely lose yourself in the moment when—

BANG!

The door swings open so hard it bounces off the wall.

“What the—OH, HELL NO!”

Bakugo’s voice booms through the room, and suddenly, the heavy heat of Kirishima’s body on top of you is the least of your concerns. You barely have time to register the situation before Kaminari's cackle follows.

“Dude, I KNEW IT!” Kaminari hollers, pointing at the both of you.

You let out a mortified yelp, scrambling to pull the blanket over yourself as Kirishima twists around, shielding you from their view. His face is as red as his hair.

“HOLY SHIT, CLOSE THE DOOR!” Kirishima yells, but it's too late. The damage is done.

Sero, standing next to Kaminari with his mouth hanging open, finally bursts out laughing. “Yo, I did NOT need to see Kirishima’s bare ass today, man.”

“I did,” Mina deadpans. “And I have no regrets.”

You groan, burying your face into Kirishima’s shoulder as he lets out an awkward, nervous chuckle. “C’mon, guys, can we NOT make this weirder than it already is?”

“Too late,” Bakugo snarls, still standing in the doorway like he’s about to burn the entire room down. “You idiots left the damn door unlocked.”

Kirishima runs a hand down his face. “Okay, fair point. But, uh… GET OUT!”

Kaminari is doubled over, practically wheezing. “Bro. I just—HAHA—I can’t believe you—pffft—”

Sero elbows him. “What’d I tell you? I KNEW they were sneaking around, but no one believed me.”

Mina grins. “I believed you. But I thought they were just making out, not going full-on ‘Netflix and Chill’ in here.”

You groan again, kicking Kirishima under the blanket. “Say something!” you whisper-shout at him.

He clears his throat, his voice cracking slightly. “Uh, guys, this is, like, really not the time. Can we talk about this later?”

Mina hums. “Hmm. Nah, I don’t think so.”

Bakugo is still seething. “You—both of you—DISGUST ME.”

You peek out from behind Kirishima, still clinging to the blanket for dear life. “Well, you could’ve knocked!”

“I DIDN’T THINK I NEEDED TO!” Bakugo explodes, his hands sparking. “WHO THE HELL JUST—JUST DOES IT WITH THE DOOR UNLOCKED?!”

Kirishima cringes. “Honestly? That’s a valid criticism.”

“Oh, so now you’re admitting you’re a dumbass?” Bakugo snaps.

Kaminari finally straightens up, wiping a tear from his eye. “Man, you’re gonna NEVER live this down. Every time I see you two together now, I’m gonna think of this exact moment.”

You groan, flopping back onto the bed. “This is literally my worst nightmare.”

Kirishima rubs the back of his neck, still red-faced. “Okay, okay, you guys had your fun. Now can you please just—”

“Fine,” Mina interrupts, smirking. “But just so you know, you’re never getting rid of this mental image.”

Sero grins. “Oh yeah. Burned into my memory forever.”

“Same,” Kaminari says.

“SHUT UP AND GET OUT!” Kirishima practically roars, and finally, finally, they listen.

Mina gives you a little wave. “Bye, lovebirds~” she singsongs before slamming the door shut behind her.

Silence.

You and Kirishima just sit there, staring at the ceiling. After a moment, you both exhale at the same time.

“I’m transferring schools,” you declare.

Kirishima lets out a weak laugh. “Nah, babe. We’ll get through this.”

You turn your head to look at him. “How?”

He grins, running a hand through his wild red hair. “By never leaving this room ever again.”

“…Valid.”

[memoirofasparklemuff1n]

you noticed- r.c. x reader

summary: being rafe’s best friend was great but every time he noticed something you did, your heart beat faster.

warnings: angst, reader has low self esteem and body dysmorphia. please, please take care of yourself if it’s a bit triggering <3

a/n: listening to you noticed by lola young inspired this. also, i spent my afternoon crying because of my dad 🙂‍↕️ but at least i tried to put it to good use. english isn’t my first language, just in case there are errors 🙃.

part two!!!

masterlist

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .*

“i really like your hair today,” he said. you smiled and looked down at your hands to hide your embarrassment.

you mumbled a thanks before changing the subject, “how’s sarah?”

rafe rolled his eyes, “you know. she’s always with john b now, so i barely see her.”

you laughed, “oh to be in love.” you lifted your gaze, only to be meet his blue eyes with an unreadable expression. you looked away before you said something stupid or worse.

“ready to leave?” he gestured to his truck with a tilt of his head.

you saluted, “yes sir.” you practically marched toward the truck before getting in.

you saw him laughing before getting in and turning on the engine. you grabbed the aux as he started driving away and pressed play on the joint playlist you had for your car rides. you lowered your window, breathing in the ocean breeze. you turned your head, only to see him smiling at you.

“i look like a dog with my head out the window, don’t i?” you joked to, again, not think of what his look meant.

he chuckled, “i think your dog name would be lola or something.”

you gasped in mock offense, “how dare you?”

rafe only kept laughing as he turned his gaze toward the road.

“what kind of dog breed would i be?” for some reason you wanted to be a rottweiler or a german shepard. they seemed cool in movies, you guessed.

he scrunched his nose in thought, making his dimple stand out. your heart skipped a beat and your breath grew shallow.

he glanced at you, “i think you’d be a pomeranian or a chihuahua.” his tone was half serious, half joking.

you punched his arm, “rafe cameron, i would not be a small ass dog.” you meant no offense to them, but c’mon.

“sure you would, they’re small and loud and annoying most of the time.” he suppressed a smile, avoiding your gaze.

you glared at him, “i am not loud nor annoying.” you knew that wasn’t true, you could be quite annoying around him sometimes. but that was only because you felt like you could be yourself around him. he was probably the only person who truly saw you. and that scared you so much.

“sure, kid.” he snorted but you knew he wasn’t serious. you rolled my eyes and leaned your head against the door for the rest of the drive.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .*

you had less than ten minutes before rafe got here to pick you up for lunch. you scurried around your room for perfume because the one you’d been using had run out. you found some cheap shit under the bathroom cabinet and quickly sprayed it on. you figured it wasn’t too bad. your phone buzzed with a message from rafe that he was out front. you quickly ran down the stairs, grabbing your bag and almost tripping over your shoe laces.

“shit.”

nine times out of ten, you stumbled on those steps for the exact same reason. once you got in the car that smelled so much like him, you were hit with the kind of boyish scent mixed with that clean laundry smell that made your head spin. however, he sniffed the air as if something new had invaded his space. he leaned in and inhaled the perfume on your neck, his breath tickling your skin. for a moment, you were certain your heartbeat was loud enough for him to hear, but before you could pull away, he leaned back with a faint smile.

“you smell like jo malone. i like it,” he started driving as if he hadn’t just completely altered your preference for perfume. suddenly, you wanted to run back home to find the name just so you could buy a thousand bottles online. jesus, get a grip.

you looked at what he was wearing for the first time since you’d gotten into the car, and nearly had another heart attack at the blue sweater he wore along with blue jeans. you quickly pulled out your phone in an attempt to distract yourself from staring at him in awe for the rest of the drive. this lunch was going to be eternal.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .*

the bathing suit was one you usually wouldn’t try on but because rafe insisted the color would look good on you, here you were looking in the mirror. only to now be singling out every part of your body that you felt needed fixing. you took a deep breath to keep the tears at bay. it was one of those days where the hatred towards your body was at a high level.

before you could duck back into the dressing room, rafe appeared behind you in the mirror.

his smile was one of the most beautiful ones you’d ever seen.

“see? i told you it would look good on you.”

“you really think so?” you winced when you heard the uncertainty and vulnerability in your voice. he noticed, of course he did.

“of course. i love your body in every form and in every way,” the way he said it and the way he looked at you made you realize that he did mean it. and that only made things more complicated. because you couldn’t have him, when you knew it was gonna end. there was no way you’d be friends.

you nodded and excused yourself to change, not noticing the hurt expression on his face at your dismissal.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .*

your little sister was sitting on the front porch, painting. you and rafe stepped outside to say goodbye. he had an interview today that was for a job he’d always wanted, so he’d come to your house for a quick pep talk. you’d helped him with his tie, the proximity becoming overwhelming. your fingers had shaken a bit and of course he noticed, but didn’t say anything. you avoided his gaze after that and began rambling about how he needed to act in the interview and what things to say. he’d smiled to himself and hugged you, “thanks, kid.” he kissed the top of your head and that shut you up. sure, he’d shown affection towards you but this time it felt different. he’s just being nice, you told yourself.

and now he was talking with your sister about her painting. you leaned against the door as you watched them interact and frowned when he sat down and loosened his tie.

“hey, you’re going to be late,” you said.

he looked back at you and dismissed your remark, “i promised her i’d help her with her painting.”

“rafe. this interview is important. you’ve wanted this since forever.” your throat grew tight with emotion. there was no way he would miss it just to help your sister with her painting.

he smiled softly, “don’t worry about it. i’ll figure it out.”

“but—“

he cut you off with a look that was clear he was done arguing. you nodded and turned so he couldn’t see the tears that had begun spilling down your cheeks. the thought that formed in your head was clear, i love him.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .*

the boneyard had been like any other, only this time rafe drove you home. you usually left with sarah and the rest of your friends but you weren’t feeling great. the ride home had been quiet, the reason being the argument you’d had at the party.

you’d seen him talking to a girl and she was laughing at all his jokes, which you knew couldn’t possibly be that funny. but what had pissed you off more was the way she had wrapped her arm around his as if he were hers and the fact that he hadn’t pushed her away. the world got blurry and you threw up at the thought of them kissing. sarah had freaked out and insisted to get you home but you said you were fine, that you just needed fresh air. which was stupid because you were at the beach with plenty of fresh air.

you just needed to get away from there, away from him. you stumbled towards the parking lot to wait in the twinkie for the others but you heard someone shouting your name. shit.

you walked faster as if that would make a difference. he’d seen you and he knew you’d heard him but you still kept going. you suddenly felt an arm wrap around your wrist pulling you to face him. his hair was mused and you saw the faintest hint of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. you felt sick all over again and turned away just in time to not puke on his shoes. thank god. this was embarrassing enough as it is.

“woah, are you okay? c’mon, i’ll take you home,” the worried tone in his voice made your heart break a little. you knew he cared because you were his friend —key word— and that only made hating him even harder.

you jerked your arm away, “i’m fine.”

he frowned at your reaction, “hey, what is it?”

you felt feverish and that was probably why you said the words that came out of your mouth, “nothing. shouldn’t you be out there with miss outer banks over there?”

you only then realized how stupid you sounded but the words were already out.

his face still held the same expression of confusion, “i don’t know what you’re talking about. sarah told me you were sick so i came to check up on you.”

that only made you angrier, “well i’m fine. i’m not a little kid that needs to be taken care of. you can go back to the party.” you turned to keep walking but he took your wrist again and this time grabbed you by the shoulders, glaring down at you.

“don’t fucking walk away from me. i don’t know what the fuck your problem is but you’re not going to take it out on me.” he had never spoken to you that way. and now he was too close and the lipstick was too close to you and the jealousy in your stomach made its way to your tongue.

“oh, i’m sorry. country club over here thinks he’s the center of the universe. well, news flash! you’re not because not everything is about you. i don’t need your help nor did i ask for it.”

his jaw clenched and he lifted one of his hands to grab your chin, making it impossible to get away.

“you’re being completely immature and rude. and i’m not saying it has anything to do with me, but you are making it about me when you’re treating me like shit.” you tried to speak but his hold wouldn’t let you.

“i’m taking you home. end of story. tomorrow we’ll talk about your ridiculous behavior, okay?” you glared at him, because it was the only thing that you could do.

he finally let go of you and you gently touched your chin. it didn’t exactly hurt but it felt tender.

he grabbed your hand and led you to the truck, then proceeded to pick you up by your waist and put on your seatbelt. the whole thing made you feel like a child being scolded by their parent. he slammed the door before getting in the driver’s seat and driving towards your house with a hard grip on the wheel.

now here you were sitting in silence inside his truck, staring at the front porch of your house.

the tension in the air was clear, neither of you was willing to extend an olive branch but because rafe knew how stubborn you could be, he decided to speak first.

you heard him sigh, “kid, i’m sorry. i was just worried about you and the way you treated me made me angry. you know you can talk to me, you’re my best friend.”

you squeezed your eyes at that, the tears falling onto your lap but thankfully it was dark enough for him to notice.

you felt his hand under your chin, turning your head to face him, “hey, what is it?”

when he saw your tear-streaked face, you saw his anger dissolve into worry. he wiped your tears away and pulled you into a hug, which only cause you to cry harder. he ran his hand down your back in soothing motions, knowing you just needed to let it all out. once you were done, you pulled away, only to be inches away from his face. that’s when you saw something click behind his eyes, causing you to wince internally. you looked down at his lips and leaned forward pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. you then pulled away before he could react, getting out of his truck and running into your house. after locking the door behind you, you ran towards your room and locked that door as well before slumping down against it. you brought your knees to your chest and lowered your head into your arms, sobbing.

thoughts kept circling your head but you could only form the one thing you wanted to say to him but couldn’t.

i tried my best to not love you tonight and you noticed.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .*

sorry if this was bad lol. ty for reading <3

[freshxsturniolo]

4th July - chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary / warnings ; inspired by jake webbers 4th july party vid!! mentions of jake, johnnie, carrington and tara as well as the triplets. flirting, fluff.

PT2

"oh fuck, put me down" you laugh through a mouthful of beer, jake holding your legs on his shoulder as tara pressed down on the power button to the keg you were gripping hold of.

you hear the people around you laughing as you feel jake slowly lowering you to the ground and you whip your head back up, swolling down the beer. you wince as the liquid finally flushes through you and you feel two hands clap on your shoulders, the sound of your more recent friend carringtons voice in your ear.

"took that like a champ" he laughs, and you turn round to look at him with a grimace.

"that tastes like shit" you say, and he only laughs harder as he gives your shoulder a squeeze before walking off in the direction of the pool table.

you let your eyes adjust around you, the garden full of people you only half recognised, some you had never seen before in your life, before jake passes you an actual drink.

"here you go, m'lady" he chuckles, and you swat at his arm but take the drink gratefully.

"do you even know everyone here, jake?" you ask, looking around the garden again, and jake pulls you by the elbow closer to him as carrington now wants to take your place with the beer keg. a group of his friends already ready to hold his legs whilst tara stays put on the ground to be the one to assist him.

"no." jake admits, and you give him an eye and he shrugs. "some are johnnies friends. some carringtons. some i just invited to be nice." he laughs, and you can't help but laugh with him. he had always been so carefree.

johnnie comes bouncing over now, a giggle on his lips as he holds 3 jello shots in his hands.

"these were the last 3" he says, handing one to each you and jake.

"the last 3?!" you spit. "we spent hours making these last night. how many fucking people are here?" you laugh, but you all take the shots in one, grimacing as the vodka hits your mouth. you pass the empty container back to johnnie who hurries off to the throw them in the trash, at the same time someone you had never seen before catches jakes attention. he gives you elbow a quick rub of reassurance and you give him a smile, knowing you'll catch up with him later and set off to make yourself mingle with the people here.

but it only takes you a few steps before your eyes meet with the person you've been secretly waiting to arrive.. his blue eyes staring at you deeply.

you're drunk, you know you're drunk, the beer from the keg and the jello shot hitting you immediately after already copious amounts of alcohol you'd been drinking through the day, but you let your face stay calm as you give the blue eyed boy a small smile.

chris sturniolo is leaning against one of the fences in the garden, staring at you with a smile on his lips. his two brothers matt and nick are not too far away, but they're engrossed in a conversation with someone you don't recognise and are yet to notice you.

you take a deep sip from your cup and start the walk over to him. he's looking you up and down, which you can hardly expect anything less. you're wearing the exact same outfit as tara. little shorts and a bikini top, only yours is blue and hers is red, and you have to admit you'll likely a little too exposed. you feel his eyes on you, taking in every inch of you, but you appreciate the way he looks you straight in the eyes as you finally reach him.

"that was pretty impressive" he says, nodding over to the keg you'd just been drinking from. you smile.

"what can i say? im a girl of many talents." you laugh, taking another sip from your drink.

"that you are" he says, before he pushes himself off the fence and engulfs you in a hug.

there was something unspoken between you and chris. you had only met a handful of times, two of those being super brief when he was filming videos for jake and tara, yet somehow you could not keep away from him. you were constantly texting, after exchanging numbers over instagram dm after the first time you met, and you had continued to conversate with each other ever since. sometimes they were just flowing conversations, how are yous and what you up tos, sometimes they were deeper, about work and about the industry and about stress, but sometimes they were flirtatious, youre so prettys and wow you look in that recent instagram post.

you dont know what it was about chris sturniolo, but you enjoyed every second of him.

as you pulled away from your hug, you gave him a smile.

"do you not want a drink?" you ask, and he takes a peak into your cup.

"yeah, go on then." he smiles.

"what about these two?" you say, pointing to his brothers who had yet to acknowledge you yet. chris chuckles.

"matts driving and nicks got a meeting early tomorrow."

"too bad" you smile, and you grab his hand without even thinking, pulling him into the direction of the kitchen. you weave past what feels like hundreds of people stopping every now and then as chris daps up the odd person he knows, jake and johnnie being two of them, before you finally make it to the kitchen. you let go of his hand once you're there.

"okay" you say, leaning over to take a look at the ray of beers lined up.

"we got corona, we got some miller, we got some vodka,"

"corna will do" he says into your ear above the music and the bustle of people around you. you lean over and grab him one, passing it across to him before finding the bottle opener. he goes to take it off you but you pull your arm away, placing your hand right at the top of his on his bottle and staring straight at him, before you use the bottle opener to take off the lid. all the whilst your eyes on his.

he can't help but chuckle at you as he takes a sip, and you're about to say something when arms wrap around your neck.

"CHRIS" the voice shouts, and your hand instantly goes up to the arm you as you feel it as carrington.

"hey, man" chris nods, and you notice as he looks at both of your skin touching each other. you can't pretend it doesn't make you smile. so you play with him, you rub your hand against carringtons arm as he keeps it in place, but uses his free arm to clink drinks with chris.

"how are ya?" carrington says, and you take a sip of your beer before moving your head to look up at him. he looks down at you straight away. "what?" carrington says, and you laugh.

"nothing, carry on" and you divert back to chris.

"yeah, good man. real good." chris says.

"as you should be" carrington says, before he bends down so his cheek is touching yours.

"you need to come film a section for jakes video" carrington says, and you let out a groan. you had forgotten jake had meant to be filming the whole thing and you suddenly realise you hadn't seen him with his camera once.

"okay, okay" you say, and carrington finally moves his hand from around your neck and automatically grabs onto your hand. he's already striking up conversation with someone who's just past the three of you, so you use the short couple seconds to look towards chris.

"well" you start, holding up your drink to salute. "short and sweet, but duty calls. i'll catch you later?"

chris smiles, saluting you with his drink. "of course" and he turns around to walk off. you let out a sigh before giving carringtons hand a quick tug, which he turns around to look at you, then to the empty space where chris just was, and he nods in understandmant as he guides you back through the crowd, back out into the garden, and smack into the front of jakes camera.

it only takes a short few seconds before you're laughing, both jake and carrington with their arms around your neck as they sing along to the my chemical romance song blasting through the speakers. you're soon then joined by your best friend tara, who hands you all a fresh shot of tequila, and before you know it you're feeling lose again. dancing with your best friends, no care in the world if the camera is there or isnt.

unbeknown to you, chris is trying his hardest to distract him selves with conversations with this brothers and his friends at the party, but his always found yours. you singing with jake, dancing with tara and johnnie. he doesn't miss every second you get close to carrington either, and he starts to doubt all the conversations the two of you have had over the last few months. had he got the wrong end of the stick? where you just being friendly and he'd let his guard down a little?

after a another hour, you knew you were drunk. not just drunk, but the type of drunk where you go one of two ways. you either stay happy and giddy, or you fall down a pit of annoyance and you simply want to be left alone, but the music and the people surrounding you where only lifting your spirits as you took yourself to the kitchen to get another drink. theres people everywhere shouting your name as you walk through, and you smile and say hi to them, a few of your friends stopping you for photos, but when you finally reach to drinks table you let out a sigh of relief, reaching into your back pocket for you phone just to stand alone for a second.

you click onto instagram, already having being tagged in a few peoples instagram stories from photos you'd been taking throughout the day, a video on carringtons story of you upside down taking the keg, and you laugh as you reshare them all, before a text pings through.

chris : any chance we can properly say hi now?

you smirk at his message but whip your head around to look behind you, and see him standing against the kitchen door looking at you. you roll your head back and laugh, holding out your hand for him to come and join you. you notice the corna you had given him earlier is long gone and is now replaced by what looks like a standard beer, but his eyes are slightly red and you know he's had more than one or two.

"hi" you joke as he reaches you, taking your hand slightly as you let them slip to the side of you. he laughs, before looking towards all the drinks.

"are you sure you're okay to drink anymore?" he says, but you can tell he's being kind and not patronising.

you give him a side eye. "why, have you been watching me?"

his cheeks flush a little. "hard not to." he says, as he looks down at your body. now your cheeks flush, but you laugh it off as you reach over for a beer.

"im good. im a good mood." you say, letting go of his hand now and opening the bottle. "i could do with a sit down, for a few minutes though. are matt and nick still here?"

he smiles. "yeah, we're sat by the pool."

you groan in pleasure. "ugh, perfect. i can dip my feet in."

and you grab his hand again, pulling him out into the garden and smiling at the fresh air. your eyes scan the poolside, but chris steps infront of you slightly to guide the way. you hiccup slightly, and bring your hand to your mouth, and chris turns to look at you.

"sorry" you giggle, and chris look down at you.

"you're so cute" he says, and you notice that his eyes linger toward your lips for a second, but you shake it off as you move over to the pool, finally spotting eyes with his two brothers.

they each jump up when they see you, engulfing you in a hug, each telling you how incredible you look, before you all sit down by the pool again. theres a few others sat around in a circle, tara being one of them and she sticks her tongue out at you, which you return, before you sit closest to the pool, sighing as you deep feet into the cold water.

"that good?" you hear, opening your eyes to see chris has sat directly next to you, breaking up the circle completely. you were planning on twisting around ever so slightly to join in the conversation, but chris has completely blocked the way. you had to admit it made you feel a little giddy.

"so good. its SO hot" you say, facing back towards the pool.

"you could say that" he says, and you whip your head to give him a stare, which he just laughs at. you had not seen him for the last month. both of you so busy with work projects, and he had not long been on a few trips with his brother matt, and he had only grown more attractive to look at. his hair was a little long, possibly from travelling so much, he had a small bit of stubble that you'd never seen on him before in person, he's wearing a plain white tee and as you look down, black shorts. his legs were crossed but his knee was just inches away from your thigh, and you smile.

"what you smiling at?" he asks now, and you divert your eyes back to him as he takes a drink.

"we've never been alone together, did you know that?" you ask, and he raises his eyebrow, to which you roll your eyes. "i mean," you start. "we're always with people. someone else is always in on the conversation. i think todays the first day we've sat alone."

he nods as he looks behind him at his brothers and friends surrounding us, all engrossed in their own drunken little words, not even noticing that you and chris have distanced ourselves off slightly. you sit up slightly now, moving your hands away from the ground and grab your drink, taking a deep swig from it.

"its about time, dont you think?" chris asks.

"yeah. it is." you smile.

"i have to ask you something-" he starts, and you raise your eyebrow in anticipation, but you notice as his eyes scan the garden, his cheeks flushing slightly. "are you and-"

but he's cut off by a loud squeal. you each look up towards the noise as you see both carrington and jake holding tara in the air. one under her arms and the other her feet as they edge towards the pool. you both immediately let out a laugh as you watch the commotion, before the throw her into the pool. the water splashes up and towards you and chris, and you both move backwards to try and miss it, failing miserably as you both accidentally clash shoulders and get soaked through anyway.

"JAKE" you squeal, just in time for tara to emerge from under the water. it amazes you that her make up stays in the exact same position as she pushes her hair backwards, now completely soaked through.

"you're next" jake says, running towards you.

"NO" you squeal, but it's too late before jakes hands are on your waist. tara is laughing in the pool, egging jake on, and you can't help but laugh as jake tries his hardest to get you to stand up. when he finally does so, you let out a squeal and you can't help but automatically fly your hands out to chris, who laughs as he grabs hold of your hand.

"he can't save you" jake says, and before you know it you're flung in the air, hitting the water right next to tara. when you reemerge, you let out a splutter and wipe at your nose, letting your eyes adjust to the garden around you, but its only a matter of seconds before both jake and carrington canon ball in at either side of you, more screams erupting as you get soaked through once again.

"you're both INSUFFERABLE" you scream over the music, and you dodge carrington as he goes to fling his arms over your shoulder. he holds his hands to his heart, pretending to be hurt, but before you know it tara has flung herself onto him. you laugh at the two of them, jake dancing around trying to persuade others to get in the pool, and then you let your eyes divert to chris again. he's watching you with a smile, and you suddenly remember the conversation you were having.

you keep your eyes locked on him as you swim up to him, his legs still crossed at the edge of the pool, and you plant your arms on the ground to keep yourself afloat.

"what where you saying, before we got interrupted?" you ask, reaching out for your beer not to far away. chris watches you, his eyes scanning over your face, down towards your boobs pressed against the edge of the pool and you notice his adams apple bop up and down as he takes a deep swollow.

"nothing. its okay" he says, and you raise your eyebrow at him.

"tell me" you whine, and he looks towards the pool. your eyes follow him as you see tara on carringtons back, bopping up and down the pool, and you look back to him.

"i just - i - is anything going on, between you and carrington?" he stutters, and it takes everything in you to not smile. one, at the ridiculousness of his questions, because no, there was absolutely nothing going on between you and carrington, but two, the fact he cared. he cared enough to ask. you look at him, and suddenly you feel even more attracted to him. maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through you, but you pick up your hands and grab his.

"come in here" you say, and he widens his eyes.

"not a chance" he laughs.

"what you are scared of?"

"nothing"

"then get in" you say, and you let go of his hand, lay back, and push yourself off the wall of the pool and float backwards a little bit. when you look back up, he's staring at you intensely, but he still hasn't moved, so you shrug your shoulders and look towards carrington.

but that small little action makes something click inside of chris, and he's on his feet in an instant. you snap your head towards him, and you watch as he kicks off his shoes, socks following closely behind and a smile erupts over you face as you watch him. you hear nick and matt ask him what he's doing, but he ignores them as his t-shirt comes off next, and he gives you one last look before he dives in. theres a chorus of cheers around you as people notice another body in the pool, and a clap from carrington and jake as chris head reemerges from under the water. you laugh as you look at them, but when you look back to chris his eyes have never once left yours. his hair is wet through, in front of his eyes and already curling up, as he walks towards you. your heart is racing, theres something about this that feels different now. and when he finally reaches you he stops, pushing hair out of his eyes and rubbing at the water in his eyes.

when he's finished, you smile.

"is anything going on between me and carrington?" you repeat his words, and he looks at you intensely. and then you finally move. your hands around his neck immediately, your chest connecting with his as you move closer. this felt exciting, fireworks in your stomach. every single time you'd met up until now had been platonic. friends, who each time got more and more comfortable with each other. but the flirtatious texts had got more and more, the subtle comments on each other instagram posts had got more and more, and the alcohol surging through both of your bodies was giving a lot to answer for.

chris stares at you for a second, before a smile grows on his lips and he wraps his arms around your waist pulling you in closer than you already where, and his eyes dropped down to look at your lips.

"thats what i asked" he says, but his voice had gone deeper.

he looks into your eyes and you smirk, a gravity pulling you together as you slowly move your head closer towards him, hands coming up into his hair before he finally closes that gap, his lips crashing against yours. it feels electric. you hate to be cliche but it feels like this has been brewing for so long and its finally happened. you can taste the hot dog he just had on his lips, but you don't care, because you probably taste like beer, and you can feel as his chest rises against yours, his hands slowly but surely sliding down until they cup the underneath of your butt, and you use it as a sign to bring your legs and wrap them around his waist. he smiles into the kiss, and you use it as your queue to let out a chuckle and pull away. you can feel his thumbs under the water caress you, and his eyes looked dazed.

"does that answer your question?" you ask, and he chuckles again, leaning in to pop a quick peck on your lip.

"yeah, it does." he says.

your eyes scan the people around you, and you notice that not a soul has looked in your direction. its like the two of you are wrapped in your own little bubble. when you look back towards him, his eyes are only on you.

"i want to take you home, right now" he whispers.

"do it then" you say back, feeling a little giddy, but he smiles at you and his next words make your heart swell.

"im going to be a gentleman, because i genuinely like you. are you free one day this week, for dinner?"

you smile, your heart beating. you're sure he can feel it against his chest.

"are you asking me on a date, christopher sturniolo?"

he smiles. "i am."

"then yes," you lean in and kiss him once more. "im free everyday this week."

"tomorrow?" he asks. you laugh, throwing your head back.

"tomorrow is good”

"great" he says, and then he spins you around in a circle, holding onto your tightly as you grip onto him even tighter, a laughter escaping the both of you as the world spins by.

all you know on that moment, is that there was something special brewing between you and the blue eyed boy.

didn’t intend for this to have more than one part but i kinda feel this going into a little few part series?? lemme know!

[jailforwriter]

Let's delve into...

Look, I know you don't like to fail. I KNOW. Neither do I. But do you know who will—and should—fail a lot? YES, your characters! Failure does all the nifty things writing teachers promise us will keep the story interesting: raise the stakes, bring emotions to a boil, and keep things from stagnating and/or getting predictable. Triumphs have their place, and should be present (unless you enjoy metaphorically kicking your readers in the shins, which, hey, more power to you!) but your characters can't always win. That's boring, and unfortunately, boring is the biggest noncriminal sin in entertainment. The good news is that, when your character does win, their previous failure is going to make it all the more satisfying. Doesn't that make you want to nail that failure for maximum improvability? (Hey I HEARD YOU rolling your eyes just now. Rhetorical questions are NOT cringe. Rude.)

So, what do I mean by a "good failure"?

Basically, when they mess up naturally, because of their own choices, in a way that reflects their flaws. "But wait," I hear you say, "does that exclude the possibility of an external circumstance making for a good catalysts for failure?" Nope! There are no hard and fast rules in writing, and shit does, indeed, just happen sometimes. Happen poignantly, even. But your character can't be entirely blameless in every scenario because then things get *taps on chalkboard* BORING. Seriously, consequences are so cool, I promise.

Okay then, why do I want a good failure?

Emotional resonance: do you remember that time you studied hard and still failed the test? Betcha that felt real bad. Yeah, it's that, but magnified by however many people died (or were sad about it! The stakes don't always need to be cataclysmic).

Catalyst for organic growth: do you remember how failing that test made you decide never to pull an all-nighter cramming again? Perhaps even reassess your relationship with God, your identity, and your place in the universe? Yep. And it felt earned, too. Huh.

Narrative depth: how mad were your parents about that test? And how much did it suck getting your Nintendo taken away because of it? That was compelling, realistic tension, baby! It put you right on the—unfun, but necessary—path to making that eventual success feel meaningful. Yay.

Relatability: you know, I felt kinda bad writing all that stuff about how failing that test wrecked you. Because I have empathy, certainly, but also because I've been there too! Mistakes are human, and few things are more effective at humanizing someone than making them an honorary cringefail loser. (This holds especially true if they're usually the god king of being hot and correct, btw.)

Fine, so how do I go about writing that?

Foreshadowing: why, yes, everything DOES always come back to foreshadowing. Good catch! See, foreshadowing marks the difference between a failure being contrived and awkward, and landing because it was tragically inevitable. The character has been making bad decisions that will come back to bite them all book, and the time for gleaning lessons from the teeth marks on their ass is now.

Make the failure specific and personal: sure, failing a test is a universal experience, but failing the most important test ever conceived in the history of mankind and if you fail your mom will hate you and your girlfriend will leave you and you'll go bald isn't. Make 'em feel it where it hurts!

Consequences: internal or external, they better be tailormade to catalyze change. Be it damaged interpersonal relationships or crippling self-doubt, they better not walk away from their mess-up willing to do it again. (NOTE: exceptions may apply in negative character arcs, but even then, the next time they make that mistake, it shouldn't be the exact same one again. It should be so, so much worse.)

Redemption: following on from the last point—make it a turning point! Show me how things are fifty kinds of broken now and how your character plans on rebuilding the mess using the tools they just got from chucking the toolbox full-tilt at their lives.

Examples be upon ye:

Simba in The Lion King: hopefully we can all agree that thinking you caused your father's death is a valid reason to crash out. However, the important thing here is that the crash-out was not eternal. It allowed for an emotional development cooldown period, and when it did end, empowered Simba to make his triumphant return all the more triumphant. Do you think smacking his geriatric uncle off a mountain would've been half as hot if his emotional arc and subsequent redemption had been underbaked? No. Literally. C'mon, lock in.

Zuko in Avatar: The Last Airbender: ahh yes, the king of redemption arcs, which kinda also makes him the king of cringefailing (both externally and internally! Very illustrative, thank you, Zuko). But I bet you don't just remember his struggle with capturing Aang. In fact, I'd bet quite a few buckaroos what you most remember is his struggle with honor. Could it be because you're grateful for what each setback did to help him find his? What about how they taught him that true honor was internally cultivated rather than externally conferred? And the fact that he chose to help the person whom he'd vowed to destroy in order to get it, for which he used the tools he painstakingly won throughout his arc? Hmm. Perchance. See what I mean? It just feels right when things come full circle, and boy is a good failure shaped like zero!

Ultimately, I hope you found something useful here and that, the next time you're down in the trenches of narrative predictability and character stagnation, you consider pissing in their metaphorical coffees. Thank you!

Happy writing!

[rie-092]

STAY WITH US

[ soft yandere! park moondae x manager! reader ]

summary : moondae didn't like what the other idols just did to you.

okay, let's talk about soft yandere! park moondae.

he first met you when the testar move into their dorms after the survival show. there, the staffs introduced you as one of their managers.

at first, he was kind of worried. because it's kind of unusual to see a woman being a manager of a boy group (it's not like he's being a misogynist, he just have a trust issue because of the rumors that he heard before)

and it's not just him, it seems like keun sejin and ryu chungwoo was worried too.

but, when you assured them that you like female idols more than male idols. they were kind of relieved.

park moondae who watched how you were able to make every members of testar trusts you. he watches how you always feeds cha eugene with chocolate bars during their hectic schedule. how you helped raebin with his job as their group's producer (and he has to admit, seeing raebin's excited face whenever he talks to you means your damn good at it), he also watch how you enjoys crocheting with ahyeon whenever you has free time.

and surprisingly, keun and bae sejin as well as ryu chungwoo slowly opened their hearts to you.

you were a good person, he knew that. you were also good at your job. that's why when the t1 tries to assign you to another group. park moondae surprisingly found himself pulling up some strings to make sure that you will remain as their precious manager.

soft yandere! park moondae who always finds himself cooking some foods for you at dawn whenever he found you pulling up an overnight to fix their schedule.

he hates to admit it himself but taking care of you became his habit. wait, isn't it supposed to be another way round?

park moondae who likes to see how your eyes twinkled while watching their music videos with them by the time it got posted. see? their music were better than those groups that you stan— wait? why the hell does he sounds like a jealous brat?

park moondae who accidentally broke a couple of cheongryeo's ribs when he talk shit about you during the time when he got kidnapped by this lunatic.

park moondae who always shows a perfect idol persona in front of the camera for the sake of the loveviewers. so calm, so cute, so calculated. yet, his facade slipped when he heard from bae sejin (who is also losing his shit in anger that time) how you got slapped by one of the entitled rookie members from another company.

look, he likes how calm and collected you are. he likes the fact that you make sure not to hurt their reputation.

but— you let those guys touch you? really?

everyone knew how good park moondae was when it comes on the internet. and with the angry bae sejin and the annoyed cha eugene (who thankfully managed to capture the exact moment while he was trying to get a cute selfie to post in their instagram)

they 'accidentally' leaked that picture.

and the loveviewers did the rest. being known as the beloved loyal manager of the testar. their fans adores you so much. and those entitled self proclaimed idols dares to slap you for no reason? nah-ah, not in their watch.

you, being completely unaware of how park moondae destroyed a certain kpop group's career overnight. was greeted by the group that morning with a bright smile which confused you.

and what's more confusing was park moondae himself.

sure, he was still the same ol' tibetan moon puppy. but he became more— uhm, overbearing? protective? yep— something like that.

overall, park moondae was the overprotective type of yandere who will do everything to keep you safe.

he likes doing this on secret. do you remember the senior manager who dumps his works to you? don't worry, he lost his job the next day after eugene told him about that. the reason why he got fired? they said it's because of leaking the testar's home address (when it truth, moondae manipulated some evidences to make sure that guy won't be able to approach you again).

even with their hectic schedule as idols. moondae enjoys taking care of you as well as the group's meals. he doesn't know the real reason but he kind of enjoys how you enjoy his foods.

moondae will do anything to keep you as their manager.

moondae was the calm one in their group. but he will absolutely lose his shit if you ever mention anything about quitting your job.

he might go far on manipulating and gaslighting you. he doesn't want to do that, promise. so be careful, okay? after all, moondae can be pretty twisted sometimes—

“ how could you not tell us— don't you trust us? don't you trust me? ”