#it's awkward for them it's awkward for me it's awkward for the reader

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility and pregnancy

♡ FEM reader

♡ P1: The Bunker

Your ankle feels better after a little over a week.

The one initially against you staying has been giving you medical check-ups every day—something about wasteland toxins and underlying, possible contagious sicknesses he’d like to keep a weathered eye out for. 

You hadn’t refused. After all, such precautions were only warranted.

When you first encountered them in the wasteland, they were both wearing hazmat suits and gas masks. And though you had already been put through the standard disinfection and the basic check—eyes, teeth, and tongue—before they’d even let you in, you can’t blame them for taking extra measures—no matter how meticulous the check-ups have been since, comprising of endless spit, blood, and urine samples.

Somehow, you actually appreciated the thoroughness. It was just one more thing that reminded you of the past. The way he sat there, behind the desk like a doctor, and you opposite, like a patient, waiting for your results.

You’d gotten more or less used to it now, so it didn’t feel as awkward anymore. And, if you were to say so yourself, you think he’s even warmed up to you a little bit too.

“You’re all clear. No detectable toxins,” he states after a moment, mulling over the data, more or less the same outcome he’d come to for the last four or so days. He scribbled a few things into the file he’d been conducting, a focused furrow between his brows as he worked. You felt inclined to inquire about what exactly he’d been jotting down all these days of running tests but then decided against it—explaining things to you would probably only vex him. He was a man of as few words as possible, after all.

He sighs, then informs, “We can stop checking every day now.”

“Really?” you light up—feeling excited for some reason. Suppose you took it as a sign of improvement even without knowing entirely what any of it actually meant. In any case, lesser checks must be good, right?

“Yeah. You’re way healthier, thanks to all our produce and not consuming any of that wasteland trash.” He pulled a grimace before his face settled back into that constant look of dour solemnity. “Blood pressure, heart rate, vitals—everything looks good.”

It almost seems like such a silly thing to even bother caring about. Only a few weeks ago, you hadn’t cared for any such thing as health as long as it meant you weren’t starving or freezing—and here you are, celebrating such a privileged thing as blood pressure.

You sniffle, can’t help yourself, balled fists quivering in your lap as a few tears start to drop, “Thank you—truly. I’d have died if it weren’t for the two of you.”

He must think you’re ridiculous, too, crying over something so small. You wipe your eyes, only to notice him holding out a tissue for you. You can only laugh at yourself while accepting it.

“You’ll help me in the greenhouse today since your ankle is all better,” he states while getting up.

You spring to your feet, too. This would be the first time you’d been asked to help out. “What about—”

“He’s busy doing inventory,” he answers before you get the question out. “We’ll have to change a few things since you’re staying.”

This stills you, breath caught in your throat. You look at him wide-eyed, scared you’d heard him wrong. Voice weak as if scared to ask, “I’m staying?”

“Tch—” It’s his turn to chuckle, though he does so much differently from you—mockingly, a way he often does at both your and the other's expense. Though, you’d taken to find it rather endearing. He gives you a look—it’s very almost soft. “You didn’t think we’d waste our resources on something we planned on chucking back out again, did you?”

A tug pulls your wobbly lips back into a smile. “I guess that would be silly...” you sniffle again. “Still, thank you.”

This time, as you say it, you rush to hug him—tightly, with both your arms wrapped around his tough midsection and your head tucked against his broad chest.

It’s him who falls still now—stunted by the action and left both speechless and frozen in place. His arms hover mid-air, unsure of where to rest, before slowly lowering to settle atop your narrow shoulders—so much smaller in comparison. It’s crazy to think you’d endured out in the wasteland for so long.

He’s sure you’ve done things in order to stay alive you’re not at all proud of. Still, your survival is no less than a miracle.

He clears his throat. “Let’s hurry up,” He dismisses, then proceeds to nudge you off as if the hug was unwanted, but even you can spot the blush dusting his cheeks as he looks away with another grumble, “We’re making dinner before he’s done.”

The smile on your face is a sight for sore eyes, he thinks. You didn’t smile like that a week ago.

“Yes, sir.” You salute, following him in stride.

You’d said it innocently enough, but by God, if only you knew how it takes everything in him not to bend you over the medical desk right then and tell you all about how you’re in the perfect window for conceiving. 

He manages to steal himself. 

After dinner, he promised himself soothingly, calming the hunger in his gut—after dinner, they’d decided, tonight would be the night they’d finally make use of you the real way they’d intended—have you earn your keep.

When you’re done tilling the gardens, about a couple hours later, the two of you move on to the kitchen. You’d learn that the brash one was in charge of making most meals, as the other one was more than hopeless in the kitchen. It seemed you were replacing him as the helper, given simple tasks such as cutting, measuring, and fetching things.

It felt nice to be doing something again, especially something so trivial. Housework and domestic chores were something one could only reminisce about, and yet here you were, doing just that—cutting carrots as if the outside world wasn’t a badland of people killing each other for a can of expired dog food.

You really were so lucky you could hardly believe it. The tears start bubbling again.

“If you’re finished cutting, go to the cupboard over there,” he jolts you out of your thoughts. Not looking away from stirring the pot, he points with his other hand toward the far side of the kitchen.

You pad over and open it to find two dozen or more bottles of wine, all neatly shelved.

“Pick one out,” he calls out.

You blink, looking between the wine and him. “You mean—”

“Anyone of ‘em is fine,” he says. “Feel free to read if you’re looking for something special, though. It’s you were celebrating, after all.”

This time, you can’t stop the tears as they trickle down your face one after the other, soaking your cheeks.

Hearing you sniffle makes him sigh with rust. Scolding you with military toughness, “Quit cryin’ already—it’s getting old.”

You wipe your eyes and stiffen your lip. “Yes, sir.”

Turning your head back to the shelf, you can hardly believe the sight. It had been all moonshine and slop out in the wasteland. Dangerous stuff you were better staying well away from.

You can’t believe you’re going to drink actual wine again—your mouth waters just at the thought as you pick the first bottle you set your eyes on. But then you stop yourself—a guilty knot in your stomach twisting.

“Is it really okay?” you ask. “Shouldn’t we save it?”

“Tch—” he scoffs disapprovingly again. “You gotta stop doin’ that.”

You’re left looking at him even though he keeps his back turned, still busy stirring the pot. He lifts a spoon for tasting, then adds more spice to his liking before continuing as though he could tell you were confused just from the silence.

“You’re not in the wasteland anymore—” he states. “You can afford to live a little now.”

A concept like that had yet to have reached you. 

Suppose you were still settling in. 

“Besides, there are more in the cellar,” he reveals. “Even if we drank a bottle every day, it would take years for us to finish. So don’t worry your pretty head ‘bout it, a’ight?”

Your grip around the bottle tightens—trying to toughen up to keep the tears at bay. But today was an emotional day, and it seemed there was no end to the blessings you were given. It was all so overwhelming, your heart swelled with happiness—a feeling you hadn’t felt in such an awfully long time.

“Something smells good!” comes a call.

It seems he’s returned from doing inventory.

“Oh no, why are you crying?” He instantly rushes over to you, holding your face to inspect the damage, then snaps his head to the other, who’s still busying himself with perfecting dinner. “Are you being too harsh on her?” he accuses. “You know, not everyone can live up to your cooking expectations—”

“Tch—I haven’t done shit,” he denies. “She’s just emotional ‘cause I told her we’re lettin’ her stay.”

“What!? You told her without me?” he cries then. “We were supposed to surprise her together.” His pout is instantly replaced with a blank look of surprise as you wrap your arms around him like you’d done with the other earlier—hugging him tightly.

“Thank you,” you repeat to him as well.

You still couldn’t believe how nice they had been to you. 

After dinner is eaten, the three of you end up sitting there, chatting—about the past, most of all, how things used to be—how people would live in little houses with next-door neighbors they’d invite over for game night—little families with kids and backyards and pet dogs—college, marriage, careers.

You helped the stoic one clear the dishes while the chipper of the two opened another bottle of wine. You can hardly believe it when they bring out the record player and slide a vinyl on.

You end up crying again as the music plays. You even dance. Laughter fills the bunker while you get completely swept away with the feeling of utter bliss. And as the wine finishes and the conversation turns sloppy, the hands twirling your body to the music get a little touchier, a little greedier, until you’re suddenly kissed.

Between the two of them, the air becomes hot—steamy as you share breathes. 

Busy hands, large and strong and callused from labor, work on your button-up shirt. It’s gone before you know it, then the hands move on to your pants.

Honestly, after all the emotions joined by the wine and dance and being spun between the two, you can’t say you’re completely without lust, but at the same time, you’re just a bit confused. 

Despite not having seen them kiss in front of you, you’re certain they both go to bed in the same room every night—so all this time, you’d been under the impression that they were involved with each other and not interested in you that way. 

Not that it matters much what you thought, you think, you’re not against what’s happening so much as you’re a little hesitant about how it’s about to happen. It’s been a while since you’ve slept with anyone—willingly, that is—you’ve sort of forgotten how to enjoy it. 

If it were just one, you’d maybe find it a bit less overwhelming, but given there were two, you quickly found yourself feeling somewhat claustrophobic.

“Wait—” you stutter. Blocking the advance with your own hands, looking up into drunken and heated eyes and the soft look of arousal painted on the face before you. 

“Don’t worry,” he comforts with that kind smile. “You’re the most valuable thing we have—we’re gonna be gentle.”

You almost bite, almost give in, almost let it soothe you. But even in the drunk haze, the choice of phrasing finds you a little odd. And you’re unable to disregard that feeling that’s been nagging at the very back of your head ever since you stepped foot in the place. 

Something’s not right.

“Valuable?” Sure, you could choose to understand it as them saying they care for you, but somehow, it just doesn’t feel as if that’s all. “What does that mean?”

“You know…” he utters softly—his kind smile curling into something different. His eyes fall downward as he licks his lips before finishing, “This.” 

He’s laid a hand atop your belly where his gaze is set—his palm flat and firm as he rubs tentative circles into the softness.

It takes you a moment before you shudder. “You…” 

You needed to be rational about this. Some part of you always knew there was something going on, didn’t it? Why else would you be here? Why else would they let you stay? The cameras in the bedroom, in the showers, all those medical checkups—you’ve known there was something. And still, you hadn’t left. You hadn’t even so much as humored the thought even once.

There is no life for you out there. You don’t just want to stay—you have to—you need to.

And is it really so bad? Hadn't they been nice? Haven’t they been more than generous? Don’t you owe them so much more than what they’re asking in return?

But what are they asking? It’s not just intimacy. It’s something else—something premeditated.

“You want to use me to…” The realization makes you shudder. “To make you a child…”

Like an incubator.

They don’t deny it.

You want to back up—create space—room to breathe, but the other is just behind you with his big chest pressed stiffly against your back, keeping you close, trapped before the one in front.

“It’s true…” he confesses at your ear. “That is all we wanted from you in the beginning.” 

It sends a chill down your spine.

“It was almost too good to be true when we found you,” he continued while playing with your waist in big hands. “How a perfect candidate fell right into our lap mere days after we decided to go lookin’ for one.”

You suck in a hitched breath as the well of tears breaches, dribbling down your cheeks at the clinical word—candidate.

“But you’re more than that now,” the other reassures, bowing and fishing for your eyes as you’d taken to look down—too horrified to look him back in his. 

“We figured you’d be a savage, havin’ lived out there for so long,” the one behind says. He’d been the most skeptical at first, but he’d come to learn it was rather the opposite—your time out there hadn’t toughened your skin or hardened your heart but only made you timid and soft.

“In all honesty, we weren’t sure we were gonna keep you after the pregnancy…” the one in front whispers upon your lips. “But that’s all in the past now.”

He lifts your chin, taking in the all-too-soft look of despair on your face. It’s a strange thing to say he’d missed. It nearly makes him feel guilty for the hard-on in his cargo pants. But then again, tears are the allure of the gentler sex. It’s only natural for a man to enjoy the sight.

“We want you to stay.” He strokes your cheek, catching the tears on his thumb. “After all, it would be best for the baby to have a female presence—especially one as soft as yours.”

“And, well…” You flinch at the stubble being dragged upon your shoulder and neck, a kiss placed in the nook there along with his words, “We’ve grown to like having you around.”

His hands had fallen from your waist down to rub your hips, swaying you back against his crotch—and the bulge there, that now felt a little more like a gun being poked against your back. 

“It’s been a long while since we’ve had the company of a woman,” he continues while pressing himself against you. “It was unfamiliar at first, but… it’s nice.”

Something urgent takes over your body then—even though it’s beyond stupid. There’s no plan, no further thought than run—despite having no solid clue as to where. And yet, it ends up not mattering in the slightest. You don’t make it far.

You scream as their hands snag you. The grumpier one locks your arms, the chipper one grabs your legs—and they both lift and carry you back—laying you down on the little round table you’d had dinner on.

You struggle, but your wrists are pinned down to the metal with a strength you can’t hope to match.

“Don’t be like that.” He clicks his tongue dismissively like he so often does when you say or do something stupid. “There’s nowhere to go.”

“No—” you cry. “Please—don’t.” Shaking your head while squeezing your thighs shut. 

Never mind having sex, you could endure that much—but having a baby in this mess? They’re the ones who lost their minds down here. 

“I can’t—”

“Of course, you can,” the other insists, prying your thighs apart to make space for himself between them, already with his hands returning to undo the button of your pants, zipping down the fly and tugging them off.

“No—”

He’s back to console you just as quickly, “Shh-sh, don’t cry,” he soothes, cupping your face in both palms. He gives you that kind smile again, but it no longer serves as any source of comfort—now just a mouth full of teeth. “We’ll be gentle.”

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

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

[gpcwsl]

Alexia and r have a 10 year age gap and alexia’s always acting really sweet and boyfriend to r in private but refuses to acknowledge there’s something between them and being cold in public then being apologetic but happy ending please!

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Invisible in the light - adored in the dark

WC: 969

MasterList

Warnings: age gap, ignored? Kiss?

Song: you were good to me - Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

The first time it happened, you brushed it off.

Maybe Alexia didn’t hear you when you called her name. Maybe the restaurant was too loud, or maybe she was too focused on whatever conversation she was having with her teammates.

But then it happened again.

And again.

And again.

In private, Alexia was everything you could ever want in a girlfriend. She held you so close at night that it felt like she was afraid you would slip through her fingers.

She pressed lazy kisses to your forehead in the mornings, whispered sweet nothings in Spanish that you couldn’t yet understand but still loved the sound of.

She traced shapes onto your bare skin, her fingers moving over your back like an artist painting on a canvas.

But in public?

It was as if you didn’t exist.

Alexia wouldn’t look at you. Wouldn’t talk to you. Wouldn’t even acknowledge your presence. She was ice-cold, a stark contrast to the warmth she showed you behind closed doors.

You thought you could handle it. You thought it wouldn’t bother you.

You were wrong.

You’re at a team dinner when it happens again.

Alexia sits at the other end of the table, deep in conversation with Mapi and Patri, laughing at some inside joke you aren’t privy to. You, on the other hand, are stuck in an awkward silence between two of the younger players, stirring the ice in your drink with your straw, pretending that it doesn’t hurt.

But it does.

It’s not just that she’s ignoring you. It’s the way she goes out of her way to do it. The way her gaze dances around you, how she shifts her body away when you try to move closer, how she only speaks in clipped, professional tones if she absolutely has to respond.

Like you’re nothing more than a stranger.

Like you’re not the same person she held in her arms just last night, whispering soft te quieros into your hair.

The thought makes your stomach twist.

You try to hold it in, to swallow it down. But when the team finally gets up to leave, Alexia walking right past you like you’re invisible, something inside you snaps.

The apartment door barely clicks shut before you say it.

“Why do you do that?”

Alexia turns to you, mid-way through pulling off her jacket. “¿Qué?”

“You know what.” Your voice wavers, but you keep going. “Why do you act like I don’t exist in public?”

Alexia freezes. Her brows knit together, confusion flickering in her hazel eyes. “Y/n, I don’t—”

“You do,” you cut her off, stepping forward. “You do, Alexia. You ignore me. You won’t even look at me.” Your voice cracks on the last part, frustration mixing with something more vulnerable.

Alexia exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?”

There’s a long pause. She looks at you, really looks at you for the first time all night, and her expression softens.

“I—” She hesitates. “I’m scared.”

Your brows furrow. “Scared of what?”

She glances away, lips pressing together. “Scared of what people will think. Scared of how they’ll see me.”

It clicks then. The age gap. The inevitable judgment.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“So what?” Your voice is quieter now, but no less firm. “You’d rather pretend I don’t exist than risk people knowing we’re together?”

Alexia’s eyes snap back to yours, and there’s something raw in them. Guilt. Regret.

“Y/n…” She steps closer, reaching for you, but you don’t move.

“You can’t have it both ways,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t treat me like I’m the most important person in the world when we’re alone and then act like I’m nothing as soon as other people are around.”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy.

Then Alexia sighs, shoulders dropping. “You’re right.”

You blink. “I am?”

“Yes.” She takes another step forward, closing the space between you. This time, you let her. Her hands find yours, fingers curling around your wrists. “I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you.”

You swallow. “You were.”

She nods, gaze full of remorse. “Lo siento, mi amor.”

You sigh. “In English, Alexia.”

A small smile tugs at her lips despite the tension in the air. “I’m sorry, my love.”

You hold her gaze for a long moment, searching for any trace of insincerity. You find none.

Then she’s pulling you into her arms, wrapping herself around you like she’s trying to shield you from the world. “I’ll do better,” she murmurs into your hair. “I promise.”

You exhale against her shoulder, the weight on your chest easing just a little. “Okay.”

She pulls back just enough to cup your face, her thumb tracing gentle circles against your cheek. “I love you, Y/n.”

Your heart stumbles over itself. She’s said it before, but never like this—never so openly, so unguarded.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

And then she kisses you.

It’s slow, tender, full of unspoken apologies and silent vows. She kisses you like she’s making up for every second she’s ignored you, like she’s trying to prove with her lips what she failed to show in public.

And you let her.

When she finally pulls away, she rests her forehead against yours. “Cuddle with me?” she murmurs.

You can’t help but smile. “Only if you actually acknowledge me tomorrow.”

Alexia chuckles softly. “Deal.”

You curl up together on the couch, her arms around you, her heartbeat steady beneath your ear. And for the first time in a long time, you feel seen.

Because in the end, love isn’t about the whispers in the dark.

It’s about the way someone chooses to hold your hand in the light.

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.7

Chapter Seven: What Are You Doing To Me Now?

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, 

Word Count: 8.3k

A/N: ISTG last chapter— ya’ll comments had me wheezing and dying of laughter PLEASE— MY BAD, I DIDN’T MEAN TO GIVE PEDRO A HEART ATTACK LMAOOOO. Anyways, enjoy this little filler of a chapter. That’s 8k words long LMAO…

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: The blue by Gracie Abrams

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

“You still need to change.”

The words tumble out before you can stop them, and you immediately want to crawl into a hole. Out of everything you could have said, that’s what your brain decided on?

Pedro blinks at you.

Then, as if just realizing it himself, he looks down at his suit—a bright, unmistakable blue, the bold insignia stretched across his chest.

Mr. Fantastic.

A literal superhero, walking through the lot, guiding you with steady hands like you were the fragile one. It’s so utterly absurd you almost laugh.

“Huh,” he says, eyebrows raising in mild amusement. “Guess I forgot.”

You shake your head, half-exasperated, half-fond. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving a dull ache in its place, and for the first time since the accident, the weight of everything presses in.

The stitches in your arm pull when you move too fast, a sharp reminder that this was real. That you’d actually shoved Pedro out of the way and taken the hit yourself.

He hasn’t let you forget it, either.

Not in the way his fingers still ghost over your wrist, as if testing to make sure you’re solid. Not in the way he keeps looking at you, his expression unreadable, like he’s trying to work through something in his head but hasn’t found the words yet.

And now, on top of it all, you still need to check in with Jess, confirm with Matt that you’re cleared for the day, and figure out if you need to file for medical leave.

So much for an easy afternoon.

You make your way across the lot, Pedro still at your side, his presence warm and steady. When you find Matt and Jess, they’re already deep in conversation with Rob Beggs, the safety manager. The area where the light rig fell is cordoned off now, crew members carefully maneuvering around it as they assess the situation.

The moment Jess spots you, her face crumples into something equal parts relief and guilt.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she asks, stepping forward like she wants to hug you but stops herself at the last second, eyeing your injured arm. “Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“Jess, no,” you interject quickly, shaking your head. “This wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen.”

“Still, I feel awful,” Matt adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “We should have double-checked the rigging before calling everyone in.”

“And we’re going to,” Rob says, tone firm but even. “I’m running a full investigation on this. We’ll figure out where the breakdown happened and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You nod, appreciating the sentiment but also not wanting to linger on it. The last thing you want is for everyone to start treating you like glass.

“I’m okay,” you say, offering them what you hope is a reassuring smile. “Just a few stitches. I’ll live.”

“Damn right you will,” a familiar voice cuts in.

Daisy.

She and Omar appear from the side, both of them looking equally relieved and exasperated.

“You scared the hell out of us,” Omar says, shaking his head. “One second everything was fine, and then—boom. We see you on the ground, bleeding.”

You wince. “Yeah. That part wasn’t fun.”

“No shit,” Daisy mutters. Then her eyes flick to Pedro, who still hasn’t strayed far from your side. Her gaze sharpens just slightly.

“You sticking to her like glue for the rest of the day or what?” she teases, but there’s an underlying note of curiosity there.

Pedro doesn’t even hesitate.

“Yep.”

You glance at him, surprised by how easily the answer leaves him. His expression is relaxed, but there’s something in his eyes, something quietly unwavering, that makes your stomach flip.

Daisy arches a brow, but she doesn’t push.

Instead, she just shakes her head, smirking slightly. “Figures.”

Omar huffs a laugh. “Well, at least she’s in good hands.”

You feel your face heat, and Pedro, the absolute menace, just looks utterly unbothered, like he was always meant to be standing here next to you. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Alright,” Jess sighs, rubbing her temples. “You’re cleared for the day. If you need extra time off, just let me know.”

You nod. “Thanks, Jess.”

“Now,” Matt adds, giving Pedro a once-over, “please tell me you’re not actually taking her back to the hotel like that.”

Pedro glances down at himself again.

Then he shrugs. “I dunno. Kinda think it adds character.”

You groan, covering your face with your good hand.

“Just go change, man,” Omar snorts.

Pedro grins, but then his attention shifts back to you, and the humor fades just slightly, replaced with something softer. Something quieter.

“I’ll be quick,” he says, voice low. “Stay here, okay?”

You nod, and the second he steps away, you exhale, feeling the weight of everything settle just a little heavier on your shoulders.

Daisy nudges you.

“So,” she drawls, a knowing glint in her eye. “Anything you wanna share?”

Your face burns.

“Nope.”

Omar snickers. “Yeah, sure.”

You huff, shaking your head, but you don’t say anything else. Because honestly?

You’re not sure how to explain what just happened.

Or how you’re supposed to go back to normal after it.

You don’t know how Pedro managed to convince Matt and Jess to call it an early day, but somehow, he did. Maybe it was the way he asked, firm yet gentle, leaving no room for argument, or maybe they saw the concern in his eyes—the kind that couldn’t be faked. Either way, production had been shut down for the day.

Besides, Rob had said they needed to check the cameras, review the footage, and determine exactly what went wrong.

Now, you were surrounded by Vanessa, Ebon, and Joseph, their voices overlapping as they checked in on you.

“Oh my god, are you sure you’re okay?” Vanessa asked, wide-eyed, her hand hovering near your arm as if she was scared you’d break.

“Yeah, you took quite the hit,” Ebon added, shaking his head. “Looked bad from where we were standing.”

Joseph crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “They need to get that sorted out before we continue filming. It could’ve been worse.”

You nodded, offering them a small smile, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline and the way their concern made you feel more fragile than you wanted to admit.

“I’m fine, really,” you reassured them. “Just a couple of stitches. No big deal.”

But your voice wavered slightly, betraying the truth. Your hands were still cold, your heart still hadn’t settled into its usual rhythm. You wanted to be strong—to be the girl who brushed things off with a laugh. You’d always been that girl.

Then Pedro emerged from his trailer.

He’d finally changed out of the Mr. Fantastic suit, trading in the blue spandex for a soft black sweater and dark jeans, but he still had that look—the same one he’d had since the moment the accident happened. Like he hadn’t been able to let out a full breath since.

His eyes found yours instantly.

“Hey.”

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “Hey.”

Pedro ignored everyone else, his focus entirely on you as he closed the distance between you. The warmth of his presence was immediate and grounding, and when he reached out—his fingers ghosting over the bandage on your forehead—you felt yourself sway slightly.

“You should be resting,” he murmured, his voice lower, softer, meant just for you.

“I’ll rest when I get home.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, but something in your expression must’ve given you away, because Pedro exhaled through his nose, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face before he could think better of it.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, barely there, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. You were very aware of the way the others had fallen silent, watching the moment unfold. But Pedro didn’t seem to care, and you... you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“I didn’t mean to.” The words came out quieter than you intended.

His brows knit together like he was about to say something else, but then Matt called out from the other side of the lot, breaking the moment.

Pedro sighed, dropping his hand, but not before giving your shoulder a small squeeze. “Let me take you back to the hotel. You shouldn’t be dealing with all of this right now.”

Your instinct was to protest, to insist that you were fine, that you could handle it. But the truth was, the idea of getting away from set, from all the eyes and whispers, sounded... nice.

So you swallowed your pride, glanced up at Pedro, and nodded.

“Okay.”

His shoulders loosened slightly, like he’d been waiting for you to agree. “Okay.”

And just like that, he was guiding you toward the parking lot, his hand ghosting over your lower back, protective, steady, like he was ready to catch you if you stumbled.

You exhaled, letting yourself lean into the warmth of him, just a little. Just for now.

The black van was already waiting at the curb, engine humming softly as the late afternoon light spilled golden streaks over the lot. Pedro kept a firm but gentle hand on the small of your back as he guided you inside, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.  

Albert, the driver, glanced back as you climbed in. “Miss,” he greeted with a polite nod, his eyes flickering briefly to Pedro as if silently assessing whether you were okay.  

You gave him a small smile. “Hey, Albert.”  

Once everyone was settled, the doors shut with a soft thud, sealing you into the familiar bubble of the ride back to the hotel.  

“I think after today, we deserve drinks.” Joseph stretched out his legs with a groan, his head thumping lightly against the headrest. “Preferably something strong. Maybe something that could wipe today from my memory entirely.”  

You let out a quiet laugh but shook your head. “Thanks, but no alcohol for me.” You scrunched your nose, pulling a face. “Kind of wanna keep all my blood inside me for now.”  

Pedro made a noise next to you—something between amusement and disapproval—as he shot you a sidelong glance. “Yeah, no tequila shots for you, querida. Not when you just got stitched up.”  

“Ugh, I was gonna say wine, but sure, make me sound like a total mess,” Joseph quipped.  

Vanessa smirked. “You are a mess.”  

Ebon chuckled. “At least you admit it.”  

The conversation carried on, the lighthearted teasing making the tension from earlier slowly fade. You felt yourself relax, your body sinking a little deeper into the seat. But even as the laughter filled the van, you remained acutely aware of the warmth beside you—the way Pedro’s thigh pressed lightly against yours, the way his arm rested along the back of the seat, close but not quite touching you.  

And when you glanced at him, you found his gaze already on you, something unreadable in those deep brown eyes.  

You looked away first.

The drive back to the hotel stretched longer than expected, traffic turning the usual route into a slow crawl. London streets, thick with impatient drivers and red taillights, blurred into a haze outside the window. Rain had started to drizzle, streaking the glass with soft, uneven patterns. The low hum of conversation filled the van, punctuated by the occasional groan from Joseph whenever the vehicle lurched forward, only to stop again moments later.  

You let your head rest against the window, watching the world pass in slow motion. The warmth of the van, the steady rhythm of the rain, and the quiet murmur of voices lulled you into something close to drowsiness. Your body ached—not unbearably, but enough that exhaustion tugged at you with each passing second.  

Pedro shifted beside you, the movement drawing your attention. His arm, which had been loosely draped along the back of the seat, dipped slightly, fingertips ghosting over your shoulder in a touch so light you almost imagined it.  

“You okay?” His voice was low, meant only for you.  

You hummed, turning your head slightly but keeping your gaze on the rain-slicked streets. “Yeah. Just tired.”  

His fingers flexed, the briefest hesitation before he let his hand settle—gentle and warm—on your arm. Not overbearing. Just there. Just enough.  

You should sit up straighter. You should move, make some joke, shake off the way his presence settled around you like something protective, something safe. But you didn’t. Instead, you let yourself relax, the weight of exhaustion pressing heavier against you.  

The next time the van jolted to another stop, your body leaned instinctively toward the nearest solid thing—Pedro.  

You felt it the moment your head made contact with his shoulder. The way he stiffened, just for a beat, before exhaling like he’d been holding his breath. You started to move away, an apology forming on your lips, but before you could, his hand found your knee—just the lightest touch, grounding, reassuring.  

“Stay,” he murmured.  

You weren’t sure if he even realized he’d said it.  

But you did. And you stayed.  

The voices around you blended, fading into the background as your eyelids grew heavier. Pedro’s breathing was steady beneath your cheek, the rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something dangerously close to comfort. His scent—faint traces of cologne and whatever they used to take off the makeup from set—wrapped around you, familiar and warm.  

Outside, the rain kept falling. The city moved in slow motion.  

And in the middle of it all, you slept, tucked safely into the space Pedro had made for you.

Pedro stilled when he felt the full weight of you against him.  

At first, he thought you were just resting your eyes, letting exhaustion settle in after the long, chaotic day. But then your breathing slowed, deepened, the kind of rhythm that only came with sleep.  

Carefully, he glanced down at you. Your face was relaxed now, lips slightly parted, the tension that had clung to you all day finally melting away. A soft, barely-there snore slipped past your lips, and—fuck—his heart clenched.  

Then he felt it.  

A faint warmth against his shoulder.  

He shifted ever so slightly, and sure enough—yep. You were drooling.  

He should probably mind. He should probably shake you awake or shift you off of him. But the thought didn’t even cross his mind.  

Instead, he swallowed past the lump in his throat and stayed perfectly still.  

Because if this was all he got—this fleeting moment of quiet, of you trusting him enough to let your guard down, to lean on him like this—he wasn’t about to ruin it.  

Still, guilt gnawed at him. The scene kept playing in his head. The accident. The way his stomach had dropped when he saw you hit the ground. The way you had looked up at him afterward, trying to play it off like it was nothing, even though he knew better. Even though he knew you.  

He could have lost you today.  

The thought made his grip tighten ever so slightly against his knee, his other hand twitching with the urge to reach for you. To make sure you were really here.  

And then there was that look.  

The one you had given him. The one that sent something sharp and undeniable curling in his chest. The one that told him—without words—that whatever this was between you, it wasn’t just in his head.  

He could have kissed you then.  

He should have.  

But it hadn’t been the right time. Not after what had happened. Not when you were still reeling from it, still patching yourself up.  

But fuck, it’s going to keep him up at night.  

He wants you.  

And he knows—knows—that you want him too.  

The van hit another bump, jostling you slightly, and instinctively, he shifted, tucking you closer so your head wouldn’t slip from his shoulder.  

You murmured something in your sleep, a soft sigh, curling the tiniest bit toward him. And Pedro?  

Pedro let himself enjoy it. Just for now. Just for tonight.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING  

A gentle voice coaxed you from sleep.  

“We’re here.”  

You stirred, warmth pressed against your cheek, the rhythmic hum of the van’s engine fading as the vehicle rolled to a stop. Your mind felt sluggish, still tangled in the remnants of sleep, but then—oh God.  

Your head had been resting on him.  

Panic flickered through you as you jerked upright, realizing with horror that you had not only slept on Pedro’s shoulder but also left a small damp patch on the fabric of his hoodie.  

“Oh my—shit.” You wiped hastily at your mouth, mortified. “I didn’t mean to—Jesus, I drooled all over you. I’m so—”  

Pedro chuckled, low and amused, shaking his head. “It’s fine.” His voice softened. “Just don’t move too much. Remember—your stitches.”  

The reminder stopped you in your tracks. Right. Your stitches. Your ribs ached dully, a reminder of the accident earlier on set. You swallowed, nodding.  

“Right,” you murmured.  

Across from you, Joseph twisted in his seat, smirking slightly. “You good?”  

“Yeah.” Your voice was still rough with sleep. You cleared your throat and tried again. “M’good.”  

Vanessa gave you a sympathetic look, her expression warm. “You should probably head up and rest.”  

You nodded again, still feeling a little disoriented. The van door slid open, letting in the cool London air. One by one, everyone filed out, stretching and murmuring about what to do next. Pedro moved to step out, then hesitated, glancing back at you.  

“You coming?” he asked, voice low, just for you.  

You blinked, forcing yourself to move. Your limbs felt heavy, your body still craving rest. As you started to climb out, your footing wavered slightly—maybe from exhaustion, maybe from the dull ache in your side.  

Pedro was there in an instant.  

His hand hovered near the small of your back, not quite touching, but close enough to steady you. Close enough to say, I’ve got you.  

You inhaled, just for a moment, letting yourself take comfort in his presence. 

The warmth of the hotel lobby wrapped around you as you stepped inside, the soft hum of distant conversation and the faint scent of polished wood and expensive cologne filling the air. Pedro stayed close, his presence a quiet reassurance, his hand hovering near your lower back again, never quite touching, but there.  

You made your way toward the elevators, pressing the call button. When the doors slid open, you stepped inside with a sigh, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. You tapped your keycard, pressing the button for your floor before instinctively pressing Pedro’s as well.  

“Nope,” he said immediately, crossing his arms.  

You turned, blinking up at him. “What?”  

“You’re staying with me tonight.”  

Your lips parted in surprise. “Excuse me?”  

Pedro sighed, like he had already expected you to put up a fight. “Someone needs to look after you.”  

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Pedro, I’ll be fine. They’re just stitches. I’m just gonna head to bed early—” You punctuated the statement with a yawn, covering your mouth with the back of your hand.  

Pedro gave you that look. That firm, stubborn, no-room-for-argument look, the one you’d seen him use when he was absolutely set on something.  

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”  

“Just stay in the suite,” he said, softer this time. “Please. You can use your old room.”  

Your brows furrowed. “Pedro, my stuff is still in my room.”  

“Then I’ll stay with you.”  

Your breath hitched. “What?”  

Pedro shrugged, like it was the most casual suggestion in the world. “If you won’t stay in my suite, then I’ll stay in yours.”  

You stared at him, your heart thudding a little too loudly in your ears. The idea of sharing a space with Pedro for the night—of waking up knowing he was just a room away, of the quiet intimacy of existing in the same space—made your stomach flip.  

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, voice quieter now.  

He tilted his head, studying you. “I want to.”  

The elevator dinged, signaling your floor. The doors slid open, but neither of you moved. The air between you was charged, thick with something unspoken, something there.  

You hesitated. He was giving you a choice.  

You exhaled, already knowing you were going to give in before the words even left your mouth.  

“Fine…” you muttered, crossing your arms. “If it makes you feel better.” You glanced up at him and sighed. “Now put away your puppy eyes.”  

Pedro grinned, all smug warmth and victory, but there was something softer in his eyes—relief, maybe. Like he was glad you weren’t pushing him away.  

“I’ll just grab some of my stuff. I’ll be right back,” he said, already stepping back toward the elevator panel to press his floor again.  

You shot him a teasing look. “Better hurry, or I might just pass out before you get there.”  

Pedro narrowed his eyes playfully. “Seven minutes,” he said, like it was a challenge.  

You smirked as the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with the quiet hum of the hallway.  

By the time you got to your room, exhaustion was already creeping in. You barely had the energy to kick off your shoes before flopping onto the bed, sighing into the plush comforter. You told yourself you’d just close your eyes for a moment—just a second.  

Then, exactly seven minutes later, the sound of your doorbell rang through the room.

You rolled off the bed with a groggy sigh, rubbing your eyes as you shuffled toward the door. When you pulled it open, Pedro was standing there, looking so effortlessly comfortable it made your stomach flip.  

A plain black tee stretched across his broad chest, the soft fabric hanging loosely over the curve of his arms. Grey sweatpants sat low on his hips, the kind that made your brain short-circuit for a second longer than you wanted to admit. He’d traded his usual contacts for his square-framed glasses, the ones that made him look just a little too good, like a university professor who knew exactly how to ruin you with a well-placed argument.  

In one hand, he held a small duffle bag, the strap slung over his shoulder like he belonged here, like this was routine. Like you’d done this before.  

Pedro’s gaze flicked over you, taking in your half-lidded eyes and the way you leaned against the doorframe, still fighting off the edges of sleep.  

“You didn’t pass out,” he noted, amused.  

“Almost did,” you mumbled, stepping back to let him in.  

Pedro walked past you, his familiar scent trailing after him—clean, warm, a mix of something woody and subtle, like cedar and spice. He moved easily around the space, setting his bag down by the chair, toeing off his sneakers before glancing back at you.  

“You should get some rest,” he said, softer now.  

You folded your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you were still in the clothes you wore earlier, your sweater slightly rumpled from your half-nap. “I was resting until someone rang my doorbell exactly seven minutes after leaving.”  

Pedro just smiled, unapologetic. “I said I’d be quick.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small grin tugging at your lips.  

Then, as if the weight of the day finally caught up to him, Pedro let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw before tilting his head at you. His gaze softened, the humor fading just a little.  

“How’s your side?”  

You hesitated, glancing down like you could see the stitches through your clothes. “Fine,” you said, but it wasn’t very convincing.  

Pedro’s brows pulled together. “Let me see.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“Just—let me check, make sure it’s not bleeding or anything.”  

You frowned, the shyness creeping back in. “Pedro, I can—”  

“You could,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer, “but you won’t.” His voice dipped into something quieter, something coaxing. “Just let me take care of you, okay?”  

Your breath hitched.  

You should’ve argued, should’ve batted away his concern with another stubborn insistence that you were fine. But he was looking at you like that—like you were something fragile and precious, something worth worrying over.  

And maybe a part of you wanted to be taken care of.  

You swallowed, nodding once.  

Pedro exhaled, something unspoken passing between you, before he gestured toward the bed. “Sit.”  

You did.  

He knelt in front of you, hands careful as he helped you lift the hem of your sweater, just enough to check the bandages covering your side. His fingers barely grazed your skin, but it was enough to send a shiver up your spine.  

Pedro stilled.  

His gaze flicked up to yours, like he’d felt it too.  

For a moment, neither of you moved. The room felt smaller, the air thicker.  

Then, finally, he spoke—voice rough, quiet.  

“You scared the shit out of me today.”

“So you’ve said…” You mumbled.

Pedro huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he carefully smoothed the fabric of your sweater back down. His hands lingered for half a second too long, fingertips brushing against your waist before he pulled away.  

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it—just exhaustion, something fond underneath.  

You swallowed past the warmth creeping up your neck and cleared your throat. “I, uh—I need to shower.”  

Pedro’s expression shifted instantly, concern knitting his brows together. “Careful with your stitches.”  

“I know,” you sighed, already pushing yourself up from the bed. “I just—” You hesitated, suddenly aware of how gross you felt. Your sweater was stiff in places, dried with sweat and blood, and your skin itched from the grime of the day. “I just need to wash this all off.”  

Pedro’s gaze softened, but his jaw ticked, like he was biting back a hundred different things he wanted to say.  

Instead, he nodded. “Okay.”  

You quickly gathered your pajamas and underwear, started toward the bathroom, then paused at the door, glancing over your shoulder. “Don’t—” You hesitated, shifting awkwardly. “Don’t leave, okay?”  

Pedro blinked, something flickering behind his eyes before he nodded again. “I won’t.”  

That was all you needed.  

You closed the bathroom door behind you and exhaled, pressing your forehead against the cool wood for a second longer than necessary. Your heart was beating too fast.  

You shook it off, moving to turn on the water, making sure it wasn’t too hot—you didn’t want to irritate the stitches. The mirror caught your reflection, and you winced. You looked exhausted, dark circles under your eyes, dried blood streaked near your collar. No wonder Pedro had been hovering.  

Carefully, you peeled off your clothes, mindful of your injury as you stepped under the spray. Warm water cascaded over you, washing away the dirt and the tension, and you sighed in relief.  

The moment you stepped out of the bathroom, warmth wrapped around you—not just from the plush hotel robe you’d thrown on, but from the scent of food lingering in the air. Something rich, comforting.  

Pedro sat on the edge of the couch, scrolling through his phone, but his head snapped up the second he heard you. His eyes flickered over you, scanning for any signs of discomfort, lingering too long on the bandages at your side before he forced himself to meet your gaze.  

He offered you a small smile. “I ordered room service for dinner. Figured you needed something to eat before your next set of meds.”  

Your stomach answered before you could, a low grumble betraying just how little you’d eaten today.  

Pedro smirked. “Guess I made the right call.”  

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you were grateful. The thoughtfulness of it made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with your stitches.  

“What’d you get?” You padded over, tucking damp hair behind your ear as you settled onto the small couch beside him.  

“Chicken soup, because, you know—doctor’s orders.” He lifted the lid with a flourish, steam curling into the air. “And some pasta, just in case you wanted something more solid.”  

Your lips twitched. “You really thought this through, huh?”  

Pedro shrugged, too casual. “You’re my responsibility tonight.”  

Something about the way he said it made your breath catch. He didn’t say it like it was an obligation. He said it like it was a fact. Like he wanted it to be.  

You looked away, focusing on the soup as you picked up a spoon. “Thanks,” you murmured.  

Pedro watched you for a beat before nodding. “Anytime.”

The silence between you was warm, familiar. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.  

You focused on your food, spooning up the broth, letting the heat soothe you from the inside out. The warmth of it settled deep in your chest, easing away the tightness that had been there since the accident. Pedro had been right—this was exactly what you needed.  

Across from you, Pedro twirled his fork through his pasta absentmindedly, but he wasn’t eating much. His eyes kept flicking toward you, like he was checking, making sure you were still here, still breathing.  

“You should eat,” you murmured, not looking up from your bowl.  

Pedro let out a small breath of amusement. “You sound like me.”  

You lifted a brow. “Guess it’s contagious.”  

He smirked but didn’t argue, finally taking a bite of his food. You kept eating, but the weight of his gaze never fully left you. It sat there, unspoken, lingering between the spaces of your breath and the scrape of silverware against ceramic.  

After a while, you set your spoon down and leaned back against the couch, stretching your legs out. Pedro’s eyes flickered to your bandages again, his jaw tightening slightly.  

Pedro’s gaze flickered down to your bandages again, his jaw tightening slightly.  

“You have no idea how much you worried me today,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges.  

You exhaled slowly. “I know.”  

“I mean it,” he said, setting his plate aside. He shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours, grounding himself in the warmth of you. “One second, you were fine, and the next…” He shook his head, running a hand through his curls. “I keep thinking—if things had gone differently…”  

“Hey.” Your voice was soft but firm. You reached out without thinking, resting a hand over his. His fingers twitched under yours, like he was resisting the urge to hold on.  

“I’m okay,” you reassured him. “It was just an accident.”  

Pedro let out a humorless huff. “That doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”  

You swallowed, your fingers curling slightly over his. “I know.”  

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The distant sounds of the city hummed beyond the hotel window, the murmur of footsteps passing by in the hallway. But here, in this quiet little bubble, it was just the two of you.  

Pedro’s fingers twitched again, then slowly, finally, curled around yours. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t hold too tightly. Just enough to tell you he was still here. That he wasn’t letting go.  

Your throat felt tight, emotions tangling up somewhere in your chest.  

“Pedro,” you started, but you didn’t know what to say.  

He looked at you then, really looked at you. And for the first time all night, you didn’t look away.  

There was something in his eyes—something raw, something real. It made your heart stumble in your chest.  

He swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. “You need to drink your meds.”

“Right.” You nodded and reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and twisted the cap off with a sigh. Pedro, ever watchful, pushed the packet of pills closer to you with two fingers.  

“Go on,” he urged, tilting his head.  

You huffed but took the meds anyway, popping them into your mouth and swallowing them down with a gulp of water. The whole time, Pedro watched you like a hawk, arms crossed over his chest, his face full of barely restrained concern.  

“There. Happy?” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.  

Pedro narrowed his eyes slightly, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Very.”  

“You’re being a little much,” you teased, setting the bottle down.  

He arched a brow. “A little much?”  

“You’re hovering. You’re being—” You gestured vaguely at him. “Like a mother hen.”  

Pedro let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Damn right I am. Someone’s gotta make sure you’re not out here trying to tough it out on your own.”  

You looked away, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. He wasn’t wrong. You’d spent so much of your life trying to prove that you didn’t need anyone, that you could handle things on your own. But having him here, fussing over you, making sure you took your meds, ordering you food—it was… nice.  

Really nice.  

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling warm all over. “Well, thanks,” you muttered, voice softer this time.  

Pedro studied you for a beat, then gave a small nod, like he understood. Like he saw right through you.  

You busied yourself adjusting the pillows, trying to ignore how much your heart was racing. But then you froze.  

There was only one bed.  

Your eyes darted to Pedro’s, and you saw the exact moment he noticed, too. His lips parted slightly, gaze flicking from you to the bed and back again.  

“Oh,” you said.  

Pedro exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can take the floor.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“The floor,” he repeated. “I’ll sleep there.”  

You frowned, looking between him and the thick, undoubtedly uncomfortable carpet. “Absolutely the fuck not.”  

Pedro smirked, clearly amused by your sudden shift in tone. “Wow. Strong words.”  

“I’m serious, Pedro.” You crossed your arms. “Your back will hate you forever.”  

His smirk widened into a grin. “Are you calling me old?”  

Your mouth opened, then closed. “No! I—I’m just saying, you’ll wake up sore as hell and—ugh.” You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples.  

Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”  

You glared at him, flustered beyond belief. “Not funny.”  

“Very funny.”  

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it effortlessly, still grinning like a damn idiot.  

“You’re sleeping in the bed,” you grumbled, trying to regain some of your dignity.  

Pedro held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. But if I wake up with an elbow to the ribs, I’m filing a complaint.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.  

One bed. Pedro Pascal. You.  

You were doomed.

You climb into bed first, carefully maneuvering around your injury as you settle against the pillows. Pedro follows soon after, turning off the last of the lights, leaving only the bedside lamp casting a soft, golden glow over the room. The space between you is small—closer than what two people who are just friends probably should be—but neither of you move to fix it.  

For a moment, the only sounds in the room are the quiet hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the hotel settling. Then, Pedro shifts slightly, resting his head on his hand as he looks at you.  

“Isn’t it weird?” he murmurs.  

You blink sleepily. “What?”  

“You changed rooms… and now we’re in the same bed.” His voice is thoughtful, like he’s only just realizing the weight of the situation.  

You snort. “Maybe I’m cursed.”  

Pedro chuckles, low and warm. “Nah, can’t be cursed if you end up spending more time with me.” His grin is downright smug.  

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Okay, superstar, calm down.”  

Pedro huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just saying. If this is a curse, it’s not a bad one.”  

You open your mouth to argue—because really, who just casually says things like that?—but the words catch in your throat when you realize how close he really is. His face is relaxed in the dim light, his eyes dark and unreadable, his curls a little mussed from the day.  

Your heart stumbles.  

It should be weird, lying here with him like this, but somehow… it isn’t.  

Somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

The quiet hum of the night settles around you, the warmth of the sheets and the steady presence of Pedro beside you making it all too easy to forget the chaos of the day.  

You should be sleeping, but instead, you’re scrolling on your phone, the dim glow illuminating your face as you read. The soft, rhythmic sound of Pedro’s breathing makes you think he’s fallen asleep—until his voice rumbles low in the quiet.  

“You always do that before bed?”  

You nearly jump, clutching your phone against your chest. “Do what?”  

Pedro’s lips twitch in amusement. “Read.”  

You swallow. Shit.  

“Yeah?” you say, trying to sound nonchalant.  

Pedro props himself up on one elbow, peering at your phone. “What are you reading?”  

Your body goes rigid. Oh god.  

You’re reading fanfiction. Specifically, his character’s fanfiction.  

Absolutely not. You cannot let this man know.  

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, locking your phone and placing it screen-down on the nightstand.  

Pedro raises a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure.”  

You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, and you turn away, mumbling, “It’s nothing important.”  

Pedro hums, amused, but thankfully doesn’t push further. Instead, he settles back down, stretching one arm under the pillow.  

“Alright, secrets,” he teases, voice laced with sleep. “Guess I’ll just have to wonder.”  

You groan. “Go to sleep, Pedro.”  

He chuckles, the sound warm and deep. “Fine, fine.”  

A comfortable silence blankets the room, the kind that makes your eyelids grow heavier. The warmth of Pedro beside you—solid, steady, real—only adds to it, pulling you deeper into rest.  

And before you know it, you’re asleep.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY MORNING

The muffled chime of your alarm cuts through the quiet, dragging you from the depths of sleep. You groan, blindly reaching for your phone on the nightstand, smacking at the screen until the sound dies out.

As you settle back into the pillows, intending to steal a few more minutes of sleep, that's when you feel it.

Warmth. Solid and everywhere.

Your drowsy brain takes a second to catch up, to process the strong arm slung over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a broad chest against your back, the way his legs are tangled with yours, locking you in place.

And then—oh.

Something hard presses against the curve of your ass.

Your breath catches.

Oh.

Heat floods your face instantly. The realization slams into you with the force of a freight train. Pedro is wrapped around you, his body flush against yours, and—yep, there’s no mistaking that.

You go completely still, hoping—praying—that maybe, maybe he’s still asleep, that he’s not aware of how intimately you’re pressed together.

A slow, deep inhale against your shoulder tells you otherwise.

Shit.

You can feel the moment he wakes up, the way his breathing shifts, the faintest tensing of his muscles. And then—

A sleepy, raspy groan vibrates against your skin.

Pedro shifts slightly behind you, his grip on your waist tightening for the briefest moment before his entire body goes rigid.

Silence.

You can practically hear the gears turning in his still half-asleep brain.

“…Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire.

His hand flexes against your stomach before he very, very slowly starts to pull away, but in doing so, he shifts again—and you feel everything for a split second longer than you should.

A tiny, humiliating sound escapes the back of your throat.

Pedro freezes.

Oh, god. Kill me now.

“…Did you just whimper?” His voice is still thick with sleep, rough and laced with amusement.

“No…” you mumble, barely above a whisper.

He shifts slightly, just enough for you to feel him again, solid and unmistakable.

Your breath stutters.

Pedro lets out a low, knowing chuckle, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he murmurs, “Mmm. I think you did.”

You want to die.

Or maybe kill him. Either option seems preferable to this moment.

“You’re imagining things,” you mutter, voice strained as you try to ignore the way heat licks up your spine.

“Am I?” His arm tightens slightly around your waist, his fingers splaying against your stomach in a way that makes your breath catch.

God, he’s so warm.

You swallow, heart hammering against your ribs. “Pedro.”

Pedro hums in response, low and teasing, the sound vibrating against your skin.  

You shiver, heat pooling deep in your stomach. He’s still so close—his breath warm against your jaw, his fingers resting against your waist, firm and grounding.  

You don’t know who moves first.  

Maybe it’s you, tilting your head just slightly, your lips parting in anticipation. Or maybe it’s him, the way his nose grazes your cheek, the way he exhales shakily, like he’s been fighting this just as much as you have.  

And then his lips are on yours.  

Soft at first, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it can spiral into something neither of you can take back.  

But you don’t pull away.  

Instead, you press into him, fingers gripping onto the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.  

Pedro groans low in his throat, something almost desperate unraveling between you. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying against the bare skin of your waist, not pushing—just holding. His lips part against yours, deepening the kiss, tongue sweeping against yours in a slow, intoxicating glide.  

You sigh into him, utterly lost in the way he tastes, the way he feels.  

Then he shifts, leaning more of his weight onto you, and a sharp twinge shoots through your side. You inhale sharply, wincing.  

Pedro immediately freezes.  

His lips break from yours, breath warm and uneven against your jaw. “Shit.” He pulls back, eyes scanning your face, concern flickering in the deep brown of his gaze. “Did I—did I hurt you?”  

You shake your head, blinking away the haze of want clouding your thoughts. “No, I’m okay. Just… a little sore.”  

His lips press into a thin line, and then he’s pulling away completely, his hands gentle as he brushes a thumb over your hip. “I shouldn’t have—”  

You cut him off with a soft laugh. “Pedro, you didn’t break me.”  

His brows pinch together, still looking unsure. But then his gaze flickers to the clock on the nightstand, and he mutters a quiet fuck.  

You glance at the time. “What?”  

“I have to be on set in thirty minutes.” He groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “I gotta get dressed.”  

Your heart sinks.  

You don’t even try to hide it, the disappointment settling deep in your bones. But it’s not just that he has to leave—it’s the way he pulls away so fast, the way his hands are gone from your skin, the way reality rushes back in like a cold slap to the face.  

What if that kiss was a mistake? 

What if he didn’t mean it, not really? What if it was just the heat of the moment, an impulse he already regrets?  

You swallow hard, trying to school your expression, trying not to let the spiral show on your face.  

But Pedro catches it anyway.  

He stops halfway through buttoning his shirt, his gaze snapping to yours. His brows furrow, that warm, knowing look settling into his features. “No.”  

You blink. “What?”  

He shakes his head, stepping closer, voice firm. “No. I know that face.”  

You press your lips together, looking away, but Pedro doesn’t let you retreat.  

His fingers find your chin, tilting your face back toward him. His eyes are soft, earnest, searching yours. “That kiss wasn’t a mistake.”  

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.  

Pedro exhales, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I like you.” His voice is rough, almost exasperated, like he can’t believe he even has to say it out loud. “Fuck, I like you.”  

Your stomach flips. “You do?”  

His lips twitch into a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. I do.” He presses his forehead against yours, letting out a breathy chuckle. “And I really wish I didn’t have to leave right now.”  

You let out a soft laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a little. “Me too.”  

Pedro lingers a second longer before groaning, pulling away. “Okay. I really do have to go.” He finishes buttoning his shirt in record time, shoving on his jacket, running a hand through his messy hair.  

And yet—before he reaches the door, he turns back, pointing at you. “Take your meds. We’ll talk more later when I get back.”  

You roll your eyes. “Yes, dad.”  

“I’m serious,” he says, giving you a pointed look. “Rest, take your meds, don’t do anything stupid.”  

You huff, crossing your arms. “You’re really bossy, you know that?”  

Pedro smirks, walking backward toward the door. “Yeah? And you really like it.”  

You grab a pillow and launch it at him.  

He laughs, catching it before it can hit the floor, and then he’s gone—leaving behind the ghost of his touch, the lingering taste of his lips, and the undeniable truth that you are absolutely, utterly screwed.

The moment the door clicks shut, you stare at it for a solid five seconds.  

Then—  

You let out a muffled squeal, practically throwing yourself onto the bed, hugging your pillow close to your chest as you kick your feet.  

Oh my god.  

Oh. My. God.  

Did that really just happen? Did Pedro fucking Pascal just kiss you? Did he say—no, did he actually say he likes you? Out loud? Like, in real life?  

You bury your face into the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut. This has to be a dream. Some fever-induced hallucination from the painkillers, because there is no way this is actually happening to you.  

Your stomach flips as you replay every second of it—the warmth of his hands on your skin, the way his lips moved against yours, the way he groaned into your mouth. Jesus. Your body feels like it’s buzzing, and you don’t know if you’ll ever recover from this.  

Then, like a bucket of cold water, a terrifying realization crashes over you.  

He doesn’t know. 

You push yourself up, staring blankly at the wall as the horror sinks in.  

He doesn’t know you’ve been reading fanfiction about him. About his characters. About him doing things that— 

You slap a hand over your mouth.  

Oh God.  

This is the worst thing that has ever happened to you.  

What if he ever finds out? What if he ever catches you again, peeking at your phone, and this time you don’t have the composure to hide it? What if he sees the ungodly amount of saved bookmarks you have?  

You flop back onto the bed, groaning into your pillow.  

Oh. Oh no.  

The fanfiction was bad enough. But then—  

Your stomach drops.  

The TikTok edits.  

The candid photos.  

The folder.  

You physically sit up in bed, gripping the pillow like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. The folder on your phone—hidden in the depths of your camera roll, labeled something totally inconspicuous like Receipts or Taxes—is filled with candid pictures, behind-the-scenes clips, and so many thirst edits of Pedro Pascal set to unholy audio.  

You squeeze your eyes shut, cringing so hard your whole body tenses.  

You can never let him near your phone.  

Ever.  

What if he finds the one edit with him as Jack Daniels? The one that made you short-circuit the first time you saw it? Or the compilation of him laughing, looking stupidly charming, set to some overly romantic Taylor Swift song?  

Jesus Christ.  

You groan, flopping back against the pillows, dragging your hands down your face.  

This is bad.  

Like, really bad.  

Because not only have you been a lowkey (very highkey) fangirl for years, but now you’ve kissed him. Now he likes you. Now there’s a very real possibility that this could actually go somewhere.  

And if he ever finds out just how deep your obsession goes?  

You’re changing your name and moving to a remote island.

End Notes:

Well… IT HAS BEEN HINTED AT. TIME AND TIME AGAIN. That you are a fan girl so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh God, what if he finds out 😃

Ya’ll they kissed! YAYYY!!

Awww you have a week off to rest and heal up girlieeee heuheuh

Look at Pedro being a mind reader. Love that for you!

We love a reassuring king. Gimme that shit. 

Yes, this is a little filler chapter before absolute chaos… oh hrm I meant… nothing what?

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove @ashhlsstuff @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @youusunshineyoutemptress @klajmekkk @aomi-nabi

[gf2bellamy]

Hey, you know that one scene where spencer and penelope are taking their fitness test and morgan is the one making them take it so could i please request something where bau reader joins derek

fitness — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: working out ? 😭 a/n: hiii !! this is literally one of my fav scenes in cm also i added a silly little surprise at the end <3

You had to suppress your laughter as you and Derek stood in front of Garcia and Spencer, who were both sitting on the grass, half-heartedly stretching. The sight alone was amusing enough—Garcia’s oversized red sunglasses perched on her nose.

But it was Spencer who truly sent you over the edge. 

The laughter that had been bubbling up inside you finally burst out when you took in his outfit in full detail. 

Spencer Reid was dressed for the world’s most awkward middle school gym class. A red hoodie that was slightly too big for him, blue running shorts that contrasted hilariously with the rest of his ensemble, and—best of all—long white socks pulled up so high they nearly covered his calves.

But the real cherry on top? The red headband wrapped securely around his forehead, pushing his hair back.

“You better not be laughing at me,” Spencer grumbled, already suspicious as he narrowed his eyes at you. 

You pressed your lips together, failing miserably at looking innocent. “No, no, not at all,” you said, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s just—wow. I really love the headband, Spence.” 

Derek let out a low chuckle beside you, shaking his head. “Man, you look like you’re about to run a marathon… in 1984.” 

Spencer sighed heavily and dropped his arms in defeat. 

Garcia, on the other hand, was less concerned with Spencer’s wardrobe and more concerned with your presence. “Why are you here?” she asked, lifting her sunglasses slightly to get a better look at you and Derek, her expression filled with suspicion. 

You placed your hands on your hips, grinning. “We’re your new PT teachers.” 

Garcia’s face twisted in horror as she turned to Spencer. “Oh, this is a nightmare.” 

Derek clapped his hands together, nodding. “Walker’s sick, so you two lucky ducks get to train with us instead.” 

“Lucky day,” you added, smirking down at them. 

Garcia groaned, flopping backward dramatically onto the grass. “Kill me now.” 

“You know this whole fit test thing was just a formality, right?” Derek reminded them.“You could’ve gotten the whole thing waived.” 

Spencer, who had been silent up until now, slowly turned his head toward Derek, his mouth falling open slightly in realization. His arms dropped fully to his sides as he let out a soft, defeated, “Are you serious?” 

Derek smirked. “Yup.” 

Spencer groaned, collapsing backward onto the grass next to Garcia. “I hate it here.” 

You grinned and crossed your arms. “Too bad. Now, both of you—up. We’ve got work to do.” 

Garcia peeked up at you from under her sunglasses. “I just want you to know, I am actively plotting my revenge.” 

You laughed, reaching down to offer Spencer a hand. “Noted. But for now, get up, genius. Those calf-high socks aren’t going to run laps by themselves.” 

Spencer sighed dramatically but took your hand anyway. “This is cruel and unusual punishment.” 

Derek just chuckled, stepping back as the two of you prepared to put them through the most entertaining training session of their lives. 

The two of them immediately rushed to the start of the track, eager to get this over with as quickly as possible. But before they could take off, you and Derek exchanged a knowing look. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Derek asked, the biggest, most amused grin stretching across his face. 

Spencer and Garcia both hesitated, looking at each other in confusion. 

“Uh… running the mile?” Garcia answered, her tone more uncertain than confident. 

Derek let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh, they didn’t hear,” he muttered, glancing at you. 

You smirked. “Nope.” 

Spencer frowned, adjusting his headband. “Hear what?” 

You crossed your arms, thoroughly enjoying the confusion on their faces. “The fit test is more than just running a mile,” you said, drawing out each word for emphasis. 

Garcia’s face dropped. “Oh no.” 

Spencer blinked. “Excuse me?” 

You gestured toward the empty stretch of field beside the track. “Before you even think about running, first up—push-ups.” 

Garcia groaned like she was in physical pain. “Are you serious? Push-ups? I don’t do push-ups. I do online shopping and deep dives into government databases, not whatever this is.” 

Derek laughed. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.” 

Spencer sighed heavily, already bracing himself for the inevitable. “Fine. How many?” 

You exchanged another look with Derek before he smirked. “As many as you can in one minute.” 

Garcia flopped onto her stomach dramatically, already giving up. “Just let me die here.” 

Spencer, meanwhile, awkwardly positioned himself into something vaguely resembling a push-up stance, his long limbs looking entirely out of place. “I haven’t done these since high school,” he admitted, glancing up at you with mild panic. 

“Then you’re long overdue,” you teased, squatting down next to him. “Alright, genius, let’s see what you’ve got.” 

Spencer took a deep breath, then lowered himself toward the ground—only for his arms to tremble on the way back up. 

Derek chuckled. “Oh, this is gonna be real good.” 

Garcia, still sprawled dramatically on the grass, turned her head slightly to watch. “Reid, just know I am suffering with you in spirit.” 

Spencer exhaled sharply, already regretting every life choice that led to this moment. “Fantastic.” 

After the grueling push-ups, you weren’t about to let them off that easy.

Next up, you led them to a line of small obstacles—nothing too intense, just a few low hurdles.

You gave them an exaggerated, dramatic gesture toward the obstacles. “Alright, ladies and gents, show me what you’ve got.” 

Spencer, still struggling with the remnants of the push-up challenge, eyed the obstacles with dread. He took a tentative step forward, only to trip on the first hurdle. He stumbled and fell flat on his stomach with a thud. 

Unable to suppress it, you burst into uncontrollable laughter, clutching your stomach as you doubled over.

“Oh, that was beautiful, Reid,” Derek laughed, wiping a tear from his eye.

Garcia was in no better shape, her face contorted in mock horror as she tried to steady herself on the next hurdle. She managed to clear it with a half-decent leap, but the rest of the obstacles proved a challenge. She let out a little squeal each time she almost stumbled, finally breathing a sigh of relief once she was past them. 

The next station was a set of metal rods—basically, a low horizontal pull-up bar designed to test their upper body strength.

Garcia was surprisingly good at it, pulling herself up with ease, though she let out a few exaggerated groans of exertion with each pull. “I’hate this,” she grumbled between pulls, but still managed to finish the task with a satisfied smirk. 

Spencer, on the other hand, was struggling. He grasped the bar, his arms shaking under the effort. His body barely lifted off the ground, his feet still scraping the dirt.

You raised an eyebrow. “Need a hand, genius?” you teased, watching him grit his teeth as he gave another half-hearted attempt. 

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, but his face betrayed him as he finally managed to pull himself up, only for his feet to immediately touch the ground again. “Okay, maybe I need a little help…” 

Derek shot you a look, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Looks like we’re in for a long day,” he chuckled. 

The next challenge was rope jumping. You had them each take turns skipping across the line of ropes laid out on the grass. Garcia went first, her hops smooth but exaggerated, and she finished in record time, looking proud of herself.

Spencer, however, tripped over the ropes more than once. Every time he landed wrong, his face contorted in frustration, and you couldn’t help but let out a giggle. “Come on, Spence! You can do better than that!” you cheered. 

“I’m trying!” he said, clearly winded from the rope-jumping fiasco. “I didn’t sign up for the circus.” 

“Oh, I think you’re getting the full experience here,” you quipped, watching as he made another attempt, this time managing to hop through with only a few stumbles. 

Finally, you and Derek led them over to the bleachers. You gestured to the steps. “Alright, now for the real fun. You two are going to run up and down these steps until I say stop.” 

Spencer gave a long, dramatic sigh, but Garcia was already off.She sprinted up the first set of stairs.

Spencer, on the other hand, was a different story. 

He began jogging up the steps, but there was something about his posture, that made it impossible for you to keep a straight face.

His knees seemed to lift unnaturally high, and the way he scrambled up the stairs made you laugh out loud. You couldn’t help it—every awkward step he took had you cracking up, and you had to look away to keep from bursting into another fit of laughter. 

Derek’s laughter was more restrained, but you could see his eyes twinkling with amusement as Spencer reached the top of the bleachers, panting and trying to recover.

Spencer caught his breath, shooting you a half-annoyed, half-amused look. “This is torture.” 

You smirked. “It’s character-building.” 

Garcia, having finished her run, leaned against the railing, fanning herself dramatically. “Please, just let me die now.” 

You laughed, crossing your arms. “Not quite yet, Garcia. We’ve still got a few more rounds to go.” 

And with that, you and Derek took them through round after round, pushing them harder than they’d ever been pushed before.

The sun, now dipping lower in the sky, painted the field in warm hues of orange and pink. Spencer and Garcia, both utterly spent, finally collapsed onto the grass , their breaths coming in shallow gasps.

You and Derek exchanged a quick glance, silently communicating. Then, you put your hands on your hips and tilted your head, eyeing them with a smirk. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning confusion. 

Spencer didn’t even look up, his chest heaving as he stared at the sky. “We’re… dying,” he muttered. 

You raised an eyebrow. “You still have to run two miles.” 

At that, Spencer’s head jerked up, his eyes widening. “What? It’s supposed to be one mile!” His voice cracked with disbelief. 

Derek, crossing his arms and leaning against the bench, grinning.“Not on my watch,” he said casually. 

Spencer and Garcia didn’t answer immediately. Instead, they stayed where they were, bodies sprawled out on the grass, still struggling to catch their breath.

You and Derek exchanged a knowing look. It was time to break the news to them. 

“Time to tell them, don’t you think?” you asked, your voice dripping with amusement. 

Derek sighed dramatically but his grin never faltered. “Fine.” He looked down at them both. “We already had your fit test waived.” 

There was a long pause, and then Spencer’s head shot up, his eyes wide with confusion. “What?” 

Garcia’s mouth dropped open, mirroring Spencer’s shock. “Are you kidding me?” 

Derek’s grin grew wider as he looked down at Garcia. “Think about it, babygirl—you’re not even in the field. No need for you to do this.” 

You turned your attention to Spencer, whose expression was one of utter disbelief. “And you, genius, already have enough case hours to qualify. You were good to go a while ago.” 

Garcia, still struggling to form coherent words, finally muttered under her breath, “I’m gonna kill you both.” 

You laughed, crossing your arms. “You can try, but I’m pretty sure you won’t be able to catch us after all this running.” 

Spencer, who was still lying on the grass, barely able to keep his eyes open, added in a half-joking tone, “When I manage to lift my arms, I’ll be able to hold you down.” 

Garcia, however, had already jumped to her feet and was sprinting after Derek, who was trying to escape with all his might.

Spencer turned his head toward you, and you saw that mischievous glint in his eyes. He didn’t even need to speak for you to know what he was planning. 

You immediately held up a hand in warning. “No,” you said, laughing but serious. “Don’t even think about it.” 

But Spencer was already getting up, his limbs wobbly from exhaustion, a grin still playing at the corners of his lips. You could see the gears turning in his head as he watched Garcia chase after Derek, his gaze flickering back to you with a knowing look. 

“No, Spencer!” you said, laughing as you backed away, but it was too late. Spencer was already moving toward you. 

Meanwhile, Garcia had caught Derek, and the two of them were practically rolling on the grass as she tried to pin him down, laughing all the while. “Gotcha!” Garcia exclaimed with a triumphant grin, holding Derek in place despite his efforts to break free. 

Spencer closed the gap between the two of you quickly.

You tried to evade him, but you weren’t fast enough.

The second you turned to look behind you, Spencer grabbed you, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind, and pulled you toward him in one swift motion. 

You gasped in surprise, but before you could protest, Spencer whispered in your ear, his voice low but filled with amusement, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were my PT teacher.” 

You froze for a second, your heart skipping a beat as he held you close.

Before you could respond, you caught a glimpse of Derek and Garcia, still oblivious to the moment between you and Spencer as they struggled playfully on the ground. Spencer’s hold on you tightened slightly as he kissed your temple, his lips lingering for a brief, sweet second. 

“You’re gonna have to make it up to me for this,” he murmured, his voice warm and playful. You could feel a shiver run down your spine.

You tried to steady your breath, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, although your voice lacked any real conviction. 

Spencer grinned, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. “I know.” He glanced back over at Garcia and Derek, who were still tangled up in their playful struggle, not noticing a thing.

You tried to suppress the smile that was spreading across your face, your cheeks flushing. “Fine,” you sighed dramatically. “I’ll figure out how to make it up to you. But you’re pushing your luck, Reid.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased with himself. “I’ll take my chances.”

You glanced at Derek and Garcia, who were still obliviously bickering.

"Yeah, well, consider this your warning. Next time, we’re running the bleachers again."

[melanchoire]

ot4 aespa x freeuse reader PLZZZ

so many requests about g!p aespa so HERE WE GO

cw: blowjob, breeding, creampie, degradation, double penetration, handjob, humiliation, mommy kink, riding, sex tape??

being the only member without a dick in a group where all your groupmates have one was a difficult task for you 😣 at first you weren’t aware that they had this... characteristic. but when you found out about it, there was a certain tension whenever you were around them, and you always tried to do everything possible to make sure it wasn’t an awkward moment! buuut there were times when tension and desires won…

unnie karina who always has most of the work; solo activities, special collaborations in music festivals, projects as a model or ambassador. besides being the leader of the group, you already know how that role involves a lot of work and time in the life of an idol and how much maturity and seriousness she has to put in sometimes. she has no time for anything!

so karina returns to the dorms tired after a week full of solo and group activities, flights to other countries and long hours of filming for upcoming campaigns with brands where she is an ambassador or muse. seeing the pout and tired expression on her face as she walks through the door to your room is all you need to know that today you will be the one helping your leader and take care of her as she usually takes care of her members

riding her cock while she can only flatter you and moan beneath you 😵‍💫 karina has no strength today to degrade you or try to dominate you, so she just lies on her back, resting her hands on your hips and enjoying how you’re making her feel good by riding her and helping her take some stress off her exhausted body :( looking up at you with bright puppy eyes, begging “please love. keep going, don’t stop. please.” and you wouldn’t stop even if she begged you! karina always works sooo hard and is usually a punching bag when it comes to criticism, being in the eye of the storm and under the judging gaze of the public 💔 and the best thing you can do is let your dear unnie use your body to forget about the world out there for a bit

ohhh and if you play with her tits while riding her cock 😵‍💫 super whiny and needy when your thumbs rub her nipples, writhing under your body as she thrusts her hips up to bury her cock deeper inside you as if it wasn’t deep enough already!

giselle being the talented writer and producer of songs or mixtapes that were never officially released due to company decisions, but it was no problem at all! she loved working on music as a hobby, enjoying writing songs and making new sounds or trying out other rhythms that caught her attention or were fun. giselle also loved inviting you to her bedroom! recording songs with meaningless but catchy lyrics, playing with voice effects and making instrumentals that were catchy and quite danceable

but giselle sometimes also wants to work on making music seriously, making songs for future projects or opportunities that may arise at some point in the future throughout her career with her group or as a solo artist. but she includes you in her plans too?? she states that she would like the two of you to do a collaboration in case she ever starts a solo career, or in any case, be a sub–unit outside the group or in some song for a group album in the future

she would say, “i would like to try something like ‘call me mommy, mommy.’ or something spicy and naughty like that.” and you would laugh in her face because you thought she was joking! until she arches an eyebrow and you realize that giselle was being completely serious about this…

lying on your stomach on her bed, a pillow under your stomach to lift your hips up so giselle can fuck your pussy from behind while you moan and whine into the microphone connected to her laptop 🥰 of course she could use a sample or be the one to record the moans for this track, but why would she do that when she has a bandmate willing to help her with her musical projects??

whining “mommy” after every time giselle’s voice sings the line “call me mommy, mommy.” and sounding so vulnerable and fragile that giselle begins to question whether she wants to release that song in the future because you sound so beautiful moaning her name that she wants to be the only person who can hear you in that position…

ALSO giselle opening her computer camera and recording or taking photos while she fucks you cruelly from behind 😣 pulling your hair and forcing you to lift your face from the pillows, making you look at your own reflection in the front camera, clicking the mouse and taking a photo at the exact moment her cock kisses your cervix in a thrust that makes you roll your eyes and open your mouth in a silent moan 🫠 but giselle won’t post that photo on her instagram! she would if she could 👀 she prefers to upload it to her private account where she only has the members of the group and her closest friends, showing off to the world the fun she has during the recordings of her songs

winter and ningning, the cute maknaes of the group who are obsessed and perverted when it comes to their beloved unnie 🥺 winter shamelessly staring at your ass while ningning has her gaze fixed on your tits, both exchanging a knowing look and talking mentally to decide if what they have is a good idea or not…

getting on your knees and jerking off both of their cocks at the same time, enjoying how sensitive and loud your sweet members get from having this kind of attention on them 😵‍💫 winter grabbing her cock with one hand, guiding the head against your lips and moaning as you take her entire length into your mouth without even choking or gagging 😳 of course ningning takes advantage of this to guide both of your hands to her cock, giving you a needy look and begging you to give her the same treatment you’re giving winter :( and of course you do! sucking winter’s cock at the same time as your hands go up and down as you jerk off ningning, both of them moving their hips towards you in search of more

and they’re so messy when cumming 😣 winter pulling out of your mouth, jerking off her cock in her fist at the same speed you were doing with ningning’s cock, trying to match your movements but whining and crying because it was a very fast speed and she was so overstimulated and sensitive that she could barely take it without giving in right there :( but winter is grateful when she feels your hand wrap around her cock and replace her own, now jerking off both girls at the same time and encouraging them to cum on your face, and they do! their cocks twitching in your hands, shooting heavy loads of cum straight into your mouth, looking at you in amazement when you swallow everything because those two always make a mess and cum in torrents!

being penetrated with both at the same time, riding ningning’s cock while winter is kneeling behind you and fucking your ass, enjoying the way your ass bounces every time her hips hits against it 🥴 hissing as she places her hands on your hips and fucks her cock into your ass at an even faster speed making you drip even more on ningning’s cock, earning a moan from her and making ningning finally start moving her hips up to fuck you from below

and both are two subs so whiny and needy 🥺 whimpering and babbling pleas or incoherent things, moaning “unnie” in every sentence that came out of their lips, and you loved that! always having a thing for the way they said “unnie”, maybe it was because of how soft and sweet their voices were and how that word sounded so adorable coming from them

both cumming inside you, desperate to fill you with their seed 😣 they would make you open your own cheeks for them, enjoying how the cum of both drips from your holes and runs down your thighs slowly, feeling their cocks start to harden again…

[valentina-writes]

The Distance He Keeps

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel and you have been best friends for centuries. But all of a sudden he won't talk to you anymore.

words: 1.5k | Masterlist

This is a 3 part series. The other parts will be released in the next days. I hope you enjoy xx

A/N: I honestly don't know if any of y'all are still here, but I'm kinda back! This was not requested, it's kind of a try at starting to write again. I can't promise that I'm going to be really active again and for now I'm not taking requests. We'll see how it goes :)

I was late for dinner, I realized as I hurried through the front door and foyer of Rhys's townhouse and into the dining room. The inner circle, my friends, my family, were gathered around the long wooden table. All of them were already here, eating, laughing and talking. Their words didn't quite reach me. The only empty seat was my usual one, next to Azriel, who had his wings neatly folded behind his back and was engaged in conversation with Rhys. I squared up my shoulders and excused my late arrival: "Hi everyone. Sorry I'm late, work was terrible". The latter was directed mainly at Rhys. I'd have to have a talk with him later. The rest of my friends greeted me, smiling. Only Azriel didn't. In fact, he did not even look my way. My heart froze in my chest. He had been ignoring me for weeks. My breath hitched as I waited for any sort of reaction, but he resumed his conversation as if I weren't there. My eyes started burning at his disregard and I fought to regain compusure. For a split second I contemplated winnowing away on the spot. But this was our first dinner like this in weeks and I could make this uncomfortable for him too.

With long strides I walked over to Cassian, who was seated next to Nesta. I stopped next to him and he happily said "Hi Y/N". Well, this was going to be awkward. My only response was "Move". The conversations around me came to a halt as Cassian's expression turned to amused confusion. "I… what?". My heart hammered in my chest and heat rose to my cheeks. I did not dare look up to see if Azriel was finally acknowledging me. "I said move", I repeated. And then, quieter, so only he could hear it "Please". He stood up without conplaining and from the look I saw in Nesta's eyes, I gathered she must have said something through the bond to make him comply. I slid into Cass's seat and started to fill my plate as conversation around the table resumed as if nothing had happened. But something had happened. For 300 years I'd had my spot at this table. I had never sat elsewhere. Until today. I mumbled a thanks to Nesta and started eating, when I felt Rhys at the edges of my consciousness, stroking softly against my mental shields to be let in. In response, I slammed a second wall down and shook my head at him slightly. He didn't try again.

Dinner was tense. I tried talking to Nesta, but I was so busy not to look the way of the tall shadowsinger that several times she had to ask her questions twice before I realized she was still talking to me. Nobody addressed my entrance. Inside me, my blood was boiling, my heart a pile of glass shards. I had tried to excuse Azriel's behavior during the past weeks. Most of the time I convinced myself that he was simply too busy with work to spend as much time with me as he used to. But this was different, we were at home for Cauldron's sake. He was supposed to be different here, he was supposed to welcome me with a warm hug and hand me seconds at dessert. How could he all of a sudden not care anymore at all? I was so lost in thought that I barely registered Rhys standing up and proclaiming: "Excuse us, Y/N and I have to talk about her work". For a second, I merely stared at him, then I dropped my fork and knife on the table and stood up. It was comically obvious that this was not about my work. When we had just crossed the threshold into the foyer, I heard somebody whispering: "Azriel, what the fuck is going on?". His only response: "I need to go".

Rhys brought me into his study and shut the door. I sunk down into one of the armchairs and waited for him to take a seat. Instead, Rhys leaned against his ornate desk and rubbed his forehead as if in pain. "Y/N", he started after a while, "please, what is going on between him and you?". Pain flared through me at his mention. "Nothing". Rhys's lips twitched into a smile and then he was laughing. "You have been part of my inner circle for more than 300 years. Azriel, I know even longer. He is like my brother. Don't think I wouldn't notice that there is something terribly wrong". Tears burned in my eyes again. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep this from Rhys. Maybe it was a good thing, being able to confide in someone, I beckoned myself. Things were horrible already. This would merely be the last nail in my already finished coffin the Mother had built me. "The day after starfall I came into work", I said, a tear sliding down my cheek. Rhys came closer and knealt down in front of me. "And he just… wouldn't talk to me". A sob escaped my lips. Rhys took my hand in his and his face turned into a frown. "At first - I - he…. I thought he was just busy, but it didn't get any better. It only… only got worse". Tears were now streaming down my face. I could barely see Rhys out of my teary swollen eyes. "We haven't talked in weeks. Months even. At work, he doesn't let me go on any missions and instead makes me do paperwork. We don't train together anymore. We don't spend time anymore. Worst of all, he won't even look at me and I just don't understand what I did wrong". The last sentences were almost inaudible over my sobs. Rhys gently pulled me up by my hands and drew me into a tight hug. My hands clasped around his back and I cried and cried until his shirt was wet and my eyes dry. "Do you want me to talk to him about this?", he asked softly. But I shook my head no against him. "This is bad enough as is. I don't want Azriel to withdraw even more. I thought we were best friends. But I'm so… alone", I croaked. Best friends. We had been inseperable for so long, I almost didn't remember a time before Azriel. His bedroom was next to mine. We worked together, trained together, ate together, spent our free time together. And now that he was gone, the better part of my life was missing. Tears threatened to well up again, but I surpressed them. Rhys hummed softly. "What do you think could have caused this?". I rummaged through my memories, trying to take ahold of the root of all evil. And was catapulted back in time to starfall.

Azriel looked radiant in his dark blue suit, the same color as his siphons. Slow music was playing and we were entwined, dancing to it, as the first souls began their journey across the night sky. My cheeks were flushed from being so close to him and was grateful for the darkness surrounding us. Instances like this one were rare. He almost never let anyone touch him, not like this, at least. "It's so beautiful, isn't it?", I asked him, "But isn't it sad how all souls have to make this journey alone?". He stopped our movements and looked away from me at the sky, as if for the first time that day. "It is. But I don't know if they are truly alone. Wherever they go, I think they will meet again". Thousands of comets rained from the sky. I smiled at his thought and hugged him a little tighter. I hoped he was right. No matter what came after this life, whatever existence the Cauldron had in store for us, without Azriel it would be meaningless. "Do you think we will see us again?" Our eyes met. The golden specks in his were glowing in the starlight and my breath hitched at the softness of his gaze. There were a million questions in this simple one. Words that had been stuck in my throat for hundreds of years, that always went unsaid, that I had been choking on for eternity. "I will find you, no matter where. I promise". My heart skipped a beat. "I love you, I always have", I wanted to say, but it only came out:"And I will find you". His wings cocooned me in, blocking out the noise and light. When he unfoldet them again slightly, we were standing on a deserted terrace under the stars. "Azriel, I…" His face came closer, our lips almost touching - but there was somebody watching.

"Get. The fuck. Out. Of. My. Head. RHYSAND", I nearly screamed as I wound myself out of his embrace. "We are very good friends and I know you know almost every thought in my head. But this. This is fucking private". Now, I was seething. How could he? My innermost thoughts, my most guarded memories. I wanted to curse the Mother for putting me through this misery. "I don't know if you noticed, but all of your walls were down. You were practically inviting me in", he reasoned, eyes glinting. "Again, you can see anything you want. But not this", I repeated. My hands balled into fists at my sides. Thick iron walls fell down around my brain, shutting him out. "Interesting", he mused, chuckling to himself. "I think you should talk to him. I don't think you need to worry at all". I was already striding out, planning on fetching Cassian to channel my anger into sparring. "I love you, Rhys, you're like a brother to me. Please keep that in mind when I say go fuck yourself". A hearty laugh sounded from behind me and a whisper in my mind said: "Soon you will understand"

[no-144444]

telling- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | more to come...

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“You alright?” he mused, his hand squeezing yours. You nodded softly, smiling at him. 

“Fine,” you nodded. “I’m just… worried, I guess.” 

He shook his head. “Nothing to be worried about, they love you already.” 

You followed just a step behind him as he led you to the dining room. You’d been dating Oscar Piastri for 2 whole days. The sun set over Melbourne and the wonderful colours poured in from their large windows, as everyone sat down to dinner. Oscar had ‘stolen’ you away from Mae and Nicole for the day, opting to take you to meet some of his old friends and show you around his home town a bit, and you’d really enjoyed yourself. Australia was beautiful, the kind of place you’d like to live once F1 was over. The weather was warm, the sea was blue, and the people were kind. And Oscar was there. You liked it a lot. 

“What did you two get up to today?” Nicole asked over dinner. 

Oscar shrugged. “Not much, just took her to meet some of my old mates and showed her around a bit. She’s never been to Australia.” 

“She can speak y’know,” Mae sassed at her older brother, who rolled his eyes and shut up. 

You chuckled. “It was cool. Melbourne’s really nice. I usually only see it from the cockpit of the car.”

“What’s it like driving so fast?” Tim asked, still fascinated by it. 

“It’s kind of… unnoticeable unless something has gone really wrong,” you chuckled. “It’s cool though, everything just kind of whips past you.” 

“Fascinating,” he nodded. “Different from my line of work anyway,” he laughed. 

“Oh yeah, what about your parents? What do they do?” Nicole asked. Oscar stiffened beside you, watching carefully at how the question would play out. He knew about you and your parents' estranged relationship. He knew it was a sensitive subject. 

“They’re doctors, I think,” you shrugged. “One of them was a psychologist, and the other was a general practitioner.” 

Nicole’s face fell, a pit growing in her stomach as she feared the worst. “Are they passed?” She placed a comforting hand on your forearm. 

“No,” you shook your head. It was awkward to explain, but who cared? They’d probably find out anyway, just like everyone else did. It got leaked to the press in the middle of your 2nd season in F3 that you were estranged from your very famous, very powerful folks, and moreover, that they had a new family. It used to bother you. Sometimes, it still did. But Nicole wasn’t a nosy reporter, and you weren’t 17 anymore. “They just kind of… shipped me off to boarding school when I was 8 and cut me off when I was 17. We just weren’t close and it was clear they didn’t want kids at that time.”

“I’m sorry,” she squeezed your arm and you offered a soft smile. 

“Thank you,” you nodded. “Sorry for bringing the mood down.”

Hattie shook her head. “You didn’t, and anyway, their loss is our gain.” 

You smiled appreciatively at them. “Well, I did want to thank you all again for having me.”

“Any time,” Nicole smiled. “Always.”

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Oscar smiled as he pulled off your top and pressed your head against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his middle, relaxing into his touch. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low. 

You hummed against his skin. The both of you were lit by only candles (Oscar’s favourite thing ever), his bedroom looking increasingly cosy under the light. The soft breeze coming in from the window gave you goosebumps, but he was warm enough for the both of you. “Yeah, you?”

“I’m good,” he nodded, his hands wrapping around your legs and hoisting you up so that your legs were around his waist, and your arms were around his neck. You squealed and he dropped you onto his bed with a chuckle, pressed a kiss to your cheek, then walked to his bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. He loved kissing you. It was addicting, you were addicting. He had never pinned himself as a physical touch sort of guy, but there basically hadn't been a moment where he hadn't been touching you since you'd made it official, and you didn't seem to mind.

You cuddled up in bed, enjoying the soft pillows and lingering scent of Oscar. As you heard the shower turn on, your eyes fixated on the view outside the window. The ocean flowing gently just outside, the beach in front of you, the moon reflecting off small shells embedded in the sand, it was so beautiful. 

You heard the shower stop, and your attention turned back to you and Oscar. You two were official and it felt insane to be able to say he was your boyfriend, but you enjoyed it all the same. “Osc?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, the sound warped by the toothbrush in his mouth. 

“Do you want to tell your family about us?” you questioned, playing with the hem of one of the pillows. “No pressure, of course.” 

He poked his head out from the bathroom, the towel around his bottom half dangerously low. You let your eyes wander all over him, his wet hair, his build physique, his goofy smile. “You mean it?” 

You nodded. “I mean… yeah? I feel weird being here and them not knowing,” you shrugged. “I don’t want to keep it from them, or really anyone, but especially them, right?” 

He nodded. “I agree,” he grinned. “We’ll tell them this week.” 

You smiled. “Cool,” then turned to your side and grabbed your book. 

“Are you going to act like that wasn’t a milestone?” he mused, joining you in bed, shorts on and towel-dried hair. 

“What?” you questioned, not looking up from your book. 

“You want to tell my parents about us,” he smiled. “That’s big.” 

You shrugged, unconvinced. “Is it though?” 

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your neck. “Yeah, it is,” he lay there for a moment, just watching you read. “You look beautiful,” he smiled. 

You turned to him and laughed. “You’re such a sop.” 

He rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. “Uh-huh,” he nodded and kissed you again. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Do you want to come with us to Sydney?” Hattie offered as you two ate breakfast together. “We’re just going for like a few days, but we’d love to have you.” 

“Plus Mae will be like, miserable without you,” Eddie chuckled. You smiled. 

You shrugged. “I’d love to come.” 

“Where are we going?” Oscar asked as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Y/n, Eddie, Mae, Mom, and I are all going to go on a trip to Sydney,” Hattie explained. 

Oscar nodded. “Can I come?” 

“Sure-” Eddie shrugged. 

“Mum wants it to be a girls trip,” Mae reminded them. 

“Come on, Y/n is my-”

“She’s our friend too,” Mae argued. 

“Yeah, and arguably, you could let Y/n out of your sight for more than three seconds,” Hattie chuckled. “She doesn’t constantly need you looking out for her. She can have a week away with her mates if she wants.” 

They were both quiet. 

“Hattie, what the fuck?” he scoffed. “If you’d let me finish, I could tell you that Y/n is my girlfriend, and I’d very much like to spend my break with her.” 

Hattie, Eddie, Mae, Nicole, and Tim’s eyes all looked to you for confirmation. You swallowed the bite of food in your mouth and turned to Oscar. 

“It’s only like 4 days,” you shrugged, and he stared back at you. “And then I’ll be back. Or I don’t have to go.” 

“Oh, I thought it was the month trip mum had planned-”

“You’re dating?!” Nicole cheered, rushing over to hug the both of you. “That’s great news!” 

“How’s he done that?” Eddie whispered to Hattie, who just laughed. 

You graciously accepted the hug, then turned back to the conversation. “I don’t mind.” 

“You go, I thought it was the month-long thing my mum wanted to do,” he explained, and kissed the top of your head. “When are you leaving?” 

“Tomorrow,” Hattie interjected. 

“Cool,” he smiled. 

“Cool,” you mirrored. 

It wasn’t exactly how either of you were planning on telling them, but it worked all the same.

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[jungwnies]

not much for words | kimi räikkönen

୨ৎ : featuring : bf!kimi x gn!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @sonichkkaaascreams) : kimi wasn’t one for words, but love was in the little things, his quiet presence, his steady touch, and the way silence never felt empty with him.

୨ৎ : genre : romance ୨ৎ : word count : 423

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : intentionally lowercase btw!

kimi wasn’t a man of many words. everyone knew that.

you learned early on that love, for him, wasn’t spoken, it was in the little things. like how he’d wordlessly drape his jacket over your shoulders when he noticed you shivering. or how he always made sure your car had a full tank because he knew you hated stopping at gas stations. even now, sitting next to him in the dim glow of the living room, you felt it in the way his fingers lazily traced shapes against your knee.

“you’re quiet tonight,” you murmured, watching the way his eyes stayed focused on the tv. it wasn’t anything particularly interesting, just some old race replay he’d seen a thousand times.

kimi blinked, barely turning his head. “i’m always quiet.”

you rolled your eyes, nudging him with your foot. “you know what i mean.”

there was a pause, and then, with the most casual tone, he said, “thinking about how annoying you were today.”

you gasped, sitting up. “excuse me?”

a small smirk tugged at his lips as he finally looked at you. “talking too much. moving my stuff.” he sighed dramatically. “terrible, really.”

“you’re unbelievable,” you huffed, crossing your arms. but before you could shift away, his arm hooked around your waist, pulling you back against him.

“still here, though,” he mumbled against your hair, voice softer now.

you let yourself relax against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. the warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne, it was the kind of comfort that wrapped around you effortlessly.

neither of you spoke for a while. you didn’t need to. that was the thing with kimi, silence was never awkward. it was just there, comfortable and familiar.

then, after a long pause, his voice cut through the quiet again. “don’t stop talking, though.”

you tilted your head, surprised. “i thought i was annoying?”

he exhaled, the barest hint of a chuckle under his breath. “you are.” a beat of silence. “but i’d rather hear your voice than not.”

and just like that, your heart melted into a puddle at his feet.

“god, you’re such a romantic,” you teased, grinning.

kimi hummed, his fingers still absentmindedly tracing circles against your knee. “don’t tell anyone. ruins my reputation.”

you laughed, curling closer to him, and he pressed a lazy kiss to your temple, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

kimi räikkönen wasn’t much for words. but in moments like this, he didn’t need them.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[revelboo]

The fact that I, as a sex-neutral(maybe repulsed) asexual, love your writing enough to read over half of the characters. Including ones I didn't think I would like at first is beyond amazing. You are a god of writing. I don't even like reading smut normally, and yet I can't get enough of your work!

Speaking of, Wheeljack is such a sweetheart. Can we get more of him soon?

Thank you!

18+ Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Circuits and Wires Pt 13

Wheeljack x Reader

• Servos ghosting over warm skin, his mouth brushes your jaw. Relying on you to stop him if he crosses a line, because he knows what he wants, but he’s not sure if that’s what you’re after. I need you, those soft words spill warm through him. Giving him hope that he’s not misunderstanding you. And your little hands run over him, so soft and gentle before reaching to catch the hem of your upper covering and tugging it off to reveal skin. “You can touch me,” you whisper, expression vulnerable. Not like you’re unsure that you want him to, but like you think he won’t want to. That he might not want you and he hates that he’s given you that impression.

• “This okay?” He asks. Vocal indicators solidly red now as one of his palms rests on your lower belly and slides up. And he doesn’t move at first when you wiggle and start trying to strip out of the rest of your clothes, praying you didn’t read the whole situation completely wrong. Because if you did? If he’s not actually interested and you’re putting everything on display, you’re going to crawl into one of the vents and hide for a week in mortification. Finally, he gets with the program and shifts to stretch out beside you so you can awkwardly shimmy out of the rest of your clothes and you can’t look him in the optics when he stares at you. Now positive you just made things so painfully awkward between the two of you. That he’s not into your squishy alien self and you can’t really blame him. Something’s just wrong in your brain making you want him, alien or not.

• Reaching out he runs the tips of his servos from the base of your throat down your soft body, hesitating against your lower stomach. Afraid to move any lower. To ask for more. And you rest a hand on the back of his. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you say, still refusing to look him in the optics and it’s driving him crazy. “Really, it’s fine,” you add, face reddening. Venting softly, realizing how you’ve taken his hesitation, that you think he doesn’t want you. That he doesn’t need you there against him to calm his restless mind so he can recharge all night long. Your presence reminding him to take care of himself, because skipping a meal interval means neglecting you and he can’t do that. Needs you more than he can begin to explain, looks forward to explaining things to you, to your smiles and laughter.

• “I want to,” he says, hand sliding down to cup you. Servos stroking gently, uncertainly. And his helm bumps your forehead, those blue optics on you, not what he’s doing. Watching your reaction. “What feels good to you?” Honestly? Anything right now. Just want him to touch you, hold you. Hips rocking when he presses a servo inside you, your lips part. Feel his mouth brush yours again as you cling to him, hips finding a rhythm when he strokes you.

• Your scent on every ragged intake of his vents and the taste of you on his glossa when he deepens the kiss. Your arms looping around his neck as your wet heat grips his servo. “Wheeljack,” you murmur against his lips, riding his hand chasing your pleasure. And he’s lost in the way you look, eyes opening to stare up at him, lips parting on a breathless noise. Has no idea how he’s going to explain this to the other Autobots, but then they’ve always laughed at him. Thought he was a bit off, so maybe his newfound xenophilia probably won’t surprise them at all. Because he wants you, wants all of you. You’re his best friend, but he wants more. Needs everything. Needs you.

Previous

[cryptidcasanova]

King For A Day

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It was just a King Cake. How much power could it really hold?

Warnings: Mardi Gras shenanigans. It's sappy. I'm a sap.

2.3k words

I'm still not over TFATWS. I'm not over the soft moments, of the slow lapping of waves against the Louisiana coastline, of the tinkering on an old family-owned boat. I'm not over them.

Away from the crowds of Bourbon Street and the old French Quarter, the coastline was busy with chatter.

Sam Wilson was home for Mardi Gras. And this year, he wasn't alone.

The Wilsons were revered for their parties, and Mardi Gras was no exception. Growing up, Sarah and Sam watched their parents memorize the names of cousins and aunties of every neighbor in the bay. Genuine and kind, their neighbors were their family. Everyone was ready to celebrate Carnival. News traveled fast, and now all eyes were back on the Wilson household…much to the chagrin of their wet cat of a visitor.

Bucky Barnes slunk out of the house early that morning. Convinced he could distract himself, he made his way to the boat. He watched the sun burn the chill off the ocean and could smell the surf…and the lingering Old Bay seasoning drifting down from one of the cottages. He scrunched his nose.

He understood the importance of community and had lived it himself, but that was a lifetime ago. His community was in an old brownstone building with his parents and his sister, and then there was Steve. His community was built on the backs of the 107th infantry regiment.

This…this wasn't it. He wasn't about to pretend to feel a part of the community. He wasn't about to intrude on Sam's homecoming. So he worked on the boat, listening to the city wake up around him.

And hours later, that's where Sam found him.

Lost in his own memories, Bucky should have heard him long before he saw him. But Buck was cycling through memories of baseball games and museums, of the scraps of his old life. Sam watched and waited. Wise beyond his years, he leaned against the door, watching the captain's chair where Bucky was tinkering with the old electronics.

"Maybe we should shack you up in a lighthouse. Teach you some old sea shanties." He finally said.

Bucky didn't jump. He didn't look up from his work. But he did smirk, poorly humming a jig in jest. Sam's toothy grin is what made him finally look up.

"I take it back. No shanties."

Sam turned his head at the sound of laughter down the docks. Then, with a raised brow, brown eyes met blue.

"There's someone I want you to meet."

Sarah was going to be the death of you.

When you offered to help with the baking, this wasn't what you had in mind. Your little shop was a glorified café, and you thought it would be some small-time catering. You thought it was for a small Mardi Gras get-together. You should have known better. But you weren't prepared to lug around three-gallon carafes of chicory coffee down to the docks.

"Did you bake the cakes?" Sarah called out with a grin, as out of breath as you felt. You couldn't help the bubbling laugh, readjusting your grip on the jug.

"You'd never let me live it down if I didn't."

But your grip wasn't much better. The round container was awkward to hold, and the handles were uncomfortable. Fumbling down the wooden steps, you dared to push forward with Sarah before feeling cool metal against your wrist instead of the heat of the insulated carafe.

"Here, let me."

You pulled back slightly as the weight of the jug was lifted from your arms. With a huff of breath, you pulled back, but you refused to let go entirely. Maybe it should have been a two-person job from the start.

"Thanks," you started blindly, arms thankful for the reprieve. "But I'm happy to help. We're almost there."

Out of the corner of your eye, there was a crinkle in the man's expression - was that amusement?

"I told you we'd come up to the truck." A familiar voice chastised, and you turned to see Sam Wilson helping Sarah with the other jug. "You didn't have to drag these all the way down here."

But Sarah clicked her tongue, and you'd bet she was rolling her eyes.

"If you think we've got time to wait on you," Sarah started, a hand on her hip, "you've got another thing coming."

But Sam just chuckled. He turned with a smile and called your name.

"It's great to see you! This is Bucky." He introduced, nodding his head at the man beside you.

It was then that you remembered you were still holding onto the carafe. As you noticed and looked up, there was a twinge of a smile on the man's lips. Bucky.

"Hi," he said.

Oh. Oh no. You had been too busy trying not to drop the coffee to notice him, really notice him.

But he captured your attention all the same. With dark hair, a strong jaw, and those eyes...You were staring. Good god, you were staring.

"Hi." You replied carefully.

Still on the stairs, his eyes swept back to the path.

"Shall we?" He added quietly.

And with that, you bumbled down the steps and across the pier.

A number of coolers were stocked with chilled beers, and big pots of crab boils were bubbling away under an old wooden cabana. Sarah directed you to a dessert table, and you were pleasantly surprised to see the number of people starting to gather. You hated to admit it, but you missed it. You missed this. It had been years since you'd been to one of these parties.

"Come on," you urged with a laugh, taking Sarah's arm in yours. "We've got work to do."

You don't think anyone would blame you for sparing a glance at Sam's friend on your way back to the car.

Mardi Gras was in full swing.

Conversation and alcohol flowed freely. As the night drew on, the cabana was crowded with people. Crab boils were poured out on paper tablecloths, and everyone was shoulder to shoulder on the picnic benches.

There was laughter, buttery fingerprints on clothes, and music. A jazz quartet was starting in the corner, and as darkness hovered over the water, the kids were playing with sparklers.

The Wilsons were mingling, couples were dancing, and you were handing out beaded necklaces. Walking around with a gentle smile, your arm was covered in colorful necklaces. Yellows, greens, and purple beads glinted in the light. Plucking them off one at a time, with the delicacy of a knighting ceremony, you offered one to everyone at the table. You were slipping them over their heads, laughing and joking along.

And Bucky watched it all at a careful distance. He offered to start a fire in a barrel drum, and pulled up benches for people to warm up as the night grew cold.

You didn't recognize him earlier, hadn't regarded him with hesitation. Why did he fear that? The hunch on his shoulder told him everyone knew his darkness and unfortunate past. He feared all eyes would hand on him. But maybe he was wrong.

He watched you move around the party, and warmth from the fire covered his cheeks. That must have been it, right? 

He shouldn't have been surprised as you sauntered over. Bucky wasn't secluded, but he wasn't necessarily in the throes of the partygoers. As you reached him and pulled a strand of green beads from your arm, you held them out gallantly.

"May I?" 

Your voice was warm, if not a little reserved. He understood it. You didn't want to get in his space if he didn't want you there. He couldn't blame the fire for the sudden warm feeling in his chest. At a stand, Bucky didn't hesitate. He bowed down, low enough for you to reach up and put the beads over his head before patting them securely across his chest.

"Thanks," he found himself saying.

With a full smile, you paused before pulling back. And then, after another moment, you were pulled away by the kids running up to you for beads.

Bucky took a full breath and let his eyes wander. He needed air. And then, as he found Sam in the crowd, he was already staring back. Smirking back.

Bucky knew that look.

Sam witnessed the interaction, which was just what he needed, and with a gruff sound, Buck walked off in the opposite direction of where you had gone.

There was a line for the dessert table. People gathered for sweets and coffee before telling stories about the fire pits.

Bucky didn't drink coffee - he had enough to keep him up at night. But he got in line mechanically and took the cup you offered with a small smile. Before he could step away, you called out to him.

"Bucky," You started, testing the syllables on your tongue. He paused with a careful gaze. "Wait."

You held up a finger and turned—just a minute. When you turned around, you held out a plate to him with an iced piece of bundt cake.

"It's King Cake. The cinnamon in the cake goes well with the chicory coffee," you explained, looking at his cup.

The look on his face must have given him away. He didn't know about the tradition. You smiled as you held it out.

"And it's a superstition, a game. Everyone gets a slice, and there's a plastic baby hidden inside. It's said that the person who gets the baby will have good luck for the year. That they'll be king for a day."

Convinced by your explanation, Buck moved his coffee to his left hand, his right hand reaching for the plate. Fingers against fingers, you were beaming as he took it from your hands.

"That, or they'll have to buy a round of drinks for the party," you whispered out of earshot of the others in line.

He chuckled quietly at that. There was a wordless goodbye in his expression as he stepped down the line.

It wasn't intentional. It was Sarah, truly. She must have been the one to save a seat between her and Bucky as you finished serving plates and brought your own over to the fire.

She pulled her arms around you, tipsy and smiling as you sat down. It had been a long time since you had seen her so carefree. And Sam, on the other side of Bucky, looked just as at ease. He was preoccupied listening to an older couple talk about their latest fishing trip. Across the fire an old woman was beaming about her encounter with the fabled Rougarou.

Comfortable, you squeezed more people in to listen. Shoulder to shoulder, you looked up to Bucky. He was still wearing his beads, listening to the fishermen.

"We've waited long enough," Sarah started, pulling you away from your reverie. "Shall we?" She addressed the group, holding up her slice of cake.

"Let the good times roll!"

"Laissez les bons temps rouler!"

The crowd cheered, digging into the cake. False hope dimmed through the group, and even you, realizing you didn't have the baby, set down your cake in favor of the warm cup of coffee. It was more fun to watch, anyways.

Ever cautious, Bucky hadn't touched his cake. Not until Sam nudged him. He took a healthy forkful and, raising it to his lips, took a bite. You were right; the cinnamon cake paired well with the coffee. He remembered you talking with Sarah - you baked the cakes just for this party. Distracted by the taste, he didn't notice the baby until he returned for another forkful. He pulled at it quietly, but eyes moved quickly across the fire. Everyone must have seen it.

"Bucky!"

"You lucky dog."

The men heckled and joked, and Sam put a hand around his shoulder. And you, humbled and happy, watched him accept the praise. He wasn't used to it. It was endearing, and for some reason, it made your heart flutter.

The night crawled on with ease, and with liquor flowing, the stories were growing. Fables were told of old Louisiana, of pirates and adventures. As Sarah's boys started to fall asleep, Sam offered to help her take them home. More logs were added to the fire, and new stories were told. Stories of war and battles made way for stories of love and companionship.

Some people called it a night. More people took their place. And you were so fixated on the stories that you hardly realized you had been leaning into Bucky. Or perhaps he was leaning into you.

As the stories and the music tapered, you stayed.

"It's nice," you whispered at last. "That Sarah invited me. I didn't think I'd belong."

Bucky turned slightly, tilting his head.

"You did great - fit right in," he applauded. "I felt the same way when Sam invited me down. I hate when he's right." He grumbled with mirth.

You huffed out a laugh.

"I won't tell him."

You shared a comfortable silence, enjoying the fire and the hazy sounds of the pier. Shoulder to shoulder and almost hand to hand, neither of you had the heart to leave.

It wasn't baseball games and crowds and New York. It wasn't his home, and yet he felt surprisingly at home. And as soon as he felt brave enough to break the spell, he'd ask to walk you home. He'd ask for your cake recipe. He'd ask you to dinner.

Bucky didn't know about superstition, but in the late hours of night before dawn, sitting next to you on the old pier, he was king.

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly (part five)

genre: slow burn fic, fluff with hints of angst, light drama, no explicit smut

kms masterlist | <- part four | part six (soon) ->

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!introverted!kook!reader

cw: swearing, suggestive language, overthinking, light tension, kelce being kelce

synopsys: it's the last year of high school and y/n is paired up with rafe cameron for a 2 week long project in art class. this wouldn't be a problem if y/n wasn't awkward as hell and well ... if there wasn't her big fat crush on him. could this be the beginning of a friendship or maybe even more? one thing was certain: rafe cameron's intense, impulsive, and complex in ways that weren't always for the better, and y/n's mind? that shit was even more tangled. but she hadn't spent seven years crushing on him from a distance just to let this chance slip through her fingers ... right?

summary of recent events: starting the day with the struggle to focus after texting rafe the night before, he unexpectedly asks you to sit with him in the back row of economics class. having forgotten his pizza date with his friends, he invites you to join them to work on your project at kelce’s instead of staying in school. despite your hesitation, you agree. feeling out of place as you sit in his car on the way to kelce’s, rafe makes a seemingly casual attempt to ease your nerves along the way.

word count: 4.5k+

a/n: thank you guys sm for the kind words and support on the last one, this always means sm to me <3 i also had sm fun with this one and felt like it’s time for the first little drama highigi. also next part will include a little rafe pov 😈 anyway, hope you enjoy <3

"Yo, what took you so long? Did you two have a quickie in the car or something?" That was the first thing Kelce Statter said as he opened the front door, glancing between you and Rafe with an amused grin, his pupils just a little too wide.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!

And here we go.

Like clockwork, heat shot straight to your cheeks, and as usual, whenever you were overwhelmed and didn’t know how to react, that tense, awkward smile appeared on your face.

Not even a minute here, and one dumb comment had already thrown you off balance. This was off to a fantastic start.

Rafe let out an annoyed snort. "Kelce, shut the fuck up."

"Whoa, dude, no need to get your claws out." Kelce raised his hands in mock innocence, tilting his head with a smug smirk. His gaze landed on you—your awkward smile and deep red face more specifically—before flicking back to Rafe. "Aww, you got her all shy and flustered. You must’ve been good."

Okay, that’s it. THIS was officially the most awkward moment of your life, and the worst part? You were too stunned to speak.

Rafe ran a hand down his face, clearly over Kelce’s shit, before shooting him a sharp glare. "Jesus Christ, dude, do me a favor and, just once in your fucking life, pull your head out of your ugly ass."

Wow. What subtlety. You honestly couldn’t tell if Rafe liked or despised him. Probably something in between both.

Before Kelce—still stupidly grinning—could fire back, Rafe stepped into the doorway and shoved him (softly?) aside. "Now move, before I deck you."

"Love you too, bro," Kelce said, throwing a wink in your direction, before disappearing down the hallway.

Well, what an interesting dynamic.

Rafe turned back to you with an exasperated sigh. "I swear I’m gonna kill that idiot one day."

Now would be a good time to SAY SOMETHING.

A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you smiled awkwardly, blurting out dryly, "He seems… nice."

NICE? Of all the words you could’ve chosen, 'nice' had to be at the very bottom of the list to describe Kelce Statter.

Rafe let out a short, amused breath. "Sure, he’s a sweetheart." He motioned toward the inside of the house with a nod. "C’mon, or we’ll end up with nothing but crust. His appetite’s as big as his mouth."

So you followed him inside like a stupid little duckling.

In the living room, a massive flat tree-stump-and-glass coffee table was already “set”—if you could even call it that. A big, colorful pizza sat on a wooden board in the center, surrounded by a chaotic mess of four plates, a few glasses, cigarette packs, a lighter, car keys, a can of deodorant, an almost empty roll of paper towels, as well as a bag of weed and a used grinder.

In your mind, you titled this condition Kelce Statter core.

A forest-green semicircle couch wrapped around half the table, facing a gigantic flat-screen TV. Family Guy was playing on the screen, the volume low but audible.

Kelce was perched at one end of the couch, hunched forward as he shoved a slice of pepperoni pizza into his mouth. Topper sat somewhere in the middle, his eyes lighting up as soon as he saw the two of you—or more specifically, Rafe.

With a casual “Yo, bro,” Topper got up and dapped Rafe up. He shot you a neutral smile, his voice carrying a friendly vibe. “We’re all apologizing in advance for Kelce’s shitty jokes.”

Now that was what you’d call nice.

From the background came a muffled, “Hey!”

A genuine smile tugged at your lips but before you could respond, Rafe made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Okay, okay, let’s just eat. The idiot’s already inhaled half the pizza.”

Topper sat back down next to Kelce while you settled on Rafe’s right—at a comfortably safe distance—at the opposite end of the couch. Still, your heart and mind refused to slow down.

But as your stomach filled, a bit of the tension in your body started to ease. Surprisingly, the pizza tasted amazing—like, really really good.

Was Kelce secretly some kind of passionate hobby chef? Probably. Would make sense, considering he was on his healthy gym grind like Rafe had told you.

As the minutes passed, the guys were deep in their own conversation—which you were thankful for because eating, talking, and not embarrassing yourself was an art you had yet to master.

Kelce was raving about some new protein/creatine/whatever powder he swore by, Topper was hyping up an upcoming surf competition he was planning to enter, and Rafe had some big news about a deal his dad had recently landed.

The only thing remotely interesting to you as a surfer was the tournament Topper had mentioned. The rest you tuned out, peacefully eating your pizza, taking an occasional sip of your Coke, and half-watching some weird Brian-and-Stewie subplot on TV.

This actually almost felt like hanging out with friends.

At some point, Topper mentioned your name, and you snapped out of your little bubble, turning away from the screen in surprise.

Shit, what did he say?

You swallowed the bite of pizza in your mouth and gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, what?”

Kelce jumped in before Topper could repeat himself, seemingly taking your disinterest in the conversation as a win. “Oh shit, you’re into Family Guy?”

Your thumb nervously traced a spot on the edge of your plate. “Yeah, I mean, it's a good show to watch on the side.”

“And South Park, Rick and Morty?”

You felt all three of them staring at you. “They’re good, I guess. I mean, South Park isn’t really my thing but—”

Kelce gasped like you’d just insulted his entire family. “Not your thing?! That’s—”

“Jesus, bro, let her at least finish,” Topper interrupted with a roll of his eyes because well Kelce had just interrupted him.

Rafe nodded in agreement, waving his hand toward the kitchen. “Seriously, go grab more paper towels or some shit.”

Kelce shook his head, clearly unimpressed, but stood up anyway, plate in hand. “Wow, you guys are actual mean girls.”

You smiled because the other two did, but somehow, you still felt a little bad for Kelce. Sure, he was annoying, loud, and way too blunt, but getting shut down by your friends every two minutes had to sting, right?

Wow. Am I seriously feeling sorry for Kelce Statter?

Topper shook his head as Kelce disappeared into the kitchen. “Sometimes I wonder how he manages to pull any girl at all.”

Rafe shrugged, wiping his hands on the last paper towel. “Maybe they’re just hoping his dick’s as big as his mouth.”

That got a laugh out of Topper—one that, in your opinion, was a little too enthusiastic. “Yeah, probably.”

Okayyy. If you were Rafe Cameron Stan No. 1, then Topper was definitely No. 2.

Rafe seemed to notice your lack of reaction, turning to you with a crooked smile, like he couldn’t quite comprehend why you didn’t find this hilarious. “What? Would you go for a guy like that?”

WHAT KIND OF QUESTION WAS THAT? Better yet, how were you supposed to answer?!

On one hand, you’d never in a million years go for Kelce Statter. On the other, it felt wrong to sit in his house and join in on roasting him.

Your cheeks flushed pink as you gave an awkward smile. “No, I mean… I barely know him.”

God, what a stupid answer.

“That wasn’t a real no,” Topper remarked with a smirk, and you wished the ground would just swallow you whole.

Rafe’s brows twitched just slightly but before he could throw another dumb question your way, you tried to salvage it. “I mean, I just… I wouldn’t want to judge someone based on their looks or, uh, any shallow first impressions.”

Great. Should’ve just kept your mouth shut.

Rafe and Topper stared at you like you’d just announced that you believed in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

OH GOD, they probably thought you liked Kelce now. Worse, RAFE probably did.

AHHH, HELP.

“Okay, you better not tell him that,” Topper said, amused. “His giant ego will rub it in your face forever. Or worse, he’ll actually think he has a shot with you.”

...

You weren’t sure what was worse—how aware you were of your burning cheeks, Rafe’s unreadable look that could mean anything from irritation to amusement to indifference, or the fact that Topper had basically just said you were too good for Kelce. Which was probably supposed to be a compliment, but the way he’d said it with that weird teasing undertone … yeah, no thanks.

Rafe leaned forward with a defiant-yet-amused snort, cutting off your view of Topper, and gathered the last three plates. “Shit, that’s enough talk about Kelce,” he said, shoving the stack of plates into Topper’s hands.

For a moment, Topper just stared at him, then he stood up, casting a brief glance at you before looking back at Rafe. “Sure, yeah, guess we’ll head out to the porch then. Have fun with your… art project work session or whatever.”

And with that, he disappeared in the same direction as Kelce.

Now it was just you and Rafe again. But for some reason, alongside your nervousness, there was this inexplicable tension lingering in the air from the conversation earlier.

This whole thing was SO FUCKING WEIRD anyway.

Yesterday morning, Kelce, Topper, and Rafe had been… well, strangers to you. And now? Now you were sitting in Kelce Statter’s living room, having had lunch with the three of them, and now you were spending your FREE TIME—like, not during class, not during lunch, but your actual free time—working on a school project with Rafe.

This whole cozy setup, this couch, the TV running in the background, the whole environment—it all felt so… intimate. Even though it absolutely wasn’t.

And then all those comments, those questions… This was so far out of your comfort zone, and you had no idea how to deal with such a sudden shift.

And, honestly? You were still stuck on why Rafe had even invited you here in the first place. Yeah, sure, to work on a school project. But at his friend’s house? When you could’ve just done it during lunch. It didn’t make any sense.

And the dangerous part? Somewhere deep down, there was this tiny part of you that thought maybe, just maybe, Rafe wasn’t just after a good grade.

The fact that Rafe didn’t shift over, even though the couch was now completely clear (sure, there was still a decent gap between you two, but still...), didn’t go unnoticed. Quite the opposite, he spread out his legs slightly more, adjusting his position.

You had to seriously focus to avoid accidentally looking at... certain areas.

GIRL PLS.

“Don't tell me you're still nervous after having experienced these idiots firsthand” he said, his tone playful but noticeably more detached than usual.

Could I get one moment—just ONE—in which my face isn’t on fire? PLEASE.

You forced a clumsy smile. “I wasn’t nervous... just curious.”

Oh, yeah. He’s totally going to believe that.

Rafe raised an unimpressed brow, his smirk making it clear he didn’t buy it. “Yeah, anxious curious.” He sank deeper into the couch, putting one leg on the edge of the table, and looked up at you with his pretty blue eyes. “So, you have a thing for Kelce, huh? Is that why you acted so weird when I asked you to come along?” His voice was teasing, almost challenging, but there was something distant in it too, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?? Like, LITERALLY WHAT?? What kind of question was that?

You honestly couldn’t tell if he was joking or being serious. His expression gave absolutely nothing away. Also didn’t he just say to Topper to put the Kelce topic aside?

You shook your head, brows furrowing in irritation (and let’s be real, you probably looked like a sulky tomato while doing so). “What? No! I mean… what? Where is that even coming from?”

Rafe shrugged, his tone maddeningly casual. “He wouldn’t say no, just saying. Kelce would take any gi—”

“But I would!” you shot back, sharper than you intended. “Saying ‘no’, I mean.” You froze for a second, your brows furrowing further as if you’d just misheard yourself. “Wait, what were you gonna say?”

There it was again. That shift in his mood. Barely noticeable but it was there—the way his brows raised just slightly, his eyes focusing on you like he was daring you in some strange way.

“What?” he asked, clearly testing to see if you’d let it slide or push further.

And, of fucking course, you’d push further. Crush or not, no way would you let that audacity slide.

You tilted your head, and honestly, maybe it was the stress of the day catching up to you, but the way he looked so smug, so goddamn full of himself, pissed you off. "You were trying to say that Kelce would go for any girl anyway." You furrowed your brows. "What… how am I supposed to interpret that?"

You couldn’t help but remember the comment he’d made earlier at school—Kelce always brings some random chick to our hangouts.

So, was that how he saw you? Some random, disposable girl for his friend? Was that the point of this? To hook you up with Kelce?

You had no idea why but before this, thinking of hookups in general had been mildly amusing to you. But now that it was somehow in the air, it just pissed you off.

Something flickered in Rafe’s eyes, but he shook his head, his mouth tugging down in mock innocence. “Don’t know.” And then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he added, “You didn’t say ‘no’ earlier. You know, all that talk about 'not judging people by surface-level impressions' or whatever.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “What the fuck, I never—... I'm not interested in--” You stopped yourself mid-sentence when you noticed how observant he was eyeing you.

Either he was messing with you—trying to get a reaction out of you by asking these upfront questions—or he was actually being serious.

“This feels like gaslighting", you said dryly, though you couldn’t stop the somehow amused smile from creeping onto your face.

A crooked grin spread across Rafe’s features and the crease between his brows disappeared. “I'm just repeating what you’ve said.”

Seriously, what did he want you to say? “Yes, I like Kelce”??? Did he actually believe your words earlier had hinted at some interest in Kelce? Just the thought of it made your skin crawl.

Your expression shifted back to a frown. Hesitantly you asked, “Is this like... a bro-playing-matchmaker-for-bro thing?”

Did he want you to start something with Kelce? You couldn’t make sense of all the questions—this whole thing with Topper earlier, too. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Kelce secretly had a thing for you and they were both playing his wingmen in a very strange way.

OH. MY. GOD.

That would explain why Rafe had invited you here in the first place. But then again, why were you—just the two of you—about to work on the project?

Even your confusion was confused at this point.

“Shit, no,” Rafe shot back with an amused smirk, crossing his arms. “Like I’d play wingman for Kelce.” He shrugged, his grin lingering. “But you do seem like someone who needs help in this area.”

…

WHAT.

Did he think you were some kind of helpless maiden who needed assistance at courting the other sex? Well, it wasn’t that far from the truth, be for real, but that wasn’t the point. Why would he even say something like this? Was he suggesting to be your wingman or some shit?

God, this was such a painfully awkward situation and he seemed to have fun cornering you like this.

Screw it. You were done with whatever this was.

You nodded slowly, your cheeks still flushed deep pink. “I don’t, thanks. And I feel like we shouldn’t waste any more time and get back to the project.”

Something strange flashed across his face—a mix of disappointment and irritation as if he had enjoyed this back and forth—but he just shrugged. “Back at being a nerd.”

Wow. Okay. Seriously, what the actual fuck was going on inside Rafe Cameron’s head?

Trying to suppress a frown, you leaned toward the side of the couch and pulled your iPad from your bag, tucking your legs up into a comfortable position as you opened yesterday’s notes.

The air felt heavy with a strange tension. Not like yesterday, when you’d had your first real conversation with him. Not like earlier either, when he was pissed off at you mentioning his dad in a conversation. No, this was something else entirely—some kind of irritated restlessness on both sides.

Your heart pounded uneasily in your chest, and you hated that you couldn’t just address whatever this was. If it even was anything.

So, you did what you always did when things started feeling like too much—you disconnected from the situation entirely and focused on the task at hand. Skimming over your notes, you cleared your throat and read out your last update. “Okay, so…” -----------------------------------------------

You washed your hands, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

What am I even doing here?

This was so stupid. You should’ve insisted on rescheduling this whole thing—it would’ve been so much easier.

Grabbing the towel from the rack, you dried your hands and took a deep breath. Screw whatever all of this was—why he’d invited you here, why he’d asked all those weird-ass questions. You just needed to focus on the project.

Art was the only subject you were actually kind of good at and there was no way you were going to mess it up just because your brain was spiraling over this surreal, out-of-nowhere situation.

But as you walked back down the hallway toward the living room, you were hit with another curveball.

Is this guy SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!

There he was, sitting on the couch, your iPad resting on his lap, your Apple Pencil in his hand as his eyes stared at the screen.

Never mind that he looked CUTE AS HELL doing it—he couldn’t just scroll through your sketches like that. THAT WAS AN UNSPOKEN RULE. What if he found your studies of—NOPE.

“What are you doing?”

Rafe looked up, completely unbothered. Before he could even answer, you were already sitting down next to him, hand reaching for your iPad.

And then you saw it.

He wasn’t flipping through your gallery—he was just writing something in the Notes app.

Your face instantly flushed hot. “Oh,” you mumbled, pulling your hand back quickly—only to accidentally brush against the fabric of his jeans.

AKA HIS THIGH.

It was over. Your life was over. Done. Finished. The end. You were officially dead in every language known to man.

The heat in your face burned hotter as your pulse skyrocketed, embarrassment filling every cell in your body.

And his face? Big blue eyes staring at you half-surprised while his lips slowly turned into a crooked smile.

UGHHHH, OH MY GOD.

A sheepish-awkward smile crept across your lips. “Oh, I—oh my God, I’m so sorry, I… I thought you were scrolling through my gallery.”

Brilliant. Truly a top-tier diversion. AS ALWAYS.

Please, please, please, for the love of everything holy, don’t mention the fact that I just touched your leg. PLEASE.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, more amused than irritated. “Why, what would I find? Nudes?”

I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE.

“What? No! I don’t—gallery, I meant my art gallery!” you shot back quickly, your voice a pitch higher than usual as the heat rushed back into your face.

And then, as your gaze flicked to the striking details of his annoyingly pretty eyes, it hit you just how close you were to him.

Too fucking close.

Your overly dramatic attempt to snatch the iPad from him had somehow left your whole body turned toward his, with barely four inches separating you.

Every instinct screamed at you to throw yourself onto the other end of the couch, grab your bag, and leave this house as fast as humanly possible. Move forward another state and start a new life.

But you couldn’t move. It was like you were frozen, completely anchored in place. Because choosing to put space between you now? That would just highlight how ridiculously awkward this whole situation had become.

You felt like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, unable to move.

And Rafe’s eyes? They were the headlights. He stared at you, his expression teetering somewhere between playful curiosity and deliberation, like he was trying to decide whether to swerve or just run you over.

“Jesus Christ, calm down,” he finally said, a cocky laugh slipping past his lips as he clicked the Apple Pencil back into the iPad case. “I didn’t look at your top-secret drawing gallery. Happy?”

And even if he had looked, would he even admit it? Probably not.

Still, a tiny part of you relaxed. Perfect—now only 99% of you were stuck in full fight-or-flight mode.

“Thanks,” you managed to mumble, taking the iPad from him with painstaking care to avoid even accidentally brushing against him again. That would definitely be the end of you.

Finally seizing the opportunity, you scooted a little further away—not as far as before but just enough to calm your heart rate without making it seem like you were actively trying to escape.

The last thing you wanted was to look like a total creep.

Even though the situation had been painfully awkward, somehow, it had managed to break that weird, unspoken tension that had been hanging between you two entirely.

You had just looked up, ready to comment on the one (1) completely useless bullet point he’d added when he beat you to it. "We should go to my place tomorrow evening. Maybe you’ll relax a little for once”, he said with a teasing yet somehow serious undertone.

...

...

WAIT. WHAT? THIS WAS COMING OUT OF NOWHERE LIKE WHAT?!

You must’ve misheard him. No way. This was too crazy, too fucking surreal to be real. Surely he was messing with you. Yeah, that had to be it.

Your brows furrowed slightly. "Your place?" Good. That was good. This way, you could at least make sure he wasn’t being serious.

Rafe scoffed, amused. "Yeah, unless you’d rather go back to working at school like a real nerd."

HE WAS SERIOUS.

Okay, hold on. But WHY AT EVENING? Evenings were basically the second most intimate time of day, right after actual nighttime. And his whole family would be home—no, absolutely not. That was insane. Way too much, too soon.

There was no way you’d 'relax' there.

You let out a nervous laugh, avoiding his gaze. "I don’t know… your parents—" You hesitated, remembering Rose wasn’t actually his mom. "I mean, your family probably wants their space."

Oh god. You could already feel the shift in his mood—subtle, but definitely there.

But Rafe just shook his head, completely unfazed. "My dad and Rose are at some charity event. Wheezie’s on a school trip this week, and Sarah can do whatever she wants, I don't care."

OH.

That—that changed everything. Shit, no, that changed THE ENTIRE FUCKING SITUATION YOU WERE IN.

An empty house, almost nighttime, and he wanted you to come over just after two days of getting to know each other? Holy shit, every alarm bell in your head was ringing.

Sure, you were inexperienced when it came to dating (NOT that this situation was anything close to being labeled as dating). And yes, you had no clue how to flirt. Plus, the entire concept of the male species lowkey terrified you and you were terrible at picking up hints.

But even you knew what this meant.

You’d heard enough of Cara’s stories, read enough shitty fanfiction, watched enough trashy movies and TV shows, and—unintentionally—overheard enough (deeply uncomfortable) conversations between drunk, horny teenagers at parties to recognize exactly what was happening here:

Rafe Cameron was setting the ground for a hookup.

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

kms masterlist | <- part four | part six (soon) ->

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Taglist (open):

@ursogorgeous13 @my-name-is-baby @moneybaby07 @jjasmiineee @sttaejoon-blog @vogueprincess @princesspeaxhh @wtfisastiles @wefelldowntherabbithole13 @rafes4 @kathryn-maraudersversion @wuluhwuhmaster @torturedtypewritersdept @sfotiegiuls @vvmaybank @ltristessedureratoujours @mia-iltc

[luvelola]

rafe x fem!reader , masterlist , 18+ mdni ,

𝜗𝜚 warnings 𝜗𝜚

smut, piv no protection, the word “dick” is used a few times, lmk if i missed anything

rafe, a successful businessman, and his high school sweetheart, y/n, were the epitome of marital bliss. he had taken over his father's company and now handled all the bills, dinners, and vacations. y/n, was a housewife who reveled in the comfort of their luxurious home.

one evening, as rafe walked through the door after a long day at work, he was greeted by the alluring scent of y/n's perfume. He found her lounging on the couch, her curves accentuated by the skintight dress she wore. rafe felt himself harden as he took in the sight of his wife, and he knew that he had to have her.

without a word, rafe crossed the room and pulled her into a passionate kiss. his hands roamed her body, feeling the heat radiating from her skin. y/n moaned as his fingers found her nipples, teasing them through the fabric of her dress.

he broke the kiss and began trailing kisses down her neck. She arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest as he continued his assault on her sensitive skin. rafe's cock was throbbing in his pants, begging to be released.

with a flick of his wrist, rafe undid the zipper of her dress, letting it fall to the floor. she was now standing before him in nothing but her lace panties and bra. rafe's eyes widened as he took in the sight of her naked body. he couldn't help but let out a low whistle.

"fuck, baby, you look sexy as hell," rafe groaned, his hands reaching out to cup y/n's breasts. she moaned as he squeezed her nipples, she felt the wetness pool in the lace.

rafe picked her up, carried her to the bedroom and began to undress as she watched him, her eyes glued to his muscular body. she licked her lips as he revealed his hard cock, already dripping with pre-cum.

rafe climbed onto the bed and positioned himself between y/n's legs. he leaned down and captured her lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth. she moaned as she felt his dick sliding back and forth through her folds, catching her clit multiple times.

rafe broke the kiss and looked down at her. "you ready for me, baby?" he asked, his voice low and husky. she nodded, her eyes wide with desire.

rafe pushed inside of her, filling her up completely. y/n cried out as he began to thrust, his hips moving in a steady rhythm. rafe's cock hit all the right spots, and she could feel herself getting closer and closer to orgasm.

he leaned down and captured one of y/n's nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting gently. she moaned, her pussy clenching around his cock. she could feel herself on the brink of orgasm, and she knew that it was going to be a good one.

he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent. her moans turned into cries of pleasure as she came, her pussy clenching around rafe's cock. rafe followed soon after, filling herwith his cum.

rafe collapsed on top of her, resting inside of her. they both laid there, panting and spent. rafe looked down at y/n, a satisfied smile on his face.

"i love you, mama," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. y/n smiled, her eyes closed in contentment.

"i love you too, rafe," she whispered back.

a/n; it felt so awkward writing smut after so long… i apologize for any cringy comments but i think ill stick to smau’s😭😭 also sorry i haven’t been active, i got sick randomly so yea

©luvelola. do not plagiarize or repost any of my work as your own.

[gothamhappiness]

Behind the masks (mayor!reader x Bruce Wayne) - Part 1

Hi everyone, I got this little idea of reader becoming the new Mayor of Gotham, and as you start working with Batman, you fall for each other. This is going to be a two part story with a gender neutral reader, hope you'll enjoy <3

Warnings: no proof reading, you're a leftist (don't know if it needs to be in the warnings, but basically you just want the inhabitants of Gotham to be healthy and happy), you dislike Bruce Wayne quite a lot (you're uneasy in his presence), but you really love Batman, mentions of kissing Batman, mentions of having sex with Batman (he's a little bit submissive), a little bit of angst as you don't think you can get more than a work + sexual relationship with Batman

You were the new mayor of Gotham. 

You didn’t really believe this happened, that you got elected, that you were now at the head of this rotten city. Your whole campaign has been around cleaning Gotham from its corruption and helping the poor people. You had been treated as a leftist and you had been proud of it. You were there to help your citizens, you were ready to fight for them, you were ready to help Gotham become a good place to live in.

You knew it was going to be hard and maybe a little bit bloody. But you were determined. You felt like it was your calling and now you were elected, you were on a mission. It was your duty to save Gotham from the darkness. You knew you wouldn’t be able to do it on your own, but you trusted your people: some of them showed more than once that they were ready to fight for Gotham too. Batman and his vigilantes, as well as Jim Gordon, were the first people you thought about. You were certain everything was possible.

You would make everything possible.

During the campaign, Bruce Wayne quickly offered you some money. You refused at first, because you weren’t too sure you could trust this himbo of a man. And last time he founded a campaign, Harvey Dent turned into a villain - which you didn’t want to happen to you as well. Plus, even if Bruce Wayne was known for his charity events and for trying his best for the city, you were feeling uneasy around such a rich man. Something always seemed fake about him and you didn’t particularly want to be linked to him. 

However when the mayor in place started to find ways to destroy all the funds you got, you had to accept Bruce Wayne’s offer. You hated it but you didn't have the choice anymore. Your campaign director had been exasperated when you told him you had refused the help of Bruce Wayne. And when all your funds disappeared, he blamed you for not having taken what the richest man of the city offered. You told him you could try to accept now, but he wasn’t too sure Bruce Wayne would accept. You still decided to give it a shot.

You remembered how you came to the Wayne manor, feeling pretty awkward in such a place. You remembered how you felt so small there, because you weren’t coming from a very rich place yourself. You were from the low middle class, just enough to get an education and knowing how to talk to be listened to. 

The butler, Alfred, you believed he was called, answered the door and very politely asked you to come inside, and told you that his Master Bruce was waiting for you in his office. You thanked him before following the man through the manor. 

Alfred knocked at a door and opened it for you before announcing you to Bruce Wayne. You were feeling even more uncomfortable, but you tried to remind yourself that you were putting yourself in this position for your city, for your people.

Bruce Wayne probably noticed how tense you were as he got up to shake hands with you as he gently smiled at you. He offered you a seat. You didn’t want to do any small talk or to stay any longer than necessary so you quickly went to the subject of your visit.

“Mr. Wayne, thank you so much for accepting to receive me so quickly." you said

“It’s no problem, I understand that I could help you?” he asked you, and for a moment you wondered if he was playing dumb or if he really was

“I know I turned down your offer to fund my campaign but… I’m afraid Mr. Hill isn’t playing fair, and I can’t really refuse your money anymore, if you’re still up to help me on that front of course. I would totally understand if you changed your mind…” you told him, pushing away your shame and proud as far as possible from you

“Of course I’m still up to help you. I’m glad when my money can serve Gotham.” he replied and you relaxed

“Thank you so much for making things that easy for me.” you said as you leaned into your seat

“Very good speech you gave last night, by the way.” Bruce Wayne shot you another smile as he signed up the biggest check you ever received in your whole life

“Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Wayne.” you whispered, quite stunned by all the zeroes he added, before it started worrying you: “Should I expect you to ask me for a favor one day?” you wondered and Bruce had seemed a little bit surprised for an instant before shaking his head

“I just want Gotham cleaned. And you seem eager and ready to do so” he shrugged “I can host a gala for you by the way” he offered “Anything that could help your campaign”

“That’s very kind of you, I’ll let you know about it” you had politely replied, hoping you wouldn’t need to accept this new offer as you didn’t particularly enjoy that kind of event and you didn’t want to have to spend more time with Bruce “Brucie” Wayne. “I hope to see you at my victory speech” you smiled, trying to be polite

“I’ll be there” Bruce Wayne simply nodded and you didn’t want to enjoy how certain he seemed to be.

Certain you were going to win.

You kept politely talking to one another for a few more instants, before you softly told him you had to go. You thanked him again and he actually guided you back to the front door of the manor.

You left the manor and as you got inside your car, you had to pinch yourself to make sure that none of this was a dream. 

You were a little bit astonished by how things went. Brucie Wayne acted a lot different than usual: he didn’t flirt with you, he didn’t try to seem to be ongoing and nice. He seemed even normal for a rich guy. You had the feeling he was more than just an himbo, after all he was taking an interest in politics? But you still didn’t trust him and you hoped you wouldn’t need to see him too often. Something about him was making you feel apprehensive, like when you look at an illusion and you can’t determine what is behind it.

Truth to be told, Bruce Wayne really liked you. He really thought you could be a good mayor. Jim Gordon thought the same and they both hoped someone was finally going to be on their side to make Gotham a good place.

Bruce Wayne stayed true to his words and as you were giving your victory speech, you spotted him in the crowd with his butler. He applauded for you, and when journalists asked him if he voted for you, he quickly said that yes. You hated how it helped your popularity and how everyone was even more eager to work with you as a mayor. You still had to send him a little message to thank him for his support.

You did your best to forget about him as you quickly started to work once you got elected. You truly became an ally of Jim Gordon. You started to clean up the GCPD from any rotten apples, and you did the same among the justice of Gotham. Of course, you quickly started to get a lot of enemies. You spent sleepless nights and you were walking on a thin line: with all the people you had to fire, you were clearly understaffed. But you had to do it, and you knew it was the right path. At the same time, you were working on an education plan for the poorest neighbourhoods of Gotham. You were certain that when people would escape poverty, they wouldn't need to work as goons, and criminality would drop.

Jim still warned you about the fact that before you reached this goal, you would need more police officers, or other kinds of help… You quickly understood what he meant and the next day you publicly declared that Batman and the vigilantes working with him were allies of Gotham, that the GCPD wouldn’t attack them anymore and that the city was eager to work with them.

Bruce was watching the news and he was quite pleasantly surprised by such decisions. It would indeed make things so much easier. He was quite eager to work with you.

After that, Jim offered to organise a meeting with Batman in the flesh so the three of you could agree on the better plan for cleaning up Gotham. 

You didn’t hesitate. You had always believed Batman was a light in Gotham. Of course, you weren’t always in agreement with how he acted, but you also knew that without him, the City would have gone even crazier.

You were a little bit stressed out before meeting the Dark Knight. You weren’t too sure how to act around him. But once he appeared in front of you, you relaxed. You felt safe and talking with him felt natural.

It was strange how Batman and you instantly enjoyed each other. You easily understood each other, and you were seeing Gotham and its corruption the same way. You often had meetings with him, sometimes even without Jim. When it was happening, it was almost looking like a working date.

Or just a date.

You didn’t want to admit it but Batman was attractive: he was a big and powerful man, he was a genius too. More than once, when it was just the two of you, he cracked some pretty cynical jokes that never failed to make you laugh. 

He also gave you a device to call him or the other vigilantes in case you would be in danger. You were becoming a target, and you were grateful a man like Batman was looking after you, or you knew you would get killed pretty soon. But, few months after your election, you still haven't needed to call for him because whenever something was going on in the city, he was sending one of the people working with him to you, so they could protect you.

You were quite friendly with all the vigilantes of Gotham and they seemed to like you quite a lot as well. It was a nice change for them that someone was so openly thankful for their work and to be offered food and water whenever they arrived to look after you. You even bandaged Robin one night he showed up injured but with the clear determination to protect you. You had argued with the kid for a while before he let you check on him. Batman personally thanked you for that the night after and you shrugged it off

“You look after me, I look after you all, it seems like a fair deal to me”

The first night you kissed Batman, you got worried it would make things awkward between the two of you. You didn’t know why you acted on your fantasy, but you didn’t regret it, as the man quickly answered the kiss. He sat you on your desk and cupped your face. You smiled against his lips: you clearly weren’t the only one who had wanted this.

The first time you had sex, Batman went down on you. You had been a little bit surprised that the Dark Knight was actually a little bit submissive, but you enjoyed to hold onto the pointed ears of his mask to ride his mouth. He had left you satisfied like you had never been before. Was the man really skilled no matter what he was doing? You wouldn’t complain about it.

You adored Batman, and you enjoyed working with him and having this physical relationship with him, but you didn’t really hope for anything more. You were already happy with that, even if a little voice inside your head told you that you could have so much more. You could become his partner, you could start a romantic relationship too. And you would have been the happiest person on Earth, because he was truly illuminating your nights and helping you go through all the mess Gotham could be.

But he was a masked man and you didn’t really think he would want more or to put his secret identity at risk. You were aware that something changed though, because the other vigilantes seemed a lot more careful when it was about you. After all, they knew their mentor and father was in love with you.

You were taking a break from work, reading a newspaper talking about the fact that Bruce Wayne hadn’t been seen with any girls or boys lately. Actually, it appeared that Brucie wasn’t flirting or hitting on anyone at galas. Everyone was wondering if he wasn’t secretly seeing someone but so far the paparazzi hadn’t found anything.

“I didn’t know you cared about Bruce Wayne?” a voice asked from behind you and you jumped before groaning as you realised that Batman had appeared out of nowhere

“Bat” you gave him a warning look “We talked about it” you reminded him as you turned your seat to face him

“Sorry, mayor” he apologised but you saw the ghost of a smile on his lips

“And no I don’t care about Bruce Wayne, but that’s all the media are talking about lately.” you replied to his question “But you know him, don’t you? Is he too in love to fuck with anyone else?” you teased

“I don’t know his sexual life” Batman sternly replied and you hummed “But you know him too, don't you?” he asked but he seemed to already know the answer

“He just gave me money for my campaign.” you shrugged

“And you didn’t try to know more about him? It’s always useful to have rich people on your side” Batman tried and you were wondering what was happening with Batman

“No. He feels too… unreal and that scares me off.” you finally said

“Unreal?” Batman seemed genuinely surprised

“I mean you feel unreal sometimes too, but you feel fuller too. I’m uneasy around Bruce Wayne because… well I don’t know, it’s like a perfect mask and because he’s super hot, no one tries to find out what’s really behind all of it. I guess you’re also wearing a mask, but you’ve got a real personality” you tried to explain “Anyways, we’re not here to…”

“You’re smart” Batman cut you off and you arched an eyebrow at that “But you never wonder what's behind the masks?” he asked again and you were really curious about where this conversation was leading

“I don’t want to be near Bruce Wayne. And as for you… I don’t know. We’re working well together, the sex is good too. I guess I’m always afraid to ask for too much, because I don’t want things to get ruined between us because I’ve been too greedy” you sincerely replied

“Would you do me a favor?” he suddenly asked and you nodded “Bruce Wayne is going to invite you to one of his galas and I need you to go there, and I need you to talk with him. And then you’ll tell me if you’re still scared to look beneath the mask”

--

Part 2

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

@tatsuri-zomushiki

@navs-bhat

@randomnamedmira

@winterhi09

@murkyponds

@qardasngan

Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

@alishii

[softidiotsposts]

Color Clash

mega fans are scary...aren't they?

{Hello! From this lovely request (please feel free to leave requests! i love them) Warnings: chelsea/lioness!reader, fluffy fluff, some crack and good vibes :) // word count: 2.3K}

The London derby is quite an interesting event in the WSL, not only is it a clash between two of the most formable teams in the whole league but also quite the drama show.

Cards like to fly out of the pockets of referees, especially if McCabe is playing, players dive left, right and center but it's the atmosphere that is most important.

It's absolutely electric, so much so that it sends jolts down you- fans from each time show up fully decked out in their teams respective gear, holding banners, scarves and shirts to show their dedication and you thrive off the attention- you always have loved playing in front of a crowd.

Maybe that’s a part of why you love every single derby, maybe even more than the average player- Mostly because it feels really really good to win over your girlfriend's team but also because you're Chelsea through and through, no doubt about it.

You had grown up in Hammersmith and went to every single game you could- Stamford Bridge was practically your second home, right after to the local football pitch where you spent the remainder of your free time. You trained relentlessly and it all paid off when Chelsea's academy accepted you into their ranks- the rest is history.

At this point, after spending your whole career at Chelsea and clearly stating you'd never want to transfer anywhere else, you have become quite the face of Chelsea women.

That's kind of what makes your relationship with Leah so surprising.

Sure, you'd know each other for a while with both of you playing for England and all but the possibility of either of you dating the other was slim (at least in your teammates opinions) but you've never hated Arsenal- Sure, you'd never be caught dead in red but otherwise you were fine... unless they won of course.

You and Leah danced around your feelings for a while- it made England camps quite awkward, since the two of you were always some of the first to be called up and at that point you had nearly kissed multiple times- and had been forced to room together quite a few times. 

But after the Euros win, with alcohol coursing through your veins, a push from Lucy and the high from the medal around your neck so finally confessed your feelings.

Through karaoke.

Which Beth convinced you was a good idea and you stupidly made a fool of yourself, singing You Belong With Me at full volume in the worst tone ever not only in front of Leah but most of the squad. 

In the end though, it did win Leah's heart so maybe you should thank Beth?

Ever since then, England camps have gone by like a breeze, the only minus was that you and Leah could never bunk together but you realize there are worse things. You could only be thankful that the international window allowed for the two of you to play in England shirts together- unlike the London derby.

You roll over and wrap an arm around Leah, sighing into her neck as you pull her closer.

"Don't you have meetings or something before the game?" Leah chuckles and wraps her arms over yours where they are resting on her chest.

"I dunno, do I?" You say, eyes still closed in hopes of getting another five minutes.

Leah is not so forgiving because she manages to get out of your iron grip and gets out of bed, it makes you groan and roll over back over to the other side.

"I wouldn't know would I, darling?"

You sigh and crack an eye open to see Leah standing at the foot of the bed, looking at you with an expecting expression.

"Well, I'm not about to reveal secrets to the enemy."

You stick out your tongue at Leah and she laughs then throws one of the pillows that is resting by her feet at you. Then another and another, until you can't breathe because you're being suffocated by throw pillows.

"I yield! I yield!" You yell and throw the pillows off your head.

Then Leah pounces on you, straddling you on the bed and pinning your shoulders down. You smirk and wiggle your eyebrows suggestively making Leah scoff.

"I'm just trying to get information out of the enemy." Leah laughs and leans down to give you a long kiss, it's soft and utterly melts you into a puddle.

You kiss her back just as deeply before she pulls back to peck your cheek lightly.

"Is your method bribery, baby?"

"Maybe, is it working?" Leah presses another kiss to your lips and you moan into it- absolutely loving the way her lips feel on yours.

"Yeah- I think so." You say softly and Leah smiles then rolls off of you.

"Hey!" You reach for her but she's already too far away to drag her back into bed with you.

Leah tuts at you, "I don't think Bompastor will be happy if you're late- maybe she'll pull you out of the starting eleven?"

You gasp, with fake betrayal, "She would never and I'm not going to be late, she needs me to beat you."

Leah raises her eyebrows at you, "You beat us? Not going to happen, babe."

You laugh and finally roll out of bed only to tackle Leah back into it, she yelps and holds onto your forearms when you practically throw her over your shoulder in a half rugby tackle.

"Really? Because I swear we beat you at the Em-"

Leah covers you mouth with her hand to prevent you from speaking and you furrow your brows at her and she smirks back.

"Shhhh, baby- you don't know what you're talking about."

You reach to remove her hand and after doing so smile sweetly.

"I scored two that game, Lee."

She groans and gives you a little playful shove.

"Don't remind me."

You lean in to kiss her, hoping that it would soften to blow off your words and you think it works since Leah kisses back with just as much enthusiasm.

It's after a far too long make out session that you actually get ready, triple checking you had put on the correct things, packed your boots and not Leah's by accident and made sure that you had all you needed.

Then you're both standing by the door, saying goodbye with a light kiss,

"Hattrick for me in this game?" You tease and Leah rolls her eyes.

Then scoffs, "You're not getting past our defense, baby."

You wave her off with a, "Sure," Before walking to your car; a bright blue Skoda that Leah hates since it has a very proud Chelsea bumper sticker and probably because you have around a thousand other pieces of memorabilia inside of it.

The drive to the stadium is filled with minor road rage and lots of waiting because of all the London traffic but you eventually make it to the stadium on time. You might actually be a little early which is new and when you walk in you're greeted by the sight of some teammates.

Immediately, you see Guro sprint at you and you open your arms for a hug. You've practically been best friends ever since she joined Chelsea, the team even jokes that you're stuck at the hip- which might be true since you spend every second of training with each other and a large chunk of free time too. 

"Ready to beat Arsenal again?" She asks when you wrap an arm around her shoulders.

You chuckle, "Of course, gotta keep winning, don't we?"

"Plus, I'm thinking of making Leah sleep in Chelsea bed sheets if we win."

You hear a wave of laughter behind you and turn to see Lucy and Millie,

"She's going to kill you if you do that."

You nod at Lucy's comment because it's probably true. The last time you mentioned those sheets, Leah had threatened to throw them out all together.

"She'll get over it," You wave them off.

Then Millie speaks, getting all captain mode on you, "Just be focused, 'kay?"

You nod because even through all the joking and laughter you knew just how important this game actually is- you had to win, not only to keep your unbeaten record but also so you could have bragging rights for the week.

The dressing room is nice and lively ahead of the game, everyone is buzzing to be playing at the Bridge, you included. So you come out on the pitch for warm ups absolutely pumped, giving your all in the shooting and build up drills that the management has set up pre-match.

Then make sure to properly stretch since you're not trying to risk an injury, not when you have such an important season ahead, with the possibility of Champions League glory being very much real.

It's soon after the walkouts happen, you grin in the team picture- arm wrapped around a teammate as usual- then shake hands before the match.

When you get to Leah, who is about half way down the line, you smirk, "Too bad for you that I'm not benched."

She scoffs but doesn't respond and you take that as her being focused- match ready. 

The game is intense, as it always is when two top teams meet each other in a clash- especially in the London derby.

The first half is a struggle, tackles are aggressive and physical, the ball possession is practically divided and you're being marked very tightly by the Arsenal defense.

As you'd learned when you met Steph Catley on the left hand side- you try to fake her but she responds with relentless chasing and tugging and you take the opportunity to win a corner since there is no other way out of this one.

The corner is given and you go take your place in the box, it just so happens that Leah is right in front of you- clearly trying to mark you since you're of similar heights.

The corner is taken, ball flies in to the back post and all you can see is a mess of blue and red- then the ball somehow ends up at your feet and you just blindly boot it in the direction of the goal then hear the clear cheer of the fans and realize it has somehow ended up in the back of the net.

It's all really a blur but you run to one of the corners and wave your hands in the air wildly, the crowd cheers along with your odd celebration before it's time to get back in position.

You happen to catch a glimpse of Leah and shoot her a happy smile that she rolls her eyes at. You know she's just as proud of your goal as she is upset that you're one up to nil.

The rest of the game is a stalemate- neither teams really make any deciding plays and yellow cards are given out like sweets for fouls. By the end of it, you're exhausted, the Arsenal defense had been harassing you all game just like Leah said they would. You're so tightly marked that you can barely get a touch on the ball without someone being on your back.

Eventually the game ends in a 1-0 win for you and you're internally grateful for that lucky goal you scored in the first half. You participate in the team talk before walking over to some of the Arsenal girls, you greet them with a polite wave and hug Leah from behind- wrapping your arms around her waist- and she knows it’s you straight away.

“So…” You start but Leah cuts you off.

“Yes, yes, I know you won, babe.” 

You chuckle, “Not what I was going to say but thank you,” 

“You had a great game, baby,” You continue. 

Leah turns in your arms and wraps her arms around your neck for a hug that you immediately lean into- squeezing her tightly. Then pull away to peck her cheek with a grin.

“Can I have your shirt?” 

She laughs and gives your arm a light shove, “I have plenty at home that you can wear.” 

You frown, “Not what I was going for but okay.” 

She scoffs and you wiggle your brows with a smirk on your face.

“We are in public!” 

The day ends with you and Leah cuddling on the sofa, watching reruns of love island since there is nothing else on TV that is worthwhile. You lean into her touch, soaking in the warmth from her arms hungrily and she squeezes you tightly as you lay directly on top of her. 

You close your eyes, feeling the fatigue from the difficult game hit you like a truck- making you absolutely exhausted. 

“You should tell Steph to lay off me next time we play against you,” You mumble out and Leah laughs, making her chest raise up and down.

“That’s the whole point, darling.” 

You groan, “You guys need to relax.” 

You hear Leah’s light giggle then feel a hand run down your back comfortingly and you let out a long sigh, the tiredness catching up to you fast. 

“I love you, darling,” You hear Leah mutter into your hair when she kisses the top of your head and you smile to yourself. 

“Love you more.” 

It’s after a short nap on the sofa that you mention the Chelsea bed sheets and promptly get shut down but thankfully you can stop Leah from throwing them out completely. Instead they are now hidden in the deepest part of the linen closet. 

You stop caring about the win when you and Leah slip into bed and she holds you as you drift off- there is simply no other place you’d rather be.

[honeyscara]

❝ not a joke ❞ — Shoyo hinata

-haikyuu(spoilers!)

Synopsis: childhood friends to lovers

Cw: fem! reader x timeskip! Hinata, 18+ MDNI!!, soft sex, fingering, protected sex, hinata being a sweetheart

~4.4k words, this is part 2, { part 1 here }

Hinata snapped his gaze back up, his entire face burning like a wildfire. "I—I wasn’t looking!" he blurted, immediately making it so much worse.

You blinked up at him, lips slightly parted, cheeks tinged pink. The way you were pinned beneath him, your body warm against his, your shirt still not fixed. The air between you turned thick, charged with something different—something neither of you had ever really faced before. Your legs shifted slightly beneath him, your skin brushing his in a way that sent a full-body shiver down his spine.He should move. You should.But for some reason, both of you couldn't.

Hinata wasn't thinking.

Or maybe he was. Maybe he was thinking too much—about the way you felt beneath him, about how warm your skin was where his hands had just been, about how your shirt was still bunched up, exposing way more than it should.

And before he could stop himself, the words just fell out.

"Have you…" He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "Have you done it before?"

Your entire body went still. "What?"

Hinata’s face explodednwith heat, but now that the words were out there, he couldn’t take them back. "You know… what happened in the movie earlier…"

The second realization hit you, your stomach flipped. "Shoyo." Your voice came out a little breathless, a mix of shock and something else you couldn’t quite name. "Did you just ask me if I’ve—"

"NO—! I mean, yes—I mean—I DON'T KNOW!" Hinata panicked, throwing his hands over his face and backing away. "Forget I said anything!"

But how the hell were you supposed to forget that?!

Your heart was pounding, your breath uneven as you sat up and stared at him. "Why?" You smirked slightly, despite the heat rising to your own cheeks. "You wanna know for a reason?"

Hinata choked so hard he nearly toppled off the couch. "W-WHAT?! NO! THAT’S NOT—"

You leaned in slightly, watching him unravel with way too much amusement. "Then why’d you ask?"

"I don’t know!" His voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands. "It just— It just came out, okay?! I wasn’t thinking!"

You tilted your head, eyes glinting with mischief. "That means you were thinking about it at some point, though."

"STOP!" He whined, practically curling into himself. "Oh my god, why did I say that?!"

You laughed, but your heart was still racing. Because underneath all the teasing, the air between you felt different now.

The words slipped out before you could even think.

"Wanna do it?"

Silence.

Your heart stopped.

Your brain shut down.

Oh. Fuck.

THIS—this was not casual joking. Definitely not innocent. And the second you processed what had just come out of your mouth, your entire body locked up in horror.

You snapped your head toward Hinata, praying he hadn’t heard you—

But oh, he heard you.

His wide, amber eyes were locked onto yours, his face frozen in absolute shock. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. He just sat there, staring, his mind clearly crashing.

The tension in the room skyrocketed. The air felt too thick, your own breathing unsteady.

You swallowed, your hands gripping the hem of your still-bunched-up shirt. "I—"

Hinata blinked. "Did you just—"

"NO!" you practically shouted, scrambling to fix what you just ruined. "I—I didn’t mean— That was a joke, obviously—obviously! Ha ha—*"

Hinata still wasn’t speaking.

"Shoyo, say something," you pleaded, face burning hotter than the sun.

Hinata suddenly let out the most awkward laugh you’d ever heard, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to shake off whatever this was. "Ha—haha— wow, uh… that was… something."

You groaned, covering your face with both hands. "Forget I said anything. Please. Just erase it from your memory forever."

But then—he moved closer.

Your hands dropped just in time to see Hinata leaning in, his usual nervous energy still there, but something else simmering beneath it. Something that made your breath hitch.

His voice came out lower than usual, hesitant but undeniably curious. "But… what if we do?"

Your stomach flipped.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Because—what?

Your heart pounded in your ears as his amber eyes locked onto yours, studying your face like he was trying to figure something out. His usual dorky grin was nowhere to be found—only a slight, almost teasing smirk tugging at his lips. He was joking. Right? He had to be.

Right?

But if it was a joke, why did he lean in just a little more? Why was his breath so warm against your skin? Why did his fingers twitch like he wanted to reach for you?

Your heart pounded against your ribs. This was Hinata. Your childhood best friend. The same Hinata who used to challenge you to ridiculous races, who laughed until he cried over the dumbest things, who once fell out of a tree trying to impress you.

Now he was looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Like he wanted to hear your answer.

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling against the fabric of your shirt. Your heart was practically hammering against your chest, your pulse roaring in your ears.

And then—without even thinking—

You nodded.

Hinata’s breath hitched. His eyes widened just slightly, amber flickering with something undeniably different.

Neither of you spoke. The weight of your answer settled between you, thick and heavy, making the air practically hum with something unspoken.

Hinata shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours. His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips, lingering there for just a second too long.

"You’re serious?" His voice was barely above a whisper. You exhaled shakily, unsure if you could even trust your own voice. But you managed the tiniest nod.

Hinata didn’t move for a moment, just staring at you, his lips parting slightly like he was trying to process what the hell was happening right now.

And then—

He leaned in.Hinata hesitated for just a second, his breath warm against your skin, his lips so close yet not quite touching. It was like he was giving you a chance to pull away, to take back your silent answer.

But you didn’t.

And that was all he needed. His lips brushed against yours—soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But the second he felt you respond, a quiet exhale escaping you, something in him shifted.

His hand found your waist, warm and a little unsure, but steady enough to make your stomach tighten. His other hand hovered near your cheek, not quite touching but so close it sent a shiver down your spine.

This was Hinata. Your best friend. The boy who had been by your side for years.

And now he was kissing you.

A quiet, surprised hum slipped from your lips, and that sound alone seemed to undo him. His grip on your waist tightened just slightly, and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss—still gentle, still careful, but undeniably real.

It wasn’t just a joke anymore. It wasn’t teasing.

It was happening. You tugged onto his hair as he as he deepened the kiss, going lower to your jaw and neck.

His fingers trailed across your back and shoulders before reaching into your hair again, tangling their way through your locks while his tongue teased along your collarbone.

You couldn’t help the soft noise that escaped your lips, and the second Hinata heard it, a quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest. His face hovered just above yours, amber eyes dark with something unreadable.

"Sho…" you breathed, your fingers tightening slightly against his shirt.

"Yeah?" His voice was low, a little breathless, as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His expression softened, concern flickering behind the heat in his eyes, always wanting to make sure you were comfortable.

You hesitated for just a second before lowering your gaze, suddenly feeling so much shyer than before. "Can we… go to the bedroom instead?"

Hinata blinked, his lips parting in surprise. But then, as your words fully registered, a slow, almost mischievous smile tugged at his lips.

"Yeah," he murmured, nodding before standing up—only to suddenly scoop you up into his arms like you weighed nothing.

A surprised gasp left your lips as your feet left the ground, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. "H-Hinata!"

"What?" He grinned down at you, eyes twinkling. "Gotta put all this muscle to good use, right?" Your heart flipped in your chest.

He carried you effortlessly into the room, his grip warm and secure as if he never wanted to let go. And when he finally set you down on the bed, he did it so gently, as if you were something precious—something he wanted to take his time with.

You barely had a moment to process the warmth creeping up your neck before he reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head in one smooth motion. Your breath caught as you stared.

Hinata tossed his shirt aside and leaned over you, bracing himself on his arms. His toned chest, the sharp lines of muscle carved into his stomach, the definition in his arms—when the hell had he gotten so built?!

"What happened to that tiny little guy I used to know?" you teased, though your voice came out just slightly breathless.

Hinata smirked, his face lowering until his nose brushed against yours. "Guess I had a growth spurt."

His lips hovered just above yours again, his breath fanning against your skin.

"Want me to show you just how much I’ve grown?"Hinata’s smirk deepened at your flustered expression, and before you could even think of a response, he moved.

Slowly, deliberately, he dipped his head down, his lips barely grazing the sensitive skin of your jaw. A sharp inhale slipped from your lips, your fingers curling into the sheets as he trailed lower, so achingly slow it sent shivers down your spine.

Then—a kiss. Right at the base of your neck. Soft. Testing.

And then another.

Hinata exhaled against your skin, his breath warm, his lips pressing more firmly this time. A soft hum of satisfaction rumbled in his chest as he felt you tense beneath him.

"Sho—" You bit your lip, your hands twitching, unsure where to place them as he continued his path downward.

Then, he sucked.

A startled gasp escaped you as his lips latched onto your neck, his teeth barely scraping against your skin before he soothed the spot with his tongue. His hands gripped your waist, holding you steady as he worked another mark just a little lower.

He wasn't stopping.

Another kiss. Another slow, teasing graze of his teeth. Another deep, lingering press of his lips, leaving behind warmth and a faint sting.

Your head tipped back, your breath uneven. "Hinata…"

He hummed against your skin, his lips curving into a knowing smile. "You called me Sho earlier," he murmured, pressing another kiss just below your ear. "I think I like that better."*

Hinata’s fingers ghosted beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch featherlight yet searing against your skin. Slowly, deliberately, his hand slid higher, tracing the curve of your waist before stopping just below your breasts.

Your breath hitched, your body tensing ever so slightly. He hesitated, amber eyes flickering up to meet yours, searching—asking a silent question.

You swallowed, your pulse pounding in your ears, and after a moment, you gave a slow, tentative nod. Something in his gaze darkened, but his lips curved into the softest, most reassuring smile.

"Okay," he murmured, his voice warm, steady.

Then, with aching slowness, he pushed your shirt higher, his fingers skimming over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He took his time, almost as if savoring the moment, before finally slipping the fabric over your head and tossing it aside.

Hinata’s breath caught. This was his first time seeing you like this.

His gaze roamed over you, admiration flickering across his face—like he wasn’t sure whether to blush, stare, or touch.

"Wow," he whispered, more to himself than to you. And just like that, the heat in your cheeks spread all throughout your body.

"Sho… I’m nervous," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Instinctively, your hands moved to cover your bare chest, a flush creeping up your neck.

Hinata’s gaze softened as he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek before cupping your face gently. "Hey," he murmured, his thumbs stroking soothing circles against your skin. "You’re beautiful. Inside and out."

Your heart fluttered in your chest.

Before you could even process the warmth pooling in your stomach, he leaned in, pressing soft, open mouth kisses along your jaw, trailing lower—down the column of your neck, across your collarbone, his lips leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Your breath hitched when he dipped even lower, his hands tracing along your sides before his fingers grazed your sensitive nubs. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, a quiet gasp slipping past your lips.

Hinata paused, his warm breath fanning against your skin. "Tell me to stop if it’s too much, okay?" he murmured, his voice low, almost hesitant.

And then—an experimental flick of his tongue.

A sharp inhale. Your fingers curled into the sheets beneath you as a quiet whimper escaped before you could stop it.

Hinata stilled for a moment, watching your reaction with something unreadable in his gaze, before he smiled.

"Guess I’m doing something right," he teased, his voice husky, before leaning in again.

Your cheeks burned, and you opened your mouth to respond—to say anything—but any words you had were lost when he dipped his head again, sucking teasingly as his other hand simultaneously twisted your sensitive nubs between his thumb and index finger.

"Nnnm!" you moaned, your whole body tensing as his tongue glided over your sensitive flesh as his fingers tugged at the waistband of your shorts. Your head fell back, your nails digging into his shoulders as another shudder rolled through your body. When he looked up at you, his eyes held something softer now.

"You okay?" he asked, searching your face as be slipped one hand in your shorts.

You swallowed, your fingers reaching up to thread through his messy orange locks. "Yeah," you breathed, your heart hammering as he trailed against your heat while maintaning eye contact with you. "You’re being really sweet, you know that?"

Hinata chuckled,"Well… it’s you," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "Of course I want to take my time and make sure your okay."

Hinata’s words sent a whole new kind of warmth rushing through you—one that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the way he was looking at you. Like you were something precious. Like he wanted to memorize every single detail.

"aah–" a whimper escaped your lips as he slipped a finger inside. The sound and the sight made hinata groan as he felt his own dick twitch in his pants. fuck

He slowly slipped off your shorts while pumping his index finger in and out of you, trying not to rush things because fuck, he wanted you to have the most pleasure since he knew this was your first time. But god –dammit—his cock was getting harder by the second as he watched you squirm underneath him. The slight hitch in your breathing, the way your body trembled in his hands.

"mmhm shoyo.." Hinata bit his lip, his breath hitching at the soft, unfiltered sound that slipped from your lips. His grip on your thigh tightened as he increased his pace.

Your fingers curled into the bedsheets as his finger pumped in and out, one hand slipping higher along your side, grazing over your chest in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

Then, just when you were about to come undone, he suddenly stopped.A whimper of protest left your lips before—

A sharp gasp.

Hinata pressed two fingers against your sensitive bud, applying just enough pressure to send a jolt of pleasure through your entire body. Your back arched off the bed, head tilting back as a strangled moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

"You’re incredible," he murmured, his voice husky, filled with something that made your skin burn. "I could do this all night."

~

Hinata hovered above you, his gaze searching yours, his breath slightly unsteady. His fingers traced soothing circles against your skin, as if grounding both of you in the moment.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked as he positioned himself, his voice softer now, tinged with both anticipation and concern.

You held his gaze, taking him in—the flushed cheeks, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the warmth in his eyes that made your heart stutter.

Then, slowly, you nodded. "I want this," you murmured, voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart.

A breath you hadn’t realized he was holding escaped him, and his lips curled into the faintest, almost relieved smile. "Me too," he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips against yours—soft, lingering, like he wanted to savor the moment.

"But wait a min—" Hinata scrambled off the bed, ruffling through his nightstand drawer with frantic determination. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching with a mix of amusement and curiosity as he dug through the clutter—receipts, old keychains, a half-empty pack of gum—before his fingers finally curled around a small foil packet.

Your eyebrows shot up. "Wait…" You sat up, pointing at the item in his hand. "You actually have one?"

Hinata turned to you, looking almost too proud of himself. "Of course I do!" he said, puffing out his chest slightly. "Gotta be prepared, right?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms. "Uh-huh. And just when exactly were you planning to use it, Mr. Innocent?"

His confident facade instantly crumbled. "Wha—no! It’s not like that!" His face turned a deep shade of red as he waved the packet around defensively. "I just… I mean—it's been in there for a while! I didn’t even know I still had it!"

You raised a skeptical brow, lips twitching. "So you're telling me you've been hoarding a condom like some kind of secret treasure?"

"I- wasn’t hoarding it!" Hinata groaned, rubbing a hand over his face before shooting you a playful glare. "Are we really gonna have this conversation right now?"

You giggled, shaking your head. "I just never thought my best friend was so...prepared. "

Hinata huffed, throwing himself back onto the bed beside you. "Yeah, well," he muttered, shooting you a side glance, "you never thought we'd be here either, huh?"

Your breath caught, heart skipping a beat at the weight of his words. He wasn’t wrong. Hinata sat up, still slightly flustered but determined as he held the small packet between his fingers. You watched as he brought it to his mouth, gripping the edge with his teeth before tearing it open with an effortless pull.

Your eyes widened slightly. "Oh."

Hinata glanced at you, amusement flickering in his gaze as he tossed the wrapper aside. "What?" he asked, voice laced with playful confidence.

You blinked at him. "Nothing…" You paused before raising a brow. "Just didn’t expect you to look so—" You waved a hand vaguely, searching for the right word. "…experienced."

His cheeks tinted pink, but he smirked anyway. "Told you I’m prepared," he teased.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes with a small laugh. "Yeah, yeah… just get over here, ‘Mr. Prepared.’"

Hinata grinned, placing himself before your legs again, slipping the latex over his throbbing dick. "gladly" before he pushed in slowly, letting you get comfortable first.

You leaned your head back against the pillows, relaxing your jaw and eyes closing as he gently thrust forward—slow, deep

~

The next day you woke up to the feeling of something lightly brushing your face. Your eyes fluttered open to find hinata already awake.

"sorry, did I wake you up? you can sleep more if you want" he said caressing your cheek.

"hmm..give me a few minutes" you hummed in response.

Hinata let out a soft chuckle as you burrowed closer, your warmth seeping into him like the morning sun filtering through the curtains. "Take all the time you need," he murmured.

Hinata’s fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, his touch featherlight against your bare skin. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, the sheets tangled around you both, a quiet reminder of everything that had happened last night.

Your face heated at the thought, and you instinctively curled closer, hiding in the crook of his neck. He let out a soft chuckle, his chest vibrating beneath you.

"Shy now, huh?" he teased, his voice still raspy from sleep. "You weren’t like this last night."

Your fingers twitched against his skin, and you groaned, lightly smacking his shoulder. "Don’t remind me."

"Why not?" He tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your temple. "I think it was kinda cute how you—"

"Sho!" You cut him off, reaching up to cover his mouth with your hand, your cheeks burning.

Hinata laughed against your palm before gently pulling your hand away, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Alright, alright, I’ll stop," he said, though the smirk on his lips told you otherwise.

As you lay in his arms, wrapped in the warmth of the morning, you hesitated for a moment before finally whispering, "This was my first time, you know…"

Hinata’s hold on you tightened slightly as he looked down, his expression softening. "Yeah?" he murmured, brushing his fingers against your cheek.

You nodded, feeling the heat rise to your face. "And I’m glad it was you."

His eyes widened slightly before a warm, boyish grin stretched across his face. "That’s kinda unfair," he said, voice laced with fondness.

You blinked. "Huh?"

"You keep saying cute things and expect me to just stay normal?" He chuckled, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Now I feel even luckier."

Your heart swelled at his words, but curiosity got the best of you. "Wait… what about you?" You hesitated. "Did you, um, y’know… with someone in Brazil?"

Hinata paused for a moment, blinking at you. Then, just as you were about to clarify, a sly smirk crept onto his face.

"Mmm… maybe," he hummed, stretching lazily. "There were a lot of pretty girls over there, you know…"

Your face immediately scrunched up, and without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow and whacked him with it. "You idiot!"*

"Ow—hey!" He laughed, shielding himself as you rained soft blows down on him. "I was kidding! I was kidding!"

You huffed, arms crossed, glaring at him. "Not funny."

"It was a little funny," he grinned, reaching for your wrists to stop your assault. "And for the record," he pulled you closer, his expression turning sincere, "you were my first too."

Your frustration faded as your eyes met his, warmth bubbling in your chest again. "Really?"

Just as you were about to relax again, he smirked. "And, well… you’re about to be my second time too."

You blinked. "Huh?"

Then you noticed the way his gaze darkened, a familiar heat behind his eyes as they trailed lower. That same look from last night—mischievous, wanting, hungry.

And that’s when it hit you.

In the middle of your little pillow fight, you had completely forgotten you were only wearing his unbuttoned shirt. And now that you were sitting up straight… you were practically on full display for him. Hinata swallowed hard, his shameless gaze lingering.

"Stop staring, you perv!" you yelped, grabbing the pillow again in a weak attempt to shield yourself.

But Hinata only laughed, effortlessly plucking the pillow from your grasp and tossing it aside. "Can you blame me?" he murmured, shifting closer, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you into his lap. "You’re literally sitting here, wearing nothing but my shirt, and you expect me to just—" He exhaled, resting his forehead against yours. "..not want you all over again?"

Your breath hitched.

Hinata’s hands moved up, fingers tracing light circles against your back, sending tiny sparks up your spine. You gulped, suddenly very aware of how close you were—his bare chest pressed against yours, his breath fanning against your lips, the way his grip on you tightened just slightly.

"Sho…" You whispered, your heart pounding in your ears.

He hummed in response, his hands sliding lower, squeezing your waist gently. "We don’t have to, y’know," he said, voice softer this time. "I just… really like being close to you."

Your fingers curled against his shoulders. "I… I like it too," you admitted, cheeks warm.

Hinata grinned, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek before murmuring against your skin, "Then let me hold you a little longer."

And just like that, you melted into him, letting yourself fall into the warmth of his embrace.

[zuzu-tries-to-write]

Unraveling You

A Draco Malfoy x Reader Fanfic

It’s my first time writing a Draco fan fic and honestly I love jealous Draco so that’s exactly what I did, hope you enjoy!!

Draco Malfoy had always been a thorn in your side. If there was an opportunity to sneer at you in the corridors, he took it. If he could slip a sharp insult your way in Potions, he never hesitated. And if he could make you roll your eyes in frustration, it was almost as if he lived for it.

“Trying to impress Potter, are you?” Draco had scoffed one morning when he caught you laughing with Harry in the Great Hall. His silver eyes flickered over you with that ever-present smirk, but there was something darker in them today—something sharper.

You didn’t dignify him with a response, just rolled your eyes and continued your conversation with Harry, pretending Draco wasn’t even there. But the truth was, you had grown used to his taunts. It was almost routine at this point.

What you didn’t know was how deeply they were rooted in something else entirely.

Jealousy Burns Hot

Draco had always harbored something for you—something so frustratingly strong that it made his chest ache. But he wasn’t the type to get flustered or awkward. No, he hid it the way he hid every vulnerability: behind sharp words and cruel smirks.

And for a while, that worked. Until you started getting closer to him.

Harry bloody Potter.

It wasn’t just that you were friends. It was the way you laughed with him, the way you leaned in when he spoke, the way you seemed so comfortable around him—like he was the one you trusted most.

And Draco hated it.

At first, he tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. But then, he started seeing it everywhere.

In the library, where you sat beside Harry, nudging him playfully when he got a question wrong.

In the courtyard, where you’d been standing just a little too close for Draco’s liking.

In class, where you exchanged knowing glances with Potter, ones Draco felt he should be the one getting.

He tried to ignore it, but jealousy had a way of twisting its claws into him, making his blood run hot with frustration. Until one evening, when he finally snapped.

The Confession

It was late. Most students were heading back to their dormitories, but you had taken a detour through the courtyard, the crisp night air cooling your skin.

Draco, of course, was waiting.

“You really are oblivious, aren’t you?”

You turned, surprised to see him stepping out of the shadows, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“Excuse me?” you shot back, unimpressed.

He took a step closer. “All that time with Potter. Tell me, do you actually like him, or are you just doing it to piss me off?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Oh, that’s what this is about? You’re jealous.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m not jealous.”

You tilted your head. “Really? Because it sure looks like it.”

Draco stepped even closer, and suddenly, the air between you shifted. His usual smugness was gone, replaced by something raw, something desperate.

“Just… answer the question,” he murmured, his voice lower now.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Harry’s my friend, Malfoy. Not that it’s any of your business.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “It is my business when I—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his platinum-blond hair. “Bloody hell, I can’t stand seeing you with him.”

Your breath caught. “Why do you care so much?”

Draco’s gaze was piercing as he took another step, closing the gap between you until you could practically feel the warmth of him.

“Because it’s not him you should be laughing with,” he muttered, his voice laced with frustration. “It’s not him you should be looking at like that.”

Your heart pounded. This wasn’t the Draco Malfoy you were used to.

Then, before you could process it, he reached for your wrist, pulling you closer until your chest almost brushed against his. “It should be me.”

Your breath hitched. “Draco—”

“I like you,” he admitted, voice rough. “I hate how much I like you. And I hate that I had to watch you with him before I could say it.”

You stared at him, stunned. Because for the first time, there was no arrogance in his expression. No smugness. Just Draco.

But still, you weren’t sure how you felt. He had tormented you for so long. “You think you can just—say this, and everything changes?”

His fingers curled around your wrist, his grip warm and insistent. “No. But I can show you.”

And then he kissed you.

The Heat of It All

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow.

It was desperate, filled with frustration and longing, like he had been holding this in for far too long. His lips crashed against yours, demanding, hungry, as if he was trying to prove something.

Your mind barely had time to catch up before you found yourself kissing him back, heat flaring in your chest, spreading through your veins. His hands were gripping your waist now, pulling you flush against him, and the way he kissed—like he needed this more than air—had your knees going weak.

You shouldn’t want this. You shouldn’t like this.

But Merlin, you did.

Your hands tangled in his hair, and he groaned against your lips, deepening the kiss, his grip tightening like he was afraid you’d pull away. His body pressed against yours, his lips trailing to your jaw, then back to your mouth, each kiss more desperate than the last.

When you finally broke apart, gasping, his forehead rested against yours.

“You drive me mad,” he murmured, breathless.

Your fingers were still tangled in his hair, your own breath just as unsteady. “You deserve it.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Probably.”

And then, just like that, he kissed you again.

This time, you didn’t resist.

Because somewhere between his jealousy, his confessions, and his desperate kisses, you realized something terrifying.

Maybe you did feel something for Draco Malfoy after all.

And maybe, just maybe, you wanted more.