#never getting tired of being a mean bitch

[lostlikesaebyeok]

hi i love your works so much!!! you have no idea how happy i am seeing something new in the sae byeok hashtag everyday it's so refreshing you're doing god's work🙏🙏 could i perhaps request an enemies to lovers with sae byeok plus one bed trope 👀 ends in something steamy maybe?

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 𝒌𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒂𝒆-𝒃𝒚𝒆𝒐𝒌 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

��˚·̩͙﹕𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒍𝒆: campfire heat

✧˚·̩͙﹕𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

✧˚·̩͙﹕𝒂𝒖: summer camp volunteer au

✧˚·̩͙﹕𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: enemies to lovers, slow burn, nsfw implications, tension, one bed trope

✧˚·̩͙﹕𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: explicit content, enemies to lovers tension, forced proximity (one bed), kissing, mutual pining disguised as hatred

✧˚·̩͙﹕𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚:

you hated her lazy attitude, her smug little smirk, the way she always made you clean up after her.

but eleven days into camp and one shared bed, you realise it was never really hate. not the kind that wins.

you didn’t mean to get paired with her.

you were minding your own business, tugging your bag over your shoulder, when the director of the volunteer camp called your name. “you’ll be rooming with kang sae-byeok. take key seventeen.”

your stomach dropped before you even turned. because you knew exactly who she was. sharp-jawed. sharp-tongued. always standing in the back like she was ready to flee. you’d argued with her during volunteer meetings more times than you could count. about how to split food. about who got what shifts. about whether she was even taking this seriously.

you didn’t hate her. but you certainly didn’t not hate her.

“of course,” you muttered. because your luck always ran out when it came to her.

the cabin is small. too small. your bags hit the floor and you both stand there, glaring at the one bed against the far wall. it’s queen-sized, but barely. the mattress dips in the middle. the room’s thin walls are lined with bare wooden shelves and the smell of pine hangs thick in the air.

sae-byeok is already crossing her arms.

“i’ll sleep on the floor,” she says.

you raise a brow. “why? scared to be near me?”

her eyes narrow. “scared of you? please.”

“then sleep in the bed.”

she scoffs. but she doesn’t argue.

you smirk and turn to unpack.

the next few days are tense.

you work all morning helping local kids with schoolwork and cleaning up community spaces, and then you come back to this cramped, cold room with sae-byeok in it. she’s barely ever there. usually off on a walk or sitting under some tree. but when she is, she’s silent. changing clothes behind the wardrobe door. brushing her teeth without a word. throwing herself into bed with her back to you.

and god, the bed.

you started by drawing an imaginary line down the middle. no crossing. no touching. just your side, her side. but the mattress sags, and on the second night, your hips bumped.

neither of you said anything.

by the third night, her knee brushed yours in the dark, and you didn’t move away.

you argue again on day four. something stupid.

you’re sitting on the cabin steps, boots unlaced, tired and sore and sore-minded. she walks up with two granola bars. offers one. you snatch it, mutter “thanks,” and she shrugs like she regrets it already.

“you could try not being a bitch all the time,” you say after a beat.

she stops unwrapping her bar. turns her head.

“you think i like dealing with you?” she says coolly.

“you act like you’re too good to talk to anyone.”

“maybe i am.”

your eyes narrow. “what’s your problem?”

she takes a bite of her granola bar. chews. swallows. “you talk too much.”

“and you don’t talk enough.”

you both stare. the wind whistles between the trees.

then–

“maybe i’d like you better if you weren’t so loud,” she mutters.

and maybe it’s exhaustion. or maybe it’s the way her eyes flick down to your mouth like it’s muscle memory. but your breath hitches. your heart stumbles.

you don’t say another word.

that night, the tension follows you into the cabin like fog.

she takes her time changing. her tank top rides up when she reaches for something, and you see the sliver of muscle at her side. you look away too late.

in bed, you lie stiff on your side. you feel her warmth behind you. closer than usual. maybe the cold’s worse tonight. maybe she shifted in her sleep.

maybe you don’t mind.

you wake up tangled.

her thigh is over yours. her arm heavy on your waist. her breath on your neck.

you freeze.

but her hold is soft. possessive. like she knows you’re there, even asleep.

you stay still for a long time.

after that, something breaks.

not out loud. you still argue. still roll your eyes when she shrugs you off. still huff when she disappears for hours.

but the touches become normal.

a shoulder bump. a hand on your lower back when someone gets too close. her fingers brushing yours when she passes you something.

your name sounds different in her voice now. softer. like a thread pulled taut.

and god, you want to pull it.

day eleven. it rains.

your clothes get soaked. you run back to the cabin with mud on your legs and your hair stuck to your neck. sae-byeok’s already inside, peeling off her wet hoodie.

you stop. she’s in just a black sports bra, damp against her skin. her eyes lift when she sees you.

neither of you says anything.

you shut the door behind you.

“cold?” she asks.

you nod.

she nods back. “the water pressure on the shower is shit, take a bath instead tonight.”

you laugh. “figures.”

you change out of your wet clothes behind the wardrobe door. but it doesn’t matter. she sees you later, when you come out in a towel and the air is thick and quiet and you can feel her watching your bare legs like she’s angry at them.

you dry off. dress. slip into bed.

she joins you. her hair’s damp too. her skin smells like rain and earth.

you lie there, staring at the ceiling.

then, her voice is low.

“why do you hate me?”

you blink. “what?”

“you always argue. you glare like i’m a problem.”

you roll onto your side, facing her. “maybe because you are.”

her eyes search yours.

you sigh. “i don’t hate you.”

“could’ve fooled me.”

you hesitate. then–

“you make me nervous.”

that stops her.

“…why?”

you don’t answer. but your hand moves. slides between the sheets. touches her wrist.

she doesn’t pull away.

you breathe. “because you make me feel things i don’t know what to do with.”

her fingers curl around yours.

you look at her mouth.

“say it,” she murmurs.

“i want you.”

and it’s enough.

her hand fists your shirt. pulls you in. your lips crash together like you’ve been waiting to lose.

she kisses hard. hungry. her knee slips between yours and your breath catches. you clutch at her waist, sliding your hand under her shirt, feeling the heat of her.

she moans softly into your mouth. bites your lip.

“god, i knew it,” she whispers. “you’ve wanted this. so smug all the time. acting like you didn’t look.”

“you’re one to talk,” you gasp as her mouth trails to your neck. “always acting like i’m annoying when you were dying to touch me.”

she grins against your skin. “maybe i like girls who piss me off.”

you flip her onto her back. grind against her thigh. she lets out a breathy laugh that turns into a moan.

“shut up,” you growl.

“make me,” she says, pulling you down again.

and you do.

the next morning, the bed’s a mess. limbs tangled. bruises blooming.

you wake up first. watch her sleep. her mouth parted slightly. her fingers still curled around your wrist like she didn’t want to let go.

you smile.

“still think i talk too much?” you whisper.

she opens one eye.

“only when your mouth’s not on me.”

you grin. “bitch.”

she pulls you in. kisses you slow.

“your bitch.”

you don’t argue this time.

thank u for reading, angel ♡

(〃^ー^〃) likes = sae-byeok being your bitch

♡ note: you're so sweet i'm gonna cry omds, i hope you enjoy this love <3

♡ tags: @eunchacha @ilovesawbyeokandjjmaybank @saeshairtie @gg0mezz @saphicsaturn @gyuyoungg @lyzem @janegrapefruitttt @reynadeluniverso @laylaheinz @laurenkenss @bleedingwhiteroses222 @maevelovessae

[z-eel]

oooo fuck doll barty. everyone using him. I'll never get tired of that little bitch being used and abused by everyone.

damn okay...

Evan likes to have Barty tied up and blindfolded. calls up a bunch of his friends and let's them have at it with Barty.

the marauders who love to taunt and tease, while the fuck Barty three at a time. fill him up and make him choke, all while reminding him he's just a joke. slapping color back to his face because they fucked him unconscience, they leave him on the floor cum from all four of them dripping out of his ass.

the valkyries join when Barty's feeling more feminine, they like to tease the fuck out of her. they're not cruel like the boys but they are mean. they'll put her on the ground and just sit on her face while they poke and play with her dick but never give it any attention. they'll sometimes take the blindfold just to teach her how to properly eat cunt and then make her watch when they get her close. Lily fucking Marlene while Mary is sitting on their face, and Mary and Lily would moan so loudly calling out her name, and watching her struggle with her dick locked up.

Regulus and Evan have their fun together. they'll fuck Barty's mouth until it's practically impossible to speak, then they fuck him until he couldn't stand. head empty, drooling and sated. cum drunk and cock stupid.

poor baby wouldn't even wake up when Evan was slipping in side of him again. one last time to erase all the times before, making sure it's only Evan's cum inside of Barty when he wakes up.

[followyourfleart]

ᴄʟᴀᴜsᴇ 𝟺: ɪɴ ʙᴀᴅ ғᴀɪᴛʜ

Word Count: 7.0 k

Pervious/Next

This wasn’t your kind of bar.

You were used to polished floors and polished men—slick voices talking revenue, margin growth, IPOs. The kind of venues where deals were sealed with scotch and a smirk, where the lighting was low enough to make everyone look important and no one look tired.

This? This was a different beast.

This place had sticky floors. Torn vinyl seats. An ancient jukebox that looked like it had war stories. The whiskey was cheap, and the bartender looked like she could punch a hundred men. The kind of joint where nobody cared what your name was, as long as you tipped in cash and didn’t start a fight.

You’d picked a corner booth with the kind of instinct that comes from being tired down to the bone. One leg folded under you, elbow hooked on the backrest, you let your fingers curl around the cold glass, sweating on the table. Whiskey sour. Two limes. The closest thing to familiarity you could find.

The blues singer on stage wore denim and cigarettes like armor. His voice dragged like smoke across gravel, every word aching out of him as if it hurt to speak at all.

You liked that.

It was better than silence. Better than stillness. Better than being alone in your home with a boring weekend waiting you. A reward, Tommy said. More like babying

The place smelled like old wood, old beer, and a hundred bad decisions. But it was honest. Nobody in here was pretending to be more than they were. No curated personalities. No agendas. Just bruised hands and cheap drinks.

Your phone buzzed once. You glanced down.

[MARIA]: Just got into the parking lot! Parking’s a bitch, huh?

You smirked and typed back.

[YOU]: Agreed! If I die out here, bury me next to the pothole that took my tire.

You didn’t hit send just yet.

You looked around instead.

Your eyes caught on a couple near the bar, tangled in each other—drunken kisses, off-beat laughter, hands fumbling under the table like they couldn’t wait to get home. Young. Stupid. Reckless in the way only people who’ve never lost anything can be.

Your mouth twisted slightly. You looked away, back to your taped-up ankle. It didn’t hurt anymore, just uncomfortable to move.

The singer crooned low into the mic again, like he was confessing something to the floor. “This one’s for anyone who ever left when they shoulda stayed…”

The lyric hit too close. You downed the rest of your drink, ice clinking against the glass. You were mid-eye roll at the PDA couple by the bar when the seat across from you squeaked.

“I swear I aged five years looking for parking,” Maria said, breathless but grinning, sliding into the booth like she’d done it a thousand times.

You snorted, shifting to sit upright. “You and me both. I almost curb-stomped a Ford Focus.”

“I believe that. You’ve got that ‘mildly homicidal in heels’ look about you.”

You smirked. “Branding is everything.”

A waitress sauntered over. You lifted your nearly finished whiskey sour. “I’ll do another, same thing.”

Maria barely glanced at the menu. “Just water, please.”

You clocked that—filed it away—but didn’t say anything. Yet.

When the waitress left, you leaned forward, elbow on the table. “So. This is a little off-brand for both of us, huh?”

Maria raised a brow. “You mean the dingy bar with duct-taped booths and a man crooning breakup songs like he's in active mourning?”

You nodded. “Exactly. I usually prefer my liquor accompanied by jazz and $60 candles.”

“Yeah, well, I figured if I dragged you somewhere you couldn’t network, brand, or flirt your way through, you might actually talk to me.”

You gave a quiet laugh. “Alright. Tactical. I respect it.”

“Tommy says you’re all work and no play.”

“Tommy also used to eat glue.”

Maria laughed so hard she slapped the table. “You both are such a menace.”

You grinned, leaning back against the cracked booth. “You knew that when you married into it.”

“Yeah, but I never really got to know you before. You were always like this myth in Tommy’s stories. Always moving, always plotting. All action and sharp words.”

“Flattered. I think.”

Maria smiled, soft now. “You’re different in person.”

You tilted your head. “And how am I in person?”

“Still terrifying,” she said dryly. “But warmer than I expected.”

You tried not to let that settle too deep in your chest. “Well. Don’t tell anyone. Might ruin the brand.”

A pause fell between you, not uncomfortable—just thoughtful. You sipped your drink. Maria reached into her bag, pulled out a tiny Tupperware of almonds, and popped a few in her mouth.

You blinked. “Are you seriously snacking right now?”

She shrugged. “Gotta keep something in my stomach. Heartburn’s been a bitch lately.”

Heartburn. Water only. The flat shoes. That hand that was resting absentmindedly on her stomach. The way her hoodie hung a little looser than usual.

And suddenly, your eyes widened just a fraction.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

You tried to hide the smirk pulling at your lips. “So, no cocktail for you, huh?”

Maria looked smug. “Designated driver, obviously.”

“Mmhm.” You swirled your drink, watching her over the rim. “And the snacks?”

“Blood sugar,” she said lightly.

You tilted your head, grin growing. “And the shoes?”

“Comfort,” she replied instantly.

Your brows lifted. “And the constant hand on your stomach?”

Maria paused. Slowly—very slowly—her eyes narrowed at you.

You held up your hands in surrender. “Hey. I didn’t say anything.”

“But you know.”

“Congratulations on your… water.”

Maria groaned and covered her face with one hand. “I was doing so well.”

“You were doing decent.” You grinned. “Tommy know?”

“Obviously.”

“He told Joel yet?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “I don’t think Joel even notices when I’m in the room, let alone my reproductive status.”

“Lucky you.” You sighed dramatically. “You're safe.”

Maria smiled again, but softer now, eyes a little glassy in the low light. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“I should be thanking you. This beats scrolling spreadsheets at home.”

“Even with the blues singer crooning about his third divorce?”

You lifted your drink. “Even then.”

You weren’t sure what you expected when Maria slid into the booth across from you—maybe a little awkwardness, maybe stiff small talk to cover for how little you’d actually hung out one-on-one. But she kicked off her shoes, ordered a water, and gave you a look like tonight is happening, and somehow, it worked.

“You ready to tell me all the things Tommy doesn’t want me to know?” she asked, grinning like a woman on a mission.

You sipped your drink, smirking over the rim. “You sure you’re ready to hear it?”

“Born ready.”

You leaned back against the torn vinyl, one leg tucked under you. “Okay. Tell me—has he ever mentioned the Fourth of July incident?”

Maria’s eyes lit up. “Go on.”

“So. We’re maybe ten. Our parents left us with a neighbor while they went to some adult barbecue. We wanted fireworks, but no one would give us any. So Tommy decided to make his own.”

Maria already looked concerned.

“He mixed together baking soda, aluminum foil, and vinegar in a soda bottle. Called it ‘Texas Boom Juice.’”

Maria sputtered into her water.

“It exploded in his garage. Ruined a shelf full of paint cans, sprayed old Christmas decorations with chemical foam. His mom didn’t speak to him for three days. His dad made him clean the garage in 102-degree heat with a toothbrush.”

“Oh my God.”

“He still blames me for not warning him it wouldn’t work.”

“You knew it wouldn’t work?”

“I was ten and smarter than him. Not a high bar.”

Maria laughed so hard she had to lean forward. “Okay. New rule. One more story every ten minutes.”

You obliged.

There was the time Tommy tried to build a skateboard ramp using plywood and cinder blocks—and shattered his front tooth on a faceplant so dramatic, his parents almost sued gravity. The time he got caught sneaking into the local drive-in by hiding in someone’s trunk, only to pop out too early and scare a toddler into dropping her popcorn. The time he asked a girl out by writing a note in ketchup packets on her windshield.

Maria wheezed. “Ketchup?!”

“He said it was ‘bold.’ She said it was ‘terrifying.’”

“God, he’s lucky I found him when he had matured slightly.”

You tilted your head. “Has he though?”

Maria gave you a look. “Okay, fair. He just hides it better now.”

There was a pause, the kind that happens when laughter fades but comfort lingers.

She caught you glancing, gave you a small smile—one that said she saw your curiosity and didn’t mind it.

“You know,” she said gently, “he talks about you all the time.”

You blinked.

“Tommy,” she added. “Says you were the only one who ever really called him out when he was being an idiot. Said it helped him grow up.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “That man was allergic to maturity.”

“Still is, most days. But you were kind of a turning point for him.”

You looked down at your drink. Swirled the ice.

“He always looked up to Joel,” you said softly. “But I think… he needed someone to see him not through Joel.”

Maria nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

“He’s good now, though. You made him better.”

“That’s the goal, right?” she said, half-smiling. “You find someone who brings out your good parts. Or just accepts the weird ones.”

“I’ll cheers to that.” You lift up your glass and take a sip.

“So,” Maria said, chin propped in her hand, eyes twinkling with curiosity, “I’ve heard enough Tommy stories to write a memoir. What about you? What was life like before New York?”

You snorted, the sound dry as the bar napkin under your drink. “Loaded question.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, “you cornered yourself by making me laugh. Now I want the full backstory.”

You smiled despite yourself, leaning back into the cracked vinyl booth. “I grew up in Arlington. It was… fine. Hot as hell, good barbecue, football worshipped like a religion. The usual.”

“And family?”

You hesitated. Just a beat. “My dad—Clyde—he’s the reason I turned out remotely okay. You know how he is. Retired Army. Old-school and kind. He’s best friends with Tommy and Joel’s dad. They served together and stayed tight. So… me and Tommy? We’ve known each other since we were in diapers.”

Maria raised her brows. “That explains a lot.”

“Yeah, he used to say I was his first mistake. Like, karmically.” You smiled, watching the memory settle. “We terrorized our parents. Set off fireworks in a mailbox once. Joel ratted us out.”

Maria grinned widely. “That sounds like Joel.”

“Boy Scout, even back then,” you said. “He was older, always had that ‘I’ll tell Dad’ energy.”

Maria laughed. “God, I can see that.”

You nodded, then went quiet for a second.

“My mom…” You paused, looked at your drink, then shrugged. “We didn’t talk much. Still don’t.”

Maria didn’t push. Just gave a little nod like she understood more than you were saying.

There was a silence, but not an awkward one. It was the kind that let the music fill the space between people who might become friends. Onstage, the blues singer started another verse, voice curling around the words like smoke.

“She’d hate this place,” you said suddenly.

Maria tilted her head. “Your mom?”

“No,” you said, then corrected, “Actually, yeah—her too. But I meant the version of me I used to be. Power heels, dry bar events, clients who spent more on watches than I made in a year.”

“You miss it?” Maria asked, honestly.

You looked around. The scuffed tables. The peeling paint. The freedom in the way no one gave a damn what anyone else was doing.

“Some days. I’m usually too busy to think this hard. Sorry if I’m boring you.”

“No, never.” Maria smiles, “I’m glad we’re spending time like this. It’s good for people like us.”

“Like us?”

“Workaholics.”

You huffed out a laugh at the word “I can see that in me. Your…” Put together. Happy. Perfect life.

“Not a classic workaholic?” Her smile turns into a smirk. “Well, I do work another job. I’m an assistant district attorney. On my free days, I help Tommy.”

“Shit,” You whistle “Tommy’s got himself a dedicated wife.”

“He’s blessed.”

“Trust me, I know.”

And then, like she’d been biding her time just right, she tilted her head with a spark of mischief and said, “Okay. Now tell me what’s going on with you and Joel.”

You blinked again. “Excuse me?”

She gave you a knowing smile. “You two walk around like magnets trying not to touch.”

You laughed, maybe a little too quickly. “We’ve always been like that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s not tension,” you added. “It’s… friction.”

“Which is just fancy tension.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Did you drag me out here for intel?”

“No,” she said, sipping her water like it was wine. “But if it’s freely offered…”

You laughed, tilting your head. “We’ve been butting heads since we were old enough to talk. Joel was my best friend’s big brother, who took everything too seriously. I was the family friend who made it my mission to knock him off his high horse.”

Maria smiled. “You? Stir the pot? No.”

“Right?” you said with mock offense. “Unbelievable. But yeah, Joel hated that I never treated him like some wise oracle just because he was older. Once, when I was ten, he tried to give me this lecture about ‘respecting rules,’ because I climbed the neighbor’s fence to get a football back. So I threw it at his head.”

“Did you hit him?”

“Square in the jaw. He still has a tooth that’s a little crooked.”

Maria burst out laughing. “I knew you were dangerous.”

“I was just a truth-teller,” you said, smirking. “Like when we were teenagers—Joel got all moody and broody, started thinking he was smarter than everybody. So I’d sneak into his truck and retune his radio presets to pop stations.”

“You did not.”

“I did. It was glorious. Tommy would catch him flipping through stations like his masculinity depended on it.”

Maria was full-on giggling now. “God, you really loved pushing his buttons.”

“Someone had to. He was too serious all the time. Even when he wasn’t mad at the world, he walked around like it owed him something.”

“Sounds familiar,” Maria muttered under her breath, grinning into her water.

You laughed. “Exactly. But look, we weren’t always at each other’s throats. We had a brief truce once.”

Maria raised a brow. “A truce?”

“Yeah, like… a year-long détente. I think we were both too tired to argue. It was weird. We’d actually sit in the same room and not insult each other. Even laugh sometimes.”

Maria gave you a sly look. “And what broke the truce?”

You paused. Sipped your drink again. “Oh, you know. Life. Growing up. People change. Paths diverge.”

She tilted her head, studying you, but didn’t press.

You continued, keeping your tone light. “Anyway, the last time Joel and I had an honest conversation was about thirteen years ago. And by ‘honest,’ I mean we yelled a lot and probably set a record for the most uses of the word ‘hell’ in one argument.”

Maria winced playfully. “Yikes.”

You shrugged, smiling faintly. “Let’s just say we don’t do well with confrontation. Or diplomacy. Or really anything that involves being in the same zip code.”

“Well,” Maria said, sitting back with a warm, curious smile, “For two people who don’t talk, you sure do act like there’s a whole conversation happening every time you’re in the same room.”

You snorted. “Yeah. That’s called tension, Maria.”

She smirked. “I call it potential.”

You gave her a look. “I’m starting to regret this girls' night.”

She clinked her water glass to your whiskey sour. “Too late. You’re stuck with me now.”

You laugh, but your mind wanders. Wanders thirteen years into the past.

Because you weren’t about to admit what it was like in that last year before the fallout. When the edges softened a little. When the two of you had stopped throwing punches long enough to see what was underneath.

You wouldn’t tell her how sometimes, on nights when his dad got mean and Tommy was away, Joel would show up at your window—silent, angry, eyes hollow—and you’d let him climb in. No questions. No judgment. He’d crash on your floor, or sometimes right next to you, the two of you staring at the ceiling, pretending the world didn’t exist.

You weren’t going to admit how that kind of quiet—that charged, aching silence—had felt more intimate than any conversation you’d ever had.

That version of Joel—quiet, frayed, unguarded—you didn’t talk about. You barely let yourself remember it.

So instead, you leaned into the smile.

“He always had that look like someone just told him fun was illegal,” you said. “I considered it a public service to get under his skin.”

Maria’s eyes flicked to yours—sharp, but kind. “Yeah, but did you like it?”

Your smile faltered. Just a breath.

You shrugged. “It was familiar.”

Another beat passed. Then she said, more gently, “Do you miss it?”

You looked down at your drink. Let the ice settle.

“My mom used to say it’s not worth missing things that were only half-real.”

Maria watched you carefully, but said nothing.

You gave her a lighter look. “And besides—he started it.”

She laughed again, soft and surprised. “God, you really are trouble.”

You raised your glass to that. “Takes one to marry a Miller.”

As the drinks flowed, the night blurred at the edges. It got easier to laugh. To talk. To say things you might've kept buried under more sober circumstances. You didn’t mean to overshare—but Maria had that effect. And the whiskey didn’t help.

You might’ve said something embarrassing. You probably did.

But she just smiled like she understood. Like she wasn’t keeping score.

Eventually, someone called last round, and the lights got brighter. Harsher. So you left.

The air outside the bar was cooler than you remembered. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe the hour. But everything felt a little softer. Quieter. You and Maria stood under the flickering neon for a moment, her arms crossed over her chest, your heels clicking lightly as you shifted your weight.

“That was fun,” she said, not quite ready to say goodbye.

“It was,” you agreed, tugging your jacket tighter. “Next time I’m picking the bar.”

“Oh, I’m already scared.”

You both laughed as you headed to your cars, her silhouette slipping into her truck, headlights flashing on. You waved as she pulled out, then climbed into your own.

She drove off in a flash of headlights, and you slid into your car, letting the leather seat chill your thighs. The drive home was short but long enough to let your mind wander—through dusty memories and clean breaks. Arlington. Your dad’s laugh through the wall. Your mom’s perfume clinging to the couch cushions even after she stopped sitting there. The echo of who you were before you traded quiet for ambition, front porches for boardrooms.

And then, like a glitch in the reel: Joel.

Stubborn, gravel-voiced Joel. Who could ruin your whole day with one look. Who used to sleep on your floor in silence after screaming matches with his father, tension still humming in the air. Who now looked at you like a storm cloud he’d rather outwait than engage.

God, you hated him.

You missed him.

You hated that you missed him.

The porch light was still on when you got home, a quiet beacon against the dark. Inside, the TV flickered low and warm in the living room.

“Hey, Sugar Cubes,” your dad called from the couch, one hand lazily flipping the remote. “You out corruptin’ Millers?”

You leaned against the doorframe, kicking off your boots. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He smirked. “She survive it?”

“Barely. I was gentle.”

“You? Gentle?” He snorted. “Don’t lie in my house.”

You came and sat beside him, stealing half his blanket. On the screen, some old black-and-white movie played, guns and grit and men with jawlines sharp enough to cut steak.

You sat in silence for a while. It was nice—this kind of quiet. Earned. Heavy without being hard.

He eventually looked over at you. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, meaning it. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

You smiled, and kissed his cheek. “Night, old man.”

You made it to your room and flopped face-down onto the mattress with all the grace of a tranquilized bear. Kicked off your jeans, stretched one leg up like a dancer mid-fall, and groaned into your pillow.

Buzzed. Maybe a bit more than that.

Your phone sat on the nightstand. Innocent. Tempting.

You picked it up.

Opened your messages.

Scrolled past every number that didn’t make your eye twitch.

And there he was.

Joel Miller.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, fingers hovering.

Then—God help you—you typed:

[YOU]: How does it feel to walk around like a human middle finger all day or is that just something you turn on when I’m in the room?

You blinked at the screen. Smiled.

Sent it.

Then dropped your phone with a soft clatter.

It buzzed once. You didn’t check it.

Sleep tugged at you like a tide, and you let it take you—mouth dry, heart full of noise, and one regrettably sharp text message deep into the night.

❛ ━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━ ❜

The hiss of a bottle cap.

The sharp click of a lighter.

The smell of cherry-scented body spray trying to cover up the acrid, sweet burn of vodka.

You were small again. Eleven. Maybe twelve. Sitting on the porch step, knees pulled into your chest. The sun had dipped, and the cicadas were out, loud and rhythmic. You didn’t hear the door open behind you, but you heard the voice.

“Whatcha doin’ out here, baby?”

You looked over your shoulder. Your mom. Hair a mess. Eyes glassy. Smile wide. Too wide.

“Just… watching,” you’d said.

She sat down beside you, joints creaking like they were older than they were. She held a can of something. Coke? No. Not just that.

“Watchin’ what?” she asked, swinging her legs like a teenager. Her bracelet clinked against the can.

“The sky.”

She nodded, thoughtful. “Good thing to watch.”

You want to lean into her. Want her to ask you how school was, or how Tommy was doing, or why you’d stopped wearing your hair in ponytails? You want her to smell like soap and sun, like she used to.

Instead, she turned to you with that dreamy, dazed smile and said, “You know, sometimes I think you’re gonna be smarter than me. Already are, probably.”

You blinked.

She sipped her drink, then laughed. “Don’t look at me like that. I mean it. You’ve got that brain your daddy doesn’t know what to do with. Gonna go far, baby girl. Just don’t forget where you come from.”

You didn’t answer. You looked down at her bare feet. At the chipped nail polish. The half-moon bruises on her ankle. You hate that you loved her so much.

“Hey.” She bumped your shoulder with hers. “You love me?”

It was a trap. You knew it even then. But you nodded.

She smiled. “Then promise me something. If I ever… I dunno. If I ever get lost in my own head again, you’ll come find me. Okay?”

You didn’t promise. You couldn’t.

You stared straight ahead, watching the clouds become different shapes.

She didn’t push. Just kept sipping. Kept watching the sky like it was gonna give her answers.

❛ ━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━ ❜

March 12th, 1989

The first tap was faint. So soft it almost blended into the hum of your fan.

The second tap? Not so much.

You sat up in bed, heart jumping straight into your throat. Three more taps, fast. Urgent.

Not the door.

You froze, pulse pounding in your ears. This wasn’t a knock. It was your window. Your second-story window.

Which meant it sure as hell wasn’t the delivery man.

You moved fast, slipping out of bed in your shorts and tank top, cursing every horror movie you’d ever watched alone. The floor was cold under your bare feet. You crept across the room, silent as a shadow, and reached for the aluminum bat tucked behind your dresser.

Your dad always said if someone ever tried anything, you don’t freeze. You swing first and deal with questions later.

Another tap. You gripped the bat tighter, already picturing headlines.

Local Teen Girl in Sleep Shorts Beats Pervert Senseless with Softball Bat.

You yanked the curtain back and raised the bat—only to freeze.

Joel Miller stood on the other side of the glass, head low with his messy hair covering his face, one hand held up like he was trying to talk down a feral cat.

You lowered the bat an inch. “What the—Joel?”

His mouth moved behind the glass. “Can I come in?”

You blinked. “You’re lucky I didn’t knock your teeth in.”

“Figured it was worth the risk,” he said with a huff , lip already split.

You unlocked the window with a huff and shoved it open. “What the hell are you doing, Miller? You scaling walls now?”

He gave a crooked half-shrug, lip split and bleeding. “Figured it was worth the risk.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

He didn’t answer until one booted foot hooked onto the sill, and he hoisted himself through—fluid, practiced, like this wasn’t the first time he’d climbed into a girl’s room through a second-story window.

You stepped back with a grimace. “Jesus. You’re bleeding on my floor.”

“I’ll bleed quieter if you give me a towel,” he mumbled, already toeing off his boots.

You crossed your arms, bat still dangling in one hand. “You get in a fight or fall down a flight of stairs trying to look cool?”

“Guy was messing with Tommy.”

You groaned. “You fought someone. After your dad explicitly said not to.”

“Yeah.”

“And now you’re avoiding going home because…?”

Joel dropped onto the carpet like his whole body weighed too much. “Didn’t feel like a lecture. Or Mom’s sad eyes.”

You watched him, heart still catching up to everything. “…You could’ve gone to Tommy’s.”

He snorted. “He talks in his sleep. Like, full paragraphs.” A pause. “Didn’t feel like that either.”

You glanced at the window. “So you came here?”

He finally looked at you. “Didn’t think you’d answer the door.”

You bit your lip. “Didn’t think you’d knock on the glass like a psycho bird.”

That pulled a breath of a laugh out of him. Small. Honest.

“You’re lucky I didn’t swing.”

“I’d have deserved it,” he muttered, dabbing at his mouth with the hem of his sleeve.

You sighed, turned to grab an old hoodie off your chair, and tossed it at him.

“Here. Stop leaking all over my rug.”

He caught it with one hand and gave you a look. “You’re real hospitable, you know that?”

“Only ‘cause I’m too tired to call the cops.”

Then you saw the scrape under his sleeve. The crusted blood at his lip. That stiff way he was breathing. You sighed again, softer this time. “Joel.”

“I’m fine.”

You raised an eyebrow like you were trying to launch it off your face. “You always this bad at lying or just when you’re concussed?”

You stepped closer, reaching for the hem of his hoodie.

He pulled back a little. “Hey, I’m good—”

“Uh-huh. And I’m Miss Texas.” You shoved him—lightly—back onto the bed. He fell with a soft oof.

“Hey!”

“Quit whining. I’m checking for bleeding.”

“I think I’d notice if I was bleeding.”

“You don’t even notice when I stole that hat. Sit still.”

You peeled his hoodie off, biting your lip when you caught sight of the bruises. His ribs were already turning a mean shade of purple-blue, his eye was swelling, and that cut on his lip looked worse under good lighting.

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “You really won, huh?”

 “Didn’t lose,” he muttered.

You shook your head and turned toward the door.

“Where you goin’?”

“To get frozen peas and regret all my life choices.” You opened the door, pausing. “Don’t move. If you bleed on my pillow, I’ll smother you with it.”

He gave a lazy salute as you slipped out.

You returned a few minutes later, arms full of an ice pack, first-aid stuff, and the last clean towel you were willing to sacrifice. Joel hadn’t moved—except to take off his boots. That was something.

You shut the door with a soft click. “Still here, huh? Guess I didn’t dream this.”

He looked up. “Depends. You usually dream about half-naked guys in your bed?”

You scoffed. “No. They’re usually smarter.”

He smiled, but didn’t argue.

You pointed at the chair. “Sit up. Shirt off.”

He arched a brow. “You're always this bossy with your patients?”

“Only the dumb, bleeding ones.”

He peeled his shirt off slowly as he walked over to the chair, ribs clearly sore. You tried not to look too hard. You failed a little. Just enough.

You had never had a boy naked in your room. Okay, lies. You had never had Joel half-naked. You did this with Tommy, sure. He’d seen you in a bra, even just panties. But this… too much, too fast. Especially for two people like you and Joel.

You pressed the peas against his ribs, and he winced.

“Baby,” you muttered.

“Says the one who shrieked when a moth flew at her face last week.”

“That moth came at me with intent, Joel.”

He chuckled, chest rising under your hand. He was rock solid. Not with muscle, but the feeling of touching around person. His skin was rough here, just like his hands, like his expression, most of his life. You kept your eyes on the icepack, but your awareness shifted—drawn to the slow rise and fall beneath your palm.

Then everything went still.

He wasn’t laughing anymore. Not smiling.

 Just watching.

You could feel it. That shift in the air. The quiet that wasn’t comfortable anymore. Heavy. Coiled.

“You always gonna take care of me like this?” he asked, voice low. Dry.

You didn’t look up. “Only when you’re dumb enough to need it.”

A beat. Then, “So… often.”

Your lips tugged upward, barely. Your heart kicked once, hard. You didn’t let it show.

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

“You got a real sharp tongue,” he muttered.

“You’d be bored without it.”

“Wouldn’t call it boring,” he said after a pause. Not quite agreeing. Not quite disagreeing either.

You moved the icepack again. He tilted his face without you asking, like he’d already given up the fight.

When you pressed it gently to the bruised skin under his eye, he hissed—and his hand shot out without thinking, gripping the back of your thigh.

Not your knee. Not your arm. The high, soft part just beneath the curve of your hip.

You froze.

So did he.

His fingers twitched once, then loosened like he’d just realized what he’d done. “Shit—sorry,” he said, voice rougher than before. Embarrassed. Controlled.

“Y’need something to hold onto,” you muttered, eyes still on the bruising, “I’ll give you a free pass.”

He let out a breath—almost a laugh, almost something else—but he didn’t let go.

“I’m fine,” he said, voice quieter than usual. “Don’t need a crutch.”

You swallowed. “Didn’t say you did. Just said I don’t mind.”

Joel didn’t laugh. He didn’t let go either.

His jaw flexed once. Like he wanted to say something, but didn’t trust whatever might come out.

So he stayed quiet. Fingers still curled into the back of your thigh like it helped him hold steady.

You kept the icepack in place, pretending your skin wasn’t burning under his touch. For a long second, neither of you moved.

You had to look like some sort of movie poster—Joel in your room, shirtless, the lighting low and gold, your bodies too close, too still. His hand on your thigh like it had every right to be there.

Not in a fight.

Not in anger.

Just there.

You weren’t used to that. You weren’t sure he was either.

Always physical fights, not physical normal touches.

Joel didn’t say anything. Just kept his hand there, warm against the back of your thigh, thumb brushing lightly—maybe unintentionally, maybe not. The coldness of the icepack was nothing compared to that.

Another beat. The kind of silence that felt like it might break if either of you so much as blinked the wrong way. Then Joel shifted just slightly, enough for his thumb to brush a little higher up, the touch deliberate this time. Testing.

Your jaw tensed. But you didn’t move away. Didn’t lean in either.

That’s where the line lived. Right there.

In the stillness.

“Joel,” you said, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes weren’t on the ice anymore. Weren’t on your mouth, either—thank God. They were somewhere between, like he couldn’t decide which part of you to look at without it meaning something.

“I ain’t gonna do nothin’,” he said finally. Low. Rough. Serious. “If that’s what you’re thinkin’.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

You didn’t deny it.

His hand finally dropped. A sharp absence that left your skin colder than the ice ever could. You straightened, stepping back the smallest distance—enough to breathe, not enough to forget.

Joel leaned back against the chair. Rolled his shoulder with a faint wince. “You got bad timing.”

For once, you didn’t respond. Just shut up and toss the peas on your desk. You grabbed some of your extra pillows from the closet and your heavy winter blanket. You started to throw them to the side closet to the door. Safety, just in case your dad decided to come check on you.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” Joel said, brows furrowed like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“I’m not letting you take the bed,” you shot back, already halfway into making a pathetic little nest of pillows and a blanket on the floor beside it. “You can barely see outta one eye and you’re limping like you fought a damn bear. Lay your ass down.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not fine.”

“I’ve slept on worse.”

“And I’ve seen worse, and I’m still not letting you—”

Joel didn’t wait for the rest.

One second you were reaching for your next pillow, the next you were airborne—hauled up with a grunt and tossed unceremoniously onto the bed like you weighed nothing.

“Joel!” you yelped, half tangled in the blanket, stunned.

He didn’t even look at you.

“I said you ain’t sleepin’ on the floor,” he muttered, turning his back as he dropped down beside you with a sigh that came from somewhere deep in his chest. “Quit makin’ me repeat myself.”

You scrambled up onto your elbows, staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “Did you just throw me into my own bed?”

“Didn’t throw. Just… relocated.”

“Oh, hell no.” You moved like you were gonna get up, but he stuck an arm out without even looking—barred your way with a tired groan, keeping you trapped between his body and the edge of the bed.

“Try me,” he warned, voice rough, already halfway to sleep. “You’ll be strapped here next time.”

You stared at the back of his head, fuming.

He didn’t budge.

Didn’t smirk. Didn’t gloat. Just… settled there, shoulders rising and falling slow and even, like exhaustion had finally won out.

You laid back with a huff, glaring at the ceiling.

The bed was warm from your body. The space between you wasn’t nearly wide enough.

“You’re such a jackass,” you whispered.

Joel didn’t answer.

But you saw it in the way his shoulder twitched—just a little. Like he’d heard. Like maybe he agreed. Then he flopped onto the bed, his back turned to you.

And still didn’t move an inch.

The silence stretched long in the dark.

You stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, wide awake despite the ache in your bones and the weight of the day behind you. Joel’s breathing had evened out, slow and steady beside you—but something about the way he was lying stiff didn’t quite say asleep.

Eventually, your eyes adjusted, shadows and shapes forming in the dim room. That was when you noticed it.

A dark shape, just below his shoulder blade. Too clean of a line to be dirt, too raw to be old.

You frowned.

There’d been so much blood earlier—you thought you’d checked everything. His ribs, his eye, the cut on his lip. But not his back.

Carefully, slowly, you pushed yourself up on one elbow. The blanket had slipped low, exposing bare skin. A long, purple brush that was inflamed at the edges. Dried blood had crusted around it from some other wound.

You reached out, fingers hovering.

Just to see. Just to—

You traced it, light as a breath, careful not to press too hard.

Joel shivered.

His shoulder twitched. A breath hitched in his throat.

You froze. “Sorry,” you whispered. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I ain’t asleep.”

His voice was low. Rough. But not angry.

You hesitated. “You want me to stop?”

There was a pause. Long enough for you to think maybe he’d fallen asleep after all.

Then, finally:

“…No.”

So you let your fingers trail lower. Slower. Not quite over the wound anymore—but close. You followed the shape of it, the heat of it, brushing the edge of a bruise before gliding to the dip of his spine. Skin that was too warm, too tight. Holding more pain than he’d ever admit.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

So you kept going.

Your palm found the middle of his back, steady and warm. Pressing down just enough to say, I’m still here. That was when he let out a breath—long, rough, and quiet. Like something deep in him had cracked and finally started to leak.

It didn’t scare you. It made you softer.

So you moved closer, slow and deliberate, fitting yourself behind him. Tucking your knees into the backs of his. Curling your arm under his. Letting the whole of you settle against the whole of him.

He froze.

Like someone had cut the wire again.

“…What are you doin’?” he rasped, low and raw, like the sound was being dragged from somewhere he didn’t want you hearing.

“Relax,” you whispered, adjusting your arm so your hand rested just beneath his ribs. “You’re still bleeding. I’m keeping you warm.”

He let out a disbelieving huff. “Since when do you give a damn if I’m warm?”

You shrugged against him. “Since you decided to play human sword for Tommy.”

“I didn’t—” He stopped. Exhaled. “…He was gonna get hurt.”

“I know.” You smoothed your hand over his side. “That’s why I give a damn.”

He didn’t reply. Not for a while.

You could feel him trying to push something back. Lock it behind his ribs and throw away the key.

So you pressed in closer, your voice brushing the skin of his shoulder.

“Be quiet.”

He was.

For a moment, all you heard was the soft rasp of his breathing and the pounding of your own pulse in your ears.

You felt the way his chest rose, stalled, then fell again. A breath half-held and barely released.

No response this time. Not out loud.

But under your palm, you felt it—that flicker of something beneath his ribs. A sigh that didn’t make it all the way out. A tremor that wasn’t pain.

So you didn’t say anything else. You just smoothed your hand over him again, grounding. Gentler now.

His muscles stayed tense, like his body hadn’t caught up with the fact that the fight was over. Like it didn’t know how to unclench.

You waited.

And then, after a long, stretched moment, he shifted just slightly—only enough to lean into the warmth of your touch. Barely there. Barely anything.

But it was permission.

So you moved again, your hand tracing up the slope of his ribs, skimming the bruised plane of his side. You could feel the breath flutter in his lungs, ragged from adrenaline and effort and silence. You didn’t look for words. Not anymore. You just let your hand settle, firm and steady. A tether.

You blinked, heavy and slow with exhaustion, and before you could second-guess it, before your mind could get in the way, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

Soft. Barely there.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

But his body was humming. Every part of him was on alert under your mouth, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to lean into you or run.

You didn’t explain it. You didn’t mean anything by it—at least nothing you had words for. The kiss wasn’t romantic. Wasn’t anything.

Except… it was something.

You let your lips rest there a second longer, then pulled back and let your forehead rest against his spine. Your hand stayed where it was. Anchoring.

The room was so quiet, it felt like even the walls were holding their breath.

No movement. No words.

But after a moment, Joel let out a low, fractured sound in the back of his throat—somewhere between a sigh and a question.

He didn’t move away.

And neither did you.

You let your hand stay exactly where it was, warm and steady on his side. Your knees were still tucked into his. The rhythm of your breaths slowly syncing. His hand slowly coming to rest on yours, large and rough. His fingers tracing your fingernails in little circles.

Not friends. Not enemies. Not anything that made sense.

But still—you stayed.

And so did he.

Woah woah woah. I love a good double upload.

Are you guys eating this up or am eating in the corner by myself.

[nikalaeva]

I just read a post where the author claims to be pro-Nesta, but at the same time justifies explains why the Inner Circle did everything right.

Here are some quotes for an aperitif.

"None of the IC are just disgusting that she’s drinking a lot or having sex or partying"

Really? Why then did infinitely rich Rhysand read out the list of her expenses? Nesta didn't buy unnecessary jewelry, a brothel or a piece of land. Was it necessary to bring your beloved wife to tears, to humiliate your brother by saying that his mate was a shameless spendthrift? This scene shows not the depth of Nesta's problems, but rather that Rhysand is a pathetic douchebag who is used to not paying his warriors (homeless Illyrians send their regards).

"Nesta was also given the choice of if she got help or not. Once again, something Feyre was not"

Mmm, our little star Feyre, my sweet fly in the ointment. I don't know in what parallel universe is it considered a "choice" between prison and a hunting ground where a fairy would be like game. Oh, sorry, the HoW is not a prison? But what do you call a place from which you physically cannot leave and are completely dependent on the guards? Prison is probably better, because the guard does not dream of fucking you every second.

Now to the point.

Feyre doesn't act like a sister. She clearly says that she's ashamed that Nesta is shaming them by not helping the Court after war. She decides that the best way to "help" Nesta is to shame her in front of everyone, and then complain that she's overreacting. Feyre could have gotten Nesta a job in a bar, a dance teacher, a library job with salary, and spend time with sisters on weekends - without Rhysand and his gang of cocksuckers. Feyre and Nesta could have tea in the garden or learn baking with Elain. Feyre could have invited Nesta and Elain to an art class with the kids. Of course, it's so useless compared to being able to swing a sword, and - oh my! - not cool compared to the scene in the swamp.

Well, this illustrates well how powerless Feyre as High Lady is when it comes to improving the citizens' living conditions, and how much Elain doesn't give a shit.

Cassian's "help" would only do a dead man no harm. He wanted to help Nesta so much that he brought her to train with the Illyrians. You know, the warriors who don't accept women or magic, and are cruel even to their own children.

And how thoughtful of the IC to entrust Nesta with the mission of finding the Dread Trove. Yeah, a minute ago she was just a traumatized girl in need of help, but now Feyre is pregnant, Elain has no one to trust to water her garden, and the IC has some other things to do (Rhysand, wake up, you're short-staffed), so Nesta is definitely the one who can be trusted with safety of all of Prythian. What about her bestie Amren? Nah, she's lost all her power and can only spew shit out of her dirty old-hag mouth.

Maybe we should enlist the help of the High Lords like Tarquin, Kallias, Helion? After all, the threat concerns not only the Night Court, and they supposedly forgave that mess at the meeting and are now friends... Haha, don't go crazy. Can "the most powerful High Lord" take such a risk? What if these spineless idiots tell Nesta that she will be better off in their Courts? What if they say that Rhysand has no right to wield the Troves only because Nesta is a citizen of the NC? (which, by the way, she didn't choose either) Sounds like the worst nightmare of his egocentrism and SJM Amren's wet dream of a High King.

I ask a lot of questions and drip with sarcasm bordering on passive aggression because it's as fun as arguing that ACOSF is a great book about healing, family love, power of friendship and redemption. Even if you poured colorful paint on a pile of shit, it would still stink and attract flies. And ignoring the message that in order to heal from psychological trauma you just have to do whatever people who only care about their own emotional comfort say is the same as secretly wrinkling your nose.

But I'm glad there are plenty of people who point their fingers and are not ashamed to say: "This is a pile of shit. Don't pretend it's okay in a public place." You are the best 🫂

[bitacrytic]

Korean school violence dramas are always like:

see this poor girl? she's been beaten everyday and dragged across the classroom floor because her mother sells fish. Look at her, she can't afford a new uniform because the rich bullies have torn hers and now she's coming to school in sportswear. Her family is about to be thrown out and she's just watched her older sister sleep with a loan shark to keep the family's debt at bay. She can't read, can't eat, can't think because she's poor and the bullies are ruthless.

HOWEVER...

being rich isn't fun because... when the rich bully goes home, he has to sit at the huge, beautiful dining table and eat alone because his father is too busy to eat with him. uwu.

[purpurussy]

i have so many thoughts about the "i hate phil" bit but im too tired to articulate myself

[lesbiansanemi]

I have started to accept I am a bit more (re a lot more) psychologically unstable than I thought for a long time and man…. I’m tired of it

[chiistarri]

what if instead of messaging me in the middle of the night about your stupid fucking girlfriend and your stupid fucking problems with her you actually act like my fucking friend and message me like how you message everyone else in our group

[the-physicality]

.

[deathisamotherofbeauty]

sad hours again!! truly can't have dreams in this world <- being dramatic

like not even the retail jobs id like to have want me :( idk I'm so tired bc what even if the point of anything

[classyrbf]

IS THERE SOMEONE ELSE! — GOJO SATORU

SYNOPSIS...you and gojo get into a fight after realizing that he’s been hiding something about your relationship the entire time

INFO...gojo x fem!reader, angsty, arguing, breaking up(?), not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

You slam the door to the penthouse, your heels clicking against the mahogany floors with each step. You toss your purse on the couch, hearing Gojo opening the front door and shutting it quickly. “Baby, please just listen to me.” He pleads, following after you.

“I don’t wanna hear your bullshit excuse, Satoru.” You roll your eyes, plopping down on the edge of the bed to relieve your sore feet of the heels you’ve been wearing all night to your boyfriends opening event he’s been planning for months now.

“I’m not trying to make excuses. Please.” He walks over towards you and toss your heel at him. “Stop throwing shit and just talk to me!”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” You stand to your feet, glaring daggers at him. “Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? God, you’re a fucking asshole.” You seethe, narrowing your eyes. “I sat there all alone, while you let some woman feel up on you the entire night? Are you out your fucking mind?” You scoff.

“She’s just an old friend, y/n. I swear I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” He shakes his head at you, grabbing onto your arms tightly.

“Oh, yeah? So I when I came up and introduced myself as your girlfriend none of your friends were looking at me like I was crazy? I know we’ve been only together for a year, Satoru, but that’s fucking low.” You pull away from him. “They didn’t even know who I was. Then you got miss prissy bitch clearly flirting with you in front of me and you didn’t do a damn thing to stop it!” You brush past him, stomping over towards the bathroom.

“Slow down, y/n! Baby—”

“I’m not your fucking ‘baby’, Satoru.” You gather all of your products from the bathroom, from your makeup and skincare to your clothes and shampoo.

“Stop for just one second.” He spins you around so you’re facing him. “Don’t leave. I swear you’re the only girl for me. I know I fucked up, I know I did. I embarrassed you, made you look stupid and I am so fucking sorry. But please do not leave.” He cups your face gently and his touch feels so inviting, but you can’t forgive him that easily. “I only want you. I only need you.”

You look up at him through your lashes, swallowing thickly as you bite the inside of your cheek. “Should’ve thought about that when you let her kiss your cheek and you smiled at her. Right in front of me. Get the fuck off of me.” You push him, rushing to grab your bag from the closet.

Gojo lets out a tired sigh, following you. He wasn’t going to let you go. Not like this. “I shouldn’t have let her near me.”

“Why was she so comfortable with being that close to you, huh?” You question, furrowing your brows as you turn to look at him. “Now that I think about it. Let me guess, you two were more than just friends.” You stand to your feet, snatching your clothes off the hangers and shoving them into your bag. He looks at you, opening his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. And from the look in his eyes, you already knew the truth. A bitter laugh leaves your lips, shaking your head in disappointment.

“It was before you! Before us! We never dated it was just a small thing between me and her!” He tried to explain. “Baby, I swear! Once I met you, everything changed. I cut her off and focused all my attention on you. You’re the only who has my heart.” He grabbed your wrist only for you to pull away.

“Clearly I ain’t the only who who’s got your dick, though.” You slam the closet door shut, turning your back towards him.

“Don’t say that, y/n. That’s the first time I’ve seen her in years!”

“Yeah? Well all your friends sure know about her. She must’ve been great in bed, Satoru. Me? Well, they looked at me like I was a fucking ghost!” You scoff. “Like I was some delusional bitch who came up to you and said I was your girlfriend!” You throw your hands up in disbelief. “You must take me for fucking joke. It must be written on my forehead or something!”

“I don’t take you for a joke! You’re my goddamn girlfriend. You live with me. You have my initial around your fucking neck! I love you and you know that!” He takes a step towards you.

“Do I know that?” You ask aloud, cocking your head to the side.

“What—of course I love you. What the fuck are you saying?” He looked at you with pure confusion.

“You’re a joke. One of your friends, Shoko, pulled me aside and told me the only reason you got with me is because your little fling ended up getting a boyfriend herself around the time we started dating. You’re a piece of shit.” You revealed the truth to him, watching him stare at you blankly, lost for words. “Think I wouldn’t find out?” You ripped off the necklace with his initial, tossing it at him.

“Yes, I was upset that she got a boyfriend but—”

“So you had feelings for her. And just to cover them up, you got with me as a distraction.” You step closer towards him. “Listen to me, Satoru, don’t ever try and contact me again, keep whatever fucking gifts you bought me and return them, sell them, do whatever because I am done,” you spoke through gritted teeth.

“No, no, no, baby. You can’t leave me. Yea I liked her before, but so fucking what? I was never in love with her, not like I am with you. I was too fucking stupid. I still am! Just give me another chance to fix this. I don’t want us to end this way.” He grabs your packed bag from your hands and tosses it on the bed.

“Let me go, Satoru.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I can’t. You’re everything to me. She’s nothing compared to you.” He sniffles, holding your hands in his. “I love you so much and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. I’m sorry I embarrassed you. And I’m sorry for entertaining the idea that she could even come close to you. She can’t.” His hands cupped your face, his heart pounding in anticipation as he waited to hear any words from you.

You reached up, pulling his hands away from your face. “Bye, Satoru.” You walked past him, grabbing your bag off of the bed. As much as it hurt to leave, you knew you had to respect yourself. Time and space was what you needed to think. With each step out the door, you could hear Gojo’s sobs, something you’ve never heard before in the year you’ve been with him. For the strong, flashily and confident man he is, you never once thought you’d see or him break down. Especially not for you.

[soupforstars]

i was not meant to be someone who writes on paper in a normal, not-feral way. i either am supposed to be typing, or scribbling shit down on paper with charcoal like im alex kralie from marble goddamn hornets. fuck this precision shit

[jiminrings]

mature drabble: jealousy

wherein you become a TA alongside yoongi, and jungkook has no choice but to prove his superiority in other ways

[ smut, unprotected sex, oral, jealousy, slight dumbification kink AND praise kink, he’s a little dense and a little mean and beyond endearing (like always), he Wants so badly to give a creampie (so he does), hints of possessiveness, overstimulation, typical mature!jk levels of yearning n overcompensation ]

read mature here!

If you had to isolate one thing about Jungkook (just one, singular thing) that both annoys the living hell out of you and endears you to him to the point that it gets you closer, if that was even possible — it would be his inability to let go of things.

In his process of climbing up the ranks to become your boyfriend, Jungkook’s inability to let you distance yourself from him without getting into numerous fights and an incessant amount of groveling cemented him in your life in the first place.

He’s mouthy and nitpicky, yet he knows diligently when to shut up and just take it. He harnesses the perfect amount of stubbornness that would make you cave after several negotiations here and there, but never excessive to the point that you’d feel the need to post about him on Reddit with a seething heading of “my partner M27 pretends to faint in front of me every time I tell him I don’t want to cuddle”. 

(Jungkook isn’t even faking it.)

Jungkook knows that he’s not the go-to guy for a lot of practical things. He knows that he’s not the one you run to when you need to go over your reviewer for your oral exam that’s worth 70% of your grade, because that’s Yoongi’s place.

Jungkook’s there when you need to get your shirt ironed to perfection without any creases (even in the tricky part of the underarm-to-midline area), and he’s also there when you need someone to poke holes at your seemingly airtight presentation proposal. He is there, but it doesn’t mean he’s the best guy for the job.

Jungkook is and will be there for anything that you need, require, and desire of the world even, but he knows to himself that he can’t be utilized in the way you can bond with Yoongi.

(He hates that stupid, intellectual son of a bitch.)

Your boyfriend knows in his heart of hearts (he knows that it exists somehow and someway) that although he’s not the most optimal partner around for the technical, higher-process things that fill up your everyday life, he’s trying his best to catch up. Jungkook studies voluntarily now (70% to impress you and get you to call him your smart boy, and 50% to make an attempt at getting an above passing grade in all his classes) and even better than before, he loves listening to you.

Jungkook, your (occasionally smart) beloved, listens when you tell him about your day.

He listens and hums and replies when you tell him how tiring it is to be a TA, and how you’re simultaneously excited because it feels so fulfilling to be praised and approached.

He listens and laughs and his eyes twitch slightly when you tell him how fun it is to be a TA alongside Yoongi, because the both of you would have glowing recommendations after the gig and your superiors keep telling you that you’d probably end up at the same place of work after graduation.

He listens and smiles very tightly and squeezes his fists roughly against your pillows when you tell him how some juniors keep muttering that they want to have the uni experience of being smart and being a TA with their partners, supposedly like how you and Yoongi look to them.

Jungkook, a man of his word, will catch up to you.

Jungkook, a man of his word and an even bigger man of his overcompensation, will beat Yoongi.

“You know what they say about guys with big brains,” your boyfriend tuts out of nowhere, looking up from his laptop that only had Yoongi’s LinkedIn profile up for the past half hour while he stews in annoyance. “Really, really small dicks.”

“Where’d that come from?” you immediately snicker, looking up from your actual reviewer, putting your highlighter down to indulge Jungkook in what you’re sure of is just a random conversation.

Just a random conversation out of nowhere that’s totally not fueled by the jealousy he’s been harboring the past few weeks.

“I’m not citing my sources to you,” Jungkook huffs, closing his screen unceremoniously before crossing his arms, shaking his head slowly. “Such a shame about Yoongi.”

Now that you think about, you should’ve seen it coming from a mile away.

You should’ve been suspicious when it was Jungkook himself who asked how Yoongi did awhile ago with a shit-eating grin on his face, as if he’s just gathering all the pent-up frustration he has for the sake of being over with it.

You snort at the implication, the excitement of what could possibly be running in Jungkook’s mind slowly hitting you. “Well, I heard from a friend that he’s really end-…”

“Don’t give a fuck,” he rasps immediately, clicking his tongue. He doesn’t want to hear about what you heard about Y**ngi being well-endowed. He doesn’t want to hear anything but you.

“When you said that fun trivia,” you start, rolling your eyes playfully as you stand up from your desk, joining him on the bed. Jungkook doesn’t move an inch like he usually does to accommodate you; he just lies there, seeing you adjust to his strapping figure on your twin bed. “You do know that you were kind of insulting yourself, right?”

“That I’m not smart but I can fuck you dumb?” he shrugs carelessly, willing himself to not react when you sit on his lap seemingly innocently, embracing him warmly whilst fixing his bangs. “Not really an insult to me.”

The laugh that leaves your lips was purely unintentional.

“You don’t believe me?” he tilts his head, his eyes still bordering on playful yet there’s something behind them that’s even bigger, something you can place as none other but Jungkook’s sheer will to prove himself.

“I don’t think you’re dumb, Kook,” you placate him, the gentle smile you have on your face breaking at the edges into something more intoxicating for him; something more provocative that would set him over his limits. “Just like I believe you haven’t exactly fucked me dumb either.”

The grin on your boyfriend’s face would be appalling if not for the stern grip he has on your thighs, fingers digging resolutely at the flesh with the politest, most harmless known tone to man, even if his words were anything but.

“Now you sound like the dumb one between us,” Jungkook laughs, his sweet laughter going straight to your ears as he noses your cheeks, teeth grazing your jaw as he refuses to kiss you when you try and catch him. “You don’t remember, baby? Don’t remember how I’m the only one who can worship you like this?”

Within a split second, Jungkook strips you out of your tank top that’s far too tight on you, immediately making your boobs spring out right in front of his face like the universe intended for him alone.

Your boyfriend, never losing his thoroughly amused and offensive grin, cups your boobs harshly to the point that he pulls you even closer to him, tongue grazing at your nipples that peek out in between his reddened knuckles.

“Kook…” you swallow the lump in your throat, exhaling shakily when Jungkook keeps you upright with one arm against him, the other doing quick work of shimmying you out of your panties like it’s a test item he can answer in his sleep. “Yoongi’s j-just next door, I don’t think-…”

“Oh, I know that,” he hums, his large, tattooed hand traveling from the small of your back and all the way to your scalp, his trimmed fingernails just barely grazing your hair when he tugs, setting you down on the pillow while he hovers above you. “He can think about how smarter he is than me alll he wants,” he hums, taking his clothes off while conveniently ignoring the way your heartbeat keeps pulsing uncontrollably with barely controlled lust, but Jungkook, just this once, would like to think that he’s better than you.

Jungkook, just this once, would like the upper hand completely when it comes to pleasing you, unwavering to your insistent demands of him giving you what you want, exactly when you want it.

Your boyfriend is not and will never be the one to deprive you of anything; as a matter of fact, he’d like to give you everything— far more than you’re ever asking and deserving of, just as his idea of getting even.

“But he’ll never get to beat me when it comes to fucking you.”

“Yoongi’s not challenging-…” you interrupt yourself the moment Jungkook inserts two fingers right from the start, curling them immediately out of muscle memory. You seethe at the intense, overwhelming pressure he gives to you without even begging for it, the warmth of his digits still being no match to the dumb, willful anger in his face; Jungkook’s so mad and determined, his cheeks turned pink just thinking of how to bend you at his mercy. 

“He’s just-..! He’s just trying to get in your nerves, that’s all,” you whisper shakily, hands darting to try and grip onto his hair but Jungkook pushes your hands away, instead redirecting them harshly to keep yourself open. “It’s all just… rage bait, baby. You know that.”

Jungkook laughs thickly, shaking his head as he can quite literally see your struggle for words. You’re dripping wet and trembling, and yet you still want to placate him as if it would save your case.

“And you think I’m not gonna leap on it? I literally will be baited into rage. You know how dumb I am,” he huffs, the addition of a third finger into your pussy that’s already sopping wet making you writhe in sweet tension still, the pleasured cry that leaves you without inhibition making Jungkook even rougher. “You know how dumb I can go just trying to please you.”

There’s a sickly sweet sense of pride that fills Jungkook when he sees you keeping yourself open for him despite your legs aching to clamp down and squeeze on his fingers.

There’s a sickly sweet and overwhelming sense of cockiness that only Jungkook could feel at the moment when he rubs the entirety of his palm roughly against your folds, barely cupping and moving yet all your juices quickly spread, the rough pads of his palm only amplifying the punishing pace of his digits inside you.

"Feel too good, sweetheart? Haven't even become precise with it," Jungkook laughs, biting his bottom lip as he savors in the way your mouth couldn’t even close with the amount of gasps and moans that leave you desperately.

“Fucking arrogant ass," you whisper under your breath in between whimpers, your attempt of a dig at him becoming futile because Jungkook immediately stops rubbing his palm against your core, landing a rough slap against your folds instead.

"What's that now?" he asks, voice deepening as he straightens up, rolling your clit in between his fingers menacingly. The high-pitched, needy moans that leave you make Jungkook even more smug, your frustration making your head jerk repeatedly against the cushions. "I'm not saying it's rocket science to make you cum, baby. I'm not a nerd like Yoongi," he hums, the smile on his face widening the more that you plead at him. "I'm just saying..." Jungkook lulls, burying his fingers knuckle deep before pounding you with them repeatedly, making your entire being squirm upwards at his insistence of making you cum messily. "It takes a whole lot of devotion for it to come easy to me."

“I-I’m gonna— fuck, fuck, f-fuck!” you blubber at your release, crying out as Jungkook dips his head to your pussy (partly admiring at his handiwork, and mostly criticizing himself because it was just not enough for him), grabbing you by your thighs and setting them flush against his face until there's no gap; until he feels lightheaded.

Jungkook eats you out fervently like you’ve always depraved him of such a blessing, your cum still warm as it hasn’t even finished dripping out of you yet your boyfriend laps you up regardless, eyes closed and breathing ragged.

It just wasn’t enough for Jungkook. Getting you to cum felt less like a feat and more of an intimidation for himself, proposed by himself, because Jungkook didn’t want to stop.

He didn’t want to stop eating you out scandalously with his biceps curling in on your thighs, refusing to stop making you feel good as you practically tremor in his hold. He didn’t want to stop being better; he didn’t want to stop catching up with you with none other than his appetite and will.

“Y-you don’t have to-…” you whisper as you shake, the never-ending cycle of Jungkook’s tongue fucking you and cleaning you from the inside making your back arch from the mattress in overstimulation. “Fuck, Jungkook. I-I think I’m-…”

“Isn’t that so stupid, baby?” he giggles sweetly, the entire lower half of his face covered by your cum and his spit, lips reddened and swollen from how hard he’s going. “Gonna cum twice and I haven’t even put my cock in you?” he frowns playfully. 

“My smart girl,” Jungkook lulls, talking against your folds as his hands knead your skin even harsher, barely matching up to the sheer desperation in his mind that being inside you wouldn’t even be enough. 

He doesn’t take mercy on you, and you don’t even ask for it. You take what Jungkook gives you and even then, it wouldn’t be enough. Even if he rises to his full height and pulls you to the edge of the bed, lining his cock perfectly into your tight pussy that does nothing but suck him into a warmth that would never not stop feeling new and overwhelming for him, it wouldn’t be enough.

“Feel good? Feel good looking stupid on my big, dumb cock?”

“So— s-so good, baby. I-I can’t-…” you whimper, your cheeks sticky with your tears and Jungkook’s open-mouthed kisses that you keep asking for because you can’t be any closer than this; you think you can’t be any more satisfied than this in your life and it makes you cry even harder. “Can’t…. c-can’t talk. I can’t stop c-cumming."

“I can’t hear you,” Jungkook sing-songs, his pace punishing to the point that your skin burns at the impact of his thrusts, body moving alongside every push Jungkook gives you. “My silly girl. Thought you had all the words?” he laughs, gnawing on his bottom lip in amusement when he sees your eyes getting crossed slowly the harder that he slams into your sweet spot. “You need cue cards, is that it, baby? Y’need to brainstorm with Yoongi for them?”

“No, no, n-no!” you ramble, shaking your head desperately. “I-I don’t— d-don’t need Yoongi. I don’t, I-I swear!”

“Then what do you need, hm?” Jungkook asks, prying your lips open with his fingers, your tongue immediately darting out even before he could gather enough of his saliva to spit in your mouth scandalously. “Need you to spell it out for me, pretty girl. I can’t understand otherwise,” he spits, pupils blown out as you immediately swallow what he gives you, mouth parting open slightly to try and respond clearly yet you struggle.

“I just— ffffuck!” you groan, the rough, calculated pull of your hair right  when he thrusts into you harshly with all of his weight making you sob in pleasure. “Just n-need you, Jungkook! Just you!” 

“Just me? Cute,” he pants, the white edging at his vision making Jungkook feel truly, madly, and sincerely grateful of the universe rewarding him in exchange of all his dumb misfortunes before you. Jungkook feels so good that he could cry. “Can you explain that to me?”

The sincerely annoyed groan that leaves you in frustration in between all of your pleasured moans makes Jungkook throw his head back in laughter, the crawl of both of his hands towards your neck cutting your annoyance short.

“You mad?” he sing-songs, the quiet, panicked chants that leave your lips for his change of pace making Jungkook’s ear ring nonetheless. “Aww, but I slowed down just so you could talk again.”

The look that you give Jungkook– eyes red and lashes wet, lips puffy and bearing evidence of him— is enough to make any living being sink to their knees and devote their lives to you.

Jungkook, however, wants to be the lone devotee, and he wants to make it perfectly clear.

“But I don’t want you to,” you whine, the temporary gift of regaining your voice and your words only irking you.

“Don’t wanna give me a presentation? But you’re so good at those, baby,” Jungkook frowns, his pace only slow and barely noticeable, if not for his size that you still haven’t accustomed to no matter how many times he fucks you.

“I-I… I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper in admission, eyes wet for a completely different reason this time, tugging at his heartstrings.

Jungkook tilts his head as if asking you to elaborate, thumb wiping at your tears.

At the very moment, Jungkook decides that true, absolute strength is always giving what you want, whenever you want it.

“I want you to keep fucking me dumb again.”

Jungkook doesn’t waste a single second before bottoming out completely, his calloused hands adjusting you repeatedly as you moan fervently because no matter what, Jungkook feels like he's not close enough to you. He'll remain to feel like he hasn't bottomed out completely until he finds that spot of yours that completely dissolves you into his hold, all for him to mend.

Jungkook folds you in half with both your legs raised, putting you in a mating press with the entirety of his weight, the unbearable squeak and the drawled out, pornographic moan that leaves you after making him sigh in relief.

“Like this?” he whispers to your ear, pace slow and punishing yet deep; far deeper, closer, and more crushing than he’s ever been in you. “Until— fuck, fuckkk— u-until you’re drooling again? ’Til all you can do is say my name?”

“Say it, Y/N,” Jungkook insists. “Say— s-say I’m better than him.”

You moan graphically at the entirely new sensation of being full of nothing but Jungkook in all senses, your words coming out desperate and resolute.

“Give it.”

“What?”

“Give me a creampie,” you grit, scratching your nails against his back, making him whimper. “Give me your cum, Kook.”

“W-what?” he stutters, breath evidently shallowing at your command.

“Give it,” you practically snarl, your desire bleeding out evidently into Jungkook’s bloodstrean. “I-I already know you’re better than him, Jungkook. I… I just need you to prove it.”

“This is not proof enough?” Jungkook switches in an instant, his brief moment of shock and disbelief being overwhelmed by your desire that’s always been his. “N-need me to— holy shit-…! Need me to stuff you with my cum so we’d know?”

“Yeah. T-there’s not other way, right? How would we know?” you indulge him, nodding your head continuously as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten, the weight of Jungkook’s cock in you getting heavier by the second. “My dumb, dumb baby. How are we gonna know how stupid I’ll look if you don’t cum in me?”

Jungkook realizes then, that the upper hand he’ll have over you is by giving you what you want, always, because it’s all he’ll ever want too.

“Y-you’re right. So, so smart, sweetheart,” he concedes, gripping your jaw. “Look at me, baby,” he whispers, eyes boring into you deeply. “Need you to know that I’m the only one who can see you like this, yeah?” Jungkook pouts, talking you through both of your desperation. “That I’m the only one who can fuck you dumb,” he hums. “And how I’m the only one who can see that stupid look on your face.”

“Just you,” you nod without a single dust of doubt, screwing your eyes shut when you feel full beyond your limits within an instant, Jungkook’s cum shooting into you with all its warmth and fulfillment of stuffing you making you squirt.

Jungkook stays inside you as he writhes in overstimulation, the moans that leave him paying absolutely no mind to your neighbors because at this point, it had totally slipped his mind that he went into pleasuring you trying to get even at Yoongi.

Your boyfriend peppers you in kisses as you come down from your high, his own cheeks smeared with his tears as he nibbles at your shoulder out of habit.

“Can I creampie you next time again, please? Like, not just a special occasions thing?” he mumbles sheepishly after some time, looking up at you with his head pressed to your chest.

“The special occasion tonight was you being jealous,” you retort, rolling your eyes at Jungkook’s meekness as if he wasn’t just rearranging your guts minutes ago.

“Thanks for the correction. Let me revise,” he returns your attitude, picking up your habit of rolling your eyes as he clears his throat. “Can I cum in you henceforth?”

“Smartest thing you ever said,” you joke, shaking your head.

“I know,” Jungkook giggles boyishly, tucking his face into the crook of your neck in shyness. “I felt my temple pulse with that one.”

[littlelamy]

you were right!

a/n: okay, i know you guys might be tired of me doing these but this is my last one! i hope you all like it 😜 gifs from @rafeyscurtainbangs

The blazing Moroccan sun beats down on Rafe, its intensity mirrored by the firestorm raging in his mind. Dust hangs in the air around him, adding to the harshness of the moment as he stands over the well. Below, Groff coughs and groans, his face contorted in pain, but Rafe barely spares him a second glance. His rage overpowers everything else, even the satisfaction he should feel. He narrows his eyes, voice laced with anger and finality.

“Checkmate, bitch!” he yells down, his words slicing through the hot, tense air. The motorcycle engine he’d used to get out here sits idle a few feet away, rumbling like his frustration.

He turns on his heel, muttering a curse, fists clenched. As he stalks away from the well, he pulls out his phone and dials Sofia’s number, his chest tight with the realization that everything he thought he knew was a lie.

Sofia answers after two rings, her voice as casual as if he hadn’t just found out about her betrayal. “Hey, babe, what’s up ?”

Rafe’s voice is steely, cold. “Is it true? Is it true, what Groff just told me? Is it?”

The silence on her end is all he needs. He can practically hear her scrambling for words, but she never manages to answer. His face twists in anger.

“Pack your shit. Get out of my house,” he snarls, a final, unforgiving edge in his voice. “God, after everything I did for you? We’re done. Done.” He hangs up before she can say another word, shoving his phone back into his pocket with a bitter scoff. Betrayed, twice over—and he’d ignored the only person who saw it coming.

He stands there, baking in the Moroccan heat, his mind racing back to a month ago in Kildare, when you and he had argued over Sofia. You’d warned him that she wasn’t who she seemed. He’d brushed you off, accusing you of jealousy—knowing damn well that there was more to it. You were his best friend, but it was complicated; that line had already been crossed too many times, with late-night kisses and tangled sheets. But you two hadn’t spoken since that fight, since the way he’d brushed you off had hurt deeper than either of you cared to admit.

Taking a breath, he pulls out his phone again, fingers hovering over your name. He hesitates, swallowing his pride, before finally pressing call.

The phone rings, and you pick up after a few moments, your voice tight with annoyance. “What, Rafe?”

Your tone makes him pause, but the way you sound almost comforts him, even with the irritation clear in your voice. You’re there—back in Kildare, probably sitting cozy in your little apartment. Meanwhile, he’s out here under the scorching sun, alone, trying to piece together his pride.

He clears his throat. “Hey… princess,” he says, voice softened, the pet name slipping out before he can stop it. He can almost feel you rolling your eyes on the other end, but he presses on, the words weighing heavy on him. “I—uh… Look, I’m sorry. You were right.”

There’s a surprised pause, and he hears you shift in your seat as if you’re debating whether to hang up or let him speak. When you do answer, your tone is a bit softer, cautious.

“What happened?”

Rafe lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Turns out Sofia was exactly who you said she was. A snake. And here I was, thinking you were just being… petty. But I guess I’m the idiot, huh?”

You breathe out, and he can picture you shaking your head, lips pressed together. “You wouldn’t listen,” you say quietly, as if the words hold more hurt than anger.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in his voice. “I know. I was so damn sure you were just jealous. I mean—” He pauses, grappling with how to say it. “Hell, I thought you were jealous because you… I don’t know. I thought you didn’t want me with her because we…” His voice trails off, but the implication lingers between you.

“Yeah,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I get it.”

Rafe bites his lip, letting the words sink in. “Can I see you? I’m done here in a few days, and I could be back in Kildare very soon. I could stop by, explain… properly.”

A beat passes, and when you finally speak, it’s careful, guarded. “After everything you said last time, why should I?”

He laughs softly, almost self-deprecating. “Because I think you might be the only person I can trust right now. And… I miss you.” His voice drops, laced with a warmth he can’t help. “Even if you’re just going to gloat and rub it in my face.”

You chuckle, and he smiles, savoring the sound. “I don’t know if I miss you or if I just feel sorry for you,” you tease, but the playfulness is back in your tone, if only faintly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, amusement lacing his words. “Act like you don’t care. But come on, you miss me. Admit it.”

A small silence follows, and he imagines the way your lips twitch into a smile. Finally, you relent. “Maybe a little. But you’re bringing wine. Good wine.”

“Oh, don’t worry, baby,” he says, the flirtation back in his voice. “Only the best for you.”

You scoff, but he hears the hint of a laugh. It’s the closest thing he’s had to a good moment in a long time. He takes a breath, savoring the thought of leaving this mess behind and getting back to Kildare—back to the only person who knew him well enough to call him out, and care anyway. As the call ends, he puts his phone in his pocket, a grin spreading across his face, motivating him to get that crown and go to his princess.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif

[ohmybueckers]

big ole freak - paige bueckers x reader

Summary: you're Paige's sneaky link and have her absolutely wrapped around your finger

Themes & Warnings: kinda sub Paige, driving while intoxicated (this is NOT an endorsement please do NOT do this), car sex, light choking kink, strap-on sex, oral sex, slight degradation, maybe one line of breeding kink, filth, like actual filth (with like a little bit of fluff at the end)

Author's Note: inspired by big ole freak by my mother megan thee stallion y'all i've had this idea brewing for a month so glad it's finally out in the world. special shoutout to my uconn hot girl twin @sierrale8ne and all the other hotties out there. In the wise words of meg... "your honor, i'm a freak bitch." happy reading <3

“He hit my phone with a horse

So I know that mean come over and ride it”

Wednesday nights were hit or miss at UConn - either you loaded all of your courses on Monday and Wednesday and had the night to chill, or you were prepping for a horrendous end to your week. You were in the former category, deciding to attend a party hosted by a friend of a friend you hardly knew - labelled a “wine Wednesday” party to anyone who asked why the fuck anyone would throw on a weeknight that wasn’t Thursday. 

You maybe made it through one glass of cheap rose before your night evolved how most nights ended up in the not-so-bustling town of Storrs, Connecticut: sitting out by the fire pit of the beaten down rental house with your friends in a circle, passing a joint around and talking shit (about professors, exes, parents… no one was off limits in the rotation) under the glow of some poorly strung lights.

Though you hadn’t touched another glass since your first inhale, knowing that you were not risking getting crossfaded tonight, it didn’t help much. You always seemed to forget that weed and parties did not mix well for you. Every sound felt heightened yet muffled at the same time, from the bass of the music to the conversation your friends were having around you. Your skin burned, heat flooding down your back in a way that almost made you squirm.

You needed an out, and soon.

Your savior came in the form of two buzzes in quick succession from your phone on your lap. Though you typically aimed at staying present when surrounded by others, you ruled this as a worthy exception. You lifted it, immediately shifting it away from your friends’ view as you read the texts from the all too familiar contact.

Paige: wyd rn?

Paige: wanna see you tonight pretty girl

“Nobody know, I fuck with him on the low”

If you told the version of yourself two months ago that you would end up fucking Paige Bueckers, she would have laughed in your face. It was no secret to anyone in your friend group, many of whom had come in close contact with UConn athletes, that she had an extensive history, none of them sticking around for longer than a couple of nights. You refused to be yet another victim to community dick (in this case, community strap). Maybe you would be a little less put off by the idea of getting with someone with a reputation like Paige if she wasn’t so cocky about it, like she got off on the idea that girls were obsessed with her. 

And then the two of you met on a night out at Ted’s, where she insisted on buying your drink (you told your friends afterwards that you let her for economical reasons). You attempted to stick with your friends that night, tired of your past filled with messy hookups that never led anywhere, but of course they all decided to mingle with the basketball team. Meaning Paige had the rest of the night to throw looks your way, practically eye fucking you. You hated to admit it, but you understood why girls were into Paige beyond aesthetic reasons: she was incredibly witty, quick to poke gentle fun at her friends while also making jokes about herself. Though it was clear in the few times she brought it up she loved what she did, it didn’t feel like the entire conversation revolved around her being a basketball star. And you couldn’t deny the way her gaze made you feel, like you were the only person there. And you hated it.

When you allowed Paige to put her number in your phone, you would also insist that it was due to bragging rights and had no intention of contacting her again. And when you texted her that night with just your name, you almost convinced yourself it was just the polite thing to do.

The two of you texted frequently throughout the week, with some time between messages due to her busy practice schedule and your insistence on not seeming like an overly obsessed groupie. You didn’t need to fuel her ego, no matter how much her attempts at flirting caused an ache between your thighs and how many times you’ve resorted to nights alone in your room, a chorus of moans filling the space as images of blue eyes and toned arms overwhelm you. Sure, you wanted to fuck her. But one thing you knew: if it was happening, it was happening under your terms.

It finally did around a week later, after a great afternoon showing for the Huskies in Gampel Pavilion. You stood in the student section, watching her light up the court in ways very few people could. The crowd was electric with every assist she made to Azzi, every time she made a clean three point shot, and with every effort she made to hype up the crowd. She truly was in her element. you would be lying if you said it didn’t tempt you.

Still buzzed from your tailgate beforehand, you texted her to say congratulations, to which she responded with a trademark Paige Bueckers flirty comment. It was certainly not the first time she had attempted this with you, so you weren’t sure why this time was any different. Maybe it was the liquid courage, but before you could think twice, you replied. 

“want me to show you how winners get treated?”

That’s how you ended the night tangled in Paige’s sheets and long, strong limbs. Basking in your post orgasm glow knowing that throughout the entire exchange you were in control, even when you were receiving. For the first time in a long, long time, a hookup felt good. 

You and Paige continued texting, this time more frequently. You were fully expecting Paige to be the type to hit it and quit it, as she had done many times before, but having a taste of you just seemed to make her want you more. And yet you never told your friends about any of it. Not because you were ashamed or anything, but because you knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. It almost never did with athletes, even ones that kiss your forehead and text you good morning every day. Though you were fully expecting it to end at some point, you really didn’t want to deal with your friends making it a huge deal. Even if there was a little part of you, a voice in your head you did everything to silence, that told you maybe you didn’t want her to go.

“We never show up together but I text him when I'm ready to go”

A half assed excuse left your lips as you walked away from the couch circle and closer to the trees, far enough away so nobody would hear when you pressed an all too familiar contact and made the call. The phone hardly needed to ring one time before her end of the line was overwhelmed by a cacophony of loud voices. Unless your ears were deceiving you, you swore you could hear KK scream “liar!” at someone

“Hey pretty gir- aye! Be quiet one moment!” Her attempt at being quiet quickly escalated to a yell, presumably at one of her teammates, before returning to your conversation with an apologetic tone, “Sorry, I’m at Aubrey’s.”

Why the UConn girls were seemingly partying on a Wednesday night was beyond your comprehension, but it was honestly the last thing on your mind in that moment. “‘Wanna see you tonight’, huh? Tryin to ditch your teammates?”

“They’re all too invested in Mario Party to care. Besides,” She paused, her voice getting quieter (and unless you were hearing things wrong, more vulnerable), “It’s worth it for you.”

You knew what you wanted, and boy you were going to get it. With a sickly sweet grin you asked, “Pick me up in ten?”

“I had a couple of shots at the bar

I'm finna play with that dick in the car"

You knew the second you shut the door to Paige’s car and kissed her that she had been drinking that night, the presence of liquor on her lips. You would be so ready to scold her for driving under the influence, tell her she should not play with her life like that, if you weren’t also just appreciative for any out you could get. Besides, as long as she was telling the truth, she was only a couple shots deep. The weed in your system had dulled down at this point, and instead of feeling overwhelmed from the noise around you, you were overwhelmed by the urge to have Paige the way you wanted to. especially with how she looked now, glasses on and hair thrown into a messy ponytail, silver chain accessorizing her sweat set. God, you didn’t even know if you could make it to her bed.

“This new?” She asks about two minutes into the twelve minute drive, gesturing to your top. It was an old one, found in the bottom of one of your bins of clothes while you were searching for a going out top that would allow you to put off doing laundry for another day. It worked well enough - a simple crop top with a flattering neckline. “Looks really good.”

“Nah, kept it from freshman year,” You replied, head braced by your arm against the side of the car staring at the girl next to you. Paige had a grip on her steering wheel, eyes focused on the practically empty roads leading to her apartment. A part of you was very thankful she was being cautious given the circumstances. But another part of you, a more sinister voice, wanted to try something.

Your manicured hands traced up your torso, your own touch nearly making you gasp. Damn, you really were that desperate. Your nails played with the hem of your shirt, gently pulling it up towards your breasts as the air conditioning hit more and more of your skin. “This is new though.”

Paige hit a red light, making a confused sound before her eyes met yours. They didn’t stay there long before trailing down, past your neck and to the bra that currently had your tits pushed to the sky, one hand reaching around to cup one as you licked your lips. Your top could hardly be considered one anymore, pooled at your collarbone as you continued touching yourself. You maintained your gaze, looking at the blonde like she was prey as her tongue met her cheek inside her mouth, a loud swallow going down her throat.

When she finally spoke, it was a breathless chuckle that revealed just what kind of effect you had on her as she shook her head. “You’re something else.”

The green light flashed into the car, prompting her to return her gaze back to the road and press on the gas. Google Maps said you were eight minutes away, but judging by the way your finger was tracing around your bra covered nipple, you weren’t sure if you could wait that long. And if the way Paige’s eyes were bugging out of her head at the road attempting to not look at you were any indication, you knew she felt the same. “Paige?”

“Mhmm?” She asked through gritted teeth, hanging on to her last thread of self control.

“Pull over.”

————

“That’s it, just like that… fuck.”

You nodded in Paige’s pussy, nails grazing her thighs. The set up could be more ideal: All six feet of her were crammed in the backseat, sweats pooled at her ankles as you sat almost diagonal in order to have a more comfortable position. Neither of you really seemed to care all that much, too intoxicated off of each other and your respective substances. Besides, judging by the way Paige massaged your neck and whined, you wouldn’t be here long.

You only needed two more minutes eating Paige out like she was your last meal before her grip tightened at the back of your neck, cumming with a cry of your name. You ate her through it, slurping her up like ice cream before slowly rising, placing a kiss to her lips so she could taste herself. She hummed with contentment into the kiss, cupping your jaw tenderly. You separated, your smirk cocky as her hand traced back down your neck, feeling the soft material of your bra for herself. “So fucking pretty,” she whispered to herself, eyes trained on how the color of the garment made your skin look radiant. Her hands switched directions, gently tracing up before reaching your neck and applying pressure with hungry eyes.

“We’re going home. Need to see you cum on my dick now.”

“I'ma make him wait for the pussy

Hit it 'til he big ole skeet”

The rest of the car ride was uneventful, Paige keeping a grip on your thigh as music propelled you guys into her parking lot. When you reached her apartment, you were ready for the inevitable fight for dominance between the two of you. Instead, Paige merely hung her keys on her hook and moved to the kitchen. “Want any water?”

You almost laugh as you follow her in, as if she was pranking you. “What are you, all talk and no game?” You joke, still taking the offer. Despite drinking Paige up just moments prior, you were very aware of just how dry your mouth was.

Paige smirked, taking a sip of her own water before grazing your torso with her hands. “Just tryna be chivalrous, ma.” 

You took a big gulp of water, allowing yourself to sink into the feeling of Paige’s touch before setting the glass down. “Don’t need all that,” You murmur, the pads of your fingers playing with the hem of Paige’s hoodie. You look up, maneuvering yourself so your lips were as close to her ear as possible before murmuring. “Just need you.” 

“Oh yeah?” She teases, already beginning to back you towards her bedroom, her tall frame overwhelming yours. Now this is what you came here for: the feeling of her tongue slipping in your mouth as your lips collided, the feeling of her properly undressing you as soon as her door shut behind you, and the gravel in her voice as she commands you to “get on the bed”.

“You have no fucking idea how bad i’ve wanted this,” Paige growled, crawling above you and connecting your lips once more before peppering them down to your neck. You couldn’t help but sigh, deciding that you would put up with a million lackluster parties if they all ended like this.“These perfect tits.” She moved to toss your bra on her floor before licking around your nipple, sucking on your breast and surely leaving a mark - she always found a way to, much to your chagrin. You allowed yourself to take pleasure in the feeling for a moment, resting up before your next move. Because while you moments like these with Paige, there was no way in hell you were letting her think the dynamic switched.

With a swift move that even left yourself dumbfounded at your abilities , you hooked a leg around her and flipped the basketball player over, catching yourself with both hands on the mattress. Paige’s jaw dropped, equally shocked and impressed. “Woah.”

“I thought you’d figure out by now that I’m in charge here,” You quipped, gaining enough composure quickly to maintain the persona you wanted. You were going to fuck Paige just as much as she was fucking you. You quickly made the executive decision that Paige was wearing far too many clothes, gesturing her to raise her arms before moving to help her remove her hoodie leaving her in her sweats and a sports bra - very typical Paige attire. You nipped, kissed, and sucked above her chest in the areas not covered by the sports bra, careful to avoid her neck or any other areas that would be visible in a jersey. At one point, you took the chain she wore in your mouth, feeling the cold metal against your lips. Paige groaned, attempting to tug your mouth back on to hers by lifting you from your waist. You tsk, “Be patient.”

“You’re making patience really hard, sweetheart.” She states through gritted teeth, one hand moving to your hair and tugging to make a point. She was desperate tonight, just the way you liked her. 

Deciding to give her a little taste of you, you sat up so only your ass made contact with her, sitting plush against her pelvis. Need to see you cum on my dick now, her voice repeated in your head. with a mischievous glint. Slowly, you began grinding your hips, your ass hitting against her. “This what you want?”

She threw her head back, realizing what you were mimicking. “Please.”

“Beg.”

You would think you said something far more outrageous the way she looked up at you, eyebrows raised. “You crazy? nah!”

Typical Paige, not one to give up without a fight. You knew all too well how this would end though.“Suit yourself.” You shrugged, continuing your actions from before, this time trailing a hand down your short skirt and lightly touching yourself through your panties.

“Fuck baby,” She swore she could feel how wet you were as you continued rolling your hips, giving her a preview of everything she could have if she just put her ego aside. “You’re killing me right now.”

“I think I know what would fix that,” you purred.

“Oh fuck,” her voice was almost strangled, any ounce of dignity she had quickly leaving her body and being replaced by the urge to make you feel good. Her eyes appeared as though they were welling up as she pleaded with you. “Please let me fuck you. Would do anything to make you feel good.”

A smile spread across your face, knowing you finally had her exactly where you wanted her. You paused your teasing, swinging your leg back aroundand reaching a standing position. Her eyes followed you, her gaze equally confused and frustrated, before she recognized the box you were reaching for in her drawer. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You asked, harness and dildo in hand as you sauntered back over to the bed.

“Ain't nobody freak like me

Give ya what you need like me

Ain't nobody got on they tip, tip toes and rode to the tip like me”

You were putting on a whole ass show for her. Your feet were positioned on each side of of her, providing stability as you bounced on her silicon dick like your life depended on it. Your tits bounced with each impact your bodies made. The room was quiet (save for the sound of both of your moans and the dull buzz of the vibrator against Paige within the strap), but it was like you were moving to a melody, alternating between fast moments of riding her and slower moments where you simply moved your hips, allowing yourself to bask in the pleasure.

Paige laid back against the pillows, practically mesmerized at the sight of you as you ran a hand through your hair, throwing your head back in the process. “Holy shit.”

“Any other girls fucking you like this, baby?” You don’t know why you felt the need to ask. For one, you were very confident in your abilities, and you also knew that Paige was likely still going home with other girls. It’s not a topic you ever cared enough to approach. 

“No other girls anymore. None could make me cum like you,” Paige shook her head, moving to grab your waist and help facilitate your movements as if she was seeking any form of control she could get. “Riding my dick like a slut, baby, fuck.”

Your eyes wandered a bit, over to the collection of photographs on Paige’s wall, the number of awards given, all the way to one particular object. Your hips began to slow progressively until they came to a complete stop, prompting a disappointed groan from the blonde beneath you.

“Stand up. I wanna try something new.”

“I want to fuck in the mirror, I like to look at your face when you in it

Come in the room and I'm giving commands

I am the captain and he the lieutenant”

The sides of the chair you were gripping were cold, in contrast to the heat rushing through the rest of your body. Paige stood behind you, pounding into you from behind as the both of you took full advantage of the full length mirror beside you giving you a full view of everything - and by everything, you meant everything, from the way Paige’s hair looked entirely fucked out to the wetness dripping down her thighs.

Paige’s eyes squeezed shut, unable to handle the way your ass looked rippling against her, how your waist fit in her hands as she slammed you back, and she especially could not handle the way you were looking at her in the mirror. “Baby imma bust,” she moaned, her words slurred together. She was too drunk off of you.

“Hold it. I’m almost there,” you instructed, reaching down to rub circles around your clit. You were dripping, cream forming a ring around Paige’s strap. You moved your hips, twerking on her dick as you looked back at it. Paige was convinced in that moment that if it were not anatomically impossible, she would have absolutely accidentally knocked you up in that moment.

��Need to cum so bad, baby. You feel so good, so fucking fine.” 

The warmth that once rushed through you from the joint was now accumulating to your core. It was all becoming too much, even more so when she slapped your hand away to help rub hard circles on you, her desperation a mix of wanting to be the reason you finished as well as the realization that she was going to blow any moment. 

“Gonna cum.” You finally moan, feeling as though your legs may snap as you let go. Paige was not far behind, gripping your waist and burying her head in your neck as she pressed herself to the base inside of you. 

“Usually I like to fuck

But tonight we gon' make love 'cause you bae”

You attempted to catch your breath as you laid down next to Paige. She had both hands on the sides of your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You’re so perfect,” She murmured, eyelids drooping as she fought the urge to pass out then and there. Her touch was less possessive this time and more tender, cupping your skin as if it were made of glass.

You let out a breathy laugh at her words, almost like you couldn’t believe them, yet you couldn’t stop the way your body nuzzled into hers further. “You’re just happy you got laid tonight,” You quipped.

“I don’t mean it like that. you know I don’t.”

Perhaps one of the most important rules of hooking up with an athlete, especially one as high profile as Paige, is to never believe a word they say. So you felt a little silly when you took note of how her blue eyes gazed at you, waking up enough to make eye contact to show you that this was the truth. It felt worse when you felt your heart skip a beat at the realization. In fact, it scared the hell out of you. 

“Stay the night tonight,” She whispered. You had never heard her sound like that, so out of control and at your whim. She was scared too. “I don’t want you to leave.”

You nodded, pushing past the voice in your head screaming at you to run just as you had after every other night you and Paige shared. You were tired, and Paige was right there, and it was just not the time to listen to your head over your heart. “Okay.”

You would deal with logistics later. All you needed now was tonight.

[evilmenarehot]

Jealousy

Rafe Cameron x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: Reader meets Sofia and isn’t pleased.

*this is my first time writing so don’t be mean😭

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You slam your car door behind you and set fourth to meet Rafe and his boyfriends at the country club bar. Tired from coming straight from working the opening shift at the local coffee shop, you’re hoping you can convince Rafe to go back to tannyhill and just spend a relaxing day with you. Being the nice girlfriend you are however, meant agreeing to meet at the club when he texted you during your shift. Your outfit wasn’t terrible so you skipped stopping at home and here you are. You make your way inside and see the boys all standing around a table on the deck and decide you need a drink before you can handle that much toxic testosterone. You make your way to the bar to and grab the bartender's attention. “Can I get a glass of rose please” she timidly nods and hands me the glass once she’s done pouring. “And what tab name should I put that under?”

Looking her up and down you realized she was probably new, no one had to ask who your tab was under. They knew you were Rafes. You politely smiled back “Rafe, Rafe Cameron,” she looked at you with confusion and protested “um I unfortunately cannot put your drinks under someone else’s tab if they’re not here with you, but If you give me your name I can add it to your club account!” The look you gave her was one of pure disdain. You were simply not in the mood for this today. “I don’t have a member account I’m a guest, a guest of Rafe Cameron, who if you use your eyes you can see is literally right there, on the deck. Right behind us.” You blinked at her waiting for her to get on with it and hopefully let you leave this irking conversation, but no, she continues

“See I understand but since he didn’t accompany you here I have now way of know-“ you turned around and walked away cutting her off mid sentence. You marched towards Rafe who had his back to you, you gripped his wrist promptly ending his conversation with kelce and topper and dragged him to the bar. He looked down at you confused considering he didn’t even know you were there. Once you reach the bar you put on your best fake smile until the girl speaks up while fluttering her eyelashes “oh hi Rafe!” So that’s what this is about. Miss bartender bitch is also a pick me bitch. Got it. You bite your lip while giving this girl a look that could kill and put your hand over Rafe’s chest possessively “sweetie, this lovely new girl… what was your name?”

“Sofia” she answered with a scared look.

“Yes, Sofia, thinks I’m some wandering alcoholic from the street who roams in unaccompanied and tries to add my drinks to strangers tabs, so please for the love of god tell her I’m with you so we can end this wonderful conversation and I can get on with enjoying the rest of my day.” You blink up at him waiting for his response, while he looks at the girl looking like a deer in headlights. You clear your throat and he snaps out of his daze and gives you an evil look. “Yeah actually I have no clue who this girl is, I’ve never see-

You smack his chest simply not having his childish behavior. He sighs and rolls his eyes down at you “Yes yes I unfortunately know this woman.” You smack his chest again “unfortunately?!”

“No sorry, I mean that I get the great pleasure of dating this terrifying woman” he blinks down at you with a stupid smirk, you turn your attention back to Sofia, “are we good now? Is this over?” She gulps and nods her head frantically. “Great, bye Sophie” you grab your drink and while you’re walking away you hear her mutter “it’s Sofia” . You roll your eyes and look up at Rafe who pulls you aside before you reach the table with the boys at it. “Someone’s feisty today” he settles his hands on your hips and looks down at you lovingly. “It was just a shitty day and I can’t put up with people's stupidity anymore.” You take a sip from your glass and rest your free hand on his chest. “I don’t know why you don’t just quit, I told you I can take care of you” you think it over for a second while swirling your wine around. “Yeah but I’m not a gold digger, I don’t have it in me, I would get too bored being a stay at home girlfriend” let’s not forget the fear of him leaving you and you being stuck with nothing! He chuckles at you and gives you a peck to your forehead while moving his hand to the small of your back and ushering you to the table.

“Ayo y/n” topper loudly shouts as you approach.

“What’s up girl?” Kelce asks. Before you get a chance to answer, Rafe steps in for you. “She almost just bit the head off of Sofia the new girl” he laughs along with the boys as you grow annoyed again. “Bro why?” Asks topper. “She kept saying I couldn’t put my drinks on Rafes tab and she also kept batting those slutty eyelashes at him.” You scoff replaying the scene in your head. “Ahh so you're jealous.” Kelce says. You blink at him hoping that he’ll drop dead at any moment. “I will slit your throat Kelce.” You’re really not having this today. The boys all erupt in laughter while Rafe pulls you into his side. You down the rest of your wine and look up at him. “Can we just go back to Tanny? I'm not in a good mood and I was hoping for it just to be us today.” You slightly whisper so that the other two boys wouldn’t hear. Rafe looks at you with a sense of guilt in his eyes seeing as he’s the reason you’re here in the first place. “Yeah, I’m sorry baby let’s go.” He says his goodbye to the boys and you make your way off the deck holding hands while your other hand rests on his bicep. While you’re passing the bar you make sure to catch Sofias eye “Bye Zoey” you say in a sing-song voice. Rafe gives you another smirk while leading you to your car. “You’re kinda a bitch you know that?” He says with nothing but love in his eyes. He hops in your driver's seat since you’re a passenger princess at heart. You click your seatbelt in place and look over at him while he starts up the car. “Yeah I know, but you love me” you’re smiling over at him watching how handsome he looks when he’s putting his arm behind your seat, while looking back to reverse. “Yeah, I really do don't I” he says with a boyish grin. He places his free hand on your thigh and you head off to enjoy the rest of the day in peace with your favorite Cameron boy.