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vamptizm · 26 days ago

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GIRL YOU LOUD — p. bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x gf!reader

synopsis: you’d been out for the first wings preseason game, sitting on that bench and looking like all of paige’s fantasies and dreams combined. teasing her, messing with her—driving her insane. but she’d get back at you.

warnings: nasty smut. switch!reader. switch!paige. fingering. munch!p. strap on sex (both receiving). praise. degradation. breeding kink. calling paige daddy like twice. edging.

word count: 12.9k

♯┆taglist (open) .ᐟ ★ @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @ekisokay @paige05bby @sierrale8ne @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @lilpaigeyherbo @prettygirl-gabi @mariahthealchemist @avvwritesstufff @vintagebueckers @naeswrrldd @thaatdigitaldiary

The irony of it all didn’t escape you.

There you were—sat on the Dallas Wings bench, in a building you used to hate walking into, a building that reeked of old rivalries and even older grudges. Notre Dame's Purcell Pavilion. Cold lights. Smeared banners. That ever-so-sanctimonious fight song playing in the background like the world was still in 2020. You rolled your eyes once at the ceiling, once at the court, and then let the smugness return to your face.

You looked good. You knew it.

And judging by the sideways glances from coaching staff, cameras, and certain opposing players, so did everyone else.

You weren’t dressed like a player today—not in your Wings gear, not in sideline sweats. The team doctors had benched you for precaution’s sake. Mild shoulder sprain, nearly healed, but not worth aggravating just before the regular season started. You had protested, briefly, then gave up the fight once you realized you could milk this little moment for everything it was worth.

So, you dressed accordingly. Black tailored, wide-legged pants that flowed like silk but cut sharp at the waist. They pooled lightly over your sleek black Diesel pumps, glinting every time you crossed your legs. Paire with a fitted black button-up that hugged your frame just right. Thin vertical white stripes guided the eye in all the right directions. Only two buttons were fastened at the center, offering a perfectly curated glimpse of your midriff and just enough cleavage—pushed together with the help of your favorite and most dangerous bra.

You looked like someone’s scandalous boss. Someone’s very expensive mistake.

Your hair was perfectly blown out, strands falling with soft, intentional volume around your shoulders. A pair of sleek, black rectangular glasses sat neatly on your face, giving the illusion of restraint. But the sharp wing of your eyeliner and the darkness smudged into your lower lash line betrayed you. There was nothing restrained about you. Your waterline was tightlined, your lips glossed to a sinful nude, and every time you blinked slowly—like you were bored, or scheming, or both—you felt the attention shift.

The cherry on top? A gold chain, subtle and delicate, with a single pendant glinting softly at your sternum. An “M.” Paige's middle name. Not obvious. Not something a broadcaster would call out. But you knew. She knew.

It started during warmups.

Paige should’ve been focused—on her stretches, her form, the way the ball felt rolling off her fingertips. But her eyes? They kept betraying her. Again and again, they dragged back to the bench. More specifically, to you.

Sitting pretty in your corporate siren getup like you owned the arena, not just the bench.

Your lips curved slowly into a smirk as you crossed your legs with deliberate ease, letting your heel tap once against the polished court. You didn’t wave. Didn’t wink. You just let her look at you.

Let her want.

And she could’ve kept it together—just barely—until Jewell broke formation and jogged her way toward you, momentarily abandoning her own warmup.

Your grin lit up instantly at the sight of her and you got up from the bench, meeting her in the middle.

The hug you gave each other was all warmth, history, and ease, the kind of closeness that came only from sharing victories, locker rooms, and late-night strategy talks. You and Jewell had been tight ever since the Paris Olympics, and even tighter once Unrivaled started. The matching tattoos on your ribs said enough. Little mementos inked during the off-season in a moment of camaraderie with Aaliyah and Dijonai.

She knew there was nothing to worry about. She knew.

But that didn’t stop her gaze from sharpening. Didn’t stop the sting of possessiveness from blooming low in her chest.

It wasn’t jealousy—it was something else. Something quieter but much deeper. Paige was chill, easygoing, confident. But with you? There was always that subtle current of ’mine’. Not in a way that made you flinch. In a way that made your skin spark.

Even during the locker room huddle with the coaching staff, as everyone went over last minute adjustments and rotations, Paige sat with one knee bouncing and cracking her knuckles, stealing glances at you every other beat. You were seated across the room, half listening, chin propped in your hand and legs crossed like you were made to be admired.

You were just as bad, truth be told. The jersey clung to her in all the right places, but it was the slicked back ponytail that had your thoughts drifting. Clean, no braids today, just polished and severe, framing her cheekbones and making her look like a problem. Your problem.

By the time you returned to the court, everyone hovering by the bench again as the arena buzzed with anticipation, the tension between you two felt like static—quiet, invisible, charged.

And when they called her name over the speakers, Paige Bueckers—#5, guard—you couldn’t help but smile. That slow, proud, shameless kind of smile. The kind she’d see from the court and feel all the way in her chest.

Your applause was calm. Dignified.

But the way you mouthed, ‘go get ’em, baby’?

Yeah. That was just for her.

The game tipped off with a roar from the crowd, the buzz of preseason excitement electrifying Purcell Pavilion. The whistle blew, and the ball was live, but you barely noticed the opening possessions. Your body was still, but your pulse wasn’t.

You lasted exactly two minutes on the bench.

Then you were up, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Chris, one arm folded against your hip, the other resting loosely against your stomach. Every so often, you leaned in to glance at the clipboard Belle held, studying plays like you were still in them.

From afar, for anyone not in the know, you looked every bit the sharp, young coaching mind plucked fresh from a promising start. A new assistant, maybe. Or some newly promoted coordinator. You had the presence for it. The look for it. Tailored and chic with that undeniable something—that weight in your stare, the seductive curve of your lip when the scoreboard shifted in your favor. It was just enough professionalism to keep things respectable… and just enough allure to leave people guessing.

Your presence caught attention. On the bench. On the sidelines. And definitely on the court.

Especially from her.

At the seven minute mark, the play unfolded like it had been drawn with her name on it.

There was something surreal about watching her from the sideline, removed from the action but still tethered to it by a thread that ran straight through your chest.

Paige controlled the ball at the wing, fluid and locked in, her sneakers barely squeaking as she glided past Chelsea Gray. You watched it unfold like muscle memory, like breathing. A surge toward the paint. One beat, two—then she let it fly.

Nothing but net.

She tumbled out of bounds right after, body catching the hardwood before springing back up without hesitation.

You barely registered the crowd’s reaction. Your grin was already carved across your face.

“Let’s fucking go, P!” you shouted before you could help yourself, clapping once with enough force to echo. Not a single drop of shame in your tone—only pride. Pure and wild.

Paige turned as she ran back on defense, the tiniest breathless smile tugging at her lips. She caught your eyes immediately, and lifted her hand, pointing once—index finger angled cleanly toward you.

No dramatics. No show.

Just a subtle gesture, paired with that look she always gave you when it was only you in the room.

That was for you.

And God, did it land.

The gesture, the grin, the unbothered claiming of you in front of thousands—cameras be damned—lit something low and unrelenting inside of you.

She was done hiding. Done pretending like the most important part of her world wasn’t standing right there in heels and lip gloss, looking like a threat and a promise all at once.

The Wings had come out swinging.

It was clear from the jump that this team, despite being stitched together with new parts, a new coach, and not nearly enough time, had potential. Paige was settling in fast, confident in her reads, driving with purpose. Dijonai was relentless on defense. Arike, as always, was a walking bucket.

For a moment, just a stretch of minutes midway through the first quarter, the Wings held a lead. Slender, but there.

And then it slipped.

The Aces weren’t dominant just because of talent. They were seasoned, connected, one mind split between five bodies. It wasn’t surprising, not really. But it still stung.

Timeout was called.

You were back on your feet before the buzzer even finished blaring. Chris and the rest of the staff huddled near the whiteboard, and you stepped in next to him, nodding subtly at Belle as she scribbled adjustments onto the clipboard.

But your eyes?

Your eyes were already on her.

Paige stood at the edge of the huddle, hands on hips, sweat glistening against the curve of her neck, her jersey clinging to her like it belonged there. You didn’t speak, but you didn’t need to.

You tilted your head just slightly. Let your gaze drag slowly down her form and then back up again. Measured. Deliberate. Like you were taking inventory of something expensive you already owned.

When she caught you looking, your mouth curled into a smirk—teeth just barely catching your bottom lip before you let it pop free with the faintest bite.

Then you turned away.

Didn’t even hold her stare. Just dropped back down onto the bench, crossing one leg over the other with the elegance of a woman who knew she had an audience and didn’t mind putting on a show.

From the corner of your eye, you saw her shift. One foot stepping toward you, then back. Hands flexing once at her sides.

She was losing focus.

Not enough to cost the game. Just enough for you to notice. Just enough for her to feel.

Next timeout, you upped the ante.

This time, when the whistle blew and the players circled up near the bench, you leaned forward with your elbows on your knees, pretending to study the clipboard Belle held—but the angle pushed your shirt open just enough to give Paige a view you knew she couldn’t ignore.

You could feel her eyes burning a hole straight through the neckline.

Still, you didn’t look at her right away.

Not until the players started peeling off, headed back to the court.

Then—and only then—you met her gaze and mouthed a single, silent word.

‘Focus’

The nerve of you.

And that grin you wore as she turned away?

Smug. Knowing. A promise.

The next possession, Paige was a little quicker. A little more aggressive. Like she had something to prove.

And even when the Aces pulled away in the second half, she kept glancing toward the bench between plays, chewing the inside of her cheek, eyes dragging over the stretch of your legs crossed lazily, the glint of your necklace, the gloss on your mouth.

The whole night, she played with a fire that wasn’t entirely basketball-born.

You were the match.

You hadn’t made it ten steps down the tunnel before Paige grabbed your wrist.

The arena noise faded behind you, swallowed by the concrete and fluorescent lighting of the back corridors of Purcell Pavilion. You expected a word. A smirk. Maybe even just a look.

But Paige didn’t waste time.

She pulled you into a narrow alcove, one of the tucked away side halls reserved for storage or staff access—empty now, quiet and dim—and shoved you gently but firmly back against the wall. Her mouth was on you before you could breathe her name.

Open mouthed kisses trailed down your neck, hot and hungry. She peeled one side of your shirt open with practiced ease, fingers curling under the silky material until it hung loose, giving her more skin, more space, more you.

“Got me fucked up, y’know that?” Paige muttered against your skin, her voice low and wrecked with need. Her hands gripped your waist tightly—possessively—fingertips digging into the flesh just beneath your bra line, beneath your shirt, like she needed to memorize the give of it under her hands. “Sittin’ there lookin’ like you need me to fuck you in front of all those people.”

You shivered, half from her words, half from the heat pooling low in your body.

You didn’t speak immediately. Just let her touch and her mouth work you over, let yourself feel the way her body pressed against yours like it was trying to replace your heartbeat with hers.

But when her teeth grazed your jaw, you finally rasped, “Maybe I do.”

It was breathless, wicked. A tease and a confession all in one. “Would that be so bad?”

Paige froze—just for a second.

Then a exhale slipped out of her throat, and she pressed even closer, her thigh slotting between your legs, her hands pulling you flush against her. “Nah,” she said, lips ghosting over your collarbone. “I’ll give you whatever you fucking want, mama. I got you.”

Your head tilted back against the wall, heart hammering. You could feel her smirk against your skin, feel the thrill building between your legs like a threat.

And then—

“Paige!”

Chris’s voice echoed from the distance, firm and searching. The second half was about to start.

“Fuck,” Paige groaned into your chest, forehead dropping against your skin. Not your shoulder, your chest. Dead center, right above your cleavage. She lingered there, unmoving for a beat too long, nose brushing the curve of you as if it was her last meal. “You’re gonna drive me crazy.”

“You like it,” you whispered, grinning down at her.

She exhaled hard through her nose. Then she straightened up, one hand staying anchored on your waist, the other sliding up to your face to cup your jaw.

“Just wait ‘til I get you alone,” she murmured against your lips, barely a breath between you. “We’ll see if you’re still smiling then.”

You caught her chin lightly between two fingers and swiped your thumb across her bottom lip, wiping away the gloss she’d stolen. Your smirk never faltered.

And neither did hers.

With one last stolen kiss—chaste, but full of promise—she let go, turning toward the direction of the locker room. Her gait was slower than usual, like her body wasn’t fully ready to walk away.

She didn’t look back.

But you knew she didn’t need to.

You waited another minute. Then two. Composed yourself. Straightened your shirt, adjusted your glasses, gave your reflection in the glossy wall a once-over, then returned to the court with the grace and calm of someone completely unaffected.

You weren’t fooling anyone.

Especially not her.

Paige met your eyes the second you stepped back onto the sideline. Her pupils were still blown wide, chest still rising and falling faster than it should’ve been.

She wouldn’t find peace until she had you under her.

The rest of the game passed in a blur of controlled chaos and inevitable disappointment.

You stayed glued to the bench, shoulders rolled back and legs crossed in a way that made your pants ride up just enough to show a peek of skin above your heels. Your injured shoulder didn’t hurt in the slightest—not that it mattered. The decision to sit you out was already made. So, instead of running the floor, you sat like a vision in black and gold, sipping water and watching your team try to stay afloat against the powerhouse that was Las Vegas.

It wasn’t going well.

The starters had slowly been pulled, one by one, until the floor was left to the rookies and training camp invites—girls fighting tooth and nail for a shot at the final roster. You could see it in their eyes, the grit and desperation. It was admirable.

But it wasn’t enough.

You and Paige were seated side by side now. Not a word was exchanged, not really. Just subtle glances and shared breath. Your thighs were flush against each other, warm and pressed tightly together as if the space between you wasn’t already tense enough. Paige’s knee bounced occasionally—nerves or restraint, you couldn’t tell—and her fingers curled into fists every now and then on her lap.

You felt it too.

The buzz beneath your skin. The air charged between you. Her cologne lingered from warmups, light and clean, and her jersey still clung to her like a second skin. Her slicked-back hair was starting to curl slightly at the nape of her neck with sweat. And every time she shifted beside you, you were hyper aware of how close she was.

At one point, your heel nudged against hers—lightly, purposefully—and her head turned like she could hear your thoughts. Her eyes dropped to your lap, lingered for a breath too long on the exposed sliver of your stomach and the necklace that still glinted with that tiny “M.”

It took everything in her not to slide a hand up your thigh. Not to palm the flesh there, grip and squeeze until your posture gave something away. But the cameras were still rolling. The crowd, although thinned, was still watching. Too many prying eyes.

Eventually, the final buzzer rang, and the scoreboard didn’t lie.

The Aces had steamrolled, a thirty point deficit that felt heavier than it looked. The team filed back into the locker room in silence. There wasn’t anger, not exactly. Just quiet acceptance. It was the first preseason game, and this roster was still new—a work in progress, barely stitched together.

On the bus, you made a point to walk past Paige without so much as brushing her hand. Your eyes met for a second, and you knew she was expecting you to sit beside her. You always did.

Instead, you slid into the seat next to Dijonai, plopping down casually as if it wasn’t a statement, as if your skin wasn’t buzzing from holding back the grin threatening to break free. You were well aware of the tension still simmering beneath Paige’s cool expression.

Across the aisle, Nalyssa dropped into the seat next to Paige—a convenient shuffle that almost looked choreographed. It was almost funny. A partner swap, if you really thought about it.

You leaned against the window, legs crossed again, phone in hand but eyes flickering over the top edge of your screen every few minutes to steal glances at her. Paige didn’t look at you.

But her jaw was clenched, her fingers drumming against her knee. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t send a thrill straight down your spine.

She could play it cool all she wanted—but you knew what the night still owed you.

w The bus ride back to the hotel was short, but the silence made it feel longer. The kind that stretched like pulled thread—thin, delicate, one wrong move from snapping. Conversations were hushed. Laughter was minimal. Even the rookies who'd given it everything were slumped back in their seats, drained.

You barely said a word. Not to Dijonai, not to anyone. You didn’t need to, your presence was always loud enough. Even in silence, you were impossible to ignore.

Paige didn’t glance your way. Not once. Not when you stood up as the bus slowed to a stop. Not when your perfume trailed in the air like a tether around her throat. She followed the team inside, nodding politely at the front desk staff, bag slung over one shoulder, her stride confident but tense.

You knew she was waiting. For the moment. For you.

And you gave it to her.

You didn’t rush to the elevator. Let the rest of the girls pile in first. Waited for the second one. When Paige stepped into the quieter lift without a word, you slipped in behind her.

The doors closed with a soft thud, and the silence inside was deafening.

There were only a few others around—one of the assistant coaches, a trainer, Arike. The kind of company that demanded restraint. But the heat was unmistakable. You could feel it coming off her in waves.

She stood on the other side of the elevator, back against the mirrored wall, arms crossed over her chest like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her eyes flicked toward the digital numbers above the doors. But she wasn’t really watching them. Not when she could feel your gaze on her.

You licked your lips, slow and deliberate. Just enough to draw her eyes. And when she looked, you gave her that knowing look. The one you always gave her when the air was heavy and her self-control was unraveling thread by thread.

It was intoxicating, this wordless conversation. This tightly wound tension that clung to both of you like static.

The elevator stopped. Coach and Arike stepped out, exchanging brief goodnights. The second the doors slid shut again, it was just the two of you.

Paige didn’t move. But her eyes were locked on you now. Hard.

Your back hit the wall beside her, your shoulder just brushing hers. “Long ride,” you murmured softly.

“Long game,” she said, voice low.

You could feel her gaze trailing over your profile. Your cheekbone. Your mouth. The exposed skin between the buttons of your shirt.

“And you didn’t make it any easier,” she added, her voice edged in restraint.

You smiled, just the corner of your mouth lifting. “Wasn’t trying to.”

“Oh, I know,” she muttered, eyes dropping to your cleavage.

The elevator dinged. Your floor.

Neither of you moved at first.

Then Paige exhaled quietly and stepped out, her hand brushing your lower back in a ghost of a touch—protective, possessive, and barely there. You followed, the hallway cool and quiet except for the sound of your heels on the carpeted floor.

Room 477.

She opened the door first. Let you walk in before her. The door shut with a solid click behind you both, sealing the energy between those four walls like a vacuum.

Still, nothing said. Just the sharp sound of her duffel hitting the floor and the faint rustle of fabric as she kicked off her sneakers.

You turned to her then, slowly. Your arms crossed lazily, your back leaning against the nearest wall. Your eyes never left hers.

She didn’t speak—didn’t need to.

You could see it in her posture, the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands flexed like they didn’t know whether to hold you or pin you.

And god, that restraint… it made your blood hum.

This wasn’t the moment for release. Not yet.

But it was close. So close.

And that made it all the more addicting.

You stood there, arms crossed, watching her.

Paige’s jaw flexed like she was chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her hands were stuffed into the pockets of her shorts now, and her back was to you, but you knew her tells. The slight tremble in her exhale. The way her shoulders rose and dropped a bit quicker than usual. The quiet, building storm just beneath her skin.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” you said, voice silky soft but loaded, “I’m gonna start thinking you’re mad at me.”

Paige faced you, slow and deliberate. Her eyes dragged over every inch of you—the open button shirt, the exposed skin, the curve of your body. She licked her lips, but didn’t answer. Not right away.

“You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow, smiling lazily. “Cheering for my girl?”

Her eyes darkened.

“Nah,” she said, her voice gravel low. “Sitting there looking like you wanted me to take you right there on the bench. All those little looks. You knew I was watching.”

You didn’t deny it. Instead, you pushed off the wall and slowly made your way toward her—heels clicking against the hardwood, deliberate and slow like the start of a song that promises to break you by the end.

When you reached her, you didn’t touch her yet. You just looked up, close enough that your breath tickled her chin. “But you liked it.”

Paige’s eyes closed for just a second. Her jaw clenched.

You pressed closer. Just barely.

Then, your hands rose to her waist—slow and smooth—slipping just beneath the hem of her shirt. Your fingers dragged lightly along the ridges of her toned torso, nails grazing her skin just enough to make her hiss out a breath.

“I wanted to see how long you’d last,” you whispered, eyes gleaming. “You made it to halftime. I’m impressed.”

Her hand shot out—fast, like a reflex—and gripped your waist, dragging you flush against her body.

“You’re testing me,” she murmured, low against your ear, her breath hot and uneven. “You’ve been testing me all night.”

Your lips curved. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Paige leaned in. Her nose brushed yours, her mouth hovering just a breath away. Her grip on your waist tightened, her fingers digging in like she could barely stop herself from throwing you onto the bed and showing you exactly what.

“I should make you wait,” she murmured.

You tilted your head, brushing your lips against hers but not giving in. “But you won’t.”

Her mouth crashed into yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was all tongue and teeth and frustration, a day’s worth of built up heat bursting open like a dam. She kissed you like she needed it to breathe, like she could consume you whole and still not get enough.

Her hands moved fast—one sliding up your back beneath the top, the other gripping your jaw to keep you there, pressed to her mouth. You moaned softly against her lips, your own hands tangling in the front of her tee, dragging her closer, closer, until there was nothing between you but clothes and restraint.

She walked you backward without breaking the kiss, the two of you stumbling toward the bed like you were drunk on each other.

You fell onto the mattress, breathless, her weight pressing into you—her hips pressed flush between your thighs, her hand still wrapped around the back of your neck. Her mouth never left yours for long—just enough to breathe, just enough to whisper sweet nothings into the curve of your jaw before capturing your lips again.

Her free hand moved with maddening skill, unbuttoning the only two buttons holding your blouse together with the kind of ease that made it obvious she'd done this before. Many times.

The moment your chest was bared to her, your bra doing little to shield you from her hungry gaze, Paige let out a low exhale, one that rumbled in her throat like a warning. Or a promise.

"Goddamn," she muttered, her mouth descending, kissing along the curve of your breast with open lips. She sucked at the skin just above the cup, then gently bit down, pulling a gasp out of you despite your best effort to stay composed.

Her voice dropped lower, lips brushing your skin. "Look at you. Spread out, breathin’ like you need me to touch you or you’ll lose it."

You whimpered—quiet, strained—and she smirked, her hand sliding down, hooking under your waistband.

"Don’t worry, baby," she murmured. "I got you."

Her fingers made quick work of the button, then the zipper, and you felt the subtle shift in her position—her thigh sliding between yours, pinning one of your legs down while the other bent up, braced against her hip. It gave her the perfect angle.

She slid her hand beneath the waistband of your panties, hot skin meeting hotter heat and you gasped, your hips twitching in response. Her fingers grazed your soaked cunt, still over the fabric, and she chuckled darkly at how wet you already were.

"Fuck," she hissed, dragging her lips up your neck. "All this for me? Just from a few kisses and some dirty words? You’re such a fuckin’ slut."

She rubbed slow, deliberate circles over your clothed core, her breath warm against your skin, her voice pitched so low it melted straight into your bones. “You sat on that bench looking like sex, and now you’re here, already dripping. You want me to take my time, or should I make you beg?”

You chewed your bottom lip, fighting a moan, your hands clawing at her back, nails digging in just enough to make her shudder.

"Say something," she whispered against your collarbone, teasing the edge of your bra down with her teeth. "Use that pretty mouth or I’ll stop."

"Paige..." you breathed, finally cracking. "Please don’t stop."

That was all she needed.

Her mouth returned to your breast, tugging the bra down just enough to wrap her lips around your nipple, tongue flicking, lips sucking slow and firm while her fingers over your panties pressed in harder, rubbing slow, dirty circles that made your thighs tremble.

“Good girl,” she groaned into your chest. “Keep askin’. I’ll give you every fucking thing.”

Paige’s mouth wandered, but not where you wanted it. She kissed your jaw, your neck, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts—leaving marks with her mouth, her teeth, anything but her lips. She was everywhere but your mouth, and it drove you insane.

You chased her lips once, a quiet whimper escaping you, but she dodged with a smirk, sucking a bruise just beneath your jawline instead.

Her hand, still between your legs, rubbed those slow, agonizing circles over your soaked panties—drawing out your arousal like she had all the time in the world.

Then she stopped.

You whined, lifting your hips in protest, but before you could whine her name, you felt her hand slide under the fabric.

The moment her fingers made contact with your wetness, she let out a low laugh. A dark, smug sound that sent a shiver rolling down your spine.

“Jesus,” she muttered, teasing her fingers through your slick. “You’re fucking dripping. This all from me just talking to you and some kissing?”

You rolled your eyes and let out a breathless, flustered chuckle. “Shut up…”

She didn’t seem to like that.

Her free hand moved from behind your neck to grip your jaw, firm and fast, tilting your face toward her. The pressure wasn’t gentle, and the command in her eyes made your breath hitch.

“Don’t fucking tell me to shut up,” she warned, before finally crashing her mouth against yours.

It was rough. Unforgiving. All teeth and spit and frustration.

When she pulled back, your lips were swollen, and a thin string of spit still connected you. Her hand remained wrapped around your jaw, fingers digging in, keeping your face locked in place.

“You’re on thin ice right now,” she said lowly, the words thick with hunger and something darker. “You don’t get to run that mouth unless I say so.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as her fingers moved again, slow, pushing one long digit inside you without warning. You gasped, sharp and high, your mouth falling open as your body arched into her.

But Paige didn’t let your head fall back.

Her hand on your face held you steady, forced your gaze to stay locked on hers.

“Nuh uh,” she said, voice hoarse. “Keep your pretty on me. I wanna watch you fall apart.”

Your breath hitched as her finger curled inside you, the pace slow and controlled, dragging over every nerve like she’d mapped your body out and memorized it.

“Say it,” she demanded, leaning in, lips brushing your cheek but not your mouth. “Tell me who’s making you feel this good.”

You swallowed hard, barely able to form a coherent thought, let alone speak. But her eyes—those hungry, sharp, unrelenting eyes—never left yours, and neither did her hand.

“…You,” you rasped. “It’s you, Daddy.”

Her smirk deepened. “Damn right.”

And with that, she pushed deeper, knowing full well you’d break before the night was over.

Paige’s eyes flicked up to yours again, still holding your gaze like a chain wrapped tight around your throat. Her finger never stopped moving, the slick sounds between your legs growing louder in the quiet room.

Then she slowed, almost to a stop, barely curling her finger with maddening control.

“You want more?” she asked lowly, like she didn’t already know the answer. “Think you can take it?”

Her voice was smooth and mocking, thick with amusement and desire. She leaned in just a little closer, eyes never straying from yours. “Be honest, baby. You really think you can handle another one?”

That teasing lilt in her voice made your jaw clench, your fingers twisting in the sheets beneath you.

You didn’t just want more—you needed it. Your body was already begging, trembling, aching for her to fill you just a little more. And she knew it.

So you didn’t say anything. You just nodded, chest rising and falling faster, lips parted, silently pleading. She already knew.

Paige laughed under her breath. “Figures.”

And just like that, her second finger pushed in beside the first. Your head snapped back with a sharp gasp, a breathy moan slipping past your lips as your back arched. Your elbows wobbled where they held you up, threatening to give out from the sudden wave of pressure and pleasure crashing into you.

But you held yourself up. Barely.

Paige's other hand finally released your jaw and braced herself against the bed, palm flat next to your hip, hovering over you like a predator.

Her fingers moved in and out of you, curling and scissoring, switching between long, languid drags and quick, pulsing thrusts that had your thighs twitching. The room was filled with the soft, wet sounds of your arousal, and the only thing louder than that was your breath—ragged, shallow, desperate.

But still, your eyes never left hers.

Even as your legs began to tremble, your focus stayed locked on her. Eyes wide, pupils blown, your bottom lip caught between your teeth like you were holding back from begging or crying out. You looked wrecked, completely overtaken by lust, and it made her lose her rhythm for a second.

Her gaze dipped from your face to your heaving chest, down to the way her digits pumped into your sopping pussy, then back up again.

“Fuck…” she whispered, her pace speeding up before she could even stop herself. It was instinctual. Animalistic.

For a moment, she lost herself in you. In the way you looked at her like you wanted to eat her alive. Like nothing existed except her hands on your body, and the high you were chasing.

But then, she caught herself.

She blinked hard and slowed down—too fast. You felt it immediately.

“No—no—" you whimpered, hips twitching, your body already so close you could taste it. But she didn’t stop gradually. She stopped completely.

Fingers still buried inside you, she stilled them, refusing to move. You were practically vibrating, your body locked in that terrible, beautiful edge of no return.

Your head fell back in frustration, eyes squeezing shut. “Whyyyy…”

Your voice was cracked and desperate, a pathetic little whine that only made her smirk.

She slowly slid her fingers out of you with a wet, sinful sound. And then, holding your stare again, she brought her fingers to her lips and licked them clean.

“Tastes like heaven,” she murmured, letting her tongue run over the pad of each finger.

Then, smirking down at you—panting, trembling, and glistening between the legs—she said lowly, “You know damn well why, mama.”

She leaned in close, lips just brushing yours but not kissing. “You don’t get to come ‘til I say you can.”

And you swore you could’ve come from just those words alone.

Paige sat you upright with a quiet kind of urgency, the heat in her eyes doing more than words ever could. Her fingers curled around the edges of your button-up, tugging it off your shoulders and down your arms until it slipped free. She tossed it somewhere behind her without a second thought. Then came the gentle taps on your hips and you instinctively lifted them, letting her drag your pants and underwear down and off in one smooth pull. Her movements were sure, practiced, reverent.

Her mouth found the curve of your neck again, soft lips pressing against your pulse as she reached behind you with one hand, unclasping your bra with that same cocky ease you’d never admit drives you crazy. The straps slid away, and she tossed that too, her breath warm against your collarbone as she pulled back just enough to take you in—fully bare now, save for the necklace with her initial that rested right above your chest and your heels, which she deliberately hadn’t touched.

“Y’look so fucking good wearing my name.”

She stood up straight, eyes lingering for a second longer before she reached over her shoulder, tugging her own shirt off. Her muscles flexed subtly with the motion, her nike sports bra clinging to her frame, rising just a bit with each heavy breath. Her shorts still sat low on her hips, but she didn’t touch them yet.

Instead, her hands found your waist again. She dragged you closer to the edge of the bed, her palms firm on your skin, possessive. Your knees parted naturally, thighs relaxing around her shoulders as she dropped to her knees—slow, like she had all the time in the world. Her arms wrapped under your thighs and she pulled you forward until you were right where she wanted you. Her face hovered close, her nose brushing against the inside of your thigh, eyes flicking up with that look—the one that made your breath catch every single time.

"Look at you," she murmured low, almost in awe, her voice rough. “prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

Her grip on your thighs tightened slightly, anchoring you in place. You could feel her breath against your skin, warm and teasing. Every part of you felt like it was pulsing in anticipation—mind hazy, legs tense, spine arching ever so slightly as your body leaned into the gravity of her.

"You wanna act like a brat," she whispered, her voice husky and dangerously calm, "so now you’re gonna take everything I give you, right?”

And all you could do was desperately nod.

She didn't move yet, not really. She just stayed there, admiring you, kissing the inside of your thigh once, twice, with maddening restraint. Teasing. Waiting.

And then her grip shifted again, just slightly, as if she were finally ready to devour you whole.

The air in the room was thick with heat, not from the summer night, but from the slow, delicious burn building between you and Paige. Her palms pressed against your thighs, thumbs brushing lazy circles into your soft skin as her eyes roamed over your body with dark intent. From her position on her knees, she looked like worship and sin all at once.

She didn’t rush. Paige never did. She took her time, like she wanted to commit every inch of you to memory.

Her lips ghosted over the inside of your thigh, moving higher, then lower again, teasing. She nipped gently at the sensitive skin, just enough to make your breath hitch—and then soothed it over with the flat of her tongue, a silent apology that somehow only made the ache worse. Your hips shifted slightly, not enough to beg, but close.

Her arms tightened under your thighs as she pulled you a little closer still, locking you into place. Her breath was hot and steady, and her lips so close—so achingly close—but still not where you needed them.

“You’ve got no patience,” she murmured, mouth brushing your skin, her voice thick with a grin you couldn’t see but could feel. “You sit all pretty on the sidelines all game, teasing me... and now you want it all at once?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t, really. Your throat felt tight, your body strung out with anticipation. You didn’t need to speak anyway. She could feel the way your thighs trembled slightly beneath her grip, the way your hips bucked without realizing, the way your fingers clutched the bedsheets behind you.

Paige pressed another kiss higher up your thigh, dangerously close, then paused. Her gaze lifted, locking onto yours with that same fire that had been there since tipoff.

"Use your words" she breathed, low and commanding. "Tell me what you want."

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it was enough. “You.”

She smirked, not cocky, but hungry. “Yeah, mama?” Her tone was thick with heat, her lips brushing against your skin between every word. “You’re gonna get me.”

And then she dipped her head again—slowly, reverently—as her grip tightened and she finally closed the space between you.

Your breath caught in your throat the second Paige finally moved. Her mouth found you like she’d been waiting her whole life to do it, licking a stripe up your folds—slow at first, like she was savoring something forbidden. Her grip under your thighs remained firm, keeping you right where she wanted you, like she didn’t trust you not to squirm away from the intensity she brought with every calculated kiss, every hot breath against your skin.

She moved with intent. No rush, no hesitation, just pure control. The kind of control that had your head tilting back, eyes fluttering closed, and one hand coming up to grab the sheets as your body tried to process it all.

Then came her voice, low and muffled against you, still cocky even down on her knees. “Mm... this what you wanted?” Her voice alone had your stomach tightening. “You were damn near begging for it without saying a word.”

You whimpered in response, because yes, this was exactly what you wanted. Maybe more than you could admit.

Shuffling your feet, you managed to kick your heels off.

She didn’t let up. The hand that had held your thigh adjusted, her fingers brushing over your skin possessively, thumb stroking idle circles into your hip while she worked you over, relentless and deliberate. Lips wrapped around your lips, tongue teasing your entrance, slurping up everything you gave her.

You were soaked, needy, and trembling, your body starting to rock toward her without thought—like your hips had a mind of their own, chasing the high she was expertly building.

Then, just when your breaths were getting short and your grip on the sheets was threatening to rip the fabric, Paige pulled back, just slightly.

Your eyes snapped open in protest.

She looked up at you through her lashes, chin glistening, lips swollen, and all she did was smirk. “Don’t look at me like that,” she murmured, voice dark and dripping in amusement. “You knew I was gonna take my time.”

Still kneeling, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and climbed up slowly, hands gliding up your sides before she leaned in, the weight of her body settling comfortably against yours again. Her mouth hovered just beside your jaw, her breath warm and teasing.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she whispered, pressing a kiss right beneath your ear. “Not even close.”

Then, her mouth found yours, and this time, she didn’t hold back.

You could still taste yourself on her lips—warm and sweet, a reminder of how she’d had you moments ago. The kiss between you turned greedy, tongues tangled in a dance of desperation. You tugged at her waistband, your fingers curling under the elastic with an urgency you didn’t bother to hide.

Paige grinned against your mouth, the cocky tilt of her lips a stark contrast to her breathlessness. “Damn, baby. Slow down,” she murmured, voice teasing and low. “I’m not going anywhere.” But she gave in, tugging them down and kicking them off.

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to respond—instead pulling her mouth back to yours, swallowing whatever quip she might’ve had lined up next. The two of you shifted, clumsily but in sync, toward the center of the bed. Your back hit the pillows, hair spilling across the sheets like a halo, while Paige loomed above you in her boxers and sports bra, every inch of her radiating heat.

The ache between your thighs was still there, pulsing in time with your heartbeat, and before you could stop yourself, the thought was already spilling into the space between you. You bit her lower lip, sharp enough to make her pull back with a dramatic wince, though the glint in her eyes betrayed how much she liked it.

She licked her lips slowly, gaze dropping to your flushed, eager face. “What was that for?”

“Wanna try it” you murmured, fingers brushing the edge of her waistband again. “On you.”

Her brows lifted slightly, curiosity igniting behind her eyes. “Try what on me?”

You exhaled, slightly exasperated. “You know what. Your ‘mousekatool’ as you call it. Don’t make me spell it out.”

That earned a quiet snicker from her, and her head dipped as if to hide the grin spreading across her face. “You mean my strap?” she teased, voice pitched low with faux innocence.

A soft laugh escaped you despite yourself. “Yes, Paige. The strap.”

She tilted her head, amused and entirely too smug. “Who says I brought it this time?”

“You always bring it,” you countered without missing a beat, your tone equal parts accusing and needy. “You bring it everywhere. Don’t lie to me.”

She smirked, fingers idly tracing along your thigh, like she was in no rush at all. “Maybe I like being prepared,” she hummed, leaning in to press a kiss just beneath your jaw. “You been thinking ‘bout it?”

“For a while,” you confessed softly, voice almost shy beneath the tension in the room. “Like a lot.”

She paused for a beat, her breath fanning against your skin as her lips curved into something darker, softer. “Yeah? How long’s a while?”

You rolled your eyes again, clearly not in the mood for her games, and gave her shoulder a small push.

But Paige only laughed under her breath — a low, husky sound—before finally nodding, the shift in her expression signaling a silent ‘okay’. Her gaze held yours for a beat longer, just long enough for your breath to hitch, before she pushed up off the bed to retrieve what you both knew she had packed.

The anticipation thickened the air, the weight of the moment drawing everything tighter. She was quiet as she moved, deliberate and smooth, her back flexing beneath the dim light while you watched her, bare and wanting and more than ready.

And she could feel it too, the heat that simmered in your stare, the tension in your posture, the glint in your eye that made it abundantly clear. She wasn’t the only one who knew how to take control.

When Paige returned, the familiar shape of it in her hand, your smirk was immediate—small, sly, and a little too eager. You reached for it without hesitation, and she let it go just as quickly, the edges of her mouth curling in a low chuckle.

“You waste no time, huh?” she murmured as she watched you from the foot of the bed, eyes hooded, mouth still glistening faintly from you.

“Could say the same about you,” you replied, voice light but your fingers focused as you stepped into it, adjusting the straps and tightening where it needed with a practiced ease. Confidence hummed beneath your skin, electric and heavy, and you didn’t bother hiding it.

Once it sat snug and secure against you, you tilted your chin, nodding toward the bed, a silent instruction.

And to your pleasant surprise, Paige obeyed.

No eye roll, no sarcastic comment. Just a quiet spark of something between amusement and anticipation in her expression as she crawled backward, settling herself against the pillows. Her breathing was calm, but you knew her well enough to spot the tension—the subtle way her fingers curled into the sheets, the way her eyes tracked your every movement just a second longer than usual.

She was curious, excited. And nervous.

The realization that she’d never let anyone else do this, never even entertained the idea, filled your chest with a kind of fierce pride. It wasn’t just trust.

You climbed onto the bed slowly, knees on either side of her hips. The sight of her spread out beneath you, still in her sports bra and chest rising and falling, was enough to make your breath catch. You tapped her hip gently.

“Lift,” you said, quiet.

She obeyed again, and you tugged her boxers down with care, dragging the fabric past toned thighs, revealing her inch by inch. Her skin was warm beneath your palms, and when you looked up at her again, her gaze was already locked on yours—unreadable, but heavy with something unspoken.

You leaned forward, catching her mouth in another kiss. Slow at first, exploratory. But it didn’t stay soft for long. Soon it was hungry again, mouths open, lips swollen, tongues sliding in sync. You deepened it purposefully, pouring reassurance into every motion, letting your hands slide over her. Grounding her, and reminding her this was you.

Her legs shifted slightly beneath you, and you felt it. The tension in her thighs, the way her fingers grazed your arms, seeking anchor. So you kissed her harder. One hand cradled the side of her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone, while your hips stayed still for now—letting her adjust, letting her breathe.

You didn’t need to rush.

This was new. But it was yours to explore together.

Paige's breathing had shifted, deeper and slower, like she was trying to brace herself for something unfamiliar. You hovered over her, letting your eyes roam, deliberately dragging your gaze down the length of her body. The contrast was striking. Strong, confident Paige, laid bare in front of you, chest rising and falling with anticipation she hadn’t put words to yet.

You let your fingertips trail down her sides, a whisper of a touch. Featherlight at first, just enough to draw goosebumps along her skin. Her stomach twitched beneath your hand when your palm flattened just above her navel.

“You good?” you asked, voice hushed but edged with something firmer, more grounded.

She gave you a small nod, eyes burning into yours. “Better than good.”

That was all the confirmation you needed.

You kissed her again, but not her mouth this time. You pressed your lips to her neck, slow and indulgent, tasting the skin there. Down to her collarbone, where your tongue traced the curve, your hands moving to her hips to keep her steady. You heard the slight hitch in her breath when your lips dipped even lower, pressing along the top swell of her chest, still caged beneath her sports bra.

You smiled against her skin. “This in the way?”

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, lips quirking. “What do you think?”

You didn’t hesitate. You slipped your hands under the band and dragged the fabric up and over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it to the floor. The second she was bare to you, you didn’t even look. You leaned in, kissing the top of her breast first, then lower, letting your tongue sweep over skin that was already flushed and warm. Her hands found your back, blunt nails digging slightly when your mouth closed around her nipples, drawing a soft, reluctant moan from her.

She arched into you without thinking, chest pressing against your mouth, and you took your time—suckling gently, then switching sides, giving her equal attention until her grip on your shoulders turned into a quiet plea.

“Mama.”

“Mhm?” you murmured against her.

She gave a small shake of her head and exhaled a half laugh. “Teasing me already?”

You kissed your way back up her collarbones, up her throat, and then caught her mouth again, messy and hungry. She could taste your hunger on your tongue and it only made her pull you closer.

One of your hands slipped between her legs, stroking over the inner thigh, slow and measured. You were deliberately avoiding where she wanted you most. She tried to shift her hips, subtly guiding your hand lower, but you held your place—firm, patient, smiling into the kiss.

“You’re not the only one who gets to tease,” you whispered against her lips.

“God,” she muttered, tilting her head back slightly, eyes fluttering shut for a beat.

You used that moment to lean in, letting your mouth hover beside her ear, voice low and deliberate. “You want it, pretty girl?”

Paige’s brows knit together slightly, breath catching again. Her hands clenched the sheets beside her. “Yeah.”

Your hand finally slipped lower, brushing softly over her core,slow and maddening, enough to make her hips twitch. You dragged your fingers in circles, watching her expression unravel in real time—almost cursing at how wet she already was.

The look in her eyes—wide, dazed, dark with hunger—made your stomach twist in the best way.

You slowly pulled your hand away, earning yourself a disappointed sigh from the blonde underneath you.

A smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth as you casually brought your fingers to her mouth, her tongue immediately darting out to lick off her own slick. It was nothing short of intoxicating and addicting to see her like that.

You slipped your fingers out of her mouth and your hand curled around the strap, getting a feel of what had been inside of you countless of times, before slowly spitting down on it. You watched as you stroked the silicone, wetting it. Suddenly, you understood why she found so much enjoyment in it, why she always took her sweet time while you waited impatiently.

And now the roles were reversed.

Paige was just about to protest, wanting to tell you to hurry the hell up, but the feeling of the tip of her own strap circling her entrance had her swallowing her own words and her breath catching in her throat.

“Y’good, daddy?” Your voice is silky smooth and sweet like honey, a smug look etched into your features.

Paige wanted to just flip you over and have her way with you. Calling her that while teasing her after you’d practically begged her to let you fuck her? You knew exactly what you were doing.

She didn’t reply, not with words. Her hands rose up, curling tightly around your hips, nails digging into the plush of your skin.

But you didn’t react—not even when she tried to pull you closer.

You positioned the tip at her leaking entrance, the sight causing you to unconsciously lick your lips. She needed you desperately, and probably had been all day long.

Slowly, hand still wrapped around the strap, you moved your hips closer, only the tip pushing in. You watched her for a moment, eyes glued on the way her lips parted as her head tipped back. Then, your gaze traveled down, taking in the way it slipped deeper inside of her torturously slow, inch by inch until you bottomed out.

Paige gasped at the delicious stretch, barely loud enough for you to hear.

“This okay?” You felt the need to ask, to make sure she was comfortable under your care and give her time to adjust to the intrusion.

“Fuck,” the blonde cursed under her breath, her grip around your hips tightening as if you were her lifeline. “It’s good, mama. You can move.”

Nodding your head, you pulled out half way, easing back in with deliberate patience.

You shifted above Paige, the leather strap harness snug around your hips��foreign, unfamiliar, but grounding you in the moment. Your palms braced on either side of Paige's bare waist, breath catching as you looked down at her.

Paige was already flushed. Blonde hair a halo of gold across the pillow, pale chest rising and falling in shallow waves. Her legs fell open again, instinctively, as if inviting something she’d never asked for before.

Her lips parted, just barely. “You can… go slow.”

“I was planning to,” you murmured, voice low, nearly sweet. Your fingers brushed up Paige’s thigh in a soothing pass, a grounding gesture for both of you.

The first push back in was gentle. Careful. A slow rock forward as you let the strap guide you, adjusting to the rhythm, to the tension and give of Paige’s body beneath you. Paige’s breath hitched—sharp and soft at once—and her hands curled into the sheets.

Her blue eyes fluttered up, catching your gaze with something between disbelief and desire. She’d ever felt this full. Never been looked at this way.

You leaned down, lips grazing Paige’s jaw. “Still okay?”

Paige swallowed, nodding, her fingers sliding up to grip your forearm. “More than okay.”

You set a rhythm, slow and purposeful, letting each roll of your hips press deep and linger. Paige’s moans started soft, reluctant at first—like she was surprised by how good it feels. Each one drawn out, breathy, as her thighs trembled slightly with every thrust.

You watched her unravel beneath you. How Paige bit her bottom lip, how her fingers dragged along your bacm, how her lashes fluttered every time you sunk in deeper. It wasn’t just about control, it was about giving, too. Giving Paige something she never thought she wanted, and now couldn’t seem to get enough of.

Sweat beaded at both of your skin, the room warm with breath and heat and slow tension. When Paige wrapped her legs around your hips and pulled you in closer, your bodies locked together, like it was meant to feel this way all along.

“Fuck,” Paige breathed, voice wrecked. “You feel so good.”

You brushed your lips against her temple, whispering like it was sacred. “You feel even better, Baby.”

And then you rocked in again—harsher, deeper—and watched Paige slowly fall apart all over again.

The way she clung to you, the sound of her moans unraveling in your ear, the heat radiating off her body. Every time you sank into her, every time her hips tilted to meet yours, it got a little harder to hold back.

You didn’t even realize you were moving faster until her breath hitched again, more desperate this time. Her fingers dug into your hips like she needed something to ground herself, something solid while you pulled her apart.

Your eyes stayed glued to her. To the way her lips parted just before every moan. To the way her brows pulled together when your thrusts got deeper. To the way she took you, like it was too much and not enough all at once.

And then your gaze dropped, locked in on where your body met hers. How the strap stretched her glistening cunt.

You swore you could feel her. Swore you could feel every squeeze, every flutter, every reaction she gave you—even through the strap. And it drove you fucking insane.

The pace picked up, your hips rocking harder now, the sound of skin on skin thick in the air. Paige’s moans came faster, choked and breathy, and still she didn’t tell you to stop.

She didn’t want you to stop.

One of her hands slipped up to her mouth, knuckles pressed to her lips as she bit down, trying to keep quiet, trying to keep herself from falling apart too loudly.

“Don’t hide those sounds from me,” you warned, voice low and ruined, one hand grabbing her thigh to yank her closer with every thrust. “You’re so fucking pretty when you moan.”

Her eyes rolled back, her back arched, and a whimper escaped around her hand despite her best efforts.

“Look at you,” you murmured, nearly breathless yourself, the rhythm hard and steady now. “All spread out for me… letting me fuck you like this for the first time. You feel it, don’t you? You feel me in your guts.”

She nodded, mouth open but words gone, completely lost to the feeling.

And you were gone, too. Gone in the way she clutched at you, in the slick sounds filling the room, in the way she trembled every time you hit just right. You’d never seen her like this—never been inside her in this way. And it made you feel invincible.

It made you feel obsessed.

“I could stay right here all fucking night,” you whispered harshly, eyes devouring her. “You feel unreal. Don’t ever wanna stop.”

Paige let out a broken, muffled moan—legs shaking, knuckles white against her mouth, body arching into yours like she couldn’t bear a single inch of space between you.

And with every thrust, every cry, every sweet wrecked sound you pulled from her lips, you made her yours.

She’d taken taken two orgasms from you. Stolen them, really—left you shaking, wrung out, and aching with nothing to show for it but trembling thighs and the ghost of her mouth still between your legs. And now, with every thrust of your hips, the straps pressed hard against your core. Slick and pulsing and needy, and it was driving you insane.

Your fingers curled tight into the flesh of her hip, holding her in place, like if you didn’t keep her still you’d lose your fucking mind. Her legs locked around your waist, dragging you in deeper, and you leaned down to kiss her, messy and hungry and almost angry with how much you wanted her.

She moaned into your mouth, high pitched and breathless, and it broke something in you. The squelch of wet, filthy friction echoed between you, loud and obscene, and it made your stomach tighten. She was so fucking wet for you. You could feel her flutter around the strap again, tightening, pulling, like her body knew you now.

Her breath hitched, over and over, those beautiful little gasps coming faster, more ragged. Her thighs trembled against your sides. Her hand shot up to the pillow, grabbing desperately for something, anything, to ground herself.

“Oh my god—” she whimpered, breathless. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I know,” you growled, not slowing for a second. “I know, baby. Look at you. So fucked out, clinging to me like this. You gonna cum all over me? Gonna soak it for me like a good fucking girl?”

Paige choked on a sob, nodding frantically as her mouth opened but no words came. Just sounds, broken, ruined little moans that made your hips stutter with the sheer heat of it.

“That’s it,” you panted, the rhythm wild now, completely consumed by her. “Take it. Take all of me. You feel that?”

“Y-yeah,” she gasped, her hand clawing at your back. “You fuck me so good—shit—baby, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” Your mouth dropped to her neck, biting down just enough to leave heat and pressure behind.

She cried out then, loud and raw, back arching as her orgasm hit like a fucking storm. She clung to you, muscles clenching hard around the strap as she came, soaking you with it, thighs twitching uncontrollably. Her moans turned into whimpers, then into wrecked little “oh my god”s and “don’t stop”s as her high dragged out, long and messy.

You didn’t stop, not right away. You rode it through, watched every flicker of pleasure twist across her face, obsessed with how beautiful she looked undone like this. She was yours. Wrecked by you. Filled by you.

And through it all, Paige kept whispering, voice hoarse and trembling. “So good… fuck, you feel so good… never—never been fucked like this before… you’re so fucking good, baby.”

You slowed eventually, panting against her skin, her praise still echoing in your head like a damn prayer. And all you could think—half crazed, overwhelmed, euphoric—was ‘I’d do it all over again.’ Just to see her fall apart like that one more time.

Her moans still echoed in your ears. High, strangled, ruined, and yet you still hadn’t cum.

She’d robbed your from it twice earlier, dragged those highs from you with her mouth, her fingers, her body pressed into yours like she had something to prove—then left you hanging. But now? Now it was your turn.

You didn’t give her time to come down. Didn’t even let her legs close. You fumbled with the straps, tugging the harness of and sitting back. Your thighs slipped between hers, only to be met by the hot, slick press of your cunt grinding down onto hers.

Her gasp was sharp, almost pained, but her hips lifted into yours anyway, her body betraying her sensitivity in favor of your shared need.

“Oh my god,” she whines, head rolling back as your cores met, swollen and soaked and completely unfiltered. The friction was messy, wet and loud and absolutely obscene, but you didn’t care. Neither of you did.

You moaned, high and needy, grinding harder as the sensation built—bare skin dragging against hers, nerves shot and screaming, the strap still hanging from your hips, forgotten now. It was just you and her—sliding together, chasing it, drowning in it

“Fuck, Paige—” you gasped, eyes half-lidded and locked on her flushed face. “I need—need to cum.”

She groaned, reaching for your hips with shaky hands, guiding you, matching your rhythm even though her legs were trembling.

“Take it,” she rasped, breath still ragged. “Fucking take it. You’ve earned it, baby. Cum for me, rub that pretty pussy on me until you fall apart. Don’t stop.”

You whimpered, the sound punched from your chest as you rolled your hips harder, faster, your wetness mixing with hers in a way that made everything slip and slide just right. Too much and not enough all at once.

Then—without warning—her hand slid up, two fingers pressing against your lips. You didn’t hesitate. You took them into your mouth, sucking hungrily, eyes glued to hers like she was your entire world.

Paige’s eyes darkened, her voice dropping into something deep and dangerous.

“Look at you,” she growled, the fingers in your mouth curling slightly, holding your jaw. “So desperate. So fucking wet. You gonna cum just from this? Grinding that needy little cunt on mine like a good girl?”

You moaned around her fingers, nodding, the coil in your belly threatening to snap. Your hips stuttered, rhythm breaking as the pressure built, dizzying and intense.

“That’s it,” she whispered, her voice a husk, her eyes wild with want. “C’mon. Show me. Take what you need, mama.”

You cried out around her fingers, your entire body locking up as your orgasm tore through you—hot and violent and blinding. You shook against her, thighs trembling, nails digging into her sides as you lost yourself, your high crashing into hers, mingled and messy and soaked with everything you’d been holding back.

And through it all, Paige just held you. Let you ride it out, while coming down herself. Her fingers slipped from your mouth, trailing down your jaw, down your neck, and she whispered,

“You’re so fucking perfect.”

Your chest was still heaving, legs quivering and damp with both your releases. She leaned in, her touch featherlight on your jaw, caressing your cheek like she hadn’t just dragged the orgasm of your life out of you.

“You good?” she murmured, voice hoarse, but laced with something dangerous underneath. Something eager.

You nodded, dazed, your lips parting to respond. But before a single word could come out, she flipped you onto your back with terrifying ease, making you gasp.

“You’ve had your fun,” she rasped, reaching behind her for the discarded strap and sliding it on like it was muscle memory. Her eyes never left yours. “My turn.”

Your breath caught. That quiet ache between your legs that had just barely dulled now flared back to life. Your heart kicked up again. You could only watch, eyes wide and pulse skipping, as she adjusted the straps against her hips, rolling them once to test the feel.

You expected her to climb over you again, to press her body flush against yours.

But instead, she grabbed your thigh, flipped you again, and hauled your hips up until your knees dug into the mattress and your chest hit the pillow.

“Wh—Paige—” you barely managed, dizzy from the motion, your ass up and exposed, slick still dripping between your thighs.

“Shh,” she said, low and firm, one hand splaying against your lower back to keep you down. “You’re ready for it, baby.”

And then she sank into you.

No warning. No teasing. Just one smooth, hard thrust that punched the air from your lungs. The stretch burned for a second, sensitive and overwhelming, but your body welcomed her fast, the slickness easing her in and making the glide so damn deep.

You gasped into the pillow, your fingers clawing at the sheets.

“Fuck!” You tried to back away from the sudden intrusion.

“Oh, now you wanna run from this dick?” she growled behind you, her pace already brutal, hand gripping the back of your neck and pinning you down. “Stay with it, ma.”

Every word was punctuated by a thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin loud and wet, echoing through the room like sin. The bed rocked, your thighs shaking, your jaw slack as moans spilled from your lips without warning.

“You feel that?” she panted, hips snapping forward. “So tight—still sucking me in like you didn’t just come all over me a few minutes ago.”

You whined, eyes rolling back.

“Messy fucking girl,” she hissed. “Dripping all over my thighs. Can’t even think straight, huh?”

You tried to speak—tried to beg, moan, something—but all that came out were high pitched sounds, your cheek rubbing against the pillow as she fucked into you like she owned every part of you. You knew it was gonna leave makeup stains.

“You like being used like this?” she breathed. “Stuffed full of my cock like a good little slut?”

You whimpered, nodding frantically, and Paige moaned behind you, a low, almost possessive sound that made you clench around the toy still sliding in and out of you.

“Yeah, you do,” she said, her voice unraveling. “So greedy. So fucking wet for me. You’d let me do this all night if I wanted, wouldn’t you?”

You would. God, you would.

And she knew it.

Her hand slipped down your back, finding your ass, squeezing once before giving it two sharp slaps that sent a jolt through your body.

You were loud. Too loud.

You knew it the second the heel of her hand shoved your face further into the soft pillow, muffling the wanton moans that kept slipping past your swollen lips. The hotel room felt like it was vibrating with your sounds—high, helpless, wrecked. Paige’s thrusts hadn’t let up for a second.

“Shh,” she gritted, eyes blazing as she hovered above you, sweat dripping down her chest. “You want the whole floor to hear how good I’m fucking you?”

Your response was just a choked whimper, muffled against the pillow. You couldn’t stop trembling.

She’d slid out and flipped you fast, like you weighed nothing, shoving you onto your back and sliding right back in with a single sharp thrust. She slapped a hand over your mouth, covering it. Now your legs were everywhere. One pinned tightly against your chest, the other slung up and over her shoulder, spreading you open, folding you. The angle had her deep—so deep you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but take it. You swore you could feel her in your lungs.

“Fuck, look at you,” she rasped, her eyes dragging over your face. “Mascara running, mouth open, pussy clenching like you’re trying to milk me. You can’t stop, can you?”

You tried to shake your head, tried to answer her, but all that came out was a cry into her hand.

“That’s what I thought,” she growled. “Drippin’ on the sheets, crying for my cock.”

You blinked up at her, more tears threatening to spill now from overstimulation, from how full you felt. You were so far gone it didn’t even feel real.

And then her voice dropped lower—dangerously low. Possessive.

“I could fuck a baby into you like this, mama,” she murmured, eyes locked to where she was sliding in and out of you. “Folded in half, stuffed so deep you’d take every last drop.”

Your entire body tensed at her words, another sharp cry muffled against her hand.

“Oh, that got you,” she cooed, rolling her hips slow and deep, pressing until your breath caught and your toes curled. “You want me to fuck you full, huh? Knock you up?”

You whined, your hands scrambling up to her wrist, not to pull her hand away—but to hold her there, like the weight of it grounded you.

She leaned in, sweat-slicked chest and hard nipples brushing yours, her palm still sealing your mouth as she whispered filth in your ear.

“Everyone down the hall could hear you if I let go,” she breathed. “You want them to know what I’m doing to you? Want them to hear you beg me to cum inside? To fill you up so good you’ll still feel it tomorrow?”

You couldn’t take it. Your back arched, tears spilling now from the intensity of it all. Her words, her thrusts, the way your body had no control anymore.

“You gonna cum for me again?” she growled, pace turning brutal. “So messy, so loud, soaking my cock like it was made for that pretty pussy?”

You screamed into her hand as your climax hit you hard, your body locking up, shaking beneath her like you’d been electrocuted. Every muscle trembled, your cunt pulsing around the toy like it was real, like your body couldn’t tell the difference.

“Fuck,” she moaned, watching you fall apart. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Take it.”

Your cries were muffled, desperate, ruined. And still, she didn’t stop. She fucked you through it, deep and filthy, until you went limp beneath her, completely wrecked, your leg falling from her shoulder as she finally slowed down, panting hard above you.

And when she finally removed her hand, your lips were glossy with spit, your cheeks stained with black streaks, your voice barely a whisper.

“Paige…”

“Shh,” she whispered, brushing sweaty hair from your face. “Just lay there. Let me take care of you.”

And with one last kiss to your temple, she finally pulled out, leaving you gasping, trembling, your entire body a soaked, overstimulated, satisfied mess.

You were still catching your breath, chest rising and falling as Paige finally stilled above you. The sweat on her skin shimmered under the dim bedside light, her golden hair clinging to her temples, and her lips were parted—soft, flushed, as if she’d just confessed something without meaning to.

You didn’t even realize you were crying again until she reached up and thumbed away the tears under your eyes. Her touch was gentle now, tender and careful, as if she was worried she’d break you after what she’d just done.

“Hey,” she whispered, brushing her thumb along your jaw. “You okay?”

You gave a dazed little nod, voice barely audible. “Mhm… Just… That was crazy, what the fuck.” You let out a long exhale.

Her chest lifted with a soft laugh, but there was something else behind it. A vulnerability. A truth trying to sneak through between the lines.

She helped you sit up slowly, her hands never leaving your skin. She unstrapped herself and tossed the harness aside, then climbed back onto the bed to cradle you in her lap, letting your legs rest over hers. You could still feel her heartbeat beneath your cheek as you curled into her, warm and safe.

You were quiet for a while—until you felt her lips near your ear.

“I’d do it,” she murmured, voice thick and quiet.

Your brow furrowed slightly, still dazed. “Do what?”

She pulled back just enough for her eyes to meet yours.

“Put a baby in you,” she said, dead serious. “If I could… I would’ve done it right there. Fucked it into you like I meant it.”

A breath caught in your throat, the ache between your legs flaring back up even though you were exhausted and sore. Your heart felt like it skipped a beat.

“Cute.” You grinned bashfully, eyes still glassy. “I’d let you.”

And you meant it—God, did you mean it. If biology didn’t care, if the world didn’t matter—you’d let Paige Bueckers ruin your body, mark your life, and carry her forever in you. You’d wear her love, her heat, her name, like it was carved into your bones.

She kissed you softly after that, nowhere near as greedy or hard as before. Just lips to lips. Reverent. Slow. Worshipful.

“C’mon,” she murmured eventually, slipping out from under you and reaching for a robe. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You let her guide you into the hotel’s oversized bathtub, both of you sinking into the steaming bath she’d set up. She sat behind you, your back against her chest, arms looped gently around your waist.

She washed you with care—her fingers massaging your scalp, rinsing off the sweat, the stickiness, the smeared makeup. All the marks she’d left.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asked quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You shook your head. “No, you didn’t… Did I?”

She chuckled, warm breath against your cheek.

“Nah,” she whispered. “You were perfect.”

You smiled, closing your eyes and sinking further into her hold.

And there, in the soft glow of the bathroom lights, skin clean, hearts raw, and bodies tangled up beneath the water—you stayed. Letting love settle in the places lust had already scorched. Letting her hold you like she never planned to let go.

Because she didn’t.

And neither did you.

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #paige bueckers #paige bueckers oneshot #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers smut #wnba x reader #dallas wings

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v1lsxe · 5 months ago

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things to script

ITEMS ✶ HOGWARTS

⌗ a coin pouch with no end ; it takes money directly from your vault. (perfect for when you just need that new quill from flourish and blotts.)

⌗ a field guide ; like in hogwarts legacy, it records spells, creatures, and artifacts you learn about in detail. like a diary, but much cooler.

⌗ an enchanted hairbrush ; bad hair days? not anymore. this brush works faster than any charm—and it doesn’t yank.

⌗ a potion that sharpens focus ; have an upcoming test you’re not ready for? worry not! studying with this efficient potion will ensure you an O grade. (warning: people might start asking you for study tips when they see your O grades. use at your own risk)

⌗ a mood-matching candle ; bright pink for excitement, deep blue for calm—handy for creating the perfect atmosphere or warning people to tread lightly !

⌗ a snack pouch with infinite snacks ; the real MVP during late-night study sessions and those never-bloody-ending train rides to hogwarts.

⌗ a spellbook that adjusts spells to your level ; it knows your learning style and gives you suggestions and tips to make spells easier to master - think of it as your personal tutor—minus the lectures when you accidentally set something on fire.

⌗ a quill that changes color ; because highlighting is overrated, and rainbow notes are just more fun.

⌗ a floating candle lantern ; follows you around and provides light in dark spaces. useful for late-night reading or sneaking into the forbidden section.

⌗ a handwriting charm quill ; say goodbye to illegible scrawls and hello to essays that actually impress. this quill will ensure your handwriting stays neat, no matter how rushed you are !

⌗ a plant-care pendant ; alerts you when your magical plants need watering or pruning. (even the pickiest venomous tentacula will thrive under your care with this little lifesaver.)

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ilovecatfr · 5 months ago

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HOW TO CHANNEL SOMEONE

{or channel memories from your dr/people/higher self}

Channeling is connecting with someone’s energy or consciousness, allowing you to receive memories, messages, or answers.

There's a lot of ways to channel someone but I'm going to go through couple of them;

Methods: meditation and visualization/automatic writing/channeling through dreams/using a necklace or a pendulum

{a little tip}

Relax and trust the process. Often, memories and answers will come to you naturally when you're not actively trying to force them. Pay attention to sudden thoughts, feelings, or deja vu moments—they might be glimpses from your DR. Be patient.

1. MEDITATION AND VISUALIZATION

Sit or lie down in a quiet space.

Close your eyes and visualize any place you want.

Picture the person from your DR you want to connect with. Imagine their presence vividly, including their voice, appearance, and energy. Or if you want to channel your higher self you can simple ask.

In your mind or outloud, ask them to share a memory or whatever you want.

2. AUTOMATIC WRITING

Grab a pen and notebook or you can use your phone/anything you can write on.

Quiet your mind and think of the person you want to channel.

Set the intention: “I invite [Name] to share their memories with me/answer my questions”

Begin writing whatever comes to mind, without overthinking.

3. CHANNELING THROUGH DREAMS

Before bed, set the intention to meet the person in your dreams and ask for whatever you want.

Visualize the person clearly as you fall asleep, focusing on their energy and presence. Or ask a question for specific person/higher self.

{tip; set the intention to remember the dream vividly or keep something you can write it in as soon as you wake up}

4. CHANNELING WITH NECKLACE OR PENDULUM

{remember: necklace must have some kind of pendant on it}

Cleanse the tool: Run it under water, pass it through incense smoke, or visualize white light surrounding it {OPTIONAL}

Sit in a quiet space and relax. Set your intention: Hold the necklace or pendulum and say, “I call [Name] to connect with me”

Determined the movements example: back and fourth=yes. Side to side=no. Circle= maybe.

{you can write it on a paper and put it under it as your channel}

Begin channeling, and if you want to make sure it your person ask questions they will know to answer to.

You can even put a keyboard under it and have it move towards the letters as it makes a sentence.

At the end you can say goodbye.

LITTLE ADD: HOW I PERSONALLY CHANNEL AND CONNECT TO PEOPLE FROM MY DR EVERYDAY

{tips; you can make sure the pendant on your necklace is heavy enough/be in a room with no wind/ put your elbows on a hard surface as you do this to keep your hand steady/trust that connection will guide your hand.}

SOME AFFIRMATIONS YOU CAN SAY:

SAFETY

1. My boundaries are strong, and only safe connections are allowed in my space.

2. The universe (God or whoever you believe in) supports and protects me at all times.

3. Only energies that align with my highest good can reach me.

4. I am grounded, centered, and completely safe.

CHANNELLING

1. I easily connect with [Name] from and receive.

2. I am open to communication with [Name], and it flows effortlessly.

3. I am fully aligned with [Name] and those within it.

4. Memories from my DR flow to me naturally and effortlessly.

Focus on the people you want; their energy, your relationship, scenarios... and basically relax and set the intention or ask them to be present in your cr by sending your messages/signs or whatever you want. I keep this connection open and they are welcomed every day to send me messages.

A little warning:

Don't let this take over your shifting journey; remember shifting and experiencing it first hand is much better then just having memories or talking to people from your dr. Yes this can be great motivation but don't let it take over.

This is not to scare you but to warn you and remind you of what can you really have:)

#reality shifting #shifters #channelling #permashifting #shifting community #scripting #shifting advice #shifting motivation #shifting reality #shiftblr #shifting blog #shifting realities #shifting consciousness #shifting diary #shifting to hogwarts #shifting antis dni #shifting mindset #shifting activities #shifting affirmations

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fresitasmoribund · 5 months ago

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frame by frame

-`♡´- pairing: Poly!Wolfstar x Fem!Reader

-`♡´- summary: Your first time working with Sirius and Remus - of course you're going to be nervous.

-`♡´- contains: model!sirius, model!reader, photographer!remus, modern au

-`♡´- masterlist

-`♡´- word count: 1.3k

-`♡´- a.n: this was the oneshot that made me have a two-month writer’s block… this was gonna be so much longer but I literally cannot LOL

You narrowly miss a huge puddle as you speed-walk as fast as you can to the location of the photoshoot. You haven’t checked your phone, afraid of it slowing you down, but you can feel you’re late.

Holding the handle of your umbrella tighter, you mutter curses under your breath. What a great first impression, you think to yourself. My first time working with a high-profile model and photographer, and I’m late. You’re sure your agent is going to murder you.

The hotel exuded chic sophistication: polished wood surfaces gleamed under the soft glow of amber pendant lights, and an energetic buzz fills the air as the team flits between tables. Your shoes click against the floor as you slip through the entrance, heart pounding. The strap of your bag was slipping off of your shoulder for the third time since you’d stepped out of the taxi. A quick glance at your phone confirms it – late. Not disastrously, but enough to have you inwardly groan.

“Brilliant start,” you murmur, tugging your bag back into place and folding your umbrella.

Before you spiral too far into self-recrimination, a voice cuts through the muted din of clinking glasses and conversations.

“There she is!” The rich, velvety voice carries across the room, instantly turning heads. Your cheeks warm as you hurry toward him, your steps a mix of soft clicks and light bounces. He leans casually against the bar, his grin as radiant as the spotlight he so clearly deserved. “We were starting to think you’d been kidnapped by a rival agency.”

Your shoulders sag with relief, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You hope your voice doesn’t sound as unsteady as you feel. “Wouldn’t that have been a story?”

Sirius pushes off the bar and strolls over for proper introductions. His charm is practically tangible. Just as he reaches you, another figure merges from the cluster of crew members setting up. Remus approaches with a clipboard in hand – the perfect calm counterpoint to Sirius’ vibrant energy. His smile is soft and reassuring as his eyes meet yours.

“No worries,” he says, his voice lower and smoother than Sirius’ but no less welcoming. “You’re right on time for the fun part.”

You nod, the tension in your frame slowly unwinding. “Thanks. I was worried I’d throw everything off.”

Sirius let out a laugh, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. “Our world revolves around pretty girls like you. You could’ve arrived an hour late, and we’d still be waiting.”

Remus gives him a sideways glance, his lips twitching in barely concealed amusement.

“We’ve only just finished setting up,” he clarifies, his eyes crinkling ever so slightly.

“Come on then.” Sirius throws an arm out to gesture toward a corner of the restaurant where the stylist is. “Let’s get you sorted. Big day ahead, yeah?”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you allow them to guide you deeper into the space.

The stylist ushered you to a corner sectioned off with screens. The team works like a well-oiled machine in the background, and you see the occasional test flash of a camera. You can feel the liveliness, and it’s only heightened by the nervous flutter in your chest.

“This is yours,” the stylist says, holding up a dress with reverence. It was breathtaking: a sleek black silk that shimmers faintly under the soft lights, with delicate lace accents that hint at sophistication without overstating. The smooth fabric is cool against your fingertips.

Slipping behind the screen, you take a deep breath as you begin to change. The silk whispers against your skin, a perfect fit that clings to your frame in all the right places. Once dressed, you turn to face the full-length mirror propped against the wall, smoothing out any wrinkles in the fabric. Your heart races.

“I can do this.” You stare at your reflection like you can will the confidence into existence. “It’s just a shoot. With two very hot guys.” You bit your lip, rolling your eyes at yourself. “We’re professionals.”

The makeup artists gives you a final sweep of powder, a quick touch of a frosty gloss, and then steps back with a satisfied nod.

“You’re all set,” she smiles brightly, and the stylist chimed in with an agreement as she adjusts the strap on the dress.

You stand up and step out from behind the screen just as Sirius saunters over, his grin lighting up the space around him. He gives you a once-over, his eyes glittering with unmistakable appreciation.

“Feeling alright, love?” he asks, voice playful but with a sincerity that softened the edges. “You look so good; I fear I might get distracted.”

Your cheeks warm, but you manage a small smile. “High praise coming from you.”

“It’s only the truth,” he says with a wink, hands tucked casually into his pockets as if he hasn’t just made your heart skip a beat.

Remus, who has been adjusting the lighting nearby, glances up and chimes in. “He’s right. You’ll warm up as you go, I’m sure.”

You inhale deeply, letting their easy confidence in you take root. Your nerves don’t vanish completely, but they shift into something more bearable – a nervous excitement that sparked rather than suffocated.

“Ready?” Sirius asks, extending a hand toward the bar.

The first shoot begins just as you settle in front of the lights pointing toward the bar. Sirius is already in position, leaning against the counter with effortless poise. His tie is loosened just enough to seem rakish; his hair is tucked behind his ear to expose the left side of his face.

You step into your mark opposite of him, and every muscle in your body suddenly becomes hyperaware. His smile is maddening, his pose causal yet commanding. Meanwhile, you feel like a bundle of awkward limbs trying not to fall over.

“Alright, darling,” Sirius drawls. “Just pretend I said something devastatingly charming.”

You laugh nervously, trying to match his energy. But as the camera clicks, you realize how rigid you are. Your arms are still, shoulders tight, fingers curling like they don’t know where to go. It was like it was your first time all over again. You’re not usually this nervous. How does he make it look so easy?

“Relax.” Sirius clearly read your mind. He straightens slightly, rotating his shoulders in a slow, exaggerated roll. “We’re not mannequins. We breathe, we stretch.”

He demonstrates again, the movements so fluid it makes you want to sigh with envy. “Come on, try it with me.”

You hesitate, then mimic his shoulder roll. It feels ridiculous at first, but Sirius gives you an approving nod. “There we go. Much better already.”

From behind the camera, Remus steps forward, his gaze calm and steady as he considers you.

“Think about it like this.” His voice is thoughtful and deliberate. “If you were having a secret conversation with him,” he gestures to Sirius, “what would it look like?”

Heat rises to your cheeks at the thought. The idea makes you feel like you are being examined, and more like you were part of something intimate – something shared. You angle your head just a tad, letting the thought play out in your mind. And almost without meaning to, your lips part and the sides curve into a small smirk.

“Now you’re getting it.” Sirius smiles. He leans in, raising a brow as if he can hear the imaginary exchange you conjured,

The camera clicks rapidly as Remus’ voice cuts through occasionally. “Yes, that’s in. Hold that for me, love.” His praise felt sincere and grounding – a subtle tether keeping you steady.

“Perfect,” Sirius adds, his grin widening. “And just think – we’ve only just started.”

Bit by bit, you feel the tension eases out of you, and your movements become more natural. They keep the energy light, Sirius throwing in the occasional quip, and Remus’ steady voice offering praise like, “That’s gorgeous, stay there.”

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swarvey · 1 year ago

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how they would propose | sdv bachelors x g/n!reader | part one

-> summary: in game, the farmer is always the one to present the mermaid's pendant to their lover — what if it was the other way around?

pt. 2

a/n: starting with half the boys, i'll be working on the rest of them + bachelorettes after ! i got a bit carried away with elliott's ... but can you blame me?

alex

carries the pendant around in his pocket for a week, hoping the right words will magically find him if he does

(they don't)

definitely the type to lock himself in the bathroom and stare at himself through the mirror while practicing what to say to you

decides to propose during a quiet walk in the evening so he has your full attention and all the time in the world to profess his love to you

alex swears his heart is about to fly out of his chest as the two of you walk hand in hand around pelican town, the sun long gone below the horizon. the street lamps guide the two of you, fireflies intermittently emitting gentle flashes of light.

he doesn't even realize you're expecting a response from him until you wave a hand in front of his face, moving in front of him so he's forced to look into your amused gaze.

"alex," you laugh, and his breath hitches, "are you listening? you look like you've been zoning out."

he musters an empty laugh back at you, internally panicking as he desperately tries to recall what you said. "what? me? no, i was just, uh . . ." think, alex, think! you can't mess up now! "i was thinking about gridball." he wants to smack himself.

"really?" you reply, raising your brows. "you're thinking about gridball, now? while i was talking to you about our anniversary coming up?"

shit.

his face pales, stopping in his tracks in the middle of the bridge near the museum. he groans, dropping your hand to run it through his hair — surely he can fix this, right?

"okay, cut the act," you say, worry beginning to show in your features. "is everything alright? what's bugging you?"

"nothing, really! it's just that, uh . . ." alex inhales a quick breath to prepare himself before grabbing both your hands in his. "you know i love you, right?"

"yes . . .," you trail off. you look at him with concerned eyes, beginning to look uneasy. "now i'm really worried—"

"no, no! just hear me out, alright?" you nod. "you know, before you moved here, my view on life was pretty boring," he admits. "all i really cared about was gridball and my grandparents. and dusty, of course, and i guess sam and haley, too—" he shakes his head, blush beginning to cover his cheeks. "whatever, you get what i'm trying to say, right?"

"i'm not entirely sure if i follow," you reply, smiling at how flustered he's gotten. "what are you getting at, alex?"

he sighs. "listen, you moving here was the best thing that ever happened to me. you've shown me there's tons more to life than whatever i was doing before, like giving random gifts to everyone in town just to make them happy, or being a badass and fighting off monsters!" you laugh, and he grins. "anyways, now that i've had a taste of what being with you is like, i don't think i'm willing to share."

your jaw drops as he reaches into his pocket and gets on one knee, opening his palm to reveal a mermaid's pendant.

"will you marry me, y/n? so i can spend the rest of my life learning more awesome stuff from you?"

he nearly collapses in relief when you nod, whooping in joy before engulfing you in a tight hug. after a few moments, he can't help but kiss you strongly, a hand cradling the back of your head with the other on the small of your back. you smile into the kiss, pulling away only to look into his teary, overjoyed eyes.

"aren't you forgetting something?" you tease, glancing down at the pendant that's still clutched in his hand.

"oh, right!" you bend your head forward as he places it around your neck, beaming at the sight.

you hold the jewel in your hand, adrenaline pumping through your blood. "looks like we'll have to plan a wedding," you say, happily pecking alex's cheek.

"yes, this is so great!" he exclaims as he jumps in excitement, unable to control himself. "alright, first, we gotta figure out where we're going to cater food from, but i know grams will want to bake our cake," he rambles, grabbing your hand as he practically starts to drag you home. "oooh, and we should totally ask sam and his band to play something for us! he knows all the songs we like, anyway. i think all the guys will help me get all dressed up, but i bet haley and the rest of the girls would go crazy over helping you pick out what to wear, they probably know better anyway—"

"alex," you interrupt, laughing at his antics, "relax. we'll figure all this out tomorrow. let's just go home." he nods.

"you're right, honey," he agrees, swinging your intertwined hands playfully. "i'm going to need all the rest i can get if i'm gonna spend all of tomorrow bragging about my engagement."

shane

leaves the pendant in his nightstand drawer and looks at it every night before he goes to sleep for nearly a month

he truly never thought he would get married — who would want to marry him, the town drunk?

regardless, the past year with you has proven otherwise, and he knows now there's no one else he wants by his side

he decides to do it quite impulsively one day, literally grabbing it from his drawer and walking to your farm

(marnie nearly faints in excitement when she sees him walk out with the mermaid's pendant in hand, while jas cheers him on)

shane starts to get nervous when he doesn't see you anywhere on the farm, making sure to double-check all the chicken coops and barns before heading toward your house. your pet runs up to him, sniffing the hand wrapped around the pendant curiously.

"got any advice?" he asks jokingly, though he doesn't receive an answer — just a tilted head and wide eyes. "guess this one's on me," he sighs, looking at the jewelry nervously.

"shane? is that you?"

shane nearly drops it as he quickly shoves his hands into his pockets, watching as you step out from your greenhouse. of course, he thinks, the one place i didn't check.

"what are you doing here?" you ask, smiling at his sudden appearance. you're wearing dirt-covered gloves and your hair is touseled and frizzy; shane thinks you're glowing. "dinner's not til later, isn't it? or else i'll need a little time to get ready."

"no, i thought i would stop by a little early," he says. "i had something i wanted to talk to you about, actually." you nod, taking off your gloves and putting them in your bag.

"of course, what's up?" you ask, looking at him with those damn eyes that he could never resist.

"we should get married," he states bluntly, excitement sending chills down his body.

he wants to kick himself as you stare at him, blinking twice before saying, "y-yeah, i guess we should."

he nods, swallowing. "it makes sense, y'know?" he reasons, suddenly avoiding your eyes. "we've been with each other for a while now, and things have been going pretty good." he pauses. "you've gotten me through a lot, you know that? i mean, before you got here, i didn't think anyone in this town gave a damn about me — but you obviously do, for whatever reason, so i'll spend the rest of my life trying my best to be the guy you see me as."

he takes the mermaid's pendant out from his pocket, sheepishly looking at you as he holds it. his eyes are watering with emotion, and by the looks of it, so are yours.

"so, what do you say, honey?" he asks softly. "will you marry me?"

"yes," you reply, smiling as he puts the necklace on you. he laughs in disbelief when he sees you wearing it, still in shock that this is his reality. you roll your eyes, pulling him in for a deep kiss. you cry out in surprise as he hugs you strongly and even lifts you off the ground slightly, his eyes brighter than you've ever seen them.

"i can hardly believe this is real," he sighs, pulling you into his side. "guess i did one thing right in my lifetime."

you slap his arm, resting your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes. "you definitely didn't plan this out, did you?"

"huh? what makes you think that?"

"you couldn't even wait until dinner to ask?" you joke. "i guess it wasn't really a question, either—" you laugh as he pokes your side to cut you off.

"don't forget, you're the one who said yes," he retorts, smiling nonetheless. "you're officially stuck with me."

elliott

oh, he's had the mermaid's pendant for months. pretty much since you two got together

he tried to keep it a secret, he really did, but by the time he actually decides to propose, the rest of the bachelors and bachelorettes know

still, he wants the proposal to be for you and you only, so he plans on asking you during an evening picnic dinner on the beach

that doesn't stop him from asking his friends for some help, though

"is this really necessary?" sebastian questions, placing a candle into the sand and creating a pathway to the picnic blanket near the water.

"i think it's romantic," leah sighs, handing him another candle from the box in her arms. "he's been planning and buying all this stuff for weeks now. plus, candlelight always makes things more magical."

"i'm sure the moon will be bright enough tonight to add some 'magic.'"

"the light itself is not our concern, my friend," elliott says, wrapping an arm around seb — who scowls at the contact, but decides to let him get away with it just this once — and waving his arm to show off their setup. "i need this beach to represent a scene of pure love and endearment tonight, for my beloved deserves no less than a proposal for the century!"

"right," seb monotones. "well, the candles are all set up, so i'm heading to the shade."

"you want the speakers over here, el?" sam calls out, holding up one of his wireless speakers at the entrance of the beach.

"i've got one over here, too!" abigail yells from behind the cabin.

"perfect!" elliott replies, grinning as the setting he's been picturing finally comes together. he waves goodbye as everyone begins to head home, turning to the only part of his plan left untouched — the picnic blanket. i suppose the rest is up to me.

"are you ready, my dear?"

"elliott, i've been ready for the past twenty minutes," you say, playfully smacking the hands covering your eyes. "can i look now?" he laughs before finally lowering his arms, watching lovingly as your eyes widen at the setting in front of you.

"shall we?" he asks, holding his arm out. you gladly hold on to him as the two of you make your way down the beach, in awe at the candles lighting your way.

"i must be dreaming," you say, shaking your head. "how did you—? wait, where's the music coming from?" you realize soft acoustic music is playing throughout the beach, feeling as if you're in a movie scene.

"ah, that? i asked sam and abigail if i could borrow their speakers," elliott explains proudly. "i also recruited leah and sebastian to help me create this enchanting path."

you laugh. "let me guess, you asked alex and haley to distract me and bring me to the library?" your jaw dropped. "no, and you asked maru and penny to get lunch with me? all so i wouldn't come to find you?"

"i had a feeling my darling would venture to my whereabouts, so i requested the help of our colleagues to keep you away. though i'm sure it was difficult for you, i wanted this to be a surprise," he admits, smiling at you. "do you . . . like it?" he asks quietly, a bit scared he had done too much.

"elliott, this is more than anything i could have asked for," you say, warmth coating your words. "what's the occasion?"

he sighs in relief before replying, "have i ever needed a measly excuse to spoil you, dear?"

"i suppose not," you agree amusedly, recalling all the times you've returned home to a bouquet sitting on your porch.

finally, the two of you reach the end of the path, sitting together on the blanket. a big basket covered with a cloth sits at the center of it, as well as two plates, utensils, and your favorite food.

you shake your head. "this is ridiculous," you state, looking at elliott with big eyes. "how long have you been planning this?"

he hums in thought as he plates your food, pushing it towards you. "that, my dear, is none of your concern," he says, "though, i will say it took quite a bit of strategy. and money," he jokingly adds.

after the two of you eat, elliott hands the basket over to you, trying his very best to contain himself.

"i thought it'd be fitting to get you some gifts," he states, as you begin to uncover its contents one by one.

inside, you find a framed version of your favorite photo with him, a hand-painted mug, a poem, and—

you gasp. "are those rubies?" you ask, a couple red stones glittering at the top of the basket. you pick them up, realizing they're matching keychains.

"courtesy of emily," elliott explains. he hesitates, breathing out lightly before continuing. "rubies signify love and passion, you know, as well as good luck and prosperity."

you laugh lightly, holding up the keychains to the moonlight to see them shine. "perfect, should work wonders for us and the farm—"

"they also symbolize weddings."

you blink, gently setting down the gems as you look at him. he holds out the mermaid's pendant he has been patiently keeping for you, eyes already shining with tears as you gasp.

"y/n, the time we have spent together has been by far the best of my entire life," he starts, "and when i look to the future, i'm afraid i cannot picture one without you walking by my side. you are, and always will be, the love of my life, my shining light, my fairy book tale. you, my love, are my happy ending.

"so, will you do me the honors and marry me?"

you jump into his arms as soon as he finishes speaking, both of you laughing as he happily holds you.

"yes, elliott, of course!" you exclaim. he grins as he holds your face in his hands, covering your face in kisses before finally landing on your lips. your hands run through his hair before you fall backward, elliott landing on top of you with his hand cradling your head. you peck his nose, and he laughs once more before helping you sit up.

"here, let us celebrate with some wine!" he decides, grabbing two bottles he had left in the corner. "shane and harvey said these were the best the winery had to offer."

"you really got the whole town in on this, huh?" you tease, barely containing yourself as he helps you put on the jewelry.

he rubs the back of his head, slightly embarrassed. "well, it began with leah, and i thought it wouldn't hurt to tell harvey, but then of course i had to tell—" he stops himself. "secrecy has never been one of my strong suits, has it, love?"

you shake your head, leaning into his arm as you listen to the sound of the music mixing with the crashing of the waves.

"don't worry," you reassure, and he looks down at you with nothing but love in his gaze. "you have plenty of other traits to make up for it."

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amirasainz · 5 months ago

Note

hi, you write beautifully! i was wondering if you could please write something about lando and the reader, when they have different love languages lando has touch and the reader has gifts

Thank you 😊

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

- xoxo babygirl 🧡

Different Love Languages, Same Love

Lando had always been a tactile person. It wasn’t something he tried to be, it was just who he was—he liked being close, feeling skin against skin, sharing warmth. And then there was Y/N, his polar opposite when it came to expressing love. She’d always had a knack for finding the perfect gift or gesture, something that showed she’d been paying attention to the tiniest details. They were different, yes, but those differences only seemed to bring them closer.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The first time Y/N really noticed how much Lando’s love language shaped his actions was at a fan meet-and-greet.

It was a chaotic day at the track. Fans swarmed Lando as soon as he stepped out of the hospitality tent. Y/N had been standing beside him, holding his water bottle, her presence understated like always. But the moment the crowd surged forward, Lando’s hand shot out, grabbing hers and pulling her in front of him.

“Stay close,” he murmured, his arm wrapping protectively around her waist.

She could feel the rapid thump of his heart as he tucked her into his chest, shielding her from the crush of fans. Even as he smiled and signed autographs, his other hand never left her, his fingers brushing her arm or hip every few seconds as if to make sure she was still there.

Later that night, when they were back at the hotel, she teased him about it.

“Lando, I wasn’t about to get lost in a sea of fans,” she said, smiling as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail.

He looked up from where he was lying on the bed, his face softening. “I know. I just… I didn’t want anything to happen to you. You’re the most important person there, you know?”

Her heart melted on the spot.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Y/N’s love showed itself in other ways—like the time Lando won his first-ever F1 race.

It had been a whirlwind of champagne, interviews, and celebrations. Y/N was right there through it all, cheering the loudest, her face aching from how wide her smile had been the entire time. The next day, while Lando was still sleeping off the post-race exhaustion, she went out and found a small pendant shaped like a racecar. It wasn’t fancy, but it was something to mark the moment.

When Lando woke up and saw it, his expression was priceless.

“What’s this?” he asked, holding it up to the light.

“Just something to remember yesterday by,” Y/N said casually, though her cheeks were already warming. “You can put it on your keychain or something.”

Lando sat up and looked at her for a long moment before pulling her into his lap, burying his face in her neck. “You’re unreal, you know that? I don’t deserve you.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Their differences became even more apparent on the nights they’d go out with friends. Y/N wasn’t a big drinker, but occasionally, she’d let loose. Lando always took on the role of her unofficial babysitter, not that she ever needed it. One particular night, though, she’d had one cocktail too many.

On the way home, she slouched in the passenger seat of Lando’s car, her head lolling against the window. “You’re so pretty, you know that?” she slurred, turning to look at him with glassy eyes.

Lando laughed, shaking his head. “Thanks, love. So are you.”

When she tried to sit up, he reached over, guiding her feet onto his lap.

“What are you doing?” she asked, confused but too tipsy to argue.

“Just keeping you close,” he said simply, one hand steering the car while the other rested on her ankle.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

For Y/N, showing her love meant remembering the little things—like the time Lando casually mentioned wanting a specific pair of headphones while scrolling online. Six months later, on his birthday, he unwrapped the exact pair he’d been eyeing.

“How did you remember this?” he asked, holding them up with a mix of surprise and awe.

“I pay attention,” Y/N said with a grin. “You should try it sometime.”

He tackled her onto the couch, peppering her face with kisses.

“I don’t need to,” he said between kisses. “I already have everything I want.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

One of Lando’s most memorable gestures came during a rare beach day together. They’d found a secluded spot, far from the prying eyes of fans or photographers. Y/N had been lying on the sand, soaking up the sun, when Lando suddenly scooped her up and pulled her onto his chest.

“Lando!” she yelped, laughing as she tried to wriggle free. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you close,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “And making sure you don’t get sand in your hair. You hate that.”

She rolled her eyes but let him hold her, her head resting against his shoulder as they watched the waves.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The balance they struck was perfect in its own way.

When Lando came home after particularly grueling race weekends, Y/N always had something waiting for him—sometimes flowers, sometimes his favorite takeout, sometimes just a handwritten note tucked into his pillow.

And when Y/N had rough days, Lando would pull her into his arms and hold her until the tension melted away.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

One night, as they lay tangled together on the couch, Y/N looked up at him and asked, “Do you ever wish we had the same love language?”

Lando tilted his head, considering her question. “Not really. I think it’s kind of perfect the way it is. You make me feel loved in ways I never expected.”

She smiled, reaching up to trace his jawline. “You do the same for me.”

And that was all that mattered.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #xoxo babygirl 💋#lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #lando norris #lando norris x female reader #love language #love langauges #f1 x reader

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oaksgrove · 6 months ago

Text

Welcome Gift

Pairing: König x Reader

Synopsis: After moving to Austria to live with König, you find yourself overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity of a new country. From navigating the bustling streets to adjusting to the rhythm of life in a different culture, your nerves are stretched thin. But König, ever thoughtful and patient, is determined to make you feel loved and at home in every way possible.

Warnings: none?

word count: 985

Salzburg streets bustled with a quiet charm, the winter air crisp as you and König walked hand in hand. Snow dusted the cobblestones, and warm lights glowed from shop windows, painting the city in hues of gold and white. It was picturesque, but your nerves were a jumble. Moving to Austria to live with König had been a leap of faith, and while you loved him deeply, adjusting to life here was proving to be a challenge.

You found yourself clutching König’s hand a little tighter than usual as you walked. Everything felt so new—unfamiliar faces, different languages, even the way people carried themselves. There was a rhythm to the city, it wasn’t unfriendly, just one you hadn’t quite learned yet, and while it was beautiful, it also left you feeling adrift in an ocean of the unknown.

“You’re quiet,” König said softly, glancing down at you. His Austrian accent, once a novelty when you first met, had become a comforting melody in your life.

“Just… taking it all in,” you murmured, giving him a small smile.

König slowed to a stop, turning to face you fully. His height meant he had to dip his head to meet your gaze, and his piercing blue eyes held a wealth of affection. “If it’s too much, we can take it slow,” he said, his large hand brushing softly against yours. “You’ve already done so much by coming here.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but his warm smile and the steady reassurance in his gaze stopped you. He leaned down slightly, his forehead almost brushing yours. “Let me spoil you today, ja?”

Before you could respond, König guided you toward a shop nestled between two taller buildings. Its display window glittered with jewelry—delicate chains, rings, and gemstones arranged with care. You blinked up at him, your brow furrowing.

“What are we doing here?”

“I told you,” he said, holding the door open for you. “A proper welcoming gift. Something beautiful to match you.”

You blinked, cheeks flushed at his words, your mouth opening and closing as you searched for a response. A welcoming gift? You’d thought the flowers he brought home every day were already more than enough, but König clearly had other ideas.

The interior of the shop was even more charming than the display outside—polished wood counters, velvet-lined cases, and a faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. A kindly older woman greeted König, her tone familiar and warm as she spoke in German. He responded easily, his voice dipping into the fluid rhythms of his native tongue.

You caught most of the exchange—your German was decent, though far from fluent—but nuances still slipped through your grasp. König noticed your tentative expression and gave you a soft smile. “This shop,” he explained, switching back to English, “is special. My mother, my sisters, even my grandmother—they’ve all come here over the years. It’s where my family buys things for… important moments.”

Your heart skipped at the significance of that statement. “König, that’s—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, his grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Now, let’s find something for you.”

He took his time examining the displays, occasionally asking the shopkeeper questions. Eventually, his gaze landed on a pair of earrings— a delicate silver design, teardrop-shaped with a subtle shimmer that wasn’t too flashy. Beside them was a matching necklace, simple yet elegant, with a single pendant that mirrored the earrings’ design.

Turning to you, he gestured to them. “These. Do you like them?”

“They’re beautiful,” you murmured, your cheeks flushing. “But König, I can’t—”

“You can,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I want you to have something from here. So that when you wear it, you’ll remember how much it means to me that you’re here.”

The sincerity in his words left you speechless, and before you knew it, you were leaving the shop with a small, carefully wrapped box in your hands, almost too much to bear. You turned to König, your voice tentative. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You already have,” he said simply, taking your hand in his as he led you back into the bustling streets.

Later that day, the scent of fresh coffee and pastries filled the apartment as König emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate. On it was your favorite pastry, carefully chosen from a bakery he’d insisted on visiting earlier. He set it down in front of you along with a cup of coffee and a small stack of German vocabulary cards, each one handwritten with neat, blocky letters.

“I know your German is good,” he said, almost shyly, his towering form seeming a little smaller in the soft light of the kitchen. “But I thought these might help with the little things.”

You picked up one of the cards, your eyes skimming over his careful handwriting. “You made these?”

He nodded. “I want you to feel comfortable. To feel… like this is home.”

Your chest tightened at the depth of his thoughtfulness. “König,” you said softly, setting the card down to reach for his hand. “You’re spoiling me.”

He chuckled, crouching beside you so that you were eye level, his large hands cradling yours gently. “Maybe,” he admitted, his smile warm. “But I don’t mind. I want you to know how much you mean to me. You’ve made my life so much better just by being in it. Now that you’re here, I want to make sure you feel loved and safe every day.”

Your breath hitched, and you bit your lip, unable to find the words to express how much his actions meant to you. Instead, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was a quiet reassurance that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

König smiled against your lips, his hands tightening around yours. “Welcome home, meine Liebe,” he murmured.

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maudie-duan · 5 days ago

Text

Summary: And god, this was the craziest part for him, the part he couldn’t wrap his mind around—you—how you had him so easily. How if you had been any other girl, he would have just fucked around, given you nothing but an act, someone clever, detached, someone that would have played this safe. He never pictured giving you this version of him, the one kneeling behind you, already half hard from nothing but the sound of your breath, knowing full well you loved the way he used his tongue.

A/N: Based on this request<- Thanks Anon for this awesome request!! I hope it's everything you want and more. 💓

Word Count: 10k

Warning: If you've seen the music video or heard the song...you know the vibe. Just a cute little lead up to pure smutty filth. Fluff/Smut…also ass play if you squint.

It was the way his cross pendant dangled from his neck, your red lips reflected back as he pressed you into the backseat, your sweaty bodies melding together in the heat of the night. The way you knew in your bones that he was far from holy, but you would have fallen to your knees for him any chance that you were given, his body like a work of art, an altar, his car your sanctuary.

Maybe there was innocence before his hands found your body, but the innocence had drifted, stretched beyond your grasp the second he laid you bare, young lust a driving force for all your sins, each moment you chose to steal away with him.

Now, close your eyes.

Do you see it? The ink etched into his tan skin. Your very own road map, like an anchor, like a guiding light. His body the lighthouse, your body his harbor—a dreamscape vision you could always evoke, his hand gripping the steering wheel, the other on your thigh as your heart raced, watching the sun dip low on the horizon, knowing he was yours the moment the sun went down.

It was always the nights that you longed for.

When the heat of summer filled the night breeze thick and heavy in your lungs, like all the times He had you gasping, your whole body teetering on the cusp of reality, the pleasure sending you to a wordless realm, you could never explain in the light of day as the windows fogged over, blurring the outside world around you—a building high snatching what little oxygen was left in the car, but god, it was worth it.

The heat only adding to the sensation as the weight of his body hovered above yours and you knew once your bodies collided, flesh to flesh, there would be nothing else, just the sweet taste of his name filling your mouth like the crisp burn of carbonation on a hot day, drinking him in until there was nothing left.

Because it was just a sip at first, you savoring the taste of him on your tongue until you needed more, a gulp down your throat, and then it was gulp after gulp.

Yet a gulp could never be enough to quench the thirst you had for him.

Harry.

His name, your sweetest thought, your endless mantra booming from the depth of your lungs, a fierce prayer uttered at the end of a breath as you gasped in air, desperate for more. Little did you know Harry would become the song you played on repeat all summer until you knew it by memory, his presence forever ingrained in your mind, a fucking anthem you would never forget.

H: I’m on my way. Could you wear those cute jeans I like? The ones with the rips.

Y/N: The ones you said my ass looks good in?

H: You know which ones I like.

H: Also, we’re going swimming, bring what you need.

Y/N: I have to be home early.

H: Damn, how early?

Y/N: 10.

H: Yeah, that’s not happening. It’s like the last days of summer. We’re breaking the rules. We’ve been good all summer.

Y/N: Harry…

H: Come on, love, tell me you don’t want it.

Y/N: Want what? To get in trouble?

H: 10 is early. You know what I want to do.

Y/N: Yeah?

H: You know I want it.

Y/N: Tell me how bad you want it?

H: I’ll show you later.

Y/N: Promise?

H: Save that dirty talk for tonight. Now, get ready, I’ll be there soon, gorgeous.

The moment you stepped out of your front door Harry knew he was a goner, you standing there, ass turned to him in those fucking jeans that hugged the plains of your curves in all the right places, and Harry sat there like a begger looking for scraps, eyes feasting as you fumbled with the keys in your hand, your arms full of stuff, as you turned the key in the door.

When the keys dropped from your hands, Harry took this as his cue. Surveying your body as you bent to grab them. He got out of the car then, his mind already sifting through every dirty thought, filtering through every position that’s ever had you face down, ass up, making him weak for you already, weak for what he knew was to come—always needy for you, a hopeless fool knowing he would be peeling those fucking jeans down your strong thighs later.

As soon as you turned around, Harry was already hooking a hand around you, gripping a handful of your hair, and when he gave it a light tug, drawing your head back, your eyes met his. He smirked down at you then, and let out a breathy laugh, unable to wait any longer to press his lips to yours.

This had become one of his favorite things to do: to take you by surprise. It was something about the way your eyes went round, your mouth slightly open—a deer in the headlights look in your eyes, like the first time he pushed inside you. The look of wonder as he filled you, your mouth rounding into an “o” as a pained moan left your parted lips.

He thought you would make him stop like every girl that came before you, but as he buried himself completely he felt you tense around him, and your eyes drifted shut, your nails digging into his flesh, almost painful, and out of instinct he stilled himself above you, unsure of your silence, or the stillness of your body, and what it meant.

Harry watched as you drew in a slow breath, your chest rising and falling with the effort. The pain he knew you felt was evident in the pull of your brow as your eyes flitted open, pupils blown, and he swore he felt his world stop when the most beautiful smile he had ever seen slowly spread across your face, something mischievous playing at your features.

When you exhaled he felt your body relax under him, his dick pushing deeper, and you gasped out a laugh, sucking in a harsh breath, and when you said, “Why did you stop?” meaning every word.

You had him.

Like a thief in the night, you stole him in that moment, but really, you had him the moment you stepped foot into his car. When the smell of your vanilla perfume filled every one of his senses, your presence ushering in summer, and he knew, he just knew.

This is what you liked most about him, the way he couldn’t keep his hands off your body, his lips always finding yours the second he was close enough to engulf you, but you couldn’t blame him, because fuck, there had never been anyone else that had you this way, every touch welcomed, every touch wanted, needy in the way that it was never enough.

“You haven’t worn that lipstick in a while…” Harry says, eyeing your lips, that sexy smirk that found you at your door, still out to play, and his mouth completed the smile as you smoothed your lips together.

“I forgot how much you liked it,” you lie, dragging a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wondering what it looked like after his mouth just had his way with yours. When you had to nudge him off you, so you didn’t get carried away, knowing that someone was sure to see you.

“It’s so red…” he tells you, his eyes on the road, “like cherries in the spring…” and his words are smooth, as smooth as the hand reaching over to run a slow path up your thigh.

“Red like your cheeks that one time I…well there were a lot of times actually…” he begins, his hand continuing to roam, inching further up your thigh, the warmth nearly grazing the inseam of your denim jeans, and you clap your hand over his, stopping him in his tracks, stopping yourself as the impulse to spread your legs swarmed your mind, but you knew it would feel so good.

“Behave…” You joke, squeezing his hand, “Don’t start something you can’t finish…”

Harry lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head, as he pulls into the gas station, “You know I can’t control myself, baby,” he rasps, leaning in to kiss your cheek, and he shifts the car into park, “I’m addicted…” Your eyes roam his face as he hooks a finger under your chin, and you stare, watching his green eyes take you in.

“You have a little smudge…” he starts, his voice low, running his thumb along the swell of your bottom lip, his gentle touch drawing it open, and he bites down on his lower lip, “Fuuuuuuck—” he breathes.

“Those lips…so fucking beautiful. So fucking good for me.” he finishes, dragging his thumb down the center of your lip, his eyes trained on the movement, and the hunger in his eyes sends a pulse between your thighs, your head already swimming with wild thoughts, like hoping he would push that thumb into your mouth, force it back, until your lips were closing around it. You knew exactly what he would do, the exact reaction you would pull from him.

And this thought still surprises you, even today, even now after the countless moments the two of you have shared over the past couple of months. You hadn’t experienced anything like Harry before; whatever this was between you, this electric undercurrent running through you both anytime he was near.

You understood it, the lack of control, because you barely had any yourself. It was like this magnetic draw he held over you, the feeling blanketing the world around you whenever he was near, narrowing your focus to only him, but you didn’t care about anything else, because what did you need to care about, when you knew you could let it all go the second you slid into his passenger seat.

He was right, though, the lack of control neither one of you had. He seemed to pull something out of you, something that lived within, a side of you that very few had ever seen. At least not to this extent, it was always a rare sighting, this fierce longing that forced itself from you both the moment you knew it could be more, that this connection was buzzing with a want, that hummed at the tip of your fingers the first time he touched you.

You didn’t understand it at first, what was happening, what his energy was provoking in you. The first time you wore this lipstick was the first time you noticed his interest, how he couldn’t keep his eyes off your lips.

It was one of those nights before you guys ever hung out alone, but you could feel it inching toward it; you just weren’t sure how you would ever make it happen, but you knew you wanted to. All night, Harry had been sneaking glances your way, you catching his eye from across the room, that sly smirk peeking at the corner of his mouth.

You felt it in the pit of your stomach, the nervous flutter threatening to show its face, and all it took was the accidental brush of his fingers over your hand as you both reached into the cooler full of random drinks—Harry reaching for the last diet Pepsi—and your whole body heated at the thought of a single touch.

Of course, he did the kind thing and gave you the drink—eventually—and as you reached for it, he drew it toward him, and you stood there confused, yet captivated, watching as his strong hand gripped the can with an air of confidence that had every nerve in your body standing on edge.

You had no words for it, and when he popped the tab on your drink, you felt the click burst through your chest with excitement, the crisp sound breaking the silence building between you, yet somehow it drew you closer, your cheeks burning, and you stared back at him wondering how he just made a gesture so fucking simple, feel like a moment of intimacy, you weren’t sure you should even be witnessing.

Then he passed it toward you, your eyes surveying the can as if it could explain what had just happened, explain what you were feeling, because you were definitely feeling something, and out of nowhere, you were pushing the can back toward him, your hand resting on his forearm.

“You can have a sip if you want…it only feels fair since it’s the last one…” and you knew you were smiling as his breathy laugh made your ears perk up, but you couldn’t help a single thing that was happening.

Because something was in fact happening.

“Are you sure?” he laughs again, “I’ve heard I can be a bit greedy…” he admits, his eyes dropping to your lips.

“Just don’t drink all of it,” you tell him, “Only a sip…” Then you were pushing your hand into his arm, nudging the can his way.

“I can’t promise anything…” and there was something thrilling in his words, nerve-wracking as he brought the can to his heart-shaped lips, pressing the rim flush, making your mouth water, as Harry watched you swallow down hard.

There it was, the look you would never be able to escape again. It was the way his eyes never left yours that made your mouth go dry, and the second his head drifted back ever so slightly, his eyes fluttered shut, the can tilting enough to spill into his mouth, and then his lips parted, the liquid beginning to waterfall at a pace you knew you needed to stop, but you almost couldn’t bring yourself to stop him as he guzzled down your drink.

And that was when you realized that your hand was still on his arm, and you gripped hard, tugging it back toward you as Pepsi dripped down the can, Harry taking a wide step back. His eyes flicked to his arm, to your firm grip, bringing a smile to his mouth, and when he passed the can your way, you locked eyes with him.

As soon as you brought the can to your mouth his smile widened, a cunning smile you would eventually learn meant trouble, but in that moment, you felt your first greed for him, the feeling tingling up your spine as you let your lips meld to the wet rim, and as the cold chill of the soda filled your mouth, you watched as Harry slowly dragged his tongue across his bottom lip, and you were screwed

A single look dragging you under, and you knew you would drown in it.

The first time Harry kissed you, you were wearing that lipstick, your red painted lips the only thing he could see, the same night he had watched them close around the rim of a can he had just had his mouth on.

The truth was he had felt you creeping through his bloodstream for weeks, and now that your friend group was back from college, ready to start the summer with a bang. He knew he could no longer lie to himself and say he hadn’t thought about you from time to time. Wondered what your life was like, wondered what life would have been like if you guys had ended up at the same college like you all planned.

And that plan worked for everyone but you.

You were always that girl in his mind, the one who got away. Before he ever took a chance with you, he could always feel whatever attraction that was obvious between you ebbing at the surface, but at the time, you were his best friend’s girlfriend—always out of reach, always off limits.

So when your ex came with a date to your guys’ little friend get together, Harry knew this was his chance, and when Monica was too drunk to drive you home, he offered you a ride. To his surprise, there was no reluctance; you slid into the passenger seat, sealing the unspoken fate of your summer.

When Braden brought his new girlfriend to the party, you knew it had to be serious. It’s not like you hadn’t heard the stories, that was what your best friend Monica was best at, the gossip, your vessel for all the things you had been missing out on since you decided last minute to go to a different school.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go; you just knew that everything with Braden would have turned toxic, and at the time, you weren’t over him, over the thought of you two. When he broke things off, saying “you both needed time to be your own person,” you hated him, and later, you would hate him even more when you realized he might have been right, like maybe, deep down, you needed the push more than you knew.

So when you saw Braden with his new girlfriend, your polar opposite, it ignited a sense of freedom, solidifying the ground you both stood on, and you didn’t give the thought of him another chance, because if you were really honest, you had moved on way before you had seen his familiar face, even if there was that little voice inside you wondering what if?

But maybe that was natural.

That night, Harry offered you a ride home, and the moment you climbed into the passenger seat and he closed the door behind you, something about it was like taking a breath of fresh air, a new vision floating to the front of your mind.

There had always been something about him. Of course, you knew him; you were as close to him as you could be to your boyfriend’s best friend, but there was always some invisible boundary. A line you never dared cross. Every conversation had always been surface level, eyes never lingering too long, always Braden and Harry in the same sentence.

Even in those times, your eyes found his from across the room; he was a familiar face. And maybe there were those rare moments when you both clicked, and shared a random conversation in a group setting, or one of you told a joke that had you both laughing, you couldn’t lie to yourself, and not wonder, even if it was for the briefest moment, that you both might actually have more in common than you thought.

In those moments when it happened, it was always a tiny thrill, a subtle moment of excitement bursting through you mind when your eyes met his, because he was hot, sexier than your boyfriend at the time, fuck, like no other guy you knew, and there was something about him that was different from the rest, and everyone knew it. Everyone said it, all the stories you heard, the girls, god, you just knew.

And maybe there was always a little piece of you that wanted to explore it.

So when he pulled up to your house that night. You both slowly let your easy conversation fall silent as you gazed out the window, your front door marking the end of your evening, but you weren’t ready for the night to be over. “Are you excited to be back for the summer?” Harry asked, clearing his throat.

Your eyes moved from the window to his face, falling to his mouth, his neck, and lingered, and you watched him swallow as his Adam apple bobbed with the effort, “Maybe at first, I mean I am…I don’t know I’m kind of bored.” you answered, letting a slow smile rise as your words landed. Harry shifted in his seat, licking his lips, as his back fell against the driver door.

“Do you think there is anything that could change that?” He prodded, and it’s like the universe itself was trying to set the mood as the song lapsed into something smooth, a familiar song, setting the backdrop for the tension rising.

His eyes were on your mouth again, eagerly watching, awaiting your response. “I don’t know…I’m sorry. Is this maybe strange? I don’t know, like the two of us alone?” You questioned, mirroring his position in his seat, and you narrowed your eyes at him, a playful gesture, and then your back hit the door, firing off the automatic locks, and the frantic noise ricocheted throughout the car as Harry let out a laugh, his gaze sweeping over your face as your heart picked up at the sudden jolt of panic shooting through you.

You couldn’t hide your surprise in that moment, knew the look was written all over your face. Quickly, you tried to play it off, pretending like it didn’t faze you, and you lowered your brows, easing your body from its rigid state as you began to slowly slouch against the door again, this time more aware of your placement.

“Guess we’re not going anywhere now, are we?” He says, more as a joke, but you were definitely not going anywhere, “Do you feel ‘strange?’” Harry starts, bringing his hands up to make air quotations, and you roll your eyes, biting down on your lower lip, trying to fight the smile that wouldn’t leave your face.

“No, really, are you uncomfortable?” He asks, poking your knee with his long finger, “Does it feel weird…just us hanging out?”

“Honestly? I thought it would…” You tell him, “and maybe it should?? Feel weird? But it doesn’t.” You answered meaning every word, and when you saw the sly smile spread across Harry’s face, you sucked in a breath, your chest tight, that same thrill from earlier that night, stealing your focus.

“Good—“ he breathes.

“What about you?” You toss back the question, “Technically, we haven’t crossed any lines. You’re just driving me home, right?”

Harry laughs, looking down at his hands, those cute dimples dipping as a strand of hair falls in his face, and when he looks up, he runs a hand through his hair, eyes dropping to your fucking mouth again, and god, it was so fucking obvious, but you wanted to hear the words leave his mouth, wanted to be able to repeat them later when you left this car, and he’s staring back at you with that smug smile that’s starting to ruin your life and when he says:

“Yet—I think the answer you’re looking for is yet…and I’m not normally one to push my agenda on anyone, but I know you can feel this…” he tells you flitting a finger back and forth, “and maybe I’m a shitty friend, but Braden has clearly moved on. I know you saw it tonight…I guess I just…have thought about you…have thought about this before—”

“Before?” You stop him as curiosity floods your whole body, a rush of excitement flooding to the tips of your fingers as you straighten your spine.

“Yeah…is that shitty of me?” He asks, and his British drawl has you fucking beside yourself, swooning like every girl at the party tonight, like idiots tripping over themselves to get in a single word, yet here you were, the one alone with him, the one he’s confessing truths you’ll hold for dear life later—for those rainy days, when you think of all the words he will have whispered across your naked skin. All the nights you will have rode that dick, you’ve been peeping all night. Those tight yellow swim trunks not hiding a damn thing—like right now as you peered over at the bulge resting between his legs, the yellow mesh material packed and he wasn’t even hard—and fuck, he just said exactly what you wanted to hear.

“Is it shitty of me for thinking the same thing?” You forced, swallowing down the saliva that was trying to collect in your mouth. It’s like his presence is bringing out this animalistic hunger, that’s beating at your chest, and you sense it in the air, smell the scent of your body heating up, sweat pulling between your breast, your pussy pulsing in your shorts.

“Would you want to hang out again… like just the two of us?” He offered, pulling at his shorts as he adjusted in his seat, and you sat there as still as you could, nearly holding your breath.

How could a question as simple as hanging out hold so much promise? A simple question, yet you felt it like a spark, a surge of electricity buzzing over your skin, a tingle up your neck. They weren’t just simple words. They were an invitation, a fucking polite ask to explore whatever this was building between you, because it was there, this energy pulling at you both like a dare.

His easy question pushing you both to the edge of temptation, yet you wanted it, and you knew it, and so did he, or he wouldn’t be asking, “Yeah, I’m game for whatever.” Was all you could push past your dry throat, and you looked him dead in the eye, a smile rising on both your lips, and that’s when you knew there was no turning back. That this would be the start of something that might change you forever.

Harry was beside himself when your answer was yes. He hadn’t really thought it through, his question had just spilled out of his mind in a desperate attempt to not end this feeling that was pulling at his chest—this tug like a magnet to you as his heart picked up, the sound drowning out the hum of the engine, every beat like a fucking countdown to what might happen next.

He had always pushed this energy he felt with you away, dulled it in his mind. Made every excuse to keep his distance, but tonight he felt the tension rising in the air, a veil slipping over you both as the outside world fell away, and it was you, only you.

He knew how he wanted to end this night, felt it like a low simmer across his lip every time his eyes fell to that perfect mouth, so fucking red, so fucking inviting. He had to kiss you. He had to find a way for his lips to meet yours, or he might not make it to the next hangout, because it was already too far away, even if you said tomorrow, he knew he wouldn’t make it.

Because all it took was one glance from you, one lingering look to steal his thoughts, to steal what little composure he had left of himself because your presence alone was working him to the fucking bone, unlike any girl before you. He couldn’t even compare because there was already this hopeless level of want that had been forbidden all this time.

And here it was—you—finally within reach, so he knew he had to take his chance, “I like that lipstick on you…” is all he could come up with. He didn’t want to come out and just say it, knew he didn’t want to rush you, but he had to try at least.

He couldn’t help but stare at your lips, watching you smooth them together at the mention. When his gaze finally flicked to you, your silence weighed heavy in the air, thick with the weight of anticipation, all the possibilities pulling at a single gaze once your eyes met his.

Christ, you were stealing his breath, the innocence in the way your hands balled in your lap, fist squeezed tight like maybe you were just as nervous. Harry’s heart was racing, excitement constricting his chest. That’s when you spoke:

“What do you like about it?” You barely asked above the noise in the car.

“Everything…” he muttered, his nerves threatening to take the words he already had filling his mouth, “The way it hasn’t budged all night. It’s perfect.”

“Honestly, don’t let it fool you. I’ve had to keep up with it all night…it’s one of those annoying lipsticks that smears easily—” And you laugh, cutting yourself off, “Not that you care about the details…” You finish.

“Smears, huh?” Harry follows up, eyeing your tongue as it darts out to wet your lips.

Each second was like a time bomb waiting to go off, and he knew he just needed to take the leap, but then you surprised him. “I can show you…” You nearly whisper, your words almost shaky, but Harry felt it too, the most nervous he had ever been, but there was a safety in your presence, in your past history, an almost friendship just waiting to be explored.

“Here…” You tell him, and when you reach forward and grab his wrist, you pause, locking eyes with him, “Is this cool? Sorry, I didn’t even ask.”

“Yeah—” Harry chokes, barely able to get a single word out as you inch closer and suddenly you are so close, and when he scoots his body forward on the seat, the narrowing space between you closes, now loaded with a shifting energy that had the hair on the back of his neck rising.

This is it, he thinks, when he says, “I’m good with anything. I trust you…” His gaze drops to your hand, firmly encircling his, and he feels the slight tremor of his own hand, already trying to fight against it, determined, as your grip tightened with a quiet intensity, and then he saw it, the slight shake you were trying to mask, and he let it go.

Silently, without a word, he watched as you brought the sensitive flesh of his wrist to your plush mouth. Jesus, the press of your mouth against his skin was so delicate, so slow, it almost felt like a secret. Harry could feel your breath, the warmth of it blooming out and up the length of his arm, making his stomach lurch. And as your lips pushed into him he wondered if you could feel his pulse, wondered if you noticed the jump beneath your lush mouth, so fucking soft, and red.

All the while, Harry just sat there, stunned, holding his breath the entire time, his eyes never leaving your face. And when you lingered there—he swears you did—longer than necessary, He found himself having to fight the thoughts that were making his dick stir in his shorts, because this, he never pictured this, and now he could feel his polite composure slipping as a hunger rose like a ravenous animal.

When you pulled back, you didn’t let go of his hand, Instead, he watched you gaze down at the perfect imprint, a half-moon curve of lipstick, and it was as if you had branded him, made him yours in a way that was more permanent than any ink he had ever gotten, because he would never forget this. This moment would live forever in his mind, and fuck, he wanted to say something so bad, but god, he had never been at a loss for words, not like this. Not when it felt like every word mattered.

The longer he stared the more he wondered if you were as shocked as he felt, because you hadn’t looked up at him, you just kept staring at the work of art stained on his skin, your fingers still curled around his forearm, jaw slack, and dammit, when your wet tongue smoothed across your bottom lip, he pulled away from your grasp, and grabbed your face, your cheek cradled in the palm of his hand.

That’s when your eyes finally meet his, that look of surprise still lingering, the one he’ll obsess over all summer came to life in your eyes, wide and questioning, and when Harry’s thumb caressed your cheek he felt you relax into his touch, a gentle ease, easing between you both, a moment as delicate as your lips to his wrist.

Your eyes were searching his face then, eyes darting probably mapping him out, and when they land on his lips, he knew what he wanted to do, but there was that hunger again, twitching at the tips of his fingers, and all he wanted to do was smear that perfect lipstick across your beautiful face.

So when his gaze moved to the swell of your lower lip, he felt your breath halt, and he pressed a firm print into the center of your lip and dragged a slow strip of red past your mouth and onto the smooth skin of your cheek, and holy fuck, it was electric, that doe-eyed look in your eyes, that never left his as he destroyed the tiny perfection that you just gave like a gift.

Yet it was fucking primal, a need that had to be satiated, and when you let out a strangled moan, he didn’t fight the thoughts this time, because he wanted you to know what you did to him, he needed you to see the desire growing hard for you in his shorts, for you and only you.

Because that’s what he wanted, and that’s what he would get.

He wanted you like the oxygen leaving his lungs, like the heart pounding in his chest, and when you pressed his hand into your cheek, there was no second-guessing himself, because you wanted it, he knew it, he could see it in your eyes, feel it in your touch. That’s when you sprang forward, crashing your mouth to his with a force so wild it knocked the air from his body.

There was only greed in this moment, only need, only a want so desperate that there wasn’t a single second of apprehension, only compliance, and as his mouth moved against yours, he felt the rhythm fall into the perfect give and take, something so natural he didn’t even have to think, and when he coaxed you into his lap, shifting the seat back to make room for you, you pulled away, giving him a silent nod, and that’s all it took to seal the deal, setting the tone for the summer, because now there really was no going back.

And you both knew it.

Harry wasn’t your first, yet every experience with him felt like venturing into uncharted territories—a thrilling escape, where the familiar turned into a breathtaking marvel, your world now bursting with color before your eyes, as if Harry was shining a light on all your shadows, all the things you thought you should hide. Illuminating your view with every touch, every kiss until it was all that you saw, all that you wanted.

It really did start as innocent, only making out, granted each time was hot and heavy, never a dull moment when you two were alone, but it was something you guys wanted to keep to yourself, something that was just for the two of you, and it stayed that way for a while as you both explored one another.

It wasn’t until the first time you had sex that things seemed to shift. You had felt it coming, knew you wanted it, but it still took you by surprise. You didn’t think it would happen like that, it just did, Harry laying you down in his back seat, your body already sticking to the leather.

Everything that was leading up to that moment was pure desperation, but not this, not that night. It had changed everything, it was the night you knew you wanted more, that you knew you could fall in love with this guy that was hovering above you waiting for you to say the words, to grant him passage to a world you both knew was changing, even if you didn’t say it out loud.

And god, he was so fucking delicate and patient, a kindness he had given so many times before, because it’s not like you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into, like you didn’t know what was waiting for you. How many times had you felt the press of his dick through his jeans before you felt it in your hands. Felt the solid ridge of his cock begging for you to touch him, because that’s how it started.

It was your curiosity that was the driving force for everything leading up to this point. Because you knew it would be different from your hand wrapped around his dick, or your mouth stretched around his girth—a choke here and a gag there, it wasn’t the same. Those were just the baby steps, and even though you both felt that needy hunger trying to take over, you tried not to let the fear steal your courage.

Later after everything, you would tell him how it felt, how painful it was, but in that moment you wanted it, you wanted him, so you didn’t make him stop, and fuck, when he pushed inside you, you felt that primitive urge rise, that anamilistic nature he seemed to feed take over.

And it was already begging for more.

Braden had been the only guy you slept with before Harry, and you couldn’t even remember the last time. So when Harry pushed into you that night, you felt your whole body freeze as you gawked up at Harry. It wasn’t out of fear, or nerves, but because the shock of him splitting you open was so intense, so foreign to anything you had ever known, that for a moment all you could do was clamp your thighs around him and hold on for dear life as every fantasy you had of this moment turned into a searing ache so blinding you had to force your eyes shut, to collect yourself.

Yet the pain continued, and as Harry stilled himself inside you, you thought you would scream, your nails digging so deep into his skin, you could feel the flesh gathering underneath the nail—a fucking brutal fullness you thought, as a dream and reality collided, an ache so fierce you could feel in your teeth.

For a second, you thought you would cry as your body sang with the pain of him sinking deeper, filling you more the moment you tried to relax, and you lay there as your body tried to rebel, yet you wanted it, you wanted more, the cruel stretch, your walls trembling and raw around him.

Holy fuck, it was like a light switching on, as a smile spread across your face, all the endless possibilities flooding your mind, and you needed it. Wanted him to destroy you in every way, wanted to give yourself in ways you had never given yourself before, and when you opened your eyes and saw him staring down at you, you knew he would let you, that he would give you the space, the freedom you had longed for, because he had already given the power you had craved long before this, his body and endless plain to explore that he let you have anytime you wanted it.

And when you asked, “Why did you stop?” with a breathy laugh, it would become the sweetest contradiction and as he began to move, you both drifted to a place you would never be able to find words for as you spread yourself wider, and he filled you with a pain that was almost too much, yet there was pleasure, a tenderness so deep that your bones rattled in the aftershock, when he made you come, your whole body coming undone in his arms as you lost control.

You had never come like that before, not even alone, and you knew that nothing would ever quite match the way you trembled in his arms, gasping into his shoulder as tears pricked behind your eyes, joy and pain so intertwine you couldn’t tell the difference between the two, in that moment you knew there would always be a mark, not just on your neck or the insides of your thighs, but somewhere deeper, somewhere primal, somewhere only he could reach.

And these were your thoughts as you gazed into his green eyes, his hands pulling you snug to him on his lap as your friends moved around you, carrying on as if this had always been—you and Harry— and as you watched his eyes sweep to the sunset, you felt the slow crawl of anticipation mount your spine.

You loved the sunset, knowing that with it brought the whisper of the night already calling to you both as you let your pool towel drop, and you stood, beckoning Harry to follow you into the pool.

Harry discovered early on that whatever you guys were doing would be an equal give and take. Except on the nights you begged him to wreck you, to fucking destroy everything. He never knew if it was the past or the present you that you wanted to banish. He could only guess, because every time he followed through and you were crying out his name, or the rare nights, when you were sobbing into his neck afterward, something would change, a tiny spark turning to a blazing fire in your eyes.

It changed him, whatever it was; you had changed him. He had never been more sure of himself than when your bodies collided. When he knew he would be able to give you what you wanted—and that was him.

And he wanted you, so it worked.

It was fucking majestic.

Like right now in this very moment, all his thoughts from earlier, coming full-circle. When his only thought was to have you face down ass up, and here you were, face planted into the back seat, your ass in his face. Just for him, just the way he liked it, and he spread you wider, both palms on your ass cheeks, pausing long enough to appreciate the view, the almost bruised purple of his handprints on your hips from last night, the way you shamelessly arched for more.

“Harry,” you whispered, and he could feel your body trembling already, jerking toward him with a need, in the stillness of his movements.

And god, this was the craziest part for him, the part he couldn’t wrap his mind around—you—how you had him so easily. How if you had been any other girl, he would have just fucked around, given you nothing but an act, someone clever, detached, someone that would have played this safe. He never pictured giving you this version of him, the one kneeling behind you, already half hard from nothing but the sound of your breath, knowing full well you loved the way he used his tongue.

There it was in all it’s fucking glory, your pussy—fuck, yes, that pussy was already dripping, needy—opened to him easily, swollen with need and glistening, and he buried his face in it, tongue lapping through your folds and circling your clit, savoring each sound you gave him.

Harry knew how to work you, starting with a gentle suck, then hard, as the pressure built in your moans, making his head spin with pride only you could give. He loved this, loved how unguarded you became under his mouth, how giving, how much you wanted him. He found your slick entrance with his thumb, sliding through it, then pushing up, curling until you gasped his name and pushed back into him, your nails scraping across the leather seat in tandem.

He could do this for hours. He would, if you asked him. He told himself that was what made you different from every girl who came before—that you truly wanted him, how you fucking melted for him, became molten and alive in his hands, eyes rolling back as if the pleasure he gave you was religion.

Every night spent like this was like a mission, and he ate you until you were shaking, thighs beginning to buckle, and when he parted your ass, tongue trailing up, you moaned out the word “Baby..”, the sound going straight to his cock, and he groaned into your ass as he began to lick a stripe along your rim, then pressed in, slow and dirty, his pointer finger slipping into your wet cunt while his tongue fucked your tight little asshole.

It was fucking filthy, he couldn’t deny it, but you were a vision, hips jerking, shoving your ass back until his face was buried in it as your hand worked your clit, and you took everything he gave you, begging for more. “Harry—holy fuck—don’t stop, please don’t—” and he wouldn’t, not until you came. Not until you were falling to pieces in his mouth.

He loved you for this, for letting him do anything, for trusting he would never hurt you. He wondered—more and more now—if this was maybe love.

If this was what he had been trying to avoid, pressing the thought of you into shadow, refusing to say the word aloud. It was easier to show you. To drown you in pleasure, to never let you doubt what you meant when you were in his arms. He knew he could make you come, and that’s what he did, and when the sound filled the car, high and sharp, fucking guttural, he growled into your skin, nipping tight on your ass as you pulsed and jerked in his grip.

And as you repeated his name over and over, he wondered if he could say it. If having you like this would be enough, if it had to be. Summer was ending soon. You would go back to your college, he to his, and maybe you both would pretend this was just a fling, a pause between lives, but every time he was inside you—like right now, you pushing him back against the seat, hard, knocking the air from his lungs, and climbed onto his dick, letting him slide into your body, deep, and it was everything, your pussy was so fucking slick and perfect, and here was that desperation roaring up in you both—he wanted to tell you all of it.

He wanted you to know. Even if you never said it back.

At first, you thought it was the orgasms, your mind wrecked with the aftermath, your mind giddy and stupid in the afterglow of his presence settling over you. It was magic, pure fucking magic.

And that’s what you had chalked this summer up to, but then something shifted, your mind becoming maybe obsessive, but that wasn’t it, maybe you obsessed over the feeling, but take all the pleasure away and it was him—Harry holding you, his arms becoming a sense of safety, that feeling of home.

You didn’t understand how you could already miss someone when they’re hands were on your body, they’re dick pushed inside you so deep you could feel him in your belly, a feeling that you felt you could no longer live without, but did you truly have to?

“Can I just feel you for a second? I just want to feel you…inside me,” you whisper, sitting flush to his thighs as he sinks deeper inside you.

“Yeah…” Harry groans, his breath hitching in his chest as you wrap your arms around his neck. “We can take it as slow as you want, Love.” He tells you, pressing his warm mouth to the skin of your neck, and you lifted your gaze to him, a soft smile playing at your lips.

It was this, the fervor in the lilt of his voice washing over you. It was there from the start, how you knew you’d be safe. There was always an openness, an exploratory nature, that he let unfold between you.

It was the smear of your red lipstick across your cheek, that awakened it all—the low hum of panic that set in, but you felt that thrill, that tiny morsel of shame that rose with the act, but the second his mouth pressed to your lips for the first time you felt the twitch of something wicked, a guttural longing to destroy yourself, a messy disire to satiate that shame.

To take back its power over you, flip the feeling upside down, to flex and bend that feeling, until it was yours, until you got everything you wanted—until you were used and spent, and fucking turned out until you no longer recognized yourself in the mirror.

It was a hunger, a need and as your mouth pressed to his, gentle and slow, Harry moved with you, following your lead, you felt the flutter in the pit of your stomach, the pulse of his dick, the reaction you knew you could pull from him.

It made you wild, and here it was that feeling creeping down your spine, making your pussy clench around his dick, and you both felt it, a collective gasp filling the car, your sweaty bodies a slick, slide as your boobs pressed to his chest, and your hips began their slowed rock.

Harry forced his mouth to yours, and his lips parted as the sensation set in. That’s when you shoved your tongue into his mouth, and his tongue met yours, making you let out a soft moan as you reveled in the taste of yourself on his mouth, which still lingered on his tongue like a gift.

You pull back then, bringing your arms with you, and you press the palms of your hands to the tops of his knees as he scooted forward in the seat, his hands at your waist to keep you steady. You both knew this was only the lead up, your eyes locking as you situated yourself on his hard dick.

And you shifted your weight into your palms, rolling your hips up with the movement, watching as Harry’s eyes rolled back, his head falling to the headrest, and his hands lazily fell to the curve of your hips.

“Fuck—that’s already so good,” he breathes, pushing the words to the ceiling, and you smiled that knowing smile, because god, it’s already so fucking good, his dick the perfect stretch inside you.

You do it again, this time a little slower to tease, listening as Harry sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, how easy, how fucking amazing it was to make a pitiful pained mess of him, his grip needy, digging into your skin.

When you do it again, hips rolling faster, his head falls forward, face diving into your tits, greedily lapping his tongue over skin as they begin to bounce, and your rythmn picked up to match his mouth.

Your grip on his knees tightened as his tongue landed on your nipple, then he sucked it in with a loud pop, that made you laugh as pleasure ran through you, “Do it again,” you tell him, meeting his eye.

“You like that?” he asked, voice rough with desire, you could see it in his eyes, a wild glint roaming.

“I want you to bite it,” You told him with a breathy laugh, “Mmmm…just like that…” you cooed, your hand flying to the nape of his neck, desperate to keep his mouth at your breast as he began to suck and lap at your nipple.

And you ground your hips down with the sensation, Harry already dragging your hips forward, his hands now fully devouring your flesh, kneading your ass and thighs as he slouched lower, feet braced on the floorboard of the car, like his whole body was a throne made for you and your pleasure.

You could feel the pulse of him inside you, and it sent you reeling, it was fucking insanity, your cunt like velvet, fucked raw as you lifted your hips, grinding a slow circle around the head of his cock. You knew it was vicious, but you did it just to hear him whimper, a tender high-pitched sound shooting straight through you, and you rolled your hips again, slower this time, more teasing, taunting, forcing your pussy to clench just to watch his breathing stutter, his eyes squeezing shut, tongue catching at the corner of his mouth.

When did it happen? When had you gotten this bold? Because it was addicting, this sense of control, the grip you had on him, how you could fuck him stupid just by moving your hips a certain way, yet Harry was eating it up, every second, his broad tatted chest gleaming with sweat, eyes glazed over, adoring, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“You gonna come for me?” he said, voice rash with want.

And you nod, want stealing your words as you ground down hard, feeling every ridge, every inch of breath snatching friction as your body stretched tight around his dick, that familiar ache giving way to a slick, heated pleasure, a build so fast you nearly gasped at how close you already were, but you needed it, and so did he, and fucking hell, his hands were urging you on, a rhythm set by his hips bucking up to meet yours, so deep and so hard you had to throw your head back, the whole car echoing with the messy slap of skin.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, crying out as you clamped down on him, and suddenly you were desperate—like if you didn’t come now you would die, like if he didn’t hold you tighter you might fucking float away as you clawed at his shoulders, and you mashed your tits to his face, smothering him as you bounced on him, faster, harder, as the salacious squelch of your messy pussy, echoed around you both, and it was like the thumping of the car seat was making you ferocious—your desperation driving him deeper.

“Oh fucking god, Harry—please—I swear—”

He couldn’t answer, only groaned and bit at your breasts, leaving marks, tongue lashing over your nipple as you rode him, a finger sinking hard into your ass as the other spread you open.

Harry forced his hips up then, trying to meet every needy drop of your body, and his finger plunged deeper into your ass, fucking plugging you, the double sensation taking you higher as your clit throbbed, catching on every upstroke. Shit, It was consuming you, every drag against him almost too much, and you could feel it, the tension tightening, the wave threatening to crush you.

“Say it,” you begged, not sure what you needed, you just needed something—his words, his mouth, anything to keep you from unraveling too quick.

“Say what, baby, fuck—Tell me what you want.”

“Say I’m yours,” you gasped, nails raking down his arms, “Say I’m your fucking baby, Harry—Tell me I’m—”

And your words brought out something in him, almost feral as groan spilled out, so fucking loud you almost came on the spot, his hands clutching you so tight, you knew there would be handprints later.

“You are, yeah?” he whispered, smashing his mouth to your ear, breathing it like a sin. “You’re my fucking baby—my girl—always—”

Fuck it was everything you needed, you coming undone, splintering around him, whole body locking, your orgasm ripping through you like a fever, heating like a fire, a thousand tiny explosions that made the world go white behind your eyes—a deafening loss of control as your muscles clenched so tight around him that you didn’t even realize you were sobbing until he made a desperate, broken sound, shuddering as he trembled underneath you, cock bursting deep inside as jets of heat filled you up.

It was too much, and you collapsed forward, chest to chest, fists bunched in his hair as you rode out every last wave. But he didn’t stop, not even as you crumbled into his lap, he only held you, both of you swealtering in the heat of the night, shaking, and soaked in one another’s filth. Harry’s lips found your temple, your jaw, your ear as you blinked back to life, and your hands began to caress his scalp as your grip let up.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, chests heaving for air, the weight of it settling in your bones: not just the sex, but the feeling.

You pulled back then, hand moving to his cheek, thumb trailing his bruised, bitten lip. “Oh my god,” you breathed, half-laughing, tears welling in your eyes. “Harry—”

Harry met your eyes gently, everything on his face laid bare. “Yeah?” he whispered, thumb brushing over your collarbone, a delicate gesture like he never wanted to let you go.

You felt your throat seize, fear threatening to take over, and you almost chickened out, almost bit back everything coming forward, but you couldn’t fight the words, not anymore. “I think—I think I’m in love with you,” you confessed, voice tender with wonder.

And for the spance of a single heartbeat, there was silence, and as your eyes swept over Harry’s face, his answering smile was the truest thing you had ever seen, and when he pulled your face to his. You felt it, the way his lips moved against yours, an achingly tender pace that made you want to cry, and then he said it against your mouth, a ragged rush of I love you, baby, I promise, and you knew he meant it.

You both stayed like that for a cooling minute, tangled together, until your legs started shaking and you laughed, peeling yourself off his lap, his cum running down your thighs as you righted yourself on the seat. Then, Harry reached for your face, sweeping stray hair back, kissing your swollen lips again, like a soft, reverent caress, so intimate you felt your throat burn with it.

“I meant it,” he said, quieter now, nervous, heart in his throat. “I’m so fucking in love with you, it’s not even funny.”

Heat rose then, a fresh warmth blooming in your chest, but it wasn’t lust, it was something better, something wholesome, devastating, but it was all yours, and you smiled, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and you leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. “Yeah,” you hummed. “Me too.”

He laughed, and the sound of his rasp was nearly dizzying. “My girl,” he said again, like he was trying it on for size, like he couldn’t believe his luck, like finally he could speak his truth.

You looked down at yourself, at the mess you guys made, at him and the red lipstick smeared on his jaw, his neck, his chest, at your own reflection in the window when Harry turned the overhead light on, as a blur of color and sweat, and fucking bite marks filled your vision, and holy fuck, you had never felt more yourself, never felt more awake, like summer had been invented just for this, just for your bodies and the filthy fucking—and now, for love.

Because what could be better than this?

And as you both collected yourselves, you knew the world was waiting, but in here, there was only the two of you, the soft music looping, the familiar smell of sex and summer heat, the taste of him still lingering in your mouth, and you knew you would never forget this, not a single thing.

Harry pulled you back in, both of you sticky and half-dressed, his hand trailing lazy circles on your bare thigh. “At least we still have tomorrow?” he teased, his voice sleepy as a satisfied grin took way.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated, beaming up at him, “and the day after, and every fucking day after that, if you want.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Darling, there’s no one else I’d rather see. Promise.”

And damn, if you didn’t believe him.

Because this was your summer, and you knew exactly whose baby you were.

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