#she really said that with her whole chest

[apollabarnes]

transfers are(n't) for kids

it was hard to stop a train once it got started. buck still wasn't sure he wanted to. 8x18 coda. canon compliant? pardon the terrible trix joke, it amused me.

"Han!" The bellow shook the station. "Get your scrawny ass down here right now."

Chimney put his coffee cup down slowly, dusting off his pants. "'Scuse me, everybody," he said calmly. "I heard my name."

Hen snorted into her drink. "Bakersfield heard your name," she said, abandoning the table and heading for the railing. "This should be good."

Buck hesitated for a beat longer than everyone else, only moving when Ravi knocked his hand against Buck's shoulder. He hovered a step behind Ravi, worried that if he got too close to the front the two of them would notice him and the argument would escalate.

"So," the enormous man on the apparatus floor said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You want to explain why, on the day my new transfer's supposed to be starting, I get a call from the Chief saying whoopsie?"

"I was short a guy, turns out. Buck agreed to cancel the transfer," Chim said easily, tipping his chin up and meeting the other man's stare.

Ravi turned to Buck, his eyebrows jumping up. "That's you," he mouthed, pointing at the showdown. Buck elbowed Ravi cautiously, grinning when he shoved back at him.

"Bullshit, Howie. We both know you're not good at keeping yourself on the sidelines. And I'm down two guys — or gals, Wilson — so you can get yourself to the back of the line."

"Today was supposed to be your last day?" Ravi whispered, not looking away from the floor.

Buck shrugged. When Chim had asked for, and gotten, the captaincy it just seemed easier to give him time to grow into the role without having to train someone new at the same time. Besides, if the station was just a number now, it wasn't like going somewhere else was going to mean he'd be somewhere more like Bobby's station. At least here he had Ravi to partner up with.

"Who's that?" Buck asked Ravi, leaning in close. He hadn't paid much attention, or asked too many questions, when he'd handed in his transfer paperwork. The Chief had told him he'd send the assignment along when it was figured out, but then Buck had pulled his name from consideration and… well, it hadn't mattered then.

"Deluca, 122. You really don't do the whole firehouse gossip thing, do you?" Ravi asked him, amused.

"I mean the fun stuff, sure. Rodriguez over at the 126 ended up going to a furry convention by 'accident'," Buck told Ravi, waggling his eyebrows.

"He used to work with Chimney and Hen back in the day," Ravi continued, making a face at him.

"Huh." Buck inched closer to the railing, peering over it. Deluca wasn't menacing Chim, exactly, but he did have enough height on him that there was some looming going on. He might even have a little height on Buck. "He looks… tall."

"Chim's compact," Hen said easily, knocking her arm against Buck's gently. "But he's scrappy. He's got this."

Deluca lowered his voice and kept going, gesticulating wildly at Chim's equally quiet response. Buck found himself wishing they were still bellowing. He couldn't help but feel a little invested in what appeared to be a fight over himself. He wasn't sure who he wanted to win.

"Do not make me arm wrestle—" Deluca's voice rose, amused, before dipping low again.

"Don't do it, Chim!" Hen hollered.

Sal and Chimney both glanced up at that, seemingly realizing that everyone on shift was paying rapt attention to what was going on. Buck was pretty sure the only thing that would break their concentration was the bell or a knock down drag out argument in the loft. He found himself glancing over at Eddie, sighing when he kept his eyes focused forwards.

"That doesn't seem very ride or die," Ravi said smugly, shuffling closer to Buck. He knocked their shoulders together and Buck grinned tiredly at him.

"Sal held the station record for almost a decade," Hen shot back. "It's very ride or die to make sure Chim doesn't embarrass himself."

Chimney stepped towards Sal, making him take a step back. Buck held his breath, looking between them as they kept talking, volleying back and forth. "Does this feel like a tennis game to anyone else?" Buck wondered quietly.

"Fine," Chim snapped his gum, irritated. "But only until your chicken pox epidemic clears up."

"Pleasure doing business," Sal drawled, draping an arm over Howie's shoulders. "Buckley, grab your gear. We're headed out." He looked up to the loft, finding Buck immediately. Buck blinked, taking half a step back before he stopped. Obviously he would have gotten Buck's file from the chief, it wasn't weird that he could pick Buck out of a crowd.

Hen squeezed Buck's hand, her mouth pursed in a frown. "Hang in there, Buck. He's not as cranky as he sounds. Promise."

"The rest of you, what are you, new? No one taught you how to eavesdrop stealthily? Come on, that's embarrassing."

The bell went off.

Sal gestured to Buck, loping up the loft stairs after everyone had cleared out. The silence hung between them, muffling the sound of the disappearing sirens. Sal caved first, taking a deep breath. Buck smirked, just a little.

"Who really cancelled the transfer?" Sal asked, eyeing him up and down.

Buck shrugged. It wasn't as if it mattered. He was here at the 118 with everyone else.

"Your brother-in-law got captain and asked you to stay, so you did. Noble, but," Sal headed into the kitchen, picking through one of the boxes of doughnuts that Ravi had brought in, grabbing one for himself. "Howie can handle himself. I, however, need someone to hold my hand," Sal continued, taking an enormous bite out of it. Buck stared at the smear of powdered sugar on his cheek.

"Uh, you have a little something just… yeah." Buck nodded, watching Sal grab a napkin. "This the kind of hand holding you're looking for?"

"Okay, not into metaphors. I didn't mean literally, but I had a guy leave and then three of my squad go down with the pox in rapid succession. So. Arm Wrestle Mania 25 commenced."

"You didn't arm wrestle Chim," Buck said, feeling off-kilter. He wasn't sure what Captain Sal Deluca, 122, wanted from him, but he was pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to make it happen.

"Hell no, I'd probably break his wrist and he's got a baby to hold. Nah, Wrestle Mania was with the other stations that needed staffing."

"Multiple stations arm wrestled. Over avoiding having to take me," Buck said flatly. "I'm honoured."

"Oh, you misunderstand. Everyone wanted you." Sal finished off his doughnut, looking back in the box. "What the hell." He took another. "You got a car here?"

Buck shook his head. "Yearly service. I got a ride."

"Perfect. Grab your shit, let's blow this pop stand."

Buck trailed him back down the stairs, emptying his locker out on autopilot. "Wait — multiple stations wanted me?"

"Yeah, but I'm bigger and scarier so I won." Sal looked over his shoulder, frowning at the expression on Buck's face. "You're surprised."

"The, uh, the lawsuit, I thought…" Buck shrugged. "Kind of a liability."

"Once in nine years? Hell, Buckley, if you were gonna be a pest about it, there'd be more than one. Personally, I would have sued a few times — the hell was that heist accusation about? Or the lightning? Or hey, leaving your captain to rot at the bottom of the ocean because there wasn't enough proof they were out there." That last one came with air quotes and startled a laugh out of Buck.

"It wasn't a nuisance lawsuit, and honestly, a bunch of us tore a strip off the union for not taking care of it before it got that far," Sal continued, opening the trunk of the captain's truck. "In here. You've got one of the best records from both trips through the academy, you've pulled off some crazy ass rescues, and you're basically fearless. Seeing your name on the transfer list had me racing Mehta to the Chief's office."

"Oh. Uh. Thanks, I guess?" Buck said, trailing behind him. He dumped his bags, sliding into the passenger seat when Sal went for the driver's.

"Yeah, no problem. Like I said, not a hardship." Sal waited until Buck was settled before flipping his phone into Buck's lap. "Can you type a reply to that? We public servants should be safe drivers, and all," he added, winking at Buck.

"Sure, uh — the contact name is a donkey emoji?" Buck squinted at the phone. "Are you sure you want to give me your lock code five minutes after we met?"

"There isn't one; I do this a lot. Just open and start typing what I say. The donkey is because he's being a jackass. He can get his contact information back when he gets his head screwed on straight — I do want you typing that, Buckley."

"Oh, right, got it." Buck quirked an eyebrow, typing quickly.

"Had to steal my new transfer back, on the road, Gina says you need to come for dinner soon, uh," Sal tapped his fingers against the wheel, coming to a stop at the red light. "What was his question, again?"

"If you wanted to go to the game tomorrow? What game?"

Sal looked sideways at him. "Angels. Jackass and I split a couple seats with a group, but since we organized it we get to dibs the good games. Not that there are many, because they're the fucking Angels. But it's that or the National League and fuck that," He paused. "What do you prefer, by the way? Buckley? Buck? It's Evan, yeah?"

Buck shrugged. Maybe it was time to try out a new one. New house, new name, new… attitude? Maybe. Bobby had thought his attitude was good, it was just everyone else that seemed to have a problem with it these days. "Really not picky. I'll answer to anything."

"Okay, we'll let Ferb at ya when we get there. Not his actual name, he just likes the cartoon. —Can't make the game, covering for B shift, fucking pox, Stella is in her sports phase again — that's my kid, jackass is her godfather, or would be if either of us were into that kind of crap — if he wants to take her for some quality bonding time."

"He's asking who the transfer is."

Sal snorted. "You can probably answer that one without my help."

Buck cracked a grin at that, typing out his name and station. The response came back immediately and Buck frowned down at the phone. "He says sure and he's gotta go."

"Yeah, he hates when I dictate to someone else." Sal shrugged. "Dickhead. It's not like I'm sharing private information out loud."

"Well, so far I know that he's a jackass and he's your daughter's uncle, so. How private does he think that information is?"

"Sometimes I think he hates it when folks know his last name," Sal cackled. He pulled into the station parking lit, popping the trunk. "We can get you set up at Jonesy's locker for now — he's the one that left." He paused. "They're gonna be loud."

Sal hopped out of the truck and hoisted both of Buck's bags over his shoulder before Buck could get out of his seat. He waved Buck off when he tried to take one. "I got this, relax kid. Buckle up."

They walked into whoops and cheers from the loft, the entire shift hanging over the railing. One of the younger firefighters climbed onto the bottom rung of the railing and leaned forward, warbling "All hail the conquering hero!" as they passed the back of the engine. He got yanked back before he could fall by a guy Buck's age, laughing.

"All right, all right, shut up," Sal called, pointing up at the loft. "This is Buckley, nickname to be determined. I had to arm wrestle my way to the front of the line for him, unlike you jokers, so if anyone scares him off…" Sal trailed off threateningly.

"You like hash brown casserole?"

"I've got a fifty-point nickname survey!"

"Ferb, Sal just said don't scare him away!"

"Nerds," Sal said to Buck, his voice fond. "Give him a minute to get settled! Then you can all start asking him about himself. We've got a month, so pace yourselves."

[bjlipss]

— bug, part x.

contents: college!sukuna x weird!reader. weird as in just odd and confusing behaviour but nonetheless cute, nothing pervy-weird. reader wears glasses because yes. really awkward and silly hehe. fem reader should be mentioned. lil jealousy stuff heheh

part ix <- part x -> part xi

it starts with a girl. obviously.

she’s not even doing anything, really—just smiling a little too much. twirling her hair with slow, practiced fingers. leaning way too close as she asks sukuna about their group project for history, like her understanding of the assignment hinges on breathing the same air as him.

it’s normal. harmless. probably.

but from where you’re sitting—two tables over in the campus library, your laptop open but untouched—it looks less harmless and more like she’s trying to crawl into his lap in slow motion.

and sukuna—well.

he’s just sitting there.

not smiling. not leaning back. not flirting. but not exactly recoiling, either. he’s nodding, saying something low that makes her giggle, flipping a page in that beat-up notebook he always carries. letting her exist in his proximity like it’s no big deal.

and maybe it isn’t.

maybe it’s just you projecting your insecurities onto some totally random moment, just because you don’t dress like her or smile like her — all perfect and white-teethed, and maybe your hair is a little frizzy compared to hers and maybe she just looks better with him—

maybe you’re just being stupid.

but when you glance down at your own notebook and realize you’ve been absently doodling sukuna being eaten by a giant squid girl with hearts in her cartoon eyes and a sparkly bow on her head…

you decide you’re allowed to be a little bit stupid.

—

you don’t say anything. of course not.

you’re chill. you’re calm. you’re a collected, well-adjusted adult who doesn’t throw tantrums over one (admittedly pretty) girl leaning too close to your maybe-boyfriend-maybe-not in a public space.

but you do:

jab your straw into your juice box like it personally offended you;

roll your eyes at nothing whenever sukuna speaks;

walk one full step ahead of him instead of beside him after you pack up your things;

and answer all his questions with clipped little “uh-huh”s and “yep”s like you’ve been possessed by a very cold, very unimpressed ghost.

sukuna, being the ridiculously perceptive bastard that he is, notices immediately.

“okay,” he says flatly, halfway across campus. “what’s your problem.”

you keep walking. glare at the pavement like it’s got answers. “i don’t have one.”

“you do.”

“i don’t.”

he stops walking, boots scuffing the path.

you keep going. three whole steps before your stubbornness falters and you stop, too, arms crossed tight over your chest. you don’t look at him.

“…are you mad at me?” he asks, like he can’t believe it.

you scoff. “no.”

“then who the fuck are you mad at?”

there’s a pause. a too-long pause. and then—

“that girl from the library,” you mutter.

sukuna blinks.

“what girl?”

you roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. “the one who was all over you during your group project thing.”

his face doesn’t change, but his eyes narrow a little.

“she wasn’t all over me,” he says slowly.

“she was,” you insist, mortified even as the words come out of your mouth. “you didn’t see her? the hair twirling? the leaning? she was practically in your lap!”

he stares.

you huff, cheeks hot now, fists balled in the sleeves of your hoodie. “she was flirting.”

sukuna blinks again.

and then—snorts.

a sharp, sudden sound that escapes before he can stop it.

“you’re jealous?” he asks, eyes lighting up with something dangerously close to glee.

“no—!”

“you’re totally jealous.”

“shut up,” you mumble, face hot enough to fry an egg. “i’m not.”

“you are,” he says smugly, stepping in front of you. “you’re jealous.”

“i said shut up.”

but he’s not shutting up. he’s grinning. and not in a mean, smug, condescending way, either—which would honestly be easier to deal with. no. this grin is soft. fond. like he thinks this is adorable. like he’s fighting back a laugh, and losing.

and somehow, that’s worse.

“you think someone else could take me from you?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing but laced with something warmer.

you look up.

he’s close now. closer than he needs to be. close enough that you can smell his cologne—warm and smoky and familiar. close enough that his eyes feel like they’re peeling you open, reading every line of your face like it’s the answer to something he’s been wondering about for a long time.

you swallow. hard.

“you’re an idiot,” you mutter, deflating a little.

he tilts his head, still watching you. “you’re the only one who calls me baby,” he says quietly. “the only one who draws bats and angry little knives in my notes. the only one i sit through those awful art lectures for. the only one i even like being around.”

you stare up at him, heart suddenly loud in your ears.

he leans down, nose brushing yours. his hand comes up to gently tug the edge of your hoodie sleeve, thumb brushing your wrist like it’s instinct.

“nobody else has a chance,” he murmurs.

you bite your lip, eyes fluttering half-closed.

and then—because you’re still kind of a brat—you whisper:

“she had really shiny hair, though.”

he groans—low and rough in his throat—and then he kisses you. firm, slow, decisive. like he’s trying to burn the memory of her out of your head entirely. like he’s trying to remind you who you belong to.

you squeak against his mouth in surprise, hands fisting in his hoodie—but you melt fast. tilt your head, kiss him back, soft and needy and a little breathless.

he pulls away a little too fast.

you blink up at him, dazed.

“you’re mine.” he mutters. i’m yours too, is silent.

you nod, breath catching. “okay.”

and the squid girl in your notebook dies an unceremonious death that night when you scribble over her with seventeen little hearts and one very smug-looking sukuna in the middle.

[izzih22]

could you possibly write pazzi fic based on the song casual by chappell, i need it so bad you have no idea

Not Casual

Note: this was the hardest fic to write yet… and it’s kinda crap. So I’m sorry😂😂

The windows are fogged up, dripping with the last heat of it. The kind of stillness that only comes after something overwhelming—the kind where your skin still buzzes and your brain hasn’t quite returned to your body.

Azzi’s head is tilted back, lips parted slightly, neck flushed and glistening with sweat. Her thighs are still trembling where they rest on either side of Paige’s lap. She’s wearing nothing but a hoodie now, her shorts discarded somewhere in the backseat. Paige’s hand rests low on her waist, thumb drawing circles that make Azzi shiver even though it’s warm.

There’s a glow around her.

Her eyes are half-lidded, cheeks pink, chest rising and falling like she’s still catching her breath. She’s glowing with it… blissed out, messy, full of love. And for a moment, it feels like the world is paused right there. Like she belongs in Paige’s lap forever.

Paige hasn’t said a word.

Azzi finally lifts her head off Paige’s shoulder and leans back just enough to see her face.

Paige is looking straight ahead. Her mouth is set, her jaw locked. Her hand stays steady on Azzi’s hip, but she’s silent.

Azzi shifts slightly, her heart thudding.

She already knows what’s coming.

Still, her voice is soft when she speaks. “You okay?”

Paige nods once. “Yeah.”

Azzi studies her. The tightness in her face. The way she won’t meet her eyes.

And suddenly that warm, floaty glow starts to feel a little cold.

She slides her fingers down Paige’s chest gently, fingertips brushing fabric. “That wasn’t just… nothing to you. Was it?”

Paige blinks. Doesn’t answer.

Azzi feels her stomach twist, but her voice stays gentle. “Because it wasn’t to me.”

A long silence stretches between them.

Azzi swallows and says it, almost in a whisper, the words falling heavy in the foggy space between them.

“Knee-deep in the passenger seat and you’re eating me out… is it casual now?”

Paige winces.

Azzi softens her voice more. “I’m not trying to fight. I just… I need to know if I’m the only one who feels like this is something.”

Paige finally looks at her. Her eyes are wide and vulnerable in a way that Azzi rarely gets to see.

“I treat you like you’re mine,” Paige says quietly. “Because you are. At least… in my head.”

Azzi’s heart skips.

“But then why can’t you say it?” she asks, barely audible. “Why can’t you just say what we are?”

Paige sighs and leans her head back against the seat, hand tightening slightly on Azzi’s hip. “Because I don’t know how to do this without screwing it up.”

“You’re not screwing it up by loving me,” Azzi says gently. “You’re screwing it up by pretending you don’t.”

Paige’s eyes snap to hers.

“I’m not pretending,” she says. Her voice isn’t harsh. It’s pained. “I just… I don’t know how to say it right. And if I say it wrong and lose you—”

“You won’t,” Azzi interrupts, touching her face with both hands now, cradling her like something sacred. “Paige. I’m not going anywhere. But this silence? This pretending like you don’t care the second it’s over? That hurts.”

Paige’s eyes fill a little, but she blinks them clear.

“I do care,” she says. “I care so much it makes me insane.”

Azzi gives her a little smile, tender and exhausted. “Then say it. Say what we are.”

Paige presses her forehead against Azzi’s. They stay there, breathing each other in, hearts thudding in time.

“I love you,” Paige whispers finally. “I’ve loved you since the first time you fell asleep on my chest in that Team USA dorm and I didn’t move for hours because I didn’t want to wake you.”

Azzi’s breath catches.

“And I kept calling this casual,” Paige says, “because if I called it what it really was, I’d have to admit how much I need you. And that terrifies me.”

Azzi cups her cheeks, smiling through the tears welling in her eyes.

“I’ve been yours this whole time,” she whispers. “You don’t have to be scared.”

Paige lets out a shaky breath and kisses her slow, soft, nothing like the desperate hunger from earlier. This is different. This is them.

Azzi melts against her.

Not casual. Never was.

And now, finally, they both know it.

[loxoels]

OTORRR SI PAIGE NAMAN GAWAN MO NG AU PLS PLS PLS 🙏🏻🙏🏻

but you belong to me ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

paigebueckers x jealous!reader

a/n: i suggest you listen to the music attached above while reading ;)

cw: 18+ smut, explicit content, secret relationship, jealousy

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹

you two argued before her biggest game of the season.

you don’t even know why anymore. it started with something small—like her not texting you back last night. you said something cold. she said nothing. just grabbed her bag and left the room.

you watched her walk away, and it stung.

you hated fighting. but you hated feeling like a secret even more.

and this morning made it worse.

you saw a photo—her and that celebrity everyone loves. standing close. arms around each other. smiling big.

the caption:

good luck to my girl @paigebueckers. bring it home, baby!

you stared at the screen. heart sinking. she didn’t even warn you about it. didn’t even say it was happening.

and now you’re sitting in the crowd, trying not to think too much.

the game is loud. she’s playing well.

she looks calm. focused. strong.

like nothing’s wrong.

then she scores a three.

and right after, you hear it:

“that’s my baby!! let’s go, paige!!”

you already know the voice. same girl from the post.

front row. standing up. clapping like she owns her.

your chest feels tight.

but you clap too. like nothing’s wrong.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹

you wait outside the locker room after the game.

arms crossed. face calm but your chest feels anything but calm.

when paige sees you, she looks tired. sweaty. glowing from the win.

but her smile fades when she catches your expression.

“you left early,” she says.

“the crowd was crazy.”

“you always stay for the end.”

you don’t answer. you just look away.

she sighs. “are we still fighting?”

“didn’t know we stopped,” you mutter.

“okay,” she says, slowly. “what did i do?”

your arms tighten around yourself. “you really don’t know?”

“no, i don’t,” she says, more confused now. “we argued this morning, and i figured it was just… nerves. i didn’t think it’d follow us into tonight.”

you shrug. try to brush it off.

but something in her voice pushes.

“seriously,” she says again. “what is this?”

and you break, just a little.

“i saw the post,” you say.

her face shifts. “what post?”

“you and her. the popstar. this morning. arms around each other. my girl this, baby that.”

paige rubs the back of her neck. “it was just a picture—”

“yeah, well, she didn’t look like she thought it was just a picture.”

paige blinks. “you’re upset over that?”

“i’m not upset,” you say too quickly. too sharp.

but you are.

and she can tell.

“i mean,” you go on, “it’s whatever, right? she gets to post you. shout your name. call you baby in front of the whole damn arena.”

paige’s face goes still.

“i can’t even touch your hand in public,” you say, voice dropping. “i can’t hug you after the game. i can’t tell anyone you’re mine.”

you try to laugh it off, like it’s not sitting heavy in your chest.

but paige doesn’t laugh.

“that’s what this is about,” she says quietly.

you press your lips together. don’t answer.

because she’s not wrong.

and you hate that she sees right through you.

“it’s not fair,” you whisper. “they get to love you out loud. i don’t even get a good morning text on game day.”

her eyes soften. her whole expression shifts.

“i didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” she says. “i was caught up. the picture, the cheers, all of it—it meant nothing. you mean everything.”

you stay quiet, still holding it in.

so she takes a step closer. slow. gentle.

“you don’t have to say it,” she murmurs. “i know you’re jealous. and honestly? i don’t blame you.”

your chest tightens.

“but you don’t have to be,” she adds, softer now. “because no one else gets what you get. no one else has me like you do.”

her eyes stay on yours, sharp but soft. and then—

she steps in. close. closer.

you don’t move. you just stare. breathing a little too fast.

then her hand reaches up.

she grabs your chin—firm but not rough—fingers warm against your skin.

her thumb presses under your jaw.

and she tilts your head up so you’re forced to look at her.

“look at me,” she says.

your lips part, but no words come out.

her hold tightens just a bit, just enough to make your heart race.

you push against her shoulder. just a little.

but then she kisses you.

hard.

you gasp against her mouth, caught between pulling back and pulling her closer.

her hand stays at your chin, keeping you there.

like she’s saying, you don’t get to run from me. not now.

and something in you just… melts.

because as much as you wanted to be mad—

god, you missed her.

her lips move with purpose. with heat. with everything she couldn’t say in front of the world, but only shows when it’s just the two of you.

your fingers grab at her shirt now. no more pushing.

you kiss her back like you need it to breathe.

because maybe you do.

"we're really doing this now, hm?" she says seductively as she breaks off the kiss.

she shoves you into the locker room, "get the fuck in."

“be quiet f’me, okay?” she softly presses your face against a locker.

your heat prevented you from speaking, so you simply nodded.

she travels her hands over your body and gives you a passionate kiss on the back of your neck.

her hands reach your ass.

she begins by teasing your clothed clit before removing your jeans.

“so wet for me already.” she said when she notices a damp patch on your underwear.

she then removes your panties and kneels behind your ass.

initially, she licks your pussy lightly and you, on the other hand, is a whimpering mess.

you gasps when you felt her suck your clit.

you then felt a smack on your ass causing you to whine.

she stands up from her position and starts to do circular motions on your clit.

before you can even react, she’s already slipped two fingers inside you—your moan slips out, but she quickly covers your mouth with her hand.

“you like that?” she teases.

she curls her fingers deep inside you, hitting just the right spot, and the sudden wave of pleasure makes you jolt— you can’t help the sharp yelp that escapes your lips, your hand flying to grip her arm for something to hold onto.

her pace gets faster, rougher, and it doesn’t take long ‘til you’re a moaning mess under her—body shaking, voice breaking, and you can’t even think straight anymore.

“you’re mine,” she says, voice low now. serious. “say it.”

“i’m yours! yours.. only yours..” you’re now so close to your high.

her fingers start moving faster, each motion more intense than the last, building up pressure that makes your body twitch and your breath hitch in your throat.

“s-so close..” you weakly said.

“yeah? how close, baby?”

“sooo close, paige.. please!” you beg.

“cum for me, baby.”

the moment the words leave her mouth, it hits you—you’re reaching your high in seconds, legs shaking, and mouth falling open.

your legs are weak, breath uneven, and paige’s behind you, leaving her marks all over your skin.

your back’s against her chest now.

both of you still catching your breath.

the locker room is dim. silent except for the soft hum of the lights and your slowed-down heartbeats.

you’re sitting between her legs, her arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

her hoodie is half-zipped on her. your shirt’s wrinkled. lips kiss-bitten. legs weak.

but none of that matters right now.

her hands are warm on your stomach. grounding you.

“you okay?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

you nod. still quiet. still dazed.

she rests her chin on your shoulder. presses a soft kiss to your neck.

“did i push too much?” she asks, softer now. guilt flickers in her voice.

you shake your head. “no,” you whisper. “i needed it.”

and you did.

you needed her. all of her.

needed to feel something real in the middle of the mess in your head.

and she gave it to you—every piece of her, like she always does when you need it most.

she holds you tighter. one hand rubs slow, calming circles on your thigh. the other stays around your waist.

“you’re mine,” she says again, softer this time. “i don’t care who sees. i don’t care what it takes. i’ll find a way to show it. you deserve that.”

you lean your head back against her shoulder. your fingers find hers and squeeze gently.

“promise?” you ask.

“swear,” she says, kissing your temple. “you’re not just a secret to me. you’re everything.”

and for a while, neither of you say anything else.

you just stay there—in the warmth of her arms, in the quiet—where no one else exists but her and you.

and it feels safe.

it feels like home.

a/n: this was so hard to make.. i can’t write smut so well..

[babydoll372]

stalker!wanda maximoff x governor!reader

but but make wanda have a fling she fucks here & there when she can’t get her hands on the governor & have her be cold when/ any time she’s around the gov, and could she be a femme ? If not it’s ok:)!!! I love ur writing so much

Rumor Has It

Pairings: intersex!Wanda Maximoff x governor!reader

Word count: 1080

Warnings: smut, Wanda is established as a stalker but there’s no stalking (I apologize), breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, fluff, some angst, mentions of cheating (not really cheating tho), arguing, jealousy, obsessed!wanda, daddy kink, intersex!wanda

Wanda groaned as the pounding on her door continued, her feet quickening in speed to open it. She was met with the sight of an angry you. She raised a brow.

“Uh, you need something?” You pushed past her, storming into the house and ignoring how your boots left rain-padded footprints on the floor. You turned to face her, a scowl marking your expression as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, I do, actually. Who the fuck is Lindy?” Wanda looked at you in confusion before realizing who it was you were speaking of, making you scoff.

“Oh, Lindy! Yeah, her…what about her?” Your eyes were wide, as if she had just asked the most unreal question, and to you, she did.

“What about her?! I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’re fucking her behind my back! You didn’t think to tell me about that?!” She chuckles, taking a step closer and putting her hands on your arms, making you quickly push them off to which she rolled her eyes at your dramatics.

“Okay, relax, you’re pissing me off. Lindy is just a fuck buddy, I don’t give a shit about her. I didn’t even remember who she was!”

“It doesn’t matter! You still shouldn’t be sleeping with someone else when you’re with me-“

“Woah, woah, woah, I’m not with you, Y/N. You’re the one who said it, you don’t do the whole dating thing.” Your mouth opened and closed again, your voice box suddenly being unequipped and your throat feeling dry.

“Well- you don’t do the whole dating thing either!”

“No, no, I said I’d date you and only you. I don’t date anyone else, I don’t give two shits about anyone else other than you and I’m real fucking tired of you acting like I do, you got me? Lindy-“

“Stop talking about her, please…” Wanda slowly formed a grin, her hand falling to your hip as she pulled you in closer. She glanced down at your lips, knowing you were staring at hers, but she didn’t lean in. Her warm, soft breath fell on your face.

“Lindy is just some girl I screw when I’m bored, when you’re in your conference meetings, or when you like to deny how much you want me. She asked me on a date before, you know what I said? I said no, Y/N. You know why? Because you’re mine, and I’m yours. Whether you want to date me or not, I can’t get enough of you and this fucking body of yours…” She groaned out, swallowing thickly as your breath slowly began to quicken in pace the more she spoke. You glanced down in shame and in desire, but her hand on your chin redirected you quickly.

“She has a stupid name anyway.” You scoffed, and Wanda formed a smirk and a chuckle, shaking her head yet she agreed. She agreed with anything you said.

“But, uhm…I- I’m sorry. For, you know…not, uh, being good with feelings, I guess.” You struggled to get out, and the brunette's sly look only made it worse.

“Yeah, you better be sorry, baby, you put me through so much these past few months…why don’t you formally apologize?”

—

Your loud moans filled the room as her cock thrusted deep inside of you, her balls slapping against your ass, a groan escaping her with each breath. The bed frame was slapping against the wall, your hair in a tight ponytail held by her hand.

“You like that, hm? This all you came here for, you dirty slut?” She chuckled, pulling your face back and leaning forward so her lips were near your ear. “That look on your face when you realized you weren’t the only needy pussy I fucked, oh, it was hysterical.” She slapped your ass, making you whine out and grip the bed sheets tighter.

“Don’t you worry, baby, yours will always be my favorite.” She moaned at the end of her sentence, your warm walls trapping her inside as your jaw fell slack, your eyes squeezing shut. She had reached it before plenty of times, yet it never failed to amaze you when she hit your G-spot.

“D-don’t stop! Please don’t stop, Daddy!” A sly smirk fell on her face at the name, and if it wasn’t for the coil building further and further inside of her she would’ve kept you on edge for as long as she could. But instead, her pace somehow grew quicker, and your desperation enhanced.

“You’re Daddy’s only cock-whore, no one will ever fucking compare to you. No one. Fuck, I need you so bad.” You nodded quickly, tears brimming your eyes at the immense satisfaction.

“I- I’m gonna cum! Please- I wanna cum for you, Daddy,” You meekly begged, feeling her lips on your neck. “A-and I want you to cum inside me. I wan’ everyone to know I-I’m your slut, and I want that bitch to know you’re mine.” Her kisses paused, her eyes looking into yours to see if you were lying, but there was a genuine look in them.

“Yeah? You’re gonna let Daddy fill you to the brim with her cum? Oh, you’ll be the prettiest Mommy for me, Princess…” It didn’t take long for the two of you to release at the same time, coordinated by the woman on top of you. She smiled to herself, realizing she had finally got what she wanted. The next morning you were still in her bed, a rare occasion. And she quickly grabbed her phone to text Lindy, ‘Don’t come by, this is over.’ Without explanation. She didn’t feel bad for blocking her and deleting her contact, she only felt instant relief at what she had now.

The months on you still had your conferences, meetings, and so forth, everything Wanda didn’t understand but still supported. She was finally invited, sitting front row as she cheered whenever your section ended. She’d give you a warm smile to look upon, and it only grew the more she noticed your evolving bump. Eventually, the rumors would come out, and you were seen walking with the woman on multiple occasions. Some were you two holding hands as you ventured to a destination, in one you two even wore matching sundresses from her selection. People were shocked to see you with a woman, and even more so seeing the obvious pregnancy belly you wore with pride. But Wanda couldn’t be happier, and neither could you.

[theonottsbxtch]

BACK TO FRIENDS | OP81

an: this was a request by a friend of mine, well only the song so before you start haring HATE HER NOT ME

wc: 2.7k

OSCAR NEVER SHOULD HAVE LET HER IN.

The champagne from the podium had barely dried on his race suit when she slipped into his hotel room, wearing his old team hoodie like it still belonged to her. Maybe, for a moment, he let himself believe it did. Maybe that was why, when she reached for him, he didn’t pull away.

Now, the early morning light crept through the curtains, soft and unforgiving, illuminating the tangled mess of sheets that no longer held her warmth. She was already standing by the mirror, zipping up her dress with that same detached precision he’d seen too many times before—when she’d pack her bags, when she’d walk away, when she’d pretend this meant nothing.

He propped himself up on one elbow, watching as she fixed her hair, gaze locked on her own reflection rather than him.

"You’re leaving," he said, voice hoarse. It wasn’t a question.

"You knew this didn’t change anything," she murmured, still not turning around. "We agreed."

We agreed. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Because once, there had been no need for agreements between them. Once, she had been his best friend. His only constant in a world that never stopped moving. Now, she wouldn’t even look at him.

"How can you do this whole thing" he said, quieter this time, "best friends in public as if we didn't fuck the night before."

She stilled, just for a moment. A hesitation. But when she finally turned to face him, her expression was unreadable. Indifferent. Like she had already put distance between them, even though she was still standing there.

"It’s just how it has to be, Oscar," she said, as if that was enough. As if those words weren’t a knife in his ribs.

He sat up properly, gripping the sheets to keep his hands from reaching for her. Stupid, really, how after all these years he still wanted to chase after her, even when she always walked away first.

She stepped towards the door, and he knew he could stop her. He had taken impossible corners at impossible speeds—what was one more risk? But he didn’t move. He just watched as she opened the door, stepping into the hallway like she hadn’t just wrecked him all over again.

The door clicked shut behind her.

For the first time in his life, Oscar wasn’t sure if he’d recover from this crash.

He didn’t move for a long time.

The sheets had long gone cold, but he still sat there, fingers curled into the fabric like it could somehow hold onto the night before. As if it could prove it had happened at all. But the only proof left was the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air and the dull ache in his chest.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, shattering the quiet. He forced himself to look at it, already knowing what he’d see.

PR Debrief – 9 AMMedia – 10 AMTeam Briefing – 11:30 AM

Business as usual. No time to dwell. No time to feel.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed the covers aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the carpet. His body protested—aching muscles, bruises from a near-miss in yesterday’s race, exhaustion from weeks of relentless travelling. But none of it compared to the weight pressing against his ribs.

Dragging himself to the bathroom, he barely recognised the man staring back at him in the mirror. Dark circles under his eyes, jaw tense, hair a mess from restless sleep—if he even got any at all. He turned on the tap, splashing cold water over his face, as if it would wake him up from whatever spell she had put him under. But he knew better.

This wasn’t something he could just shake off.

By the time he pulled on his team polo and a fresh pair of jeans, the sun had fully risen, and with it, the world outside came alive. The familiar sound of trolley wheels rolling through the hallway, distant chatter from staff, the low hum of engines being prepped at the circuit down the road. The race weekend was over, but the machine never stopped.

Neither could he.

Still, as he stepped into the corridor, he hesitated. His hand tightened around the door handle, as if half-expecting to see her just outside, waiting for him like she used to. But the hallway was empty.

Of course it was.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Oscar exhaled sharply and made his way towards the lift. He knew how this went. Knew the script by heart.

He’d get through today. He’d put on the easy grin for the cameras, give the sponsors what they wanted, act like nothing was wrong. And when she walked into the paddock, all effortless poise and carefully constructed distance, he’d pretend he wasn’t still watching her. Pretend he hadn’t spent the night memorising the way she felt against him.

Pretend he didn’t want to do it all over again.

The paddock was already buzzing by the time Oscar arrived. Engineers hurried between the garages, mechanics huddled over half-assembled cars, and team personnel weaved through the chaos with clipboards and coffees in hand. It was always the same the day after a race—one team celebrating, another regrouping, everyone already thinking about the next circuit.

Oscar had barely set foot in the hospitality area when he felt the shift in the air. It was subtle—just a few lingering glances, a hushed murmur between two media interns—but he didn’t need to turn around to know why. He felt her before he saw her.

She had arrived.

He stole a glance over his shoulder, and there she was, stepping into the paddock like she belonged there. And in a way, she did.

They had grown up in places like this, back when the paddock smelled more like petrol and sweat than luxury cologne, when the only thing that mattered was who was fastest on track. Back when she was his best friend, before things got complicated.

She looked completely at ease. As if last night had never happened.

Oscar forced himself to look away.

He was halfway through his first coffee when someone from the media team caught up with him.

“Oscar, got a minute?”

He turned, offering a tight-lipped smile. “What’s up?”

“We’re filming some content today for the socials—just a lighthearted thing, some fun clips. And, well… since you and her go way back, we thought it’d be great to get you two together. Bit of nostalgia, childhood friends, all that.”

Oscar felt his jaw tighten. “You want us to film something together?”

“Yeah, nothing serious! Just a little throwback video—maybe some old karting stories, a couple of friendly challenges. Fans love that stuff.”

He hesitated. Every part of him wanted to say no. But then he caught sight of her again, standing by her team’s motorhome, talking to someone like she wasn’t aware of the way his world had tilted off its axis last night.

Fine. If she could act like nothing had happened, so could he.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, plastering on his media-trained smile. “Let’s do it.”

The camera was rolling, and Oscar had no choice but to play along.

They sat side by side in the media pen, a tablet between them as they reacted to old photos—grainy karting pictures, podium shots with oversized trophies, one from a race where she had shoved him off track and he had stormed off in a sulk.

She laughed at that one. “You were such a sore loser.”

He smirked. “Still am.”

It was easy, in a way. The banter, the teasing—it was familiar. A script they had both known since childhood. But underneath it, Oscar felt the strain. Every time their hands brushed, every time she smiled at him like they hadn’t just been tangled up in each other the night before, it chipped away at him.

They filmed a quickfire Q&A next.

“Who was faster in karting?”

“Me,” they said at the same time, then shot each other a look.

“Who was the bigger troublemaker?”

She pointed at him. He pointed at her. The camera crew laughed.

And then, finally—

“Who won your first-ever race together?”

Oscar opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.

“I did.” She grinned. “Oscar binned it in the final lap.”

He rolled his eyes. “I had a mechanical issue.”

“That’s what they all say.”

The filming wrapped up soon after. The media team thanked them, and she stood, stretching as if shaking off the whole thing.

Oscar saw his chance.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Can we talk?”

She barely looked at him. “I’ve got a briefing, first F1 Academy race next week.”

“Two minutes.”

She was already shaking her head, already glancing over her shoulder.

“Please.” The word slipped out before he could stop it.

Something flickered across her face then, something he couldn’t quite place. But she just exhaled softly, offered him a small, almost apologetic smile, and said—

“Not now, Oscar.”

Then she was gone.

And he was left standing there, fists clenched, watching her walk away for the second time in twenty-four hours.

Oscar barely made it to his driver room before the exhaustion hit.

The small space was dimly lit, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound as he dropped onto the leather sofa with a heavy sigh. His head fell back against the cushion, eyes shutting for just a moment. He needed to get his shit together. One more media appearance, a debrief, and then he could disappear for the rest of the evening.

Maybe he’d go for a run. Maybe he’d sit in the simulator until his brain stopped thinking about her. Maybe he’d just stare at the ceiling until it was time to do it all over again before his flight tomorrow morning.

The door swung open with zero warning.

Lando strolled in like he owned the place, a Capri Sun in his hand, oversized McLaren hoodie engulfing him. He was the complete opposite of Oscar in every way—louder, messier, the kind of person who made himself at home wherever he went.

“Jesus Christ,” Lando said around the straw in his mouth, giving Oscar a once-over. “You look like shit.”

Oscar let out a slow breath, tilting his head to the side but not bothering to open his eyes. “Nice to see you too, mate.”

Lando didn’t reply straight away. Instead, he let the silence stretch, the sound of him sipping obnoxiously from the Capri Sun filling the room.

Then, just as Oscar knew he would—

“You saw her last night again, didn’t you?”

Oscar stiffened. “What?”

Lando just stared at him, unimpressed. “Don’t piss about, mate. I’ve known you three years. I know that face.”

Oscar forced a scoff, pushing himself up on the sofa and stretching his arms. “Dunno what you’re on about.”

Lando raised a brow. “Right. So you’re telling me you look that miserable just because of a media debrief?”

“I’m not miserable.”

Lando smirked, taking another sip. “Yeah, and I’m world champion.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. He should’ve known better than to think he could play it off. Lando had been his teammate since he was twenty, and despite the two-year age gap, he had slotted himself into the role of an unofficial older brother from the very first season.

And older brothers were annoying as fuck.

Lando sighed, finally dropping onto the chair opposite. “Listen, mate. I’m not gonna sit here and give you some deep, emotional speech, because frankly, I can’t be arsed. But this?” He gestured vaguely at Oscar. “You’ve got to sort your head out. I’ve seen you drive through torrential rain, with half your front wing hanging off, and you didn’t look as wrecked as you do right now.”

Oscar stared at the floor, jaw tightening. He knew Lando wasn’t wrong. But knowing it didn’t make it easier.

After a moment, Lando’s tone softened. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Oscar swallowed. “It’s nothing.”

Lando scoffed. “Yeah? Well, ‘nothing’ is making you look like you’ve just been dumped, mate.”

Oscar let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Can’t get dumped if you were never together in the first place.”

That shut Lando up for a second. The silence hung between them, thick and heavy. Then, after a moment, Lando sighed and leaned back in his chair, tilting his head towards the ceiling.

“Yeah, well. She’s a fucking idiot.”

Oscar blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You heard me.” Lando sat up again, tossing the empty Capri Sun into the bin. “She’s a fucking idiot. And you’re an even bigger one if you keep letting her mess you up like this.”

Oscar didn’t respond. Because what was he supposed to say? That Lando was wrong? That this didn’t mean anything? That she hadn’t wrecked him last night?

They both knew better.

Lando sighed, standing up and stretching his arms. “Anyway. Media pen in twenty. Try not to look like someone ran over your cat, yeah?”

With that, he clapped Oscar on the shoulder and strolled out, leaving him alone with nothing but his thoughts and the fading scent of synthetic fruit juice.

Oscar leaned forward, elbows on his knees, dragging his hands down his face.

He needed to pull himself together.

But he wasn’t sure he knew how.

Oscar stayed where he was for a while longer, elbows braced against his knees, staring blankly at the floor. The room was quiet now, but his head wasn’t.

Lando was right—he needed to sort himself out. He was acting like a lovesick idiot, sitting in the dark like some tragic protagonist when he had a job to do. But knowing that didn’t change the way his chest felt too tight, like he’d been winded and hadn’t quite caught his breath since last night.

With a sharp exhale, he pushed himself up off the sofa and ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake it off. It didn’t work.

He checked his phone. Media pen in five minutes. Time to get it together.

The paddock was still busy as he stepped out, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the tarmac. People moved with purpose—engineers discussing data, team members rushing between garages, journalists hovering near the media zone. He kept his head down, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way towards the designated interview area.

And then he saw her.

She was standing near the hospitality suites, laughing at something, her head tilted back slightly. And the guy standing with her—tall, broad, someone from another team’s garage, maybe an engineer—was watching her like she was the only thing in the world worth looking at.

Oscar felt something sharp twist in his stomach.

Jealousy wasn’t an emotion he liked to entertain. He wasn’t that kind of person. But right now, as he watched her smile at someone else like she hadn’t spent the night tangled up with him, he felt it creeping in anyway.

His jaw tightened, but he forced himself to keep walking. He wasn’t going to do this. Wasn’t going to torture himself over something he had no claim to.

But then he noticed it.

The hoodie she was wearing wasn’t hers.

It wasn’t even team-issued.

It was his.

Not just some branded merch with the McLaren logo—one of his actual hoodies, one from his personal collection, from his brand. Faded black, slightly oversized, his driver number printed across the sleeve.

He felt sick.

She had taken it. At some point last night when he wasn’t looking. And now she was standing there, wearing it like it meant nothing, like it wasn’t another knife in his ribs, twisting deeper.

He dragged a hand over his mouth, looking away before he did something stupid, like march over there and demand to know what the hell she thought she was playing at.

Instead, he forced himself to keep walking.

The media pen was waiting. His job was waiting.

And if she wanted to keep wrecking him, she was doing a damn good job of it.

It's not like he could do anything.

After all, he loved her and she tolerated him outside of the track.

the end.

taglist: @dying-inside-but-its-classy @n0vazsq @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @dozyisdead @number-0-iz @curseofhecate @lilorose25 @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @carlossainzapologist @skzvibes-blog

[wendichester]

hi, could you write a dean and reader fic where they're both on a dragon hunt but the reader is virgin and dean doesn't know, so to keep the dragon away from her, she would have to Lowe her virginity to dean. thank you :)

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 fireproof,

summary. you're hunting a dragon. and somehow, the thing seems to be two steps ahead of you the whole time. until you finally understand why. dean helps solve it.

pairing. dean winchester x virgin!reader genre. soft smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 700

notes / warnings. nsfw, soft first-time but also unpractical, lots of emotional vulnerability, slight dub-con vibe at first due to urgency, but full consent is made clear

Smoke clings to your clothes. It curls in your hair, settles in your throat, mixing with adrenaline. The air hums with heat as you and Dean crouch behind a crumbled stone wall, backs pressed close, blades drawn.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, lips near your ear.

You nod, trying to hide the tremble in your hands.

Dean Winchester is calm, lethal, sweaty in the best possible way—his shirt half-unbuttoned, dirt smudged on his neck, eyes scanning the ruins ahead like he was born for this. Because he kind of was.

You, on the other hand, are just trying not to pass out.

It’s not the dragon that has your chest squeezing. It’s the lore you dug up back at the motel, flipping pages with fingers that refused to stop shaking.

Virgins. The dragon goes for virgins. Always. It smells innocence like a shark with blood in water.

And Dean doesn’t know.

You’re not sure how to tell him—not here, not now, when he’s focused and full of that gravelly “we got this” kind of energy. But you also can’t keep it in your chest anymore. It’s ticking like a live grenade.

“I—I need to tell you something,” you whisper.

Dean turns toward you, frown forming. “What’s wrong?”

You blink at him. Your stomach is a tight knot. “I read something. In the lore. The dragon—”

“Goes for virgins. Yeah. I know.” He offers a reassuring smirk.

You look at him. Really look at him. Your throat dries. “Dean… I’m a virgin.”

His eyes change. Blink once. Blink again. That smirk drops like a stone.

“Oh.” He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t mock. Just looks at you like you’ve suddenly become glass. Fragile. Shining in the smoke.

“I was gonna wait to tell you, I just… thought I could help on the hunt.”

“You can,” he says quickly. “You have. You’re badass. But this changes things.”

A roar echoes through the ruins. The dragon’s close.

Dean curses under his breath. His hand grips yours. “We gotta do something. Fast. Otherwise, you’re bait.”

The air vibrates with the heat of a predator on the prowl. Your heart pounds.

Dean’s jaw tightens. “There’s a way. We don’t have to, but… it would work.”

You know what he means. The thought burns through you, fierce and terrifying.

“Would you?” you whisper, not looking at him. “If I said yes?”

His thumb brushes your hand. He leans in, eyes deep and slow. “Not because of the dragon. I’d do it because I want you.”

That’s the thing. You do. Maybe not like this—rushed and half-covered in ash—but you’ve wanted Dean since the first time he called you sweetheart and handed you a sawed-off.

You nod. “I trust you.”

He swears again, softly this time. More like a prayer. Then he pulls you gently behind a crumbled doorway.

The stone is still warm. So is his mouth.

Dean kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll break. His lips slow, searching, reverent. His hand cradles your cheek, the other slides down to your hip like he already knows every inch of you.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he breathes.

You nod, fingers trembling as you unbutton your jeans. He helps, careful, tender, kissing your jaw like the world isn’t ending outside.

When he slips inside you, it’s slow. He holds still, forehead pressed to yours, letting you breathe through it.

“Okay?” he whispers.

You nod, tears stinging your eyes—not from pain, but from the ache of it all. How warm he is. How good he feels. How safe.

Dean moves with intention, slow and deep, murmuring your name like it’s the only word he knows. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers, grounding you through the softness of it.

It hurts, but it’s more than that. It’s full. A stretch of something sacred. Like a promise wrapped in firelight.

When it’s over, he stays close, still inside you, still holding your hand.

“You okay?”

You nod, a little dizzy. “Yeah. Better than okay.”

Dean smiles—real, soft. “You’re safe now.”

Somewhere in the distance, the dragon screams in fury. And for the first time, it doesn’t feel terrifying. It feels far away.

You’re not bait anymore. You’re fireproof.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[rafessecret]

girlie i have a requesttt 🥰 so , maybe rafe and reader are bestfriends, reader is like a sweetheart and all, and shes so oblivious she cant see rafe feels more and wants more so one night when they hangout at her place he confesses and maybe some smut? LOVE YOUR WRITING BTW ANGEEL

⋆˚࿔ oblivious¡ reader && bsf¡rafe cameron

I'VE LOVED YOU FOREVER

You and Rafe have always been inseparable. Like gravity—you orbit each other naturally, wordlessly, like the universe arranged it that way and forgot to tell anyone else. He’s always there. Waiting by your locker, stealing your food with a grin, and tugging on your sleeves when he wants your attention. And you, with your big eyes and soft voice, never see the way he looks at you.

Because you’re too kind. Too sweet. Too busy giggling at dumb movies and offering him the last bite of your ice cream. You fall asleep on his shoulder during car rides, wear his hoodies without asking, hold his hand like it means nothing—and it drives him insane. Because to him, it means everything.

You don’t know it, but he memorises you. The way you chew your lip when you’re nervous. The soft rise and fall of your chest when you sleep. How your laugh curls in the air like something holy. He thinks you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen, all sunshine and sugar and so effortlessly good it hurts.

He keeps all his feelings locked up tight, sealed behind smiles and teasing nicknames. But sometimes—just sometimes—he wonders what it would be like if you knew. If you really knew how much he loves you. How your voice steadies him. How your trust makes him feel like he’s worth something. How just being around you makes the world bearable.

You think he’s just your best friend. But he’s quietly, desperately, hopelessly in love with you. And he would never risk losing you. Even if it kills him a little more each day. You don’t know what makes today feel different. It’s been sweet, like always. You and Rafe spent the whole afternoon wrapped up in each other—driving around nowhere, laughing too loud, stealing fries off each other’s plates like you’ve done a thousand times before. He knows all your favourite songs. You know all his soft spots. It’s always been like that.

Now it’s nighttime, and you’re in your bed, side by side, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The lights are off. The sheets smell like lavender and the lotion you put on before bed. Everything is warm and quiet and close. You’re whispering secrets, giggling between yawns, brushing your toes against his under the blanket. It’s innocent, familiar. Safe. You’re talking about some guy who asked you out earlier in the week, but you laugh it off—like it was strange or silly. Like you didn’t get it. You never really do. ❝It always surprises me when people say that. That I’m pretty, I mean.❞

Rafe goes quiet. Too quiet. And you feel it. The way the air shifts. Then his voice, low, soft, aching: ❝I get it. You’re beautiful. Of course he asked.❞ You giggle, nudging him gently. ❝Rafe, stop. You’re just saying that.❞ But that’s what breaks him. He sits up suddenly, like the words are forcing themselves out. His hands are trembling. His breath’s gone all uneven.

❝I’m not. I’m not just saying anything. I love you. I’ve loved you since before I even knew what it meant.❞ You freeze, blinking up at him, wide-eyed and stunned. ❝Shit—I didn’t mean—I mean I did—but I shouldn’t’ve said it like that—fuck. Don’t hate me, please. I didn’t mean to ruin this.❞ He looks wrecked. So scared. So soft.

You reach up, gently, and take his hand in both of yours. Press your lips to his knuckles. ❝You didn’t ruin anything. You’re my favourite person. You always have been.❞ And then you kiss him—just once, soft and slow. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He kisses you back like he’s been holding his breath for years. At first, he’s hesitant. Nervous. His lips brush yours, soft and unsure, like he’s scared you might pull away. Like he doesn’t quite believe this is real—that you kissed him first. That you want him back.

His hands tremble where they press into the mattress on either side of you, caging you in without ever touching you. You feel how hard he’s trying not to shake, how tightly he’s holding himself together.

❝It’s okay,❞ you whisper into his mouth between kisses. ❝You’re okay.❞ He exhales like he’s breaking apart. And then he kisses you again, deeper this time. Still nervous. Still careful. But he lets himself taste you, lets himself lean into it. His lips slot over yours perfectly, and he’s breathless, desperate in a way that’s all bottled up.

Rafe groans into your mouth like he’s starving—like the taste of you is the first thing he’s ever truly wanted. He kisses with this aching kind of hunger, tongue pushing past your lips like he’s been dreaming about this exact moment forever.

His tongue licks into you slow at first, savouring it, then deeper—wet and hot and messy. He fucks your mouth with it, gentle but desperate, like he can’t help it. Like he wants to crawl inside your body and live there. You moan softly, lips parting wider, letting him take and take and take. Your fingers brush against his jaw, soothing, anchoring. You feel the way his breath catches, how he leans into your touch like he needs it. Like he needs you.

You tug at the hem of his shirt between kisses, breathless. He pulls back just long enough to tug it over his head, and your eyes go soft—your breath catching. He’s all nervous smiles and flushed cheeks, but your gaze is warm and adoring, and it makes him feel like maybe he’s not so scared. ❝You’re beautiful,❞ you whisper. He swallows hard. ❝You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.❞

You kiss again, and this time there’s no hesitation. Just want. Just heat. Your hands roam his chest, his shoulders. His hands finally touch your waist, hesitant but hungry. He fumbles with your shirt, asking, ❝Can I?❞ You nod. He undresses you like you’re something sacred. Like he’s scared he might break you. And when you’re bare beneath him, he just looks. Drinks you in. Breathing heavily. Awestruck. ❝Are you sure?❞ he whispers. ❝I’m sure. I want you, Rafe.❞ It nearly undoes him.

His breath catches, jaw tight, the weight of your words wrecking something deep inside him. You’re laid out beneath him—eyes soft, chest heaving, skin flushed with anticipation—and he looks at you like you hung the damn stars.

He lines himself up between your thighs, and you feel him—hard, thick, and big. The tip of his cock brushes against your entrance, and your breath stutters, hips twitching. He strokes his hand up your thigh, spreading you wider, fingers trailing dangerously close to where you're dripping for him. ❝Fuck,❞ he breathes, eyes dark and ravenous. ❝You sure, sweetheart?❞ You nod, voice breathy. ❝I’m sure. Please, Rafe. I need you.❞

He groans, low and hungry, and starts to push in—slow, almost teasing. The thick head of his cock parts your folds, dragging through your slick as he eases in inch by inch. Your mouth falls open, gasping at the stretch. It burns in the most delicious way. ❝Oh my god—Rafe—❞

❝I got you,❞ he grits out, forehead against yours, watching every twitch of your face. ❝Fuck, you’re so tight. You’re taking me so well, angel.❞ He bottoms out with a trembling moan, buried to the hilt, cock pulsing inside you. Your pussy clenches around him, fluttering, greedy, and wet. His arms are shaking, holding himself up as he breathes through the urge to fuck you into the mattress right then.

You’re wrapped around him, thighs trembling, nails clawing at his shoulders. He starts to move—deep, slow strokes that drag every inch of him along your walls. You whimper, head falling back as he rocks into you, hips rolling, hitting that sweet spot over and over.

❝So fucking good,❞ he murmurs against your neck, tongue licking a stripe up your throat. ❝Been thinking about this for so long. How perfect you’d feel.❞ His hand trails down, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, wet circles as he keeps fucking into you. You jolt, crying out as pleasure coils sharp and fast in your stomach.

❝You feel that, sweetheart? How wet are you? How you’re squeezing me like that?❞ he groans, voice filthy. ❝God, you were made for me.❞ And then he loses control. His rhythm turns rough—desperate and fast, hips slamming into yours with wet, echoing sounds. The room is filled with your moans, his panting, and the sound of skin on skin. He’s fucking you hard now, raw and deep, your slick coating him, dripping down your thighs. ❝So messy,❞ he pants, watching where you're joined. ❝Look at that, sweetheart. You’re soaking me.❞

You’re crying out, back arching off the bed, overwhelmed by how good it feels. He’s hitting that spot again and again, making you dizzy and incoherent. ❝Cum for me,❞ he growls, fingers tightening on your hips. ❝Cum all over my cock.❞ You shatter, legs shaking, cunt clenching down on him so tight he chokes on a moan. You cry out his name, loud and shameless.

Rafe follows, hips stuttering as he thrusts deep and stays there, groaning against your throat as he cums—thick and hot—filling you up. He keeps thrusting shallowly, riding it out, fucking his release deeper inside. Then he collapses on top of you, breathing hard, face buried in your neck. His hands stroke your sides, your thighs, gentle now.

❝You’re everything,❞ he whispers, kissing your face, your lips. ❝Mine. All mine.❞ He stays inside you, warm and full, bodies tangled, and for the first time—it feels like the beginning of something real. He holds you after. Kisses your face. Whispers your name like a prayer. It’s passionate. It’s real.

And it’s the beginning of everything.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : ahh! I love the best friend concept probably more than anything, so thank you so much anon for giving me an excuse to dive back into it. this was sooo fun to write, I hope you guys love it too!

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[bu3ck3r]

tied together – part 5

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

warning: sexual content

a/n: hiii everyone sorry for the long wait but your girl has been a lil busy. anywaysss i thought this would make up for it and im pretty sure it will. as usual let me know how was itttt.

tied together – masterlist

paige’s pov:

it was almost 10:00 p.m. when paige got back to the hotel.

she didn’t remember most of the ride—just flashes. her knee bouncing under the seat, the light yellow blur of streetlights through the tinted bus windows, a few teammates laughing in the back, the low beat of a playlist someone forgot to turn off.

because all she could think about was her.

azzi.

azzi’s mouth, still warm on hers. azzi pressed against the wall like she wanted to crawl into paige’s skin. azzi’s breathy laugh when paige whispered, “you looked hot when you bodied me on the baseline.”

that whole thing was supposed to be quick. just a moment in the tunnel. just some banter, maybe a kiss, maybe not. something private. something small. but then azzi had looked at her like that. like paige was water in the middle of a desert. like all the months in between hadn’t changed a single thing.

and when their lips met, it wasn’t like kissing someone new. it was like coming home.

now, in the hotel elevator, paige leaned her shoulder against the mirrored wall and pulled her uconn hoodie tighter around her body. her phone buzzed in her pocket just as the doors opened.

she didn’t check it right away. she didn’t need to.

she already knew who it was.

azzi.

i miss you already

and no i don’t care that we just kissed like 40 minutes ago. i still miss you.

say something before i spiral

paige grinned to herself as she stepped into the hallway, soft carpet muffling her steps. she waited until she got to her door before answering.

we literally just saw each other az.

azzi’s reply came instantly.

so what. i want more

paige bit her lip.

she leaned against her door, phone held loose in one hand, and stared at the message.

it hit her in the chest—how easy this felt. how real. she wasn’t used to azzi being like this. needy. open. but tonight? tonight she seemed starved. so paige texted her.

what are you doing right now? besides being obsessed w me

about to shower. thinking about you. obviously. you?

same. i need to shower too

face time me p.

paige’s stomach flipped.

she hadn’t even unlocked the hotel door yet.

she stepped inside, flicked the lamp on, tossed her bag down, and hit the facetime icon before she could overthink it.

azzi appeared on the screen in seconds, hair tied up, south carolina hoodie still on, skin glowing even in low light. she was lying on the bed, camera tilted toward her bare thighs.

paige shook her head. “you’re teasing me already.”

azzi smirked, shifting slightly. “you looked so good tonight, p.”

paige dropped her phone onto the dresser for a second so she could pull her hoodie off. she walked around in a sports bra and shorts, tossing her slides toward the corner.

“stop looking at me like that,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“why?” azzi murmured. “you want me to lie?”

paige laughed, grabbing her towel. “i need to shower.”

azzi groaned. “i just got you back. you’re really gonna leave me?”

“didn’t you say you had to shower too?”

azzi’s voice got lower. “yeah. but not with you.”

paige paused. her grip on the towel tightened.

azzi smirked. “unless…”

paige’s head tilted. “you want to stay on while we shower?”

azzi blinked. “wait deadass?”

paige didn’t answer.

she just grinned—and walked into the bathroom with her phone.

azzi propped her phone on the bathroom counter, flipping the camera so paige could see her. she stripped slowly—first the hoodie, then her shorts, then her bra, tossing everything to the floor with lazy precision.

on the other end, paige did the same. the sports bra came off slow. her shorts dragged down over toned legs. the muscles in her stomach flexed as she moved, and azzi had to bite down on her lip just to stay quiet.

“you staring again, ma?” paige teased, voice echoing in the steam.

“obviously,” azzi whispered.

both girls stepped under the water, the screen fogging slightly, but not enough to hide the curve of azzi’s shoulder or the slope of paige’s back.

they didn’t talk much—just quiet little compliments.

“you look so good wet.”

“your skin’s glowing.”

“wow look at that ass.”

“you like this?” paige asked at one point, tilting her phone down for a half-second flash of full nudity.

azzi nearly dropped hers.

“paige. what the fuck.”

paige just laughed. “you’re the one who said stay on the call.”

azzi exhaled hard. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“good,” paige smiled. “you deserve it.”

they were out of the shower now. azzi had towel-dried her body and thrown on a pair of shorts and a crop top. she was lying on her side, phone balanced in front of her.

and paige?

paige was sitting cross-legged on her hotel bed in just a black nike sports bra and underwear, her hair wet, skin flushed, camera tilted low.

“fuck,” azzi whispered. “you look so hot right now.”

paige smirked. “oh yeah?”

“you know you do. stop acting brand new.”

“say it again, pretty.”

azzi blinked. “you look hot, baby.”

paige tilted her head. “who’s baby?”

azzi swallowed. “mine.”

a beat passed. then paige said, low and smooth: “you alone in your room?”

azzi licked her lips. “yeah. aliyah’s with bree. i’m by myself tonight.”

paige’s smile turned lethal. “good.”

paige was stretched out across her bed now, her back against the headboard, one knee up, the phone balanced on her thigh. the camera was angled just right—like she’d done it a hundred times before. bra still a little damp. hair a mess. eyes soft but sharp.

azzi’s whole body buzzed.

“you’re gonna sit there and act like you don’t know what you’re doing to me?” azzi asked, voice a little breathless.

paige smirked. “i know exactly what i’m doing.”

azzi shifted on her stomach, chin resting on her folded arms. “you’re evil.”

“you say that like you don’t love it.”

“i do,” azzi whispered.

paige tilted her head, eyes raking over azzi’s exposed skin—the smooth curve of her hip, the way her crop top lifted slightly with each breath. “you look so good right now, mama. you always do.”

azzi flushed. “you can’t just say shit like that.”

“i can when it’s true.”

paige leaned in, her voice dropping half an octave.

“let me ask you something.”

azzi blinked. “yeah?”

“how hot do i look to you right now?”

azzi let out a shaky breath. “too hot.”

paige chuckled low in her throat. “be specific.”

“you’re in that damn sports bra. hair wet. all confident. smiling like you know i’m about to lose it.”

“am i?”

azzi nodded, cheeks flushed. “you’re not fair.”

“i’m not trying to be fair.” paige’s tone got quiet. intent. “i’m trying to make you feel something.”

azzi swallowed hard.

“you are.”

there was a silence—not empty, but thick. charged. breathing heavy on both sides of the screen.

paige tilted the phone just a little more, giving azzi a perfect view of her bare thighs, the dip of her hips, the black boxers clinging low on her waist.

“tell me something,” paige said softly. “what would you do to me right now… if i was there?”

azzi hesitated, pupils blown wide. “paige…”

“no, baby,” paige said gently. “don’t get shy now.”

azzi bit her lip. her voice was a whisper. “i’d climb in your lap.”

“yeah?” paige sat up straighter. “you’d ride me, ma?”

azzi whined. “yes.”

“you’d let me hold your hips while you move real slow?”

azzi nodded, helpless. “i’d make you feel so good.”

paige smiled, slow and hungry. “you already do.”

they stared at each other—just looked—for a few long seconds.

then paige said, “okay. i’m done.”

azzi blinked. “wait—what?”

“i’m coming to your room.”

“paige—”

“i need to see you.”

azzi sucked in a breath.

“you’re killing me, princess,” paige murmured, slipping off the bed and reaching for her hoodie. “you’re sitting there lookin’ all soft and needy, and i’m supposed to sleep without touching you?”

azzi gasped. “so come see me, p. i’m waiting.”

azzi barely had time to get up before there was a soft knock.

she opened the door without thinking.

and there was paige.

hair still damp. hoodie zipped halfway. no pants. just those black boxers and long legs and a smirk that made azzi dizzy.

“you gonna let me in,” paige said, “or you just gonna stare?”

azzi pulled her inside and kicked the door shut.

the second it clicked closed, paige pressed her against it—fast and hungry, their mouths crashing together like they couldn’t stand the distance for one more second.

azzi gasped when paige’s hand found her waist, fingers slipping under her top.

“you know what you’ve been doing to me all night?” paige said with a quiet but heavy voice, kissing down her neck.

azzi nodded. “i can’t stop thinking about you.”

paige grinned against her skin. “that so?”

she walked them backward toward the bed, lips still on azzi’s throat, hands roaming slow and possessive.

when azzi’s knees hit the mattress, paige sat down and pulled her into her lap.

“c’mere,” she said. “i need you close.”

azzi straddled her, thighs on either side of paige’s waist, hands in her hair.

they kissed like they were starving.

paige’s hands gripped azzi’s hips, fingers digging into the softness there.

azzi whimpered. “paige. please.”

paige pulled back just enough to look up at her.

“what’s up, princess?”

azzi’s voice cracked. “paige, baby—please. i need you.”

that flipped something in paige’s chest.

she reached up, dragged her thumb along azzi’s bottom lip.

“you need me?”

azzi nodded, desperate. “so bad.”

paige’s voice dropped. “then let me take care of you.”

azzi was straddling paige in the middle of the bed, knees spread wide on either side of her hips, their bodies barely touching—but the heat between them was unmistakable.

paige had her hands on azzi’s thighs, fingers curling against the soft skin like she was trying to ground herself. but her eyes… her eyes were locked on azzi’s lips, then her neck, then lower, like she didn’t know where to start.

“you’re shaking,” paige whispered, palms gliding up.

azzi nodded, breath shallow. “i’ve never wanted anyone like this before.”

paige exhaled, steady and slow. “let me fix that for you, mama.”

and then she kissed her again.

but this time—this time was different.

this time, it wasn’t fast or rushed or breathless. it was deep. claiming.

azzi melted into it, moaning softly when paige licked into her mouth, hands sliding up her back under the crop top. paige’s grip was firm but gentle, like she was sculpting azzi out of heat and want.

then paige pulled back and whispered, “take it off for me.”

azzi blinked.

paige nodded toward her shirt. “now.”

her voice wasn’t harsh. just final.

azzi reached down with shaking hands and peeled her crop top off, slowly, revealing soft brown skin, the swell of her chest, the flush already blooming along her collarbones. paige’s breath caught.

“fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

she didn’t wait for permission this time. she leaned in, mouth finding azzi’s neck, then lower, trailing kisses across her collarbone, down between her breasts. her tongue flicked over azzi’s nipple once—just once—and azzi’s hips bucked.

paige smiled against her skin.

“you like that?”

azzi moaned. “please don’t tease me.”

paige looked up, eyes bright. “you’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

azzi nodded, eyes glazed. “since that facetime.”

paige laughed. low, dangerous.

“needy little thing,” she murmured. “my pretty girl couldn’t even wait for me to get here.”

she slid her hands down azzi’s back, gripped under her thighs, and lifted her—just enough to lay her flat on the bed, then crawled over her.

azzi looked up at her, breathless. “you’re doing things to me.”

“good,” paige kissed her, hard and hooked two fingers into the waistband of her shorts.

“lift.”

azzi raised her hips. the shorts came off slow, dragged down inch by inch until paige tossed them to the floor without a glance.

then she sat back and looked up at her.

azzi, flushed, knees apart, chest rising and falling under the hoodie she hadn’t taken off. she looked ethereal.

paige leaned forward, hands on her thighs, spreading her a little wider. her mouth brushed azzi’s inner thigh, then her other.

soft kisses. no hurry.

azzi’s fingers curled in the sheets. her head tipped back. her breathing stuttered.

“goddamn,” paige whispered, voice thick. “you’re dripping, baby.”

azzi whimpered. “i need your mouth.”

that sentence nearly broke her.

she didn’t answer. she just went down.

her tongue licked a slow stripe from the base of azzi’s slit to the top, and azzi arched off the bed, a long, broken moan spilling from her mouth.

azzi gasped—head snapping forward, eyes wide, hands flying into paige’s hair. she didn’t pull. she just held on. and paige didn’t say a word. she just buried her mouth deeper, tongue moving with purpose—steady, slow, relentless.

every flick. every pressure. every shift of her mouth was intentional. controlled. like paige was tasting her favorite thing in the world and had no plans to rush it.

azzi was already shaking.

“fuck,” she breathed out, hips twitching, voice high and breathless. “oh my god—paige—”

paige smiled, sucked her clit gently into her mouth, lapping slow circles until azzi was gripping the sheets.

then she pulled back, mouth glistening.

“what’s up, ma?” she teased. “that good already?”

azzi whimpered. “paige, please.”

paige reached up, slid two fingers through the mess between her legs, and pressed in—slow, deep, curling upward until azzi cried out.

“that’s it,” paige whispered, pumping in and out. “you take me so good, baby.”

azzi was gasping now, hips rolling, hands scrambling to find something to hold onto.

“you gonna come for me, princess?”

azzi nodded, desperate. “yes—oh my god—yes, yes—paige, i’m—”

paige licked her again, fingers still moving, and azzi shattered.

azzi cried out. her thighs tried to close, but paige kept her open, right where she wanted her. legs shaking. voice cracked. her head fell back. her mouth dropped open. she came with a soft, choked moan—tight and breathless and wrecked, clinging to paige’s hair with one shaking hand while the other clawed at the bed.

paige didn’t stop until she was sure azzi had nothing left to give.

she worked her through it—tongue slow now, fingers deep, kissing gently between strokes until azzi collapsed against the pillows, lips parted, chest heaving.

paige kissed her inner thigh. her hipbone. the place just below her navel.

“I wanted you like that all night,” paige whispered.

then she kissed her way back up and lay beside her, pulling her close, chest to chest, lips brushing her ear. azzi blinked up at her, dazed.

“i’m so obsessed with you, princess,” paige whispered.

azzi smiled, still panting. “i’ve noticed that, baby.”

azzi couldn’t stop looking at her.

this version of paige—flushed, eyes dazed. for a second, azzi just watched her. let her breathe. let the moment settle between them.

then she leaned forward and kissed her. soft, slow. like she wanted to taste her own name from paige’s mouth.

paige reached for her, but azzi pushed her hand away gently and shook her head.

“just let me,” she murmured, voice low and steady.

paige nodded, lips twitching. her body went still beneath her. waiting.

azzi sat up on her knees, straddling paige’s hips. her hands dragged slowly up paige’s thighs, thumbs dipping into the crease where muscle met heat. paige twitched under her, soft whimper caught in her throat.

azzi leaned down and kissed her chest—once, right between her breasts. then again, lower. she dragged her tongue lightly over the skin just above paige’s waistband, and paige let out a broken breath.

azzi slid her hands up to paige’s waistband. “lift.”

paige raised her hips, letting azzi peel her shorts down—slow, deliberate, dragging the fabric over her skin like it might tear if she moved too fast.

azzi tossed them aside, and for a beat, just looked.

paige’s thighs spread instinctively. her stomach flexed. her eyes stayed locked on azzi’s face, hungry and unguarded.

azzi dropped to her elbows between her knees, one hand stroking the inside of paige’s thigh, lips brushing against the slick heat waiting for her.

paige moaned—quiet, involuntary.

then azzi kissed her. right there. soft at first. then firmer.

she flattened her tongue and dragged it slowly through the wetness, and paige’s whole body arched off the bed.

azzi didn’t stop.

she moved with rhythm—unhurried, confident, every stroke perfectly placed. she pressed her mouth deeper, tongued her open, and paige was already shaking again.

“god—azzi,” paige gasped, one hand sliding helplessly over her own stomach, the other gripping the sheets.

azzi held her thighs in place, mouth wet, steady, tongue circling and dipping, teasing but never retreating.

paige couldn’t stop moving. her hips rolled up into her mouth, muscles twitching, jaw slack, moans spilling out now without any shame.

azzi loved the sound of it. loved the way paige was so loud for her—the way she didn’t hold back, didn’t even try. so she slipped two fingers inside her, slow and deep.

paige sobbed.

her hand flew to her mouth. her legs clamped around azzi’s shoulders. her voice cracked.

azzi started moving—curling her fingers just right while her mouth kept working, stroking, licking, sucking until paige was gasping between words that didn’t make sense anymore.

“please—fuck—don’t stop—don’t—”

azzi didn’t. she held on tighter. moved faster.

and paige shattered. she came hard—head thrown back, back arched, thighs shaking, voice rough and wrecked and real.

and azzi didn’t stop until paige pushed at her shoulder weakly, whispering, “baby—i can’t—too much—”

azzi kissed the inside of her thigh and pulled back, mouth slick, lips swollen, eyes dark.

she crawled up slowly, hovering over paige, her body warm and heavy against her. paige looked up at her like she couldn’t believe she was real.

azzi kissed her once, slow and deep.

then again, softer.

and again, just to feel her sigh into it.

paige pulled her close, arms wrapped tight around her back.

she kissed azzi’s hair. her shoulder. her cheek.

“you tryna make me fall for you harder?,” paige whispered, breath still shaky.

azzi smiled. “that’s the idea.”

azzi’s pov:

azzi didn’t even remember pulling paige on top of her. one second she was gasping, legs still twitching, and the next, her hand was sliding down paige’s stomach, and then she found her again.

paige hissed when azzi’s fingers found her. “shit.”

azzi grinned weakly. “round two, baby.”

“no,” paige said, voice low. “i’m too fucked out.”

azzi’s fingers dipped lower. “don’t care.”

paige buried her face in her neck. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“perfect,” azzi said smooth and confident.

her hand braced just beside paige’s head, her eyes dragging down the curve of her body like she’d never get used to seeing her like this flushed, waiting.

paige looked up at her, lips parted. she didn’t move. just let azzi take control.

azzi bent down, kissed her chest. the spot below her ribs.

then lower.

she took her time, hands sliding along the insides of paige’s thighs, feeling her twitch at every brush of her palm.

“still wet for me?” azzi whispered, even though she already knew.

paige made a broken sound in her throat.

azzi kissed her knee. “you’re so warm.” she didn’t tease this time. she dove in. mouth open, tongue broad and slow, licking paige like she was memorizing her.

and paige lost it.

her whole body snapped tight, hands flying into azzi’s curls.

“shit—az—fuck—”

azzi didn’t speak. didn’t break rhythm. she licked, then sucked, then circled her tongue until paige was a writhing mess beneath her.

she slid two fingers in—smooth and deep. paige sobbed.

azzi whispered against her, “i want you to come for me again.”

paige shook her head like she couldn’t believe it. “i’m not gonna last—”

“you don’t need to,” azzi murmured, pumping her fingers slow and full. “i want you now. messy and loud.”

and paige gave it to her. she arched. she broke. her legs clamped tight. her hips lifted off the bed. and azzi held her through every second of it.

they lay together after—chests heaving, skin sticking, fingers interlaced between their bodies.

paige turned her head, eyes glassy. “where the hell did that come from?”

azzi smiled sleepily. “i just wasn’t done with you.”

paige laughed, breathless, then pulled her closer until their foreheads touched.

and azzi held her through it.

let her collapse on top of her. let her shake. let her whisper, again and again:

“i love you. i love you. i love you.”

later they were laying there tangled—sweaty, aching, quiet. paige’s hand rested on azzi’s stomach. azzi’s fingers played lazily with paige’s hair. no one spoke for a while.

then paige leaned in, kissed her shoulder. “i’m not going anywhere.”

azzi smiled into her neck. “you better not.”

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

*SMACK* -Oneshot

Word count: 3884

Y/N was in so much trouble.  She knew it, but that still didn’t stop her as she snuck one of Bucky’s treats from the pantry.  He really wasn’t one for sweet things, but he loved York Peppermint Patties, and it was a well known rule that nobody ate his treat of choice unless they wanted swift retribution.  But she was craving something sweet, and all of her regular snacks and treats were out until a new grocery order would be coming in the next day.

She tip-toed from the pantry and scurried down the hall to her room, looking over her shoulder repeatedly as if he would pop up at any moment.  As she opened her door she considered the coast clear and started pulling apart the wrapper.  Just as she was about to take a bite, a hand shot out and slapped her hand holding the York.  Y/N squeaked in surprise as that same hand caught the treat, and then two arms encircled her waist and made her bend over.  Then a metal hand swatted her ass with a sharp *SMACK*.  She stiffened and gasped.  Did she just get…spanked? “Nuh uh, doll face,” Bucky’s voice vibrated in his chest near her ear.  “You know better than that.”

Y/N didn’t dare move or breathe.  The pleasure that flooded through her body after the spank and the way his voice was deep, gravelly and slightly smug but also chastising awakened something deep within her that she didn’t recognize.  Her lips tightened as he helped her stand up straight then let go of her.  She turned to face him and watched him bite half of the York and chew it as he gave her a narrow-eyed look.

“S-Sorry,” she stuttered.

They stared at each other for a moment before a smirk lit up his face.  “Aah, I like ya, so I’ll be nice and share.  Open up,” he teased and held up the other half toward her mouth.  Y/N’s eyes were comically wide as she obediently opened her mouth and he plopped the other half on her tongue.  She chewed it slowly, enjoying the taste as he watched her.  “Manners?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Thank you,” Y/N said automatically around the last bit she was chewing.  

“See?  That wasn’t so hard was it?” he teased again and stepped toward her.  He licked his lips and she had to physically fight back the shiver that rolled down her spine.  “Later, doll face,” he winked at her and then walked down the hall the way she had come.

Y/N stood stock still for far too long, then stumbled into her room and shut the door.  She leaned against it for support as the whole thing replayed in her head over and over again.  Did she like being spanked?  Or was it just because it was Bucky, who she had been crushing on for a while now?  They’d always had a teasing relationship but this felt so much bigger or more meaningful than normal.  Then she started giggling.  She wanted him to do it again…

***

“Watch it, doll face,” Bucky warned, his body turning to face her on the couch.

Y/N bit back a mischievous smile.  She had walked in on him watching a movie in the middle of the day and had joined him on the couch, asking questions and seeing if it was something she had seen or would like.  Then as they sat in silence she had subtly moved so she was laying down with her feet near his leg.  During the movie she would randomly poke him with her toes on his thigh, then his hip, then up to his side.  Bucky wasn’t really ticklish, but he had minutely squirmed when she reached his ribs, so she kept trying to poke him again.  

“I’m not doing anything,” she said incredulously.  “Just watching this boring ass movie.”

“Is it boring?  Or are you just uncultured and can’t appreciate old black and white movies?” Bucky asked.

She thought about it for a second, watching the film for a few more minutes.  “Yeah no, this movie is just boring,” she shook her head, then adjusted herself on the couch to distract him and shoved her foot up into his armpit.

“That’s it!” he grunted, then tackled her against the couch.  She squealed as she tried to fight him off, but she was no match for the super soldier.  He scooped her up and laid her on her stomach across his legs and tickled her sides, making her shriek with laughter as she tried to get herself upright but it was no use.

“Okay!  Okay I’m sorry!” she wheezed, her legs kicking at the cushions.  

“Mmh, I don’t think I believe you,” Bucky said, tickling the backs of her thighs.  She laughed into the cushion below her head, trying to squirm away from the onslaught of his fingers.  

“I am!  I’m sorry!  Bucky stop it!”

*SMACK*

Y/N froze, and an involuntary whimper escaped her throat.  He spanked her.  He did it again.  Before she could even properly think about it again his flesh hand reached around and gripped her cheeks, making her look at him.  His face was a lot closer than she expected, and her eyelids fluttered at the dark look in his eyes.  “Try again,” he said lowly.

She didn’t answer him immediately, and his jaw tightened before she felt another smack on her ass.  Her eyes shut tight and she hummed.  “I’m sorry, Bucky,” she whined.  “I won’t do it again, I promise.”

“Very good,” he said, then manhandled her into a sitting position next to him on the couch and leaned back like nothing had happened.  “Now watch this boring ass movie with me.”

***

From then on it was like a game.  Y/N looked for different ways to try and push Bucky’s buttons, just to see how far she could push it until he lost his patience enough to spank her.  It didn’t always work, but when it did it was a punishment and reward that she loved.  Sometimes he would randomly do it out of nowhere, like passing her in the kitchen after breakfast, when they would train together, and once after a mission where she had done well.

She knew that he secretly loved it as much as she did.  The look he gave her every time he would spank her was stern but always with the slightest hint of a smirk on the edge of his lips and a twinkle in his eye.  His eyes would sometimes widen at her reaction to being spanked, and at other times his smirk would widen proudly at getting a reaction out of her.  But he never pushed for more, and always kept it hidden from the others.  Then they came home from a mission where it went to shit.

“I told you to wait!” Bucky yelled at her, standing almost toe-to-toe with her.  

“If I had waited any longer then we would have run out of time,” Y/N yelled back.  “The comms were out, I couldn’t hear you!  So I did what I had to do.”

“Oh yeah, putting yourself in danger is a great strategy,” he shook his head.  “Everybody on this team can handle themselves, you didn’t need to try and swoop in and save the day.  We stick to the plan–”

“Until the plan no longer works!” she said, raising her hands incredulously.  “We have to be flexible, too.  I saw an opportunity and I took it.  But fuck me, I guess.  So sorry that I saved everybody’s life, including yours!”

The rest of the team watched on in both amusement and worry.  “Guys, let’s just calm down,” Walker started.  

“Shut up Walker!” they both turned and yelled at him before looking back at each other.  Walker put his hands up in surrender and walked away.  

“Look, you’re both right,” Yelena said, trying to mediate.  “Why don’t we just take a breathe–”

“You’re suspended,” Bucky spat.

Y/N’s head recoiled, a look of shock on her face.  “What?  You can’t bench me.”

“I just did,” Bucky snarled, towering over her.  

“On whose authority?” Y/N asked, not backing down as her voice got lower and quieter.  “Because last time I checked, you don’t command this team.  So who are you to suspend me?  You think because you’re this big legend of a soldier that I’m just supposed to bend the knee and submit to you?”  She pushed him on his chest, which barely made him move but his frown deepened and he blew out a sharp breath through his nose.  The rest of the team had all backed away and slipped out of the room as quickly as they could.  “What are you gonna do?” she asked, tilting her head in challenge at him.  “Spank me?”

Bucky was frozen for a moment, then at a speed she couldn’t even register he had leaned down and picked her up, hefting her over his shoulder and walking fast toward the personal rooms.  When she cried out indignantly and tried to swat at his back, yelling at him to put her down he spanked her harder than he ever had before, the sharp sting making her gasp and stop wriggling in his grasp.  Once he reached his room he locked the door behind them and then dumped her on his bed.  She tried to right herself but he didn’t let her, turning her over on her stomach and bending her over the side of the bed so she was at a 90 degree angle with her feet planted on the floor.  She kept trying to wrestle against him but he had her firmly pressed against his mattress, kicking her feet apart so her legs were spread.  Then his metal fingers reached into the waistband of her mission suit and pulled down her pants and underwear to her knees, exposing her ass and thighs to the cool air of his room.  Y/N gasped again and tried to wrench herself out of his hold.

“Buck, what the fuck are you–”

*SMACK*

She stiffened, her entire body tensing as her mouth hung open.  If she had enjoyed the previous spankings, it was nothing compared to feeling the metal against her bare skin.  His metal palm rubbed over the cheek he’d just smacked gently, a sharp contrast to his earlier treatment.  “I’m suspending you because you obviously need to learn some respect for your team members,” he grumbled.  

“You can’t do tha–”

*SMACK*

Y/N shivered, groaning at the sting and then the blooming warmth spreading over her body from her arousal.  “I’m suspending you because you need to learn some self-preservation,” he continued.  “What if you died on your way to save the day, huh?  Then what would we have done?”

“Buck–”

*SMACK*

The sound she let out was like a grunted hum, her hips trembling as he gently rubbed her other ass cheek.  Her head dropped forward onto the mattress, her breathing coming in ragged pants.  She felt him lean over her until his front was along her back, his hips aligned with hers and his mouth near her ear.  He pushed his hips into her core and she could feel the hard outline of his cock through his pants along her wet lower lips, and she subconsciously pushed back against him.  “What if you saved us but I couldn’t save you?” he asked quietly, nuzzling the crook of her neck.  “Then what would I do without you, doll face?”

The sincerity of his words made her pause, and she turned her head to try and look at him.  His ever-present frown was still there, but his eyebrows were raised in the middle with a look of mourning on his face as he met her gaze.  “Buck,” she breathed.

He shook his head and nuzzled into her neck further, hiding his face in her hair.  “I know I can’t suspend you,” he said, his voice muffled.  “I know you can handle yourself.  That plans don’t always work and flexibility is crucial.  But I can’t lose you, and I was afraid I would.”

He let go of her and rolled off of her so she could move, and she immediately turned to face him better as he sat up on the edge of the bed.  They sat in silence for a moment, and then she sat up, slightly wincing at the welts she could feel forming on her ass cheeks, and adjusted her pants and underwear back up as she sat facing him.  Bucky let out a shaky breath and kept his head down, his eyes closed and his hands in fists.  She took a deep breath and calmed herself down.

“Losing people is part of the deal we made to be in this type of business, Buck,” Y/N said.  He huffed a sharp breath and nodded.  “I know you’ve lost a lot of people, and Lord knows the thought of losing anybody on this team scares me shitless, but that’s why I did what I did in the first place,” she explained carefully.  “I couldn’t just wait and possibly watch my team, my chosen family, die.  I made a reckless but calculable decision to save the people I love.  I never meant to scare or hurt you or anybody else.”

“I know,” he said, opening his eyes and looking at her.  Her heart hurt for him at the look he gave her.  He had lived for so long and had to go through so much, and she could see the fear and pain in his eyes.  “I would have done the same thing.”  There was another moment of silence, then he sighed.  “I’m sorry for yelling at you.  And I’m sorry for all the…spanking,” he said, a blush brightening his cheeks.  

“No you’re not,” Y/N teased.

He chuckled and shook his head.  “No, I’m not,” he smiled, which turned into a smirk as he looked at her mischievously.  “You got a nice ass, and you keep being a brat so what do you expect?”

“Well Yelena’s a brat to you all the time!” Y/N said indignantly.

“Sure, but I’m not interested in Yelena,” Bucky retorted, raising an eyebrow at her.

It was her turn to blush, and she looked down at her lap before reaching out and taking his metal hand.  She scooted closer to him and met his gaze.  “Well, I’m sure it’s pretty obvious that I liked it,” she said, feeling embarrassed.  “Didn’t realize I was into that until it happened.”

Bucky bit back a smug smile.  “Well I didn’t know I was into doing that until I saw your reactions,” he replied, leaning forward and resting his forehead against hers.  “Then I just couldn’t get enough.”

She snickered, nuzzling his nose and then hiding her face into the crook of his neck.  “Neither could I,” she confessed.  

Bucky hummed and squeezed her fingers still holding his metal hand.  “I like you, Y/N.  As more than a teammate or chosen family or a friend.  But if you just want this to be for fun–”

“I don’t,” Y/N quickly said, moving her face back up to meet his eyes.  “I like you, too.  I have for a while now.  I was just too…”

“Scared,” he finished with a sad nod.  “Of starting something we couldn’t have or finish.  I know.”

Y/N sighed, her smile widening.  “Maybe it’s worth it either way,” she said.  

“It is with you,” he breathed, his gaze flickering to her lips.

The sexual tension was back after their sobering moment, and her eyes looked to his lips as well.  Bucky slowly leaned in, giving her a chance to move away if she wanted, but she didn’t.  He kissed her softly, and in that moment she knew this was it.  He was it for her.  Her hands moved up to cup his face, angling her head to deepen the kiss with him.  The smallest whimper vibrated against her mouth from him and she smiled.  

Through a flurry of fast breathing, heavy petting and gear and clothes falling in heaps on the floor he had her laid down on the bed, kissing her within an inch of her life as his hands felt down her naked hips and thighs then back to her ass, kneading her ass cheeks.  “God, this fucking ass,” he murmured.  His flesh hand gave her left ass cheek a quick swat, and she groaned into his mouth.  “You liked pushing me, didn’t you?  Seeing how far you could take it until I finally punished you?”

“Y-Yes,” she nodded, her breathing getting even faster and her heart thumping wildly as her arousal heightened.  

“Such a little brat,” he teased, then moved his face down to her neck and nipped and sucked harshly at the skin, leaving love bites in his wake and pulling every imaginable noise he could from her.  “But you’re my little brat, aren’t ya?”

“Yes,” she nodded frantically.  “Your little brat.”

“Good girl,” he smiled smugly.  He kissed down to her breasts, kissing and licking them softly for a moment as his touch became more gentle.  “See how nice I can be when my girl is good and obedient?”

“Yes, but…” He pulled away to look up at her, his eyes narrowing.  “I like it rough, too.”

Bucky chuckled, a wicked smile growing on his face.  “Oh I know,” he said, sitting up on his knees.  He grasped his cock and started stroking himself between her legs, then smacked her clit with it.  She flinched at the mixture of pain and pleasure, her mouth dropping open as she watched him.  “We’ve got a lot to learn about each other,” he mused, teasing her clit with it some more.  “Gotta see what you respond to better when you’re being a brat.”  He thrust just the tip inside her, his stomach flinching as pleasure rippled over him and she sucked in a sharp breath.  He moved his hips just enough to tease her with the tip, and she could feel and hear much more wet she was getting, the desperation mounting so fast and so high that she visibly shuddered.  “Ooh, we’re gonna have lots of fun, doll face.”  

“Bucky please,” she begged when he pulled out again, her hips squirming and her legs wrapping around his hips and her ankles locking behind him, trying to pull him back into her.  

“Already being a brat,” he said, clicking his tongue at her in a chastising way.  He easily unhooked her legs behind him and maneuvered her to the edge of bed and on her stomach again.  He spread her legs wide as close to the edge as possible, then spanked both her ass cheeks in quick succession.  She shuddered again, moaning at the sting and heat returning to the previous welts.  

“I’m s-sorry, I just need it,” she sputtered, her hands gripping the comforter tightly.  “Please Bucky…I’ll be good, I promise.  Just please don’t tease me anymore.”

His cock slid through her lower lips again, his hands gripping her hips.  “You want it hard or soft, doll face?” he asked.  

“I’ll take whatever you give me, Sergeant,” she mumbled.

Bucky let out a scoff.  “Sergeant, huh?  I like it,” he said, sounding surprised with himself.  “And that was the right answer.  You’re such a quick learner, Y/N.  I knew you could be so good for me.”

“I can, I can, please!” Y/N begged, feeling the need and shame wash over her.

Bucky pulled back for a moment, then he shoved his cock all the way in.  Y/N tensed up and shrieked.  Even though she was wet and ready for him she wasn’t prepared for how fast he took it.  That being said, the stretch was difficult but still pleasant, making her pussy pulse around him.  Bucky was staying still, letting out short, shallow breaths.  “Fuck,” he groaned, his grip on her hips tightening.  “Jesus, doll face, you’ve got a perfect pussy, you know that?  Nearly made me blow too early.”

Y/N hummed in appreciation, loving the fact that he was as affected by her as she was by him.  He only let her adjust for about 30 seconds before he started a brutal pace, his hips smacking into hers and drilling her into the mattress.  It was like a spanking against her pussy and she loved it, the repeated slapping noises echoing around her and making her slip into a delirium of pleasure.  His hands let go of her hips and reached up to hold her wrists up by her head, putting him at a new angle that hit at just the right spot with her legs spread so wide and her ass tilted in the air.  She moaned against the bed and let out a steady stream of punctuated noises with his thrusts, her fingers arching and scratching against the comforter so hard she feared she would rip them.  Bucky’s heavy breaths fanned her shoulder blades, and he periodically would give her praises then taunts and lick and suck at her skin where he could reach.

Then her pussy pulsed harder and they both shook.  “That’s it, Y/N.  Cum all over your Sergeant’s cock,” he huffed through gritted teeth.  He suddenly pulled her arms back, holding both her wrists in his metal hand behind her back, then spanked her again.  “Be good and cum, doll face.”  He spanked her one more time, and that was enough for her to come crashing down.  Her orgasm ripped through her, making her jerk against him and scream his name as her pussy gushed around him.  It triggered Buck’s orgasm and he growled as he came deep inside her, his hips rutting into her as the waves of pleasure rolled through him.

Y/N was gone to the world for a while, her mind and vision going fuzzy until her pussy finally stopped spasming and she sagged against the mattress.  Bucky carefully moved her, his cock slipping out momentarily, to lay on her back.  But he didn’t let her rest, picking her up and hugging her to him as he thrust back into her while he was half-hard.  “Buck, I can’t,” Y/N sighed, her arms and legs barely able to wrap around him.

He spanked her again and she whined.  “I told you we were gonna have lots of fun, doll face,” he said lowly.  “And that we have a lot to learn about each other.  So here’s lesson one.”  He started walking toward her bathroom.  “I can go multiple times, and you’re gonna take whatever I give you, like you said.  Because you’re gonna be such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

Y/N’s delirium got worse, and she hummed in affirmation as he turned on the shower to a hot temperature and walked them both inside, keeping her pressed against the cold tiled wall and starting to thrust into her again.  Her head lolled from the wall to his forehead, holding onto him as best as she could while she did as he said…just take it.

“Yes, Sergeant,” she slurred, the squelching from her pussy being drowned out by the falling water. “Good girl.”  *SMACK*

[suyanova]

stepcest with g!p wony who just LOVESSSS to play and torture her little sister’s nipples to orgasm while she talks her through it 😵‍💫😵‍💫 (bonus points if it leads to a nasty sex on the couch bc mom and dad aren't around)

BAD HABIT ──── jang wonyoung.

𝜗𝜚 ┈ wonyoung’s poised, pristine, and bored—an heiress carved from glass and cruelty. you’re the unwelcome addition to her world, the step wonyoung never asked for. and yet, she watches you with parted lips and half-lidded eyes, playing you just like anyone else for her own pleasure.

✦ ݁ pairing: domgp!stepsis!wony x sub!reader

✦ ݁ warnings: nipple play, titsucking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, stepcest, humiliation kink

✦ ݁ word count: 2.9k

wonyoung was the kind of girl stories warned you about—poised, pristine, and bored. the daughter of wealth, born into glass mansions and diamond-spined expectations.

she moved like the world was hers to own, to ruin, to toss aside when it stopped being interesting. everything about her was sharp and untouchable, from the way she wore her hair to the way she looked through you like you were nothing but background noise.

and you? you were the new addition. the awkward piece shoved into the middle of a picture-perfect frame. your mother had married into the jang family barely six months ago, swept up by promises of security, luxury, and a second chance at life after scraping by for years.

and while you understood—really, you did—it didn’t change the fact that this house didn’t feel like yours.

and wonyoung made sure you knew that.

she never said it outright, but every sigh, every rolled eye, every perfectly timed interruption when you spoke was a reminder you didn’t belong here. not in her home. not in her family. not in her orbit.

and lately, she’d been worse. bratty and smug. lingering too long in doorways, brushing up behind you in the kitchen, tossing snide comments with that glossy-lipped smirk like she wanted to be punished for it.

you’d spent the whole day biting your tongue, pretending her presence didn’t unravel something deep and confusing inside you. pretending you weren’t seconds away from either snapping at her or breaking down completely.

so you ran the bath.

the only place in this house that felt quiet. safe. warm in a way money couldn’t replicate.

you slipped into the tub, shutting the bathroom door behind you like you could shut her out too. the water hugged your skin, steam curling around your face, your breath slowing as you sank deeper. maybe if you stayed there long enough, she’d get bored and leave you alone.

the water had been running for a while now, the steam curling lazily through the air, clinging to the edges of the mirror and softening the lines of the room. the bathtub filled slowly, the sound of it echoing off marble and tile, rhythmic and calming in its constancy. the scent of rose and something faintly citrus hung in the air—familiar and expensive. one of the many things already here before you arrived.

you sat in the tub with your knees pulled close, the water barely brushing your collarbones. your skin felt warm, sensitive, soft in that post-bath way, and yet the heat did little to ease the restlessness that settled in your chest.

the lights were dim, just enough to see the reflection of yourself in the fogged mirror across the room. there was something hollow in your expression, but you didn’t think much of it. you were too tired to care.

you hadn’t meant to leave the door unlocked. you usually didn’t. not in this house.

it wasn’t fear that kept you cautious, just instinct. the walls here were glass, the floors too polished, and the people—at least one of them—were hard to read.

but this time, you must’ve forgotten. maybe you thought she was gone for the night. maybe you weren’t thinking at all.

you didn’t hear her right away.

there was no knock, no warning. just the quiet creak of the bathroom door easing open, slow and careful, as if she had been waiting for a reason.

you didn’t move. the sound of the faucet masked the silence behind her, but you felt it—the shift in the air, the awareness that settled across your body shoulders like a second skin.

she didn’t say anything when she stepped inside. she didn’t need to.

you could hear the soft brush of her sleeve as she slid it off, the faint rustle of expensive fabric hitting the vanity stool behind her.

her movements were deliberate, almost delicate, as if she were performing something just for herself.

you kept your eyes on the tiled wall in front of you, refusing to look, even as your heart pressed faster against your ribs.

you didn’t turn when the sound of her bare feet padded closer, nor when the quiet rustle of more clothing joined the steam. the silence was louder now, broken only by the subtle splash of water as she stepped in behind you.

the tub was large, deep, meant for two. but it had never felt so small.

her legs folded on either side of you without touching. there was no accidental brush of skin. no tension in her posture. just stillness.

you could feel her watching your back, the damp curve of your neck, the way your shoulders tensed despite the heat.

the room didn’t feel warm anymore. it felt too close. too quiet.

she didn’t speak. neither did you.

the only movement came from the water, gently rippling against your thighs as she adjusted slightly behind you, settling deeper into the bath.

then—light pressure. two fingers against your spine, slow and barely there. she traced downwards, following a single droplet of water that had escaped the curtain of your damp hair.

her fingers slid higher, feather-light, brushing a few strands of wet hair over your shoulder before returning to your back.

they hovered just beneath the surface this time, trailing lower, until her knuckles grazed the underside of your breast.

her other hand joined the first.

she cupped you fully now, both palms slick with bathwater, fingers spreading across your chest like they were made to hold you. her thumbs brushed over your nipples—slow, deliberate, a rhythm that felt more like ownership than exploration.

you weren’t breathing right anymore.

not from panic. not from fear. just the raw, dizzying weight of sensation. it rolled over you like steam, like heat rising from the water, pooling low and slow between your legs.

she rubbed in slow circles, coaxing your nipples to stiffen beneath her thumbs, again and again, until they were swollen and aching and sensitive to even the softest pass. her touch was lazy. focused. cruel in its tenderness.

she pinched. lightly at first. testing, and in response your whole body twitched. the sound you let out—quiet, breathy, shamefully soft—only seemed to spur her on.

she twisted them now. slow, patient, like she had all the time in the world. like she knew exactly what she was doing. and maybe she did.

you felt it build in waves. the way your hips shifted under the surface. the way your thighs squeezed shut around nothing, helpless to the heat blooming between them.

your nipples throbbed in her grasp. every roll, every squeeze, every flick of her fingers sent a sharp pulse of arousal down your spine, settling between your legs like a secret you couldn’t hide.

your lips parted. your breath stuttered. your body went hot all over.

and then—she leaned in. just enough for her chest to ghost against your back. just enough for her voice to reach your ear, low and unreadable.

but she didn’t speak, she didn’t need to. her hands were doing all the talking and your body was answering.

you felt it then—clear, heavy, undeniable. the slow push of pressure building where her thumbs pressed, the tight, pulsing ache deep in your core, the edge slipping closer with every calculated twist.

your nipples were soaked, puffy, raw from attention, and she didn’t stop.

not when your breath turned to whimpers, not when your back arched involuntarily, not even when your thighs trembled beneath the water, searching for friction she refused to give.

you came like that. quietly, no words. no permission.

just her fingers on your chest and your body breaking open under the weight of it.

your orgasm was soft, breathless, stretched thin and shimmering like the candlelight across the surface of the bath. your hands gripped the edge of the tub, water sloshing as your hips jolted, thighs clenching around a phantom touch that never came.

when it passed, she stilled. and for the first time, you turned to look at her.

her eyes were half-lidded, dark with something unreadable. her lips parted, breath even, gaze fixed on your chest as her thumbs slowly dragged back down, smearing your release across your skin like a mark only she could see.

she let go.

then she stood. the water poured off her like liquid silk, and she stepped out of the tub without a sound.

no towel. no rush. no words. and to your surprise, she left the door open behind her.

and you stayed there, legs shaking, nipples sore and the ache between your thighs still trembling with need.

you didn’t speak nor did you move. you just sat there. soaked, spent and completely ruined.

the water had just stopped running, the air still thick with warmth and lavender-scented steam.

your skin glistened, droplets sliding down the slope of your shoulder as you stepped onto the cool tile, towel loosely clutched against your chest like it could still protect you from her. from what just happened in that tub.

your thighs trembled slightly when you walked, still sore, still tingling from the way she had touched you beneath the water—fingers slow, patient, knowing.

it should’ve been gentle, but it wasn’t. she didn’t let you go until you were breathless and crying, and even then, she only kissed your cheek and whispered, “we’re not done.”

and now she was downstairs, waiting.

you swallowed hard and followed the faint sound of the tv, your feet padding against the hardwood floor, silent and unsure. the towel clung to your body like it was scared too.

as you stepped into the living room, there she was—wonyoung—perched on the couch. her legs were spread just slightly, still in her bathrobe, the tie loose enough to tease, tight enough to taunt. her wet hair stuck to her shoulders, the ends curling against the fabric. and still, her eyes found their way to you.

“took you long enough,” she said, her voice low, amused, that smile dangerous in the soft glow of the lamp beside her. “i was starting to think you were scared.”

you stood there frozen for a second, towel clenched tighter in your fists. her gaze dragged down your body like a slow finger, pausing at your chest, where your nipples pressed faintly through the fabric. you could see the way her jaw flexed.

“drop it.”

your breath caught. she was so straightfoward, and there was no hint of hesitation in her voice. you knew she wouldn’t be easy when you first saw her, but you didnt know she’d be this bold.

“the towel,” she added, head tilting, like she was giving you a choice. but you both knew you didn’t have one.

your fingers uncurled slowly, letting it slip from your body like silk, pooling at your ankles in silence. the air kissed your skin. you didn’t dare cover yourself.

“good girl,” she murmured, shifting forward, her robe parting a little more. and then her voice dropped—smirking, cruel in the softest way.

“get on your knees.”

your body moved before your brain did. like muscle memory. like instinct. you sank to the floor in front of her, hands trembling slightly as they rested on your thighs, trying to ignore the throb between your legs. it hadn’t even been an hour. you were already soaked again.

she let her robe fall open, just enough. just for you. and she was already hard.

“look at you,” she said, voice honeyed and smug. “you’re drooling and i haven’t even touched you yet.”

you hated how true it was. your mouth ached.

“go on. be a good little thing. make me feel better.”

you leaned in slowly, breath catching as you kissed the tip—soft, gentle, reverent like you were scared she’d vanish. her hand found the back of your head almost instantly, threading into your damp hair, her grip tightening when you started to take more. deeper.

slow at first, then faster, then messier. you could hear the wet sounds echoing in the room, feel the sting in your throat, the way your eyes watered, the way she moaned low and dark above you.

“mm, just like that,” she murmured, thumb brushing against your cheek. “fuck, look at you. such a filthy mouth. and for what? my cock?”

your whine was muffled, and she laughed—light, delighted, twisted. “that’s right, baby. just keep doing what you’re good at.”

and by the time she pulled you off, you were gasping, spit dripping down your chin and your thighs pressed together like you could hide how ruined you already were.

she didn’t even give you time to breathe. she just yanked you up by the arm and shoved you back onto the couch, chest-first, your knees hitting the cushions as her hands grabbed your hips and pulled them back.

“now i’ll give you what you want,” she whispered, lining herself up.

her cock slid in deep with one smooth, slow thrust. no teasing this time. no preamble. your breath left your lungs in one soft, broken gasp as your body molded around her again like it was made for this—like it remembered her shape.

her hands stayed firm on your waist, thumbs dragging over the damp skin as she held you still. her hips didn’t move, not yet. she just stayed there for a second, buried to the base, letting you feel it. letting you squirm.

you were still stretched from the bath, still sensitive, but it didn’t matter. the heat in your gut was already crawling up your spine like it had been waiting for her to fill you again.

her first thrust was slow. heavy. purposeful. you felt every inch of her drag against your walls, gliding out almost fully before slamming back in, pushing a high-pitched moan out of your throat. she didn’t stop. didn’t give you time to adjust. the pace was slow but relentless, a steady rhythm that sent your hips forward with every thrust, only for her to pull you back again.

you gripped the couch harder, fingers clawing at the cushions for something—anything—to hold onto.

your nipples brushed against the fabric with every movement, still raw from the bath, and the friction made your back arch until your ass pressed flush against her hips. you could feel her smile behind you.

her hands slid up your body without slowing down—up your sides, over your ribs—until they found your tits, cupping them like she missed the feel of them in her palms.

she squeezed, firm and greedy, letting your weight lean into her as she pressed her chest to your back.

you were moaning now, high and constant, like the sound had nowhere else to go. her fingers pinched your nipples again—hard this time, sharp little twists that made your eyes roll back—and her cock drove into you even deeper.

you felt ruined. stretched and leaking, cunt clenching around her like it was desperate to be owned.

but you didn’t want to cum yet. you didn’t want it to end.

like she heard the plea you didn’t say out loud, her grip on you turned harsher, rolling your nipples between her fingers like she wanted to keep you right there—on the edge, shaking stupidly and soaking wet.

her hips snapped forward, harder now, faster. not brutal, but exact. practiced. she angled her thrusts until every push hit that spot inside you that made your thighs jerk and your breath catch, over and over and over.

you couldn’t think. couldn’t speak. your mouth hung open but nothing came out except messy, breathless moans, your body twitching beneath hers as her cock drilled into you from behind.

you felt her throbbing against your walls, leaking inside you already, and the wet sounds of it filled the room—obscene and constant.

you could feel your orgasm building again—but slower this time. deeper. not a sudden snap, but a heavy burn crawling through you, winding itself around every nerve. you were so full, so stretched, so fucking desperate.

her fingers found your clit without warning,

but there no rhythm. no patience. just pure, messy friction. your whole body then suddenly jolted forward.

the orgasm hit hard—like your body didn’t know how to process it. your legs buckled. your hands went limp. you came with a full-body twitch, thighs shaking uncontrollably, face buried into the couch as your cunt spasmed around her.

she fucked you through it. made you feel every second it, every drag of her cock through your ruined walls, your clit still throbbing under her fingers as you sobbed into the cushion.

and yet, even after all this. she pulled out and brushed herself off, as she reaches for her robe tying it around her once again.

she smooths her hair back, and with a sigh, she begins to walk away while you lay there, spent. your tears soaking the pillow under you as you layed with your mouth hanging open.

and to your surprise, wonyoung returned with a glass of water as she pushes your hair out of your face gently, and softly smiling at the sight of you like this.

“from now on, this could be our bad habit.”

[estrellami-1]

Home

Ao3 link

“You never really grew out of it, did you?” Eddie asks, sardonic laugh ringing out across the dystopian landscape.

Steve’s heart stutters in his chest. “What?” He whispers.

Eddie shrugs, teeth clenched in a sharp grin. “That whole show up there. Tearing a bat in half? Overkill. Not impressive at all. Just peacocking, trying to get us to admit that you’re still the king.”

“N-no, I-”

“N-no, I-” Eddie mocks, something sharp in his eye. “C’mon, King Steve, aren’t you gonna let me have it? What, are you scared a queer is gonna beat your ass?”

“I don’t care about that-”

“No? Then Byers is lying, is that what you’re saying? Y’know he hates you, too.” Eddie’s nails are sharp, elongating into talons, and Steve’s heart thumps twice before settling into a regular rhythm again.

“No he doesn’t.”

“Oh, there he is!” Eddie-not-Eddie crows, arms spread wide. “All hail the king!”

Steve stops walking, watches as Eddie-not-Eddie grows, watches as his face twists into a gruesome facsimile. “Y’know, you’re almost right about one thing,” Steve says lazily, reaching a hand behind himself.

“Oh? Not everything?” Vecna taunts. “What, pray tell, am I almost right about?”

“In all the ways that count, I am still King Steve.” In one smooth movement, he draws his bat out from behind himself and embeds it in Vecna’s side. “Now!” He yells, and El ripples into existence, throwing her arm out in front of her. Vecna is yanked on invisible strings backwards until he’s impaled on Eddie’s spear. Behind Eddie, Nancy shoots Vecna in the head as Eddie runs out of the danger zone, flicking his lighter for Robin. She steps up and throws a Molotov at Vecna’s feet, another one ready should she need it.

Bats swirl in the sky as Vecna dies. Everyone readies their weapons again, but the bats descend on Vecna, feasting on the helpless lord of the Upside Down.

“Wow,” Steve says, “ironic much?”

Robin lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. There’s movement in the corner of Steve’s eye, but by the time he turns to look, he’s already being tackled.

“Christ,” Eddie whispers, “I hated that, I hated that so much, you’re never allowed to be the bait again, sweetheart, you hear me?”

Steve just laughs, wraps his arms around Eddie in return. “The good news is I won’t need to anymore,” he tells Eddie. “That was it. Now we’ve just gotta get out of here.”

“Mhm,” Eddie hums, but doesn’t move. “I didn’t mean a damn thing I said.”

“Eddie,” Steve tries, but Eddie just clings harder. “Baby. I know. I know you think I’ve changed. I know Jon doesn’t hate me. I know you thought me ripping the bat apart was really impressive.”

“Fuckin’ Ozzy,” Eddie murmurs. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with a laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. “Now c’mon. Let’s get out of here.” He grins and lowers his voice so the girls can’t hear. “You can make it up to me. Show me just how impressive you really thought I was.”

Eddie freezes, then scrambles up. “Well then what are we waiting for?” He demands, pulling a laughing Steve up. “C’mon, let’s go!”

“Okay,” Steve giggles, finally catching his breath. He slings an arm over Eddie’s shoulders, then wraps his other arm around Robin’s. She’s holding hands with Nancy, and Steve grins at her. “Let’s go home.”

[slasherslittlesimp]

Regrets (Steve X Reader X Bucky)

Part Two

Natasha enters the living room only to immediately roll her eyes upon seeing Holly sitting between Steve and Bucky, her hand resting on Steve’s arm as she laughs at something he said. She goes to walk past them only to stop when Steve suddenly calls out to her. “Hey Nat! Have you seen (Y/N)? We haven’t seen her all day.”

Her brows furrow as she looks between the two of them, trying to see if they’re actually being serious. When she realizes they are, her jaw clenches in annoyance. “She left for her mission a few hours ago.”

“Mission? What mission?” Bucky sits up straighter as he stares at her in confusion.

“The mission she told all of us about last night, Barnes.” Natasha tilts her head as she narrows her gaze at him. “Or were you too distracted to even listen to her?”

“What do you mean?” Steve questions, looking ready to get defensive.

“What do I mean?” She practically scoffs. “What I mean is that for the past month you two have been ignoring her and pushing her aside for Miss no brains here.”

“Hey! Don’t call her that.” Bucky snaps at her.

Steve raises his hand, silencing Bucky. “We haven’t been ignoring her.”

“Oh, really?” This time Natasha really does scoff as she steps closer. “Fri, do me a favor and pull up the security footage on the TV.” The second the black and white footage of all the security cameras come up, she continues. “Show me all of the footage of Roger’s or Barnes interacting with (Y/N) in the past month.”

Steve and Bucky turn their attention towards the screen, still not believing Natasha when she says they’ve been ignoring you. However, they’re forced to face the truth when clip after clip plays, each one shorter than the last. In total, only about a dozen clips play, none of them longer than ten minutes.

“Now play all the footage of Roger’s and Barnes interacting with Valentine in the past month.”

The difference is astonishing.

The first few clips are already longer than the ones with you. Not by much- ten minutes at most. But as more and more clips play, the soldiers find their hearts sinking in their chests and their stomachs twisting uncomfortably. Dozens of clips, each one getting longer and longer until it gets to the point where the footage has to be fast forwarded just to show it all- hours of them laughing and getting close to the female agent sitting between them. They watch each interaction with clenched jaws. Every brush of her hand against their arms, every laugh they let out, the smiles they’d give that were once reserved just for you. And then the audio cuts in- doll, darling, sweetheart.

Video after video of them calling Valentine by the nicknames they used to call you. Natasha didn’t even have to ask for them to be shown, almost as if Friday wanted to really send the point home on the AI’s own. And then it swaps back to the clips of you, including the audio from them.

‘Not now (Y/N), I already promised Holly I’d train with her.’ As Steve brushes past you without a second glance.

‘Sorry, (Y/N). Holly wants to show us some movies we haven’t seen yet. We’ll watch movies with you tomorrow.’ As Bucky ducks into the living room holding your favorite snacks. They never did watch those movies with you.

‘Ah, crap. Sorry we forgot about date night (Y/N). Holly needed our help with something.’ As they both breeze past you, not even acknowledging that you’re all dressed up in their favorite outfit. Ignorant to the fact you sat there waiting for them for hours.

As Steve and Bucky stare at the freeze frame of you on the TV- tears darkened by your mascara running down your cheeks that you only let fall once they left the room- they realize that they truly messed up. A whole month they’ve been brushing you off and ignoring you and they didn’t even notice. A whole month of you being forced to watch them get close to another woman, listening to them call her by the nicknames that were supposed to be reserved only for you. For a month they tortured you and broke your heart, and neither one of them cared enough to realize it.

Not until it was too late.

Steve quickly stands from his seat, pulling his phone from his pocket as he goes to call you only to freeze when he sees that he already has a missed call from an hour ago. Immediately he tries calling you back only for the call to ring and ring before finally cutting to voicemail. Hearing Steve curse when you don’t answer, Bucky pulls his own phone out, seeing that he not only has a missed call from you but a voicemail as well. When he listens to it, all he hears is silence mixed with what could potentially be breathing.

“Friday? What’s the status on (Y/N)?” Steve questions the AI, trying not to panic.

‘I’m afraid miss (Y/N) has removed both Captain Roger’s and Sargent Barnes from the list of people allowed to know her status and location.’

“When the hell did she do that?” Bucky’s voice is rough, laced with tension.

‘Right before she took off for her mission.’

“Why would she do that?” Steve sounds absolutely heartbroken, his face showing how distraught he feels.

“Why do you think?” Natasha crosses her arms over her chest, glaring down the soldier before tilting her head towards Valentine. “Why don’t you ask her? Surely she’ll be honest with you both since you’re oh so close to each other.” They can practically hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Immediately Steve and Bucky turn towards Holly, their muscles taught with tension. “What is she talking about?”

Holly tries to deny knowing, pleading with them to believe that she didn’t do anything. Unfortunately, Friday doesn’t seem to like her very much as a new clip from the security feed appears on the screen, drawing everyone’s attention towards it. The second Holly sees it she tries to get up to leave only to be forced to remain sitting by Natasha’s tight grip on her shoulders.

‘I heard you’re going on a solo mission tomorrow.’ Holly’s voice echoes through the speaker as she approaches you in the kitchen, the time stamp showing it’s late at night- something Steve and Bucky both frown at considering they remember getting into bed sometime after you fell asleep yet neither woke up when you got up which has never happened before. They’ve always woken up whenever you did.

‘What about it?’ You respond, sounding exhausted. Like all of your energy has been sapped out.

‘Just wanted to wish you good luck since my boys won’t be there to do so.’ The smugness in Holly’s voice is impossible to miss. ‘I’m sure they’ll be too preoccupied with me to even notice your absence.’

You simply stare at her before taking a deep breath. ‘They’re not your boys.’ Steve and Bucky feel hope for a moment- hope that you don’t hate them- but it all comes crashing down when your next words leave your lips. ‘Not yet, at least. But if what you say is going to happen does indeed happen- that they won’t be there to continue a two year tradition with me by wishing me luck before my mission- well, at that point I guess they will be yours because I won’t want them anymore.’

It’s at that point you walk past her, heading the complete opposite direction of the room you share with the two soldiers. The video ends there, pausing on the image of Holly smiling in satisfaction.

“I can explain.” She quickly tries to defend herself when the two super soldiers whirl around to glare at her with such hatred that it actually sends a chill of fear down her spine. She’d be tempted to run away from it if it weren’t for Natasha’s deathly tight grip on her shoulders.

“We don’t want to hear it.” Bucky practically growls out the words with the amount of anger he’s experiencing. “Nothing you say will make this situation better. Nothing you say will make us forgive you. So don’t even try to talk your way out of this.”

“Steve-“ She turns her attention towards him, practically begging with a teary gaze for him to hear her out.

She’s shut down immediately when he simply raises his hand, cutting her off. “Don’t. As of this moment, you are stripped of your status as a SHIELD agent and are banned from this compound. I suggest you pack your bags and leave peacefully, otherwise you will be escorted out in cuffs. Understood?” When she tries to beg and plead, he simply glares in response, showing that he’s completely serious. With no other choice, Holly is forced to leave, her cries doing nothing to gain sympathy from the others.

The second she’s gone Steve lets out a long sigh, wiping his hand down his face as he tries to keep his emotions in check. “We were so fucking stupid, Buck.”

“I know, Steve.” Bucky clasps his hand on the other man’s shoulder, a sign of comforting him but also showing he’s not alone. “We have a long road of making it up to our girl ahead of us.”

‘Miss Romanoff- Mister Stark requests your presence at the hangar.’

Fridays voice cuts through the air like a knife, putting all three of them on edge for some reason. Unfortunately, only Natasha will get to know why.

Taglist: @caity1995 @cassiemaebarnes

[milfshotss]

Title: Smoke and Steel

Pairing: Sevika x Reader

Summary: You were sent by Piltover to monitor Councillor Sevika, not to end up tangled in her sheets with her mouth on your neck

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, g!p sevika

MEN & MINORS DNI: 18+ ONLY!!!!

————————————————————————

Zaun reeked of oil and heat.

You adjusted the cuffs of your too expensive coat as you stepped off the lift that had dragged you down from the pristine towers of Piltover into the underbelly of the undercity. You were sent as a delegate, an “observer,” your title had said. You knew what it really meant, a polite way of saying “spy with a smile.”

And of course, you knew who you’d be dealing with.

“Councillor Sevika will see you now,” said a gravel voiced assistant, barely looking at you as they opened the rusted iron doors.

You stepped inside.

She was seated like a warlord on a throne. A half burnt cigar hung from her lips, and the heavy coat of power weighed effortlessly on her broad shoulders. Her mechanical arm glinted in the low light as she leaned back, boots kicked up on her desk like she owned the whole city.

Because in many ways, she did.

“You’re the Piltie, huh?” Her eyes scanned you like a weapon… up, down, assessing. “I thought they’d send someone older.”

“And I thought they’d send someone less… arrogant,” you said, meeting her eyes without a flicker of fear. “But here we are.”

Sevika chuckled, low and sharp, removing the cigar and letting smoke curl between you. “I like the mouth on you,” she said. “Let’s see if you can keep it when things get real.”

⸻

Over the next few days, you danced around each other like fire and gunpowder. Every meeting was a battle of dominance, you in sleek Piltovan fabrics, her in leather and scars. You watched her command rooms with her voice alone, how even other councillors deferred to her without question.

But Sevika watched you, too.

She noticed the way you didn’t flinch in the face of Zaun’s chaos. She saw the sharp glint in your eyes when you asked hard questions and didn’t settle for easy answers. And when she caught you walking home alone at night… stupid, brave, or both, she didn’t offer you a ride.

She followed.

Just in case.

⸻

It was on the fourth night that it all snapped.

You were arguing again, this time about enforcement zones and territory neutrality. You accused her of protecting chem barons. She accused you of pretending Piltover wasn’t just as corrupt.

“You Pilties always act like you’re better than us,” Sevika growled, stepping into your space. Her voice was low, her presence suffocating.

“And you Zaunites act like pride makes up for a crumbling infrastructure and dying kids in alleyways!” you snapped back, chest rising.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Sevika’s eyes darkened, but it wasn’t just rage. It was something hotter. Rougher.

And then she kissed you… no, took your mouth like it had been hers all along.

You shoved her back against the door of her office, ripping open the buttons of your own coat, and she caught your wrists, spun you, slammed your back to the wall. The heat of her body pinned you, and her thigh forced its way between yours.

“You gonna act like you haven’t been wanting this since day one?” she growled against your throat, hand slipping beneath your blouse, squeezing possessively.

“I’m not acting,” you gasped, grinding into her.

Your lips are still tingling when you pull away, breathless and aching, Sevika’s hands tightening instinctively at your waist.

But your mind has already shifted, back to Piltover, to duty, to the world that doesn’t pause for lust or longing.

“I have to go,” you murmur against her mouth, eyes dark with a promise you don’t dare break.

You step back, smoothing your clothes, heart pounding. “To be continued,” you say with a crooked smile, and before she can stop you, you’re gone, leaving behind the scent of smoke, steel, and something dangerously unfinished.

————-

You didn’t expect to end up in Sevika’s office…again. The door slammed shut behind you with a definitive click, and the sound of your back hitting it came second only to her low, amused growl.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” she said, already crowding your space, one hand braced beside your head. The scent of smoke and leather clung to her, the heat of her body seeping into yours like wildfire.

You cocked your head, feigning boredom. “I came to renegotiate the terms.”

Sevika arched a brow. “With that mouth?” Her gaze dropped to your lips. “Yeah. I bet you did.”

You didn’t flinch as her fingers found the hem of your blouse… slow, deliberate, and began to undo the buttons one by one. She didn’t rush. She wasn’t the type. No, Sevika liked to unravel, and right now, you were the only thread in sight.

“You always wear this when you want to get your way?” she muttered, tugging the fabric aside to reveal the lace beneath. Her thumb brushed across the edge of your bra, just above your nipple, and you swore under your breath.

“Does it work?” you asked, lifting your chin.

That made her grin.

“Maybe.”

Her hands… one warm, the other cool and mechanical, skimmed along your sides, teasing as she pulled you closer by the hips. You hissed as her teeth grazed your throat, not quite biting, not quite kissing. You could feel her smirk when you shivered.

“I haven’t even touched you properly,” she murmured, voice rough against your skin. “And you’re already this wound up?”

“You talk a lot for someone who’s clearly dying to fuck me.”

That did it.

She shoved the rest of your blouse off and dragged her calloused palm across your stomach, dipping lower until her fingers brushed the waistband of your trousers.

“Off,” she said simply.

You toed your boots off, unzipped yourself… slowly, teasing while her eyes tracked every movement like a predator. When you stepped out of your trousers, she cupped your cheek.

“Turn around. Hands on the desk.”

You raised a brow. “Not even a kiss?”

Sevika leaned in, lips ghosting over yours… not quite touching.

“Earn it.”

You turned. The desk was cold under your palms, the metal biting into your skin as she stepped up behind you. Her fingers trailed along your spine, slow, reverent. She knelt behind you, unexpected, and then heat flooded you as she mouthed at the back of your thigh.

“Fuck,” you breathed.

She didn’t stop, lips and tongue trailing upward, over the curve of your ass, until she peeled your panties to the side and finally, finally buried her mouth between your legs.

One broad hand gripped your hip to keep you steady as her tongue worked you open. Her pace was maddening, slow, like she had all night. You whined, hips bucking slightly, but she just chuckled against you… deep and smug.

“Still think you’re in charge?”

“Still think… oh, gods… you’re clever?”

She sucked at your clit, tongue flicking until your legs trembled. When your knees nearly buckled, she stood, mouth shiny, eyes dark.

Then and only then, did she kiss you, rough and hungry, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

You were practically dizzy when she whispered against your lips, “Now you can have it.”

Her pants dropped, and you could feel her against your thigh… hard, heavy, real.

You blinked. “You…”

“Surprised?” she grinned. “Told you Zaun had better tech.”

And when she pressed against you… thick, hot, the stretch almost unbearable, you bit her shoulder hard enough to bruise.

She moaned like it turned her on.

“That’s it,” she whispered, thrusting slow and deep. “Take it.”

You grit your teeth as Sevika’s cock pressed deep inside you, slow and deliberate. Every inch of her was unapologetically real, a contrast to the polished, icy mask she wore in council meetings. Here, in this dim, grimy room smelling of oil and metal, she was pure heat and control, and you were caught somewhere between wanting to break and be broken.

“Look at me,” she growled, voice rough and commanding, fingers tightening on your hip like iron bands.

You did, eyes locked with hers… fierce, wild, almost predatory. She bit her lip, biting down hard enough to draw a line of blood. Your heart hammered, adrenaline and desire mixing into a potent cocktail that had you trembling.

“Gods, you’re tight,” she hissed, the sound vibrating through you like a shockwave.

Her hands roamed over your body with brutal reverence, nails digging into your skin, palms pressing hard, making you arch up to meet her thrusts. She didn’t hold back, hips snapping forward with controlled violence that had your breath hitching.

“Say my name,” she demanded, teeth grazing your ear.

“Sevika,” you gasped, voice rough and ragged. “Please, Sevika…”

Her smile was savage. “Beg.”

You clenched around her, slick and hot, the tension building fast, fierce. The noise of the city outside was muffled, the only sounds between you were your ragged breaths, her low groans, and the slick slap of skin meeting skin.

“I want to hear you scream,” she whispered, grinding against you, claws tracing fiery trails down your back.

You did… a raw, ragged cry that echoed through the room, reckless and loud. Sevika’s grip tightened, her own breathing growing ragged as she plunged deeper, faster, shoving you toward the edge you’d been holding back.

“Fuck, you’re mine,” she spat, voice cracking with need.

And when she came… hard, shaking, teeth clenched, you came with her, shuddering through the aftershocks, nails digging into her shoulders as she held you tight, skin slick with sweat and something hotter than desire.

When she finally pulled out, you were limp across her desk, panting.

She leaned over, brushing her lips against your ear. “Next time, bring your data sheets,” she murmured. “I’ll fuck you on top of your own lies.”

————————————————————————

[mysteriousxgirls]

Liyana leaned against the doorframe as she watched him move through the room, equal parts amused and tender. There was something beautiful—achingly beautiful—about seeing Diego like this. His rough edges softened, his eyes wide with a quiet kind of awe as he took in a world that had always seemed a little out of reach. He didn’t say much, but she could see it in him—the way he looked out at Medellín like it was the first time he’d truly seen it. Not through sirens or shadows, not with one eye always on the street behind him, but through a window that let the whole city stretch out like a living, breathing canvas beneath the stars. Her heart tightened in her chest, but it was a good kind of ache. This city was scarred, yes, and stained in places they both knew too well—but it was still theirs. It had raised them, broken them, made them who they were. And standing here with him, in this impossible room with its mirrored ceiling and soft lights, she wouldn’t trade a damn thing about it.

When he finally turned toward her, teasing and smug, saying he knew why she wanted him to stay, her brows rose in challenge. “Oh yeah?” she said slowly, eyes glinting with something that was definitely not innocence. She pushed off the wall, walking toward him with deliberate slowness, until the air between them grew too thick to breathe. “And why’s that?” she asked, gaze locked on his, lips tilted in a knowing curve. She rose up onto her toes again, close enough now that she could feel the warmth of his breath brush against her cheek. Her hands ghosted toward his chest, just shy of touching. And then—knock knock. Liyana groaned, dropping her forehead lightly against his chest with a theatrical sigh before pulling back, rolling her eyes with a soft laugh. “The universe really said not tonight, huh?” she giggled, giving his chest a gentle pat before spinning on her heel and heading to the door. She cracked it open, offering a polite smile to the staff as she accepted the package. “Gracias,” she murmured, then shut the door behind her with a quiet click. Turning back to him, she held up the small bag like a prize. “Here. Your black, not tiger-printed swim shorts,” she teased, tossing them gently at his chest. “Happy now?” Her grin widened, impish and warm all at once. “Though I gotta say… tiger print would’ve been kind of iconic.”

With a soft laugh, Diego trailed behind her as the elevator doors slid open. It was the second interruption of the day, and he silently wished that the third time would prove fortuitous—no more disturbances, just the two of them in this temporary residence. The moment he was gently ushered inside, his eyes ignited with wonder at the opulence before him—an extravagance utterly foreign to him. His world was one painted in hues of faded graffiti, shards of broken glass, paint peeling and sidewalks fractured beneath weary footsteps—each echo a reminder that hope was a scarce visitor and solace an elusive ghost. But here, everything breathed a different existence. Gleaming marble flooring stretched cool and unblemished beneath his feet, reflecting the soft illumination of myriad tiny lights embedded in the ceiling—like a private constellation suspended. Towering floor-to-ceiling windows framed an awe inspiring panorama of the cityscape, dissolving the boundary between interior and exterior. Sumptuous, immaculate furnishings beckoned with understated luxury, every detail whispering quiet affluence and serene calm—a jarring, almost surreal contrast from the cracked concrete and flickering street lights that had defined his reality.

He ventured further into her room, instinctively sliding his hands into the comforting refuge of his jeans pockets. His gaze was swiftly drawn to the bed, and a slow, amused smirk tugged at his lips. “Don’t think I’ve ever come across a round bed before,” he remarked with a chuckle, freeing one hand to trail his fingertips over the silky fabric of the duvet. Continuing his exploration, he moved toward the window, pocketing his hand once more as he drank in the view. The city sprawled beneath him, a breathtaking mosaic he’d never truly appreciated before—especially not from such a vantage point. At night, the city transformed, the glow of countless lights turned the sprawling urban landscape into a celestial tapestry, replacing the harsh reality of a drug-ridden neighbourhood with a dreamlike constellation. He turned on his heel, catching the bed’s reflection shimmering in the ceiling above. “Now I understand why you insisted I stay the night,” he murmured, eyes twinkling with a blend of amusement and gratitude, as he peered up at the reflection.

[berryispunk]

One Missed Beat

pairing: Frankie Morales x ofc! Firefly

As promised yesterday, to celebrate the halfway mark of the drabbles, here’s a little treat—a flashback to the nights at The Shack, when Frankie would visit Firefly and stay long after everyone else had gone.

If you stumbled here by accident please consider catching up with their main story here & here to get the full picture!!

word count: 920

listen to the song mentioned here 🎶

It was one of those nights where the world felt muted. Just the soft hum of the cooler, the low whir of the AC, and the flicker of neon crawling across the floor tiles. Firefly moved like she’d done it a thousand times—sweeping without thinking, flipping stools onto tables, already halfway out the door in her head. Frankie leaned against the jukebox, swaying a little, one foot tapping like there was a band only he could hear in his head.

Nursing an almost-empty beer bottle, he was a little high and a little too wired to sleep. So he stayed behind—like he often did since meeting her. Long after everyone else had gone. Even the lonely drunks had stumbled out, but he lingered, no different from them really. Night after night in this run-down bar where the drinks weren’t even good. But something about her kept him there—pulled at him like a siren song he couldn’t outrun. Haunting him in sleep, and worse when he was awake. It felt less like a choice, more like a curse he didn’t want lifted.

“And?” she called over, dragging him out of his thoughts without looking at him. “Find something that makes your rockstar heart happy?”

"Guess so," he said, licking his lips, voice low, casual—careful not to let on that his thoughts never strayed far from her. He set the beer bottle down with a soft clink and leaned over the jukebox like it held the key to something more, brows furrowed in quiet concentration as he sifted through the song choices.

After a moment the first notes of Call It Dreaming curled through the air—soft, golden, intimate.

She scoffed, still not looking. “Seriously? Didn’t peg you for a sap.”

He didn’t answer. Just let his shoulders fall into rhythm, hips following like he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t showy—just easy. Graceful almost. Like his body understood the music better than his mind ever could.

She ducked behind the bar, busying herself with glasses that didn’t need washing. He took a few steps forward, stopped just shy of her space, and offered both hands with a slow, exaggerated bow. A little goofy, a lot charming but enough to mask the ache crawling up his throat, only worsening by the closer proximity. 

She hesitated—really hesitated—staring at his hands like they might burn her. And it stung, that quiet kind of rejection. He wasn’t used to this—being challenged, having someone resist his charm, the whole 'I’m the guitarist in a band' thing. But Firefly didn’t care about any of it. Sometimes, he wondered if she cared about him at all. The thought twisted something sharp in his chest, so he shoved it down, slipping his armor back on before the hurt could sink in too deep.

“Don’t,” she said, lifting a finger in warning.

“Come on,” he coaxed, voice lower now, grin lazy. “Have some fun for once.”

She raised an eyebrow, then frowned, arms crossing tight. “I don’t dance.”

A crooked smirk tugged at his lips as he stepped closer, his elbows brushing hers. “Well… you are now.”

For a second, he thought she’d walk away—leave him standing there, looking stupid. But then her arms dropped, and her hands slid into his, slow, unsure. He didn’t waste it—just pulled her in gently, arms low around her waist. Her hands settled at the back of his neck, fingertips brushing the curls at his nape.

And Frankie swore it lit him up from the inside out. He’d been coming here for weeks, and this was the closest they'd ever been. Just the two of them, swaying in the dim bar, the soft notes of the song curling through the quiet.

Where the sun isn't only sinking fast Every night knows how long it's supposed to last Where the time of our lives is all we have And we get a chance to say Before we ease away

She felt almost small in his arms, but achingly real. At first, she didn’t really look at him—her eyes wandered, searching for anything else. But when they finally met his, something flickered there. Like maybe, just maybe, she could see the man beneath the noise, the ache, and the powder. Her features softened—an unguarded moment, rare and fleeting.

And for one heartbeat, Frankie let her.

He felt it—the current in the air, humming beneath the surface, sharp and electric. She looked at him like she might kiss him, eyes darting to his lips before meeting his again. So quick he might’ve missed it—if he hadn’t been so close. But he was. And he didn’t.

That’s when he panicked.

With a laugh just a little too loud, he twirled her off balance, spun her clumsily—playing the clown, because it was easier than surrendering to whatever was blooming between them. “Christ, you’re stiff. Gotta loosen up some, Firecracker.”

She blinked, stepping back, visibly thrown by the sudden shift. A second passed—just long enough for the tension to stretch thin—before her smile reappeared, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. The moment popped like a bubble.

She shook her head, flicking the rag over her shoulder. “Come on, Romeo. Lock up with me.”

And just like that, she was gone again—sweeping past him, flicking off the lights on her way out, shutting him out with practiced ease. Back behind her walls. Safe. Unreachable. Whatever glimpse he’d caught tonight of a softer version of her vanished as quickly as it had surfaced, like it had never been there at all.

Later, in his too-small, too-silent apartment, Frankie stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, replaying the look on her face over and over like some form of self-inflicted punishment.

He should’ve kissed her.

And he knew it.

thanks for reading 💌

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