#trying to get back into the swing of things

[neoplatinum]

long live cowgirls | sophia laforteza

synopsis: trying to divorce your wife has been disrupted by the sudden reveal of an evil outsider plotting on the demise of your marriage. you and sophia try navigating what you mean to each other despite nearly clawing each other apart...

pairing: (ex-ish) wife!sophia x cowgirl!reader

tags: angst, slow-burn, fluff, g!p reader (don't like, don't read), alcohol, mentions of rehab, tension, marriage troubles, cheating but also not really cheating, slight religious themes, cowboys/cowgirls, a-list-celebrity!sophia, manon, more…

wc: 7.4k

(part 1, part 2)

there’s two things sophia wants more than anything else in the world.

for thomas moore to be sent to hell and disintegrate.

for you to stop looking so hot.

now, sophia’s not one to make statements that were false, at least not if she could help it. but the way you kept cooing and tossing anna into the air, pretending to drop her. instead gracefully swinging her kid around both made her want to smack you upside the head and messily kiss you.

she couldn’t decide.

her mind was going crazy. crazy for a piece of you. maybe it was all the damning feelings coming back like an open waterfall or maybe you were so damn hot that sophia had to contain her desires.

it wasn’t like she was advertising wanting another kid. no. seriously, anna was more than enough for now.

but the way you keep flashing that million dollar smile and would make anna chase sophia. it clenched her heart too hard, and maybe even somewhere else.

and you were considerate above everything. the last couple years have been hard on both of you, eating at the love that once blossomed so unabashed, you were hers and she was yours. truly and indefinitely, until she made her biggest life regret, disappearing from your life.

a part of her still feels the guilt gnawing at her bones. trying to solidify in her soul that she’s an unworthy partner. the hurt, the turmoil, the unnecessary torment. all of it had hit sophia like a truck, nothing truly mattered more to her when the nights got cold and her heated mansion couldn’t contain the chilly feeling of loneliness.

it was painful, returning to a world where she promised herself she was going to become something, only to be squashed by none other than the evilness that permeated the industry. lara had warned her, signing to big name agency had all the glamour and networks to get you where you wanted. but you had to pay the hefty price of losing yourself in the process.

sophia doesn’t know how she can even regain that feeling of being invincible again. crushed like a roach under thomas’ snobby rich trust fund kid lifestyle.

but a little piece of her was hopeful, she kept the waves of hopelessness and misery at bay for her only daughter, born out of pure love and the desire to preserve something true to her real self.

her love for you.

and truthfully, that was all she needed, but God and his works had a way of redefining sophia and your future. and bless lara’s soul, she always stood ten toes behind sophia, they understood each other fundamentally.

lara admired the softness that was the undertone of sophia’s character. behind the sharp and obsessive want to become a well known actress was a girl who begged to play in local theatres and sing her heart to anyone who would hear. they were born from the same cloth, but held different personalities.

even when sophia let it all out one night, in her drunken stupor, bottle in hand and waterproof mascara barely holding her face together. sophia had spilled everything, how she left you behind. it was the one piece of sophia that lara could never place.

often begging sophia to tag along for double dates or nights out at the club. sophia never let anyone close enough, even with the charismatic smiles of men and women. or the more confident athletes who vied for her attention, it didn’t seem to make her eyes divert at all.

lara couldn’t tell if she was hung up on somebody or truly had let go of dating. and when questioned, her answers were elusive and dismissive at best. of course in her all too charming way too.

but one night, a particular night after several weeks of sophia’s disappearance. lara had asked the right question, and it made everything flow out of sophia.

like a confessional booth, lara sat there like a holy priest. watching and listening to sophia sob through the pain of being torn away from you.

it had offered an insight into sophia’s previous life, and despite everything, lara stuck by her side. she knew what sophia had gone through were the horror stories that people heard about online.

the pursuit of becoming a star with puppet strings bound to your hands and mouth. every word and action, monitored and controlled by another person.

with the conviction of being a fiercely loyal best friend, lara had set in stone a plan to set her best friend free.

the three phase takedown that was thomas moore’s entire career and life.

phase I:

blind item #2

This big shot director’s son is pulling daddy’s name and connection with a A+ list actress to coerce her into a divorce from her hidden spouse. and the reason? said son is securing his fortune by marrying this actress and hiding that he never went to rehab. A+ list actress has since disappeared from the starlight to settle her messy divorce, rumors of a hidden child?

it clearly wasn’t the best gossip piece sophia’s heard of herself. but it was tacky enough to garner the attention of hundreds of people online to talk.

the “anonymous” send in was led by lara pr manager and sophia’s manager. both using this as a tester for how the public would react, and it seems most were empathetic towards the mysterious actress.

and then lara started leaking photos to different gossip columns, different photos for each team. it was efficient this way, no one point to trace to, and lara was smart.

she had already utilized her PR team to deal with needy gossip columns. each leaving up to 50 voicemails asking who this mystery pairing was.

lara didn’t care if it eventually all lead back to her, as long as the effect wasn’t in vain. and as the weeks came, lara became more confident in her actions. then she started leaking some information, summarizing thomas’ hidden reality and his manipulative ways.

it almost blew up in lara and sophia’s face. thomas immediately got antsy when a tmz segment came out, dropping possible names that fit the description and he was brought up.

the tmz crew were tossing random names out, pictures were floating around the internet. and slid into the hands of tmz. lara knew he would go under soon.

and so he did, he watched the segment in horror. the second he heard his name spoken in the clip he vibrated like a chihuahua in fear. fear and anger consumed him, throwing the tablet and smashing the screen.

immediately dialing sophia’s number.

“the fuck did you do?” his voice was heavy, like a gong that hit against your ears.

“hello thomas, to what do i owe the pleasure?” sophia was sitting at brunch with lara. both girls went quiet when they saw the name flash on sophia’s phone. a reminder that he was still very present and aware of their every move.

“pleasure? there’s no pleasure in what you’re trying to do here. the blind item. you did this.” he continued to let out his venomous tone, dripping with malice and disgust. “you’re leaking everything aren’t you? you whore. of course you would, trying to ruin someone like me. i have the wo-”

“thomas, please, save the self entitled speech for someone else. you sure it wasn’t one of your supermodel bimbos?” sophia scoffed, and lara rapidly started jotting down comments on a napkin.

deflect and distract. stab at his ego. lara pointed with her pen, and sophia nodded. continuing to listen to his tyrannical venting.

“and i know its you, only you would want to ruin my hard work. it’s so clear that you’re jea-”

“you’re so full of yourself, i have no clue what you’re talking about.” sophia played her best nonchalant neutral tone as possible, pulling the acting skills to mask the anxiousness.

lara continued to nod, repeatedly pointing at the text on the napkin. underlining deflect several times.

“sophia, no one knows about me not going to rehab.” he bit out. “you’re the only one that knows, so of course you leaked it. i’m going to sue you for defam-”

“i’m going to stop you right there. you even try to sue me for defamation over something that didn’t happen, and i’ll drag you five rounds of litigation like you fought rocky.” sophia bit back, she wasn’t the best at listening to commands and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be intimidated by this fool of a man. “and you will lose.”

“you fucking bitch, after everything i did for you. you want to sue me?” the shock in his voice was evident, the anger and frustration still amped up.

“yeah, try me, i dare you. one misstep and it all comes crashing down. don’t ever call me again.”

“is that a threat?” he narrowly throws out.

“not a threat, a warning.” and with that sophia hits the red button. to say she was anxious was an understatement. she hadn’t expected him to catch up until much later. but of course his lega-no, his dad’s legal team were the top of the line. letting thomas moore jr. fail meant a disgrace on thomas moore sr.’s work and effort.

and shit, sophia did not want to deal with thomas moore sr.

“lara i feel like i’m going to puke.” sophia leaned back in her chair, trying to calm her nerves. taking a sip of her water to stabilize herself. the last thing she needed was to be seen having a meltdown in the middle of a restaurant.

“hey, come on, breathe and relax. it’s all going to be okay sophie.” lara puts her hand over sophia, calming her down in the process.

there was still this terror within sophia, one that she knew came from the constant monitoring from thomas, the fear that he could take everything away from her.

he could take you, anna, her acting. all of it could be stripped from her if she misstep or said something too bold. and even with the weariness of what he’ll do next, sophia had begged to God, prayed that whatever happened next would bring her happiness.

the rest of the meal went smoothly, lara spoke lightly of the legal team she was pulling together in the slim chance thomas went crazy and did decide to drag sophia down with him.

sophia tried stomaching the rest of her meal, a slight weight lifting off her crushed soul.

--

“hi anna, want to see something?” you had toyed with a play horse in front of anna. her grabby hands reaching for it and snatching it from you. clearly more interested in it than you.

anna made a noise of content when she began smashing the horses against each other. clearly delighted in the destruction of the horses.

you grabbed one too, slamming it into another horse, watching anna squeal out of pure happiness. a little worried that you were teaching her that violence was okay.

so instead you patiently placed the horses together, pretending they were clopping together in tandem. anna flickers her eyes between the horses and you, curiosity burning.

she had your gaze, it almost felt like looking at a mirror. and sometimes it scared you how real this all was. you had a daughter, with the same woman that stole your heart all those years ago.

and anna was everything, she was bright and funny in her toddler way. constantly trying to explore the world around her. especially the kitchen, trying her hardest to steal snacks when she could.

so here you were, sat in sophia’s large mansion, filled with decor that costed more than your entire life savings. taking care of a daughter that you wanted desperately to know and live with. and sophia let you, so you pushed.

maybe it was always easier to sleep knowing sophia was close. you didn’t have as many nightmares that woke you up from anxiety. the calmness that continued to stay as long as you stayed slept near her.

moving out of the presidential suite was easy, you had little luggage, it was more of the reality that you would be moving into sophia’s place.

temporarily of course.

both of you didn’t say it openly, but the way she kept lingering when the night talks got long, the way she continued to cook for you even if you offered.

how laundry got mixed together, and she naturally bought you a toothbrush and moved her bathroom products to one side of the counters.

she never let you stay too far either, with a big mansion you could have any bedroom, even one far away from hers but she didn’t let you. she claimed that checking on anna in the middle of the night would be easier if you were nearby. how she felt safer if you were closer.

it was a slight twist of the truth, she wanted you closer than just a bedroom away. she wanted you next to her, safely tucked under her arms. away from the evil crutches that wanted to destroy what you two “had”.

but you didn’t cross that boundary, it was better this way, close enough to know that deep down you two were still very much in love. but the safety of still having a way out if she were to completely destroy you once more.

it was a love that was resurfacing. both of you offering a way in but not swinging the door wide open.

anna continued to play throughout the afternoon, dragging you upstairs where she had her favorite books and stuffed toys. it was cute, your daughter was so cute. excitement at introducing you to all her plushies. and in the corner of her bedside table was a photo.

it was you, sophia and anna huddled together, way early on when you first learned about anna. you were busy smiling and looking at anna with adoration blooming that you didn’t even notice sophia staring fondly at you two. only anna with her wide smile facing the camera.

sophia must have set it up, a reminder that this was anna’s family. that you were sophia’s other mother.

night quickly fell, and anna had fallen asleep mid reading a book. well, more like pointing and laughing at the pictures and flipping through them repeatedly.

and with a yawn you left the room, leaving her night light on and the door slightly ajar. you spent the rest of the time waiting for sophia to get home. apparently talks had gone long in sophia’s team about how to deal with thomas.

you abhorred the man, how cruel he was to tear sophia away from you. how he used his power for evil and manipulation. it wasn’t just the conversation the morning after. it was the long nights filled with white wine and spilled feelings and fears that drove your hatred like a nail in the coffin.

the man dripped with malice. his heart turned black with a mind that churned ideas that he deserved greatness. he deserved the bows at his feet. he deserved to be revered as more than thomas moore sr’s son. and worse he believed he was never in the wrong.

each action or inaction against sophia made him revel in his power, that it was his birthright to subject people to his whims and desires. and he basked in the results, seeing sophia heartbroken and still under his clutches made him laugh with glee.

and the lack of support that sophia had, it made you so powerless. you weren’t her proud wife who didn’t take shit from everyone. you weren’t the brazen cowgirl from new mexico that had a quicker shot than anyone down south. the brash woman that would’ve taken care of thomas moore with so much as a whisper had he said something unpleasant to your wife.

you felt the shame build, from the lack of presence as a parent to anna, to the woe is me mindset that made you blind to sophia’s looming puppet master. everything grew to be too much, you internalized the feelings, not sure where to direct them but sophia still sat with you. explained each feeling of distress with calm energy and a soft hand resting atop of your shaky ones.

she wasn’t going to let you take the blame for the wrongdoings of a man that overstepped his power.

weeks gone by and you convinced yourself that it wasn’t your doing. that you didn’t shove her further into the arms of a man that had nothing but pure evil in his soul.

a sudden voice pulled you from your thoughts, sophia with tired but warm eyes coming into your view.

“hi, i’m home.” she walked in, plopping her bag on top of the kitchen counter. you hadn’t expected her, still stirring your pot of soup. adjusting the taste with a slight pinch of salt.

she smiled at how cute you looked in her pink strawberry apron. a slight mess on the counters but she could tell you were trying. smudges of random sauce on your cheeks.

she crosses the kitchen, grabbing a small towel, dabbing off the sauce and watching your goofy smile glow. you always had a penchant for sophia doing small favors for you.

“hi fia, long day?” you let her arms drop to her sides. her eyes aren’t as sharp, but she still watches you with admiration.

“yeah, legal team’s been building up a case, it’s like they’re ready for war.” sophia continues to watch you, an old habit she had when days were long on the ranch and all she wanted was your comfort.

“i’m glad they are. that piece of shit should die. now go sit, i cooked dinner for us.” you ushered her away, watching her drop into a chair, exhaustion deep set in her mind. she needed a drink and probably deep sleep at this point.

“how was anna today? give you any problems?” sophia absentmindedly start clearing the table, shuffling some mail over.

you grabbed a bowl of soup for sophia, setting it down in front of her. immediately releasing the tension from her shoulders, clearly held together with frustration and exasperation for hours on end.

“she was amazing, kept wanting to learn about horses and made me sit when she read her books.” you offered a recount of the day, the long hours spent between playing and cooking for your daughter.

sophia laughed and inquired with each particularly funny moment. it felt…domestic. perhaps a flash of a possible life that was meant to be.

you two continued to talk through dinner, spanning from discussions of you selling your ranch, and buying a ranch not too far from sophia’s place.

at most an hour drive out the city, and it reminded her how real this was all becoming.

you had made quick plans to transfer over your ranch and possessions over. it took up much of your time, traveling between the two states and a fatigue that sank into your body, but your heart had never been so open before. a frequent reminder that sophia wasn’t divorcing you out of hatred. she still deeply loved you, cared like she held herself to the vows she made to you, under God.

you vowed to try too, giving small bits of your heart again, in small gestures of light compliments. it was treading the line of affection without placing your heart on an open target.

and sophia didn’t push, she didn’t ask when conversations got hard and you shut down.

when sophia reached for you, searching for reassurance of a love that once was, you offered it the best way you could. the best way someone could offer love with a mangled past and an even more complicated factor of being parents.

cooking dinner, setting aside time for anna: all of it was a physical reminder that you cared. you wanted to work out the mess of a relationship that was yours and sophia’s.

but truly it was your and sophia’s relationship. not yours, sophia and thomas. not your, sophia and the public’s relationship. you and her with the addition of anna, your beloved daughter.

that night sophia gave you a kiss on the cheek before disappearing into her bedroom, a slight flush of the cheeks when she could tell it caught you off guard.

both of you haven’t set the record straight about your relationship. but you could tell in due time, it would all work out.

--

phase II:

it was quick and it was sudden, especially intentional to give no time for him to prepare. lara’s avenger level legal team had pulled together records, text messages, recordings, photo evidence, copies of contracts. anything and everything that was even remotely incriminating.

they threw it all on the table. and as thomas moore was lounging in his malibu mansion, a glass of wine in hand, he walked to the end of his driveway.

a sleek black suburban parked right outside his gated home. he opened the gate, excited to get his brand new car. when he realized suddenly, this wasn’t that. in fact it was the second spell of disaster for him.

“sir, are you thomas moore?” the man had a thick accent, standing roughly at 6’4 and a simple black and white suit, sunglasses pressed up against his nose bridge.

“i am, how can i help you?” the last time thomas got visited by a burly tall man, he had nearly signed away his house to get out of gambling debt, not before shoving a couple cases of cash he had withdrawn from his daddy’s bank account.

“you’ve been served.” and then he shoved a manila folder into his hand.

a sudden outrage piercing through his head.

“you’re fucking joking.” thomas ripped apart the folder, the burly man already walking away from him. driving away from the house quickly.

and with a quick read of the front paper, he immediately dialed sophia’s number.

the number you are trying to reach is unavailable.

throwing his glass against the ground, the shards all shattered on the asphalt. he couldn’t contain his anger, letting it boil over and explode out.

meanwhile, sophia was in her head, all of the moments leading up to today was grueling and tiresome. she had barely anytime to herself between magazine shoots and interviews.

and with the growing demands of the public, she felt like she was spread thin. pulled tight like a rubberband, ready to snap at one more pull. but in an instant she relaxed.

it was a small gesture. something small that had caused the collapse of all the tension held tightly in between sophia’s shoulders.

you strolled into her office, cool and a light smile on your face. and sophia relaxed instantly at the sight, you held a bag in your hand, calmly grabbing an extra chair and sitting next to her.

“hope you don’t mind me joining you.” you flashed her a warm grin as you began opening the bag. placing sandwiches onto her office table and water as well. sophia smiled at the gesture, she hadn’t eaten all day. forgotten breakfast as she rushed out the door to get more paperwork filled out.

“is this supposed to be a date?” sophia chuckled lightly, watching you unwrap her sandwich and place a small napkin by her side. and then opening your own sandwich.

“could be, would you like this to be a date?” you couldn’t help but lean in close, trying to taunt her with your eyebrows, raised and wiggling in front of her. she burst into laughter, pointing at you like the laughing stock before settling for eating her sandwich instead.

you pout a bit, wanting to hear her say yes, but instead she continues to eat her sandwich.

“fia,” you whine a bit, scooting closer to her. it’s comical how desperate you are for an answer, nudging and sliding your leg next to hers. “is this a date?”

sophia just nods, still chewing on her sandwich, watching you relax into your chair. letting out a dramatic sigh of relief before giggling out loud.

“you’re going to have to do more than sandwiches and water for this to be a serious date though.” sophia cocks one eyebrow as she watches you unveil something else from the bag.

“i knew you would say that so i prepared this for us.” and you pulled out a booklet, it was a surprise gift you were planning on giving to sophia before she left.

but now, given everything that’s transpired. you feel renewed to show her something that was crafted from you, a gift from you to her.

it was a collage book of your photos. spanning from early day photos of you two when you weren’t dating yet. hidden glances at each other and an itch to get closer together. to photos of you two at bonfires together, sophia wearing your flannel and your bracelet with her initials tied around your wrist. to the day you two got married, gorgeous smiles and warm love exuding from the photos.

at some point, sophia grabbed your hand, stopping you from explaining the next one. holding onto it as she tried not to cry, you instead turned to wipe off the tears. giving her hand a careful squeeze, and dipping down for a kiss and she continued to cry into the kiss.

she eventually wrapped her arms around your shoulders. hugging you tightly as lunch was forgotten. and as time continued, you offered her light kisses as she played with your wedding band. dipping down to kiss it gently.

--

phase III:

eventually it came out that thomas had been blackmailing sophia for his personal gain. the paparazzi swarmed his and her house like flies. each reporter trying to capture even a glimpse of the two people. and you swore you never felt as protective of sophia before.

hiding her and anna at your house while news headlines spread like wildfire. lara did her best to direct the attention to thomas, denying commenting on the scandal of the year.

and then the court hearings started. sophia was stuck in courtrooms for hours, and when things got hard you held her like she was all that mattered. offering her comfort and a listening ear when she wanted to vent.

then you got subpoenaed to the stand. thomas involvement in your and sophia’s “divorce” came to light in court. you did your best to give the best account that you could. how he showed up to your ranch, tracking sophia down and forcing her to leave with him.

the defendant tried, they really did. trying to paint your relationship as one that was already dying, that his involvement was nothing more than a mere coincidence. you nearly wanted to shout at the defense, what they were insinuating was disgusting and cruel.

the defense didn’t get the riled up and unstable account that they were hoping for. instead you stood firmly behind your words, speaking them for what they were. letting reality do its talking and reminding everyone who the true villain was.

and sophia tried not to cry in your arms when you both went home. this case was clearly affecting her more than she’d like to admit. she only hoped the jury saw the truth to her misery.

but at the end of the night, when both of you were spent from the long day at court, you held her closely, soft kisses to her forehead as she slept deeply in your arms. a reminder of how you once were who she ran to when things got hard.

and within the span of weeks, the world had lifted its weight from sophia’s shoulder. the jury had decided and the decision went in sophia’s favor. the courtroom erupted in claps as thomas’ head hung low.

sophia could be free from him and his clutches, no longer was she almost close to losing you and her acting career. and to top it all off thomas would never be able to step even near her ever again.

sophia swear she could see the world looking prettier by the end of it. waltzing out of the courtroom with her head held high and paparazzi swarming the steps outside. what people didn’t expect to see was you.

hand held firmly with sophia’s, strongly pulling her towards the car, away from the shouting crowd and bright flashes. hat tipped down and an arm blocking out from anyone was too close.

“fia, stick close to me.” you pulled her in closer, arm wrapped around hers in an attempt to protect her from the swarming hands. one nearly got to her, another almost knocked their camera in her face. so you quickly crossed the red carpet, bringing her into the big car.

the door quickly closing behind you two as flashes still tried to capture photos of you two behind tinted windows. reality is that sophia was tired. grew tired of not being able to call you hers in public, strangled by thomas’ control, and the worry of the opinions of others. but sophia was over it.

she needed the world to know that you were proudly hers, and she was proudly yours. and in the span of seconds, social media began flying out with posts about you two. everyone questioning who the mysterious cowgirl was. paparazzi was running headlines like crazy, ever the devil’s advocate.

exploring possible hidden truths of who you were and why you were close to sophia. people were swarming the internet, making comparisons of old photos of sophia and the truth started popping up.

instead you held her hand as the car rolled along the road, giving small squeezes of reassurance as sophia’s manager and media time continued to manage the spark of the scandal of the year. it didn’t matter how much sophia was the one on that was hurt throughout the unveiling of the lawsuit. there would always be vultures, excited to tear through every bit of her, from her appearance, to her character, and even what she chose to wear.

so she kept her head clear, choosing instead to keep away from the internet during this difficult time. even when her phone was definitely blowing up from acquaintances and colleagues checking in on her.

exactly 1 hour after leaving the courthouse, sophia had planned her announcement of your relationship with her,

masterfully she instead released one singular post.

two photos.

first was an old photo of you two when you first got married, cheeks wide from the joy of tying the knot.

second was a more recent photo, a photo of you two riding buckeye and honey and anna sitting in front of you. running along the water and hats sat tightly on top.

with a red heart emoji and a ring emoji, added with a caption of “with my forever cowgirl, love you to the end of time”

the post nearly broke the internet, hardcore fans speculating the identity of the mysterious woman that had made her way onto the instagram of this A list actress. comments flooded the post, people were reposting and sharing the post like it was hot potatoes. it was exhilarating and insanely redeeming to be able to freely announce the love of her life to the public.

to not live in fear of losing you, and rebuilding a relationship that stood the test of time and trust you had for each other.

--

the gentle lull of the windchimes continued to ring in the early morning. you were busy rocking anna in your arms, the young toddler had tired herself out playing with charlie all day yesterday. dedicated herself to walk all the perimeters of the ranch with charlie by her side. you laughed when anna came back with her report. a small salute from her before disappearing into the ranch house.

she looked so much like sophia, it warmed your heart. but her eyes were all yours, the familiar wild eyes that always wanted to explore, curiosity that was hard to tame.

she was going to be a tough one, if she had any of your fire or drive.

you continued to rock her, occasionally brushing the hair out of her face, the warm sunrise keeping you company. charlie was busy swishing his tail, yawning every so often.

you eventually got up, tucking her into her bed, placing a gentle kiss across her forehead. she was a heavy sleeper like sophia, had to poke and prod her until she finally would comply with the morning routine. so you let her doze off again, this time hugging her plushie tightly to her chest.

after, you descended down the stairs. pulling your boots and holster on. like clockwork charlie was waiting outside, tongue lolling out as he happily trotted next to you. he knew that anna sleeping meant it was work time.

you gave him a light pat on the side before opening the chicken coop. peering in to check for eggs and anything that looked out of place. the chickens were already clucking loudly near you, one trying to peck at your boots.

you laughed a bit, side-stepping the chicken and checking the troughs for enough feed. taking a hose to fill with water in the many pails that stood in the chicken coop.

charlie was busy chasing one chicken, he loved chasing that one. you had an inkling that he didn’t like the way it would look at him. eventually you walk away, grabbing the pail and setting it on the outside.

then a car honk got your attention. head snapping up and a smile broke out on your face. the familiar sight of the red jeep in front. you walked up to the car, pearly whites shining when you leaned into the car, windows rolled down and a hand reaching out to touch your arm.

“anything i can help you with ma’am?” you asked with amusement in your voice, taking your cowboy hat off, tilting it a bit.

“sure can, can i get my morning kiss?” she smiled as she took off her sunglasses, grabbing you with the front of your shirt, pulling you into a messy kiss.

hm, she missed you?

you smiled against the kiss, capturing her lips in yours. she pulled at your hair a bit, liking the way you kept going for me, like you couldn’t get enough from her.

you pull away, much to her disapproval.

“hi fia, good morning.” you unlock the door, taking her hand as she hopped out the jeep.

“good morning to you too, you look good.” she eyed your shirt, more fitted and tight around your torso, a gift from her from last weekend. she lightly touched the fabric with her manicured fingers, light touches dancing across your body.

“yeah? what do you like about it?” you shake your head, offering an easy smile. you lean into the car, killing the ignition and locking the car. swiftly turning around to her already waiting for you. a warm smile on her face when you opened your hand for her.

“that i bought it.”

she slides her hand into yours, giving it a light squeeze as she walks with a grin on her face.

“well all the more compliments to you then.”

you both walked up to the ranch house, hand in hand with charlie making light yips as he tried climbing on sophia’s legs. begging for pets and then eventually waiting by the ranch door. you push open and let sophia and charlie in.

a slight wait as you watched her, not knowing that she could feel your gaze on her. you close the door behind, trailing after her as she went straight to anna’s room. charlie continued to pad against the floor, deciding now was a good time to chase after his own tail.

you follow sophia into anna’s room. sophia sitting on the bed, lightly brushing the hair out of her face. adjusting the blanket and singing a lullaby to her as she tapped against her hand.

it was everything you wished for, and you were here to see it. you sat down as well, and sophia gave you a warm smile. you leaned closer, resting your head atop of sophia’s shoulders.

“tired?” she let your hands wrap around her in a tight hold. and you gave a silent nod, happy to have her so close, it felt like home.

sophia couldn’t help herself, placing a gentle kiss at your temple and leading you out the room.

“i think she’s growing up too fast.” you mention to sophia quietly, following her downstairs into the living room. she gives you an inquisitive look, urging you to continue.

“why do you say that?” she settles onto the couch, grabbing her bag and shuffling through the flaps, pulling out a manila packet from her bag.

“yesterday she told me she found old tapes of me bull riding when i was younger. told me she wanted to try it out.” you continued to stare into the ceiling, thinking about the passage of time as well as how far life has come.

“i think she looks up to you,” sophia eventually pulls out a stack of paper, setting it on the coffee table. “it’s sweet, she sees you as a superhero.”

“it’s sweet but i want her to grow up like you.”

“like me?” sophia cocked an eyebrow.

“you know, smart and ambitious.” you admit quietly, it was a growing feeling in your chest. how you wanted anna to be someone who would shine. even if it wasn’t acting, you wanted her to have sophia’s grit and perseverance.

“you don’t think you’re smart and ambitious?” sophia realized what this was about. how you always shied away from talking about your hopes and dreams, opting instead to hear her talk about it.

it made you feel small at times, a lack of direction or goal. you didn’t have this overtly grand dream, you just wanted to be with sophia, growing together and living your lives together.

“sometimes, i wish i was more ambitious.” you explain, slightly adjusting yourself on the couch. “like i wish i did more with my life.”

“do what?”

“i wish i stuck with bull riding and went nationally.” you can feel sophia’s gaze as she observes everything. the slight fidget or how your fingers tap against your buckle.

“did you forget that you almost died?” she leaned in, soft fingers that found comfort on the side of your face. a reminder that she almost lost you once, to a bull that bucked too hard at the wrong time.

almost trampling you in the process, broken and bruised ribs, fractures that ran through your ragged body. she was by your bedside every moment she had, helping you recover at the time.

“i’ll never forget that, but i still…i wish i did more.” you give a grunt and nod, sliding down the couch more, feeling the tiredness kicking in. “it was just a silly thought, don’t pay any attention to it.”

you always had a way of exiting the conversation when feelings got too strong. an exit strategy when your feelings ran deeper than you’d like to admit.

wanting to divert your attention, sophia taps your leg,

“hm?”

“i’m thinking of taking a break from acting.” she said it like she set a boulder down, weighted exhaustion released from her shoulders. like she ripped off a curse that had been casted on her.

“what? you can’t, that’s your dream.” you sat up, surprise exploding across your face. even in the end, despite sophia leaving you and your life behind the first time. you would never want her to quit her passion, you know how hard she fought for her place in the industry.

countless nights after your heart broke, maybe it was because you wanted to make sure she was still real, that you hadn’t manifested her existence.

you watched every acting part that she was in, all the movies, all the tv shows and all her interviews during the press tours. she sparkled under the limelight, acting was and still is her passion. it was clear as day, the way she had explained all her thoughts on playing these characters, her undeniable pursuit of greatness. it casted this warm glow on your heart even if she took your heart with her.

it hurt and it hurts even more to know she wants to stop acting.

“right now it’s too much of a commitment, i want to be with you and with anna.” she continues, giving you a small smile even though you heavily disagree. you want to see her shine, want her to continue to mold her talent.

“to make up for lost time.”

“you sure? you know i’ll always support whatever decision you make. but i don’t want you to have to give up acting.” she slid closer, letting her head fall just in the junction between your head and shoulders.

a gentle but somber smile on her face.

“i know you do, it’s what i love about you. but i need to do this, i’ve already done so much damage by prioritizing acting, i want to be here, right now, with you and with her. that’s all i need.” she played with your hand, particularly the wedding band that fit snugly on your finger.

“you can’t get enough of me?” you grin smugly, enjoying her lurch back, eyes rolling and gasping as she leaned away from you.

“as if…” she instead crossed her arms, letting you chuckle to yourself, sliding yourself onto her lap. head looking up to her. enjoying how she’s still unable to look at you. a hint of amusement behind her frown, and you simply let yourself rest on her lap.

her fingers start threading through your hair, a gentle massage against your scalp. a faint smell of her perfume coming close to you, you basked in the softness of her massage and light floral elements in her perfume.

“fia, i’ve been thinking about this for a while. do you want to move in with me?” you had thought about it for a while. with the current arrangement, anna always wanted to sleep over, often staying for extended periods of time on your ranch. and with that came sophia’s constant visits.

anna would be over for weeks at a time and sophia missed her daughter, and you. but that led to sophia staying over too, often falling asleep in your bed together, a reminder of a faint but distant memory of you two together.

you tried to not push her, to force both of you together again. but the familiarity of living together and the added proximity of your daughter, drove you mad. the question was begging to be released, held back by your tongue in hopes that you could quell your deeply rooted desire for her presence.

you knew that you had it bad one afternoon, anna was committed to picking up all the eggs from the coop with sophia. you watched sophia and anna together, charlie lightly licking anna’s face whenever she leaned down, high pitched squeals ringing through the air.

sophia still looked so beautiful, long flowing hair tucked in her cowboy hat, a flowy sundress that paired well with her cowboy boots. you were reminded how the smallest things made your heart beat in your ribcage.

you swear that night you didn’t leave her side once, heart happy to have her so close. you kissed her goodnight that night, an impulse that had you blushing before you fell asleep.

“i would have to sell my house.” she comments, already churning ideas in her head. “and where would i sleep?”

you knew she was toying with you, trying to get a confession out of you. you’re more than happy to provide the confession. an admission that you wanted her where she wanted you.

“with me. in our bed. obviously.” you opened one eye, watching her gaze at you intently. almost like the feelings were overwhelming her.

“hm, i’ll think about it.” she joked, letting you play petty when you turned away from her towards the tv.

sophia continued to thread her fingers through your hair as you fell asleep. a content smile on her face, kissing your forehead every so often.

things would work out, she believed that it would. she had to believe in you and her because that’s all that mattered to her. and you knew that no matter what threw at you two, you two would stand together as a unit together.

--

a/n: ...and here it is!!! i sincerely apologize that this final part took so long to get together. i had an insane amount of trouble getting the pacing, and writing a plot that would make sense while still preserving the relationship i was trying to write for this entire piece. i hope that you've enjoyed this final part, it was an absolute pleasure to write it stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

[em1i2a3]

Fire For You

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: Bob has been head over heels for you ever since he met you, but he has never admitted it. Sentry is getting sick and tired of him dancing around the subject, so he goes to extreme measures to get Bob to confess.

Warnings: No warnings in particular, Sentry is an absolute menace in this though, and there is Fluff, but yeah that’s pretty much it :)

Author’s Note: I really enjoyed writing this little blurb, and the concept was cute as shit lol. Thank you @sol-lol for the request! Hope y’all enjoy! <3

Word Count: 3,801

Afternoon sunlight filtered through the high-paneled windows, casting long, golden streaks over the hardwood floors. Even the ever-present hum of the compound's security system felt muted–as if the entire building had exhaled, grateful for the rare stillness. Most of the team had shipped out at dawn, leaving only Bob and you behind, sentenced to stay and grind through mountains of post-mission paperwork.

You were across the hall in your room, with the door cracked, and music playing low. It was barely audible, but you were humming along out of tune. That little sound though had tugged at Bob like a thread caught in his chest. From his room he could see yours, and his eyes lingered there for a second too long before he turned away, running a hand through his dripping wet hair, closing his own door and padding barefoot across the hardwood floors of his bedroom.

He bent slightly, grabbing his black sweatpants from where they hung off the end of the bed, faintly warm from the sun that was beaming into his bedroom. Just as he was about to step into them–

“You should go into her room and tell her how you feel Robert.” The voice hit him like a low rumble in his chest, reverberating off the inside of his skull. Deep and rich, with that molten smoothness that made it impossible to ignore. It was a voice meant for command. Worship. Destruction. Right now, though, he sounded supremely annoyed. Bob groaned under his breath and pulled the soft cotton up his legs with an aggressive tug.

”I can’t te-tell her. It’s plain and simple, Sentry. How can you not understand that?” He hissed, keeping his voice low, casting a glance towards his door. The last thing he needed was for you to hear him arguing with himself like an exasperated older sibling. He crossed the room to his wooden dresser, pulling open the top drawer and grabbing a clean white t-shirt, yanking it over his dripping hair with more force than necessary.

“This is the perfect opportunity to confess your feelings…I’m getting sick and tired of watching your pathetic little mating dance. My patience is wearing thin.” Bob let out a small laugh under his breath–dry and crackly–shaking his head.

”Your patience?” He muttered, pacing towards his mirror, seeing the soft golden hue shimmering over the oceanic blue of his irises, “I’ve been waiting for these feelings to go away for six months, and we’re ta-talking about your patience?” The silence that followed was heavy, and for a split second, Bob thought that maybe he had stunned the sun god into temporary retreat. Only for him to come back swinging.

“You’ve been making yourself look like an absolute fool, and I’ve been allowing it thinking that you’d eventually grow a spine and do something about it. But I guess I was wrong. Guess you’ll just keep pining for your teammate in silence until the both of you die from mutual emotional constipation.” Bob pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing at them in frustration.

”Don’t try to pull that reverse psychology crap on me. I’m not that st-stupid.” He muttered. Sentry scoffed loudly, like a clap echoing through his head.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sentry shot back, “Only an idiot treats telling someone they love them like it’s the end of the world.”

“Wow…Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” Bob snipped, turning slightly to reach for his forest-green crewneck–the soft one with faint bleach stains, and frayed cuffs. He held it in both hands for a moment, running his thumbs over the texture as if it could soothe himself before tugging it over his head.

”Y’know, if you ac-actually thought about the consequences, I think you wouldn’t be encouraging me to do it.” He added, adjusting the hem of the sweater so it covered him properly. That earned him a sudden jolt in shoulder. Not pain, exactly–but a violent reminder of who he was arguing with. The Sentry rarely used force on Bob, but he always knew how to make his point felt.

“You’re not defusing a goddamn bomb, Robert. You’re just being honest. What kind of consequences are you building up in that overthinking brain of yours?” Bob paused, leaving on the edge of his desk, staring blankly at the sight of himself.

”If she doesn’t like me back…” He started slowly, “Then we’ll have to work together. We still have to live under the same roof, train in the same gym, eat at the same goddamn table. Do you have any idea how aw-awkward that would be?” For a long moment, there was no reply. Then came the laughter. Not mocking, but indulgent. Low and syrupy, warm like something dripping from heaven, curling through his spine like a lit fuse.

“It is painfully obvious that she likes you back. I have seen her through your eyes. I have watched how she looks at you when she thinks you're not watching. It’s not exactly subtle.” Bob snorted and shoved a hand through his hair again, tugging it slightly, his cheeks going hot at the thought of you sneaking quick glances at him. He never noticed and it was quite possible Sentry was just making it up to push him.

“Oh yeah? So why doesn’t she say anything then, huh?” Sentry let out a long groan that vibrated through Bob’s ribcage. It was almost like he was bored of the conversation, or he was sick of the predictability of his host and his line of thought.

“She doesn’t say anything because she’s a woman, Robert. You’re supposed to make the first move.” Bob let out a sharp laugh.

”Well that’s just not fa-fair,” He said, arms thrown wide for no one to see, he felt like he was going crazy in his own room–technically he was–but he couldn’t give in, “I’m not going to put myself in that position just to ruin our friendship, and that’s final.” He went to reach for his mini notebook, about to slide it into the pocket of his sweatpants, when Sentry’s voice changed.

Dropping into a lower, colder tone.

“…I guess I’ll have to resort to some extreme measures then.” Bob froze in his spot, as he slowly looked up, and glanced over at the mirror.

”…What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He asked warily, but there was silence, like a phone line being cut off midway through a call.

”Se-Sentry?” He whispered, taking a cautious step backward from the mirror, feeling his heart rate pick up. He didn’t understand what extreme measures meant, and he truly didn’t want to know, but he wasn’t going to go and admit something so sensitive like this. There was too much risk involved and he cared about you too deeply to put his feelings ahead of yours, because that’s just how Bob was with you.

Then a knock on the door made him jump up in the air.

”Bob, I’m making some iced latte’s, do you want one?” You asked. Bob pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, trying to will the fluttering in his chest to slow down. His pulse thudded hard in his ears–too loud for the quietness in his room. It felt like Sentry’s absence was a weighted pressure now, not a relief. Like something had just coiled back instead of vanishing. He turned toward the door, voice soft and strained.

“Um…Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice. I’ll be out in a se-second, thank you.” You didn’t reply, but he heard your footsteps padding gently down the hallway, the distant clatter of ice cubes being dropped into a glass, the hiss of the espresso machine warming up. He let out a long breath, fingers dragging down his face. He turned back toward the mirror above his dresser, stepping in close, peering into his own eyes. Blue. Clear. Normal. No trace of gold, and that only made it worse.

There was no way Sentry would just slink off like that without more sarcasm, more threats, more “divine push”–especially not after uttering a line like “I guess I’ll have to resort to some extreme measures.” Bob leaned closer, as if looking hard enough would summon the god back to taunt him.

“Wh-Where the hell did you go?” He muttered. “You never shut up this fast…” But there was nothing. No response. No flicker. No warmth in his bones. Just his own reflection staring back at him: flushed cheeks, frizzy damp hair, and a nervous tension coiled through his jaw.

He sighed and stood up straight, tugging down the hem of his forest-green sweater, smoothing it out even though it still sagged a little too loose at the collar. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to flatten it–pointless, really, but it gave him something to do.

Then he stepped out of his room.

The hallway smelled faintly like citrus cleaner and your perfume–orange peel and peach, you had told him happily when he had asked. The sunlight slanted in lower now, catching motes of dust that danced lazily in the air. The door to your room was still cracked, music still playing just because you wanted to keep listening to it even though it was faint–but you weren’t humming anymore.

He followed the sound of clinking glass and the gurgle of the espresso machine down the hall to the kitchen.

You were standing at the counter in a loose t-shirt and bike shorts, back to him, scooping ice into two mason jars. You had your hair pushed out of your face, and the late afternoon light that was pouring through the window kissed your bare legs, making you look like you belonged in a painting more than the compound's kitchen. You were a work of art to him, and he could admire you for hours if he could go unnoticed doing so. Bob swallowed thickly, and he could feel his stomach turn, a wave of nausea floating over him.

You turned when you heard his footsteps and gave him a small smile–soft and easy, like the two of you hadn’t been alone all day with miles of tension simmering between you. He watched as you poured a little bit of liquid sugar into the cup before adding a shot of espresso and some milk with the rest of it. You shoved a straw into the drink and mixed it around quickly.

”Here you go,” You said, handing him the jar, “Made yours a bit sweeter this time, cause you always make a face when it’s too bitter.” You added. Bob blinked down at the glass for a moment and cleared his throat.

”Oh. Th-Thanks.” He replied, wrapping both hands around the chilled jar, grateful that he was able to keep his hands occupied. The cold bit into his palms, but it grounded him enough to distract him from worrying about Sentry. You leaned casually against the edge of the counter, crafting your own drink with a soft rattle of ice against glass, throwing little glances his way. You didn’t seem to notice how stiff Bob had gone, shoulders locked and jaw tight as he lifted the straw to his lips.

The first sip helped. The sweetness, the cold. It settled like a stone in his stomach and gave his trembling hands something to focus on.

But it didn’t last.

A warmth bloomed beneath his skin–subtle at first. Then stronger. Not the warmth of sunlight or embarrassment. It was internal. Like standing too close to a furnace. Bob blinked, shifted on his feet.

And then–a bead of sweat slid from his temple, down his cheekbone. He wiped it away absently.

Then another.

And another.

He gulped loudly, his eyes flicking up to you nervously.

”Hey…Is it getting hot in here, or is it ju-just me?” You looked up from your drink, brows furrowing slightly at the question.

”They’ve got the AC on full blast…Can’t you feel it?” You asked, your voice laced with concern. Bob blinked slowly, almost like he was dazed. The cool air licked at his damp forehead, but it felt like nothing. His skin felt tight, hot, wrong.

“…I’m…I’m getting really ho-hot actually.” He mumbled, setting his glass down carefully on the countertop so it didn’t slip from his sweaty palms. With a clumsy, shaky tug, he peeled the forest-green sweater over his head, tossing it onto a nearby chair. You caught the brief glimpse of his bare waist as the hem rose–taut, pale skin, a soft line of hair trailing down below the waistband of his sweatpants–but you forced your eyes back up before he could notice. Your heart began to skip anyways. Bob ran the back of his wrist across his forehead, strands of damp hair sticking to his temples.

“Jesus,” He breathed, trying to shake the feeling off, fanning himself with one hand, “It really feels like I’m burning up.” He added, almost breathlessly.

“Bob,” You said slowly, eyes narrowing with concern, “Are you getting a fever or something?” He shook his head immediately, rubbing at the back of his neck, which was now slick with sweat.

”I was fine before. I-I don’t know what’s going on, I–“

“If you don’t tell her, I’m going to boil your insides until you’re a puddle of skin and blood.” Sentry said, his voice cracking like lightning inside his skull. Bob stiffened even more at the words.

And then–everything ignited.

It felt like his blood had caught fire.

One second he was upright, trying to breathe through the heat crawling up his spine, and the next–it was everywhere. Searing pain radiated out from his chest, licking through every vein like liquid metal. His nerves flared, his muscles seized, and his vision blurred at the edges with violent, pulsing white.

It was like being cooked alive from the inside out.

“Holy…Ho-Holy fuck,” Bob whispered, his voice barely audible through the rising static in his ears. His eyes darted around the kitchen like they couldn’t hold still, couldn’t focus. His pulse was hammering too fast in his neck. You stared at him, wide-eyed. His white t-shirt was plastered to his chest, soaked through as if he’d stepped into a shower fully clothed. Sweat dripped from his temples in heavy rivulets and the waistband of his sweatpants was already damp.

”Bob, what the hell is happening?!” You asked sharply, your drink completely forgotten behind you. He tried to answer, but his mouth opened–and nothing came out. Only a shallow, panicked gasp.

Then–his knees gave out.

“Shit-” You gasped, rushing forward and catching him before he hit the tile. Your arms looped beneath his, bracing his full weight as he sagged against you like a ragdoll. His head dropped forward, thudding against your shoulder with enough force to make you stumble. He was the weight of a boulder compared to you, but the angle you were able to catch him at really helped with your leverage. You eased both of you down onto the cold floor, your knees scraping the tile as you cradled him in your lap. His head lolled slightly, sweat-soaked curls sticking to you, seeping into the cotton of your shirt. He felt like he was steaming. Your hand flew to his forehead.

“Jesus Christ, Bob,” You breathed, barely holding back the shake in your voice. “You’re boiling hot–what is this? What’s happening to you?” His skin radiated heat like a furnace. Not fever-warm. Inferno-warm. Unnatural. You’d been around him enough to know what a post-mission stress spike looked like–what adrenaline did, what panic attacks did. This was something else. His skin was flushed, his breathing fast and shallow, like he was suffocating inside his own body.

“Bob,” You whispered, pressing both hands to either side of his face. He was slick with sweat, taking in shallow, desperate breaths, like all he was doing was inhaling thick humidity, “Look at me. Please, you gotta tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”

“Tell her or I’m going to keep going.” Sentry snapped. The pressure climbed again, cruel and sharp, curling beneath his ribs like a vice.

”St-Stop,” Bob gasped, voice hoarse, shaking his head against you, “Stop, please…I can’t, I can’t.” You froze at his begging.

”Who are you talking to?” He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t move. His hands were limp in his lap. His eyes fluttered closed, lashes clinging with sweat. His whole body trembled with the effort of not screaming. It felt like his bones were melting. You brushed his soaked hair back with shaking fingers.

“I’m not–“ He tried, letting out a groan of pain, arching his back and writhing a bit. You thought he was being possessed, like somehow a demon got into him, because that would be more plausible than him just going through this at random, “I’m not…Strong enough to fight him wh-when he’s like this…” You paused, breath catching in your throat.

”…Sentry,” You said under your breath. Bob didn’t nod for you to get full confirmation of this, because you could feel it now–something else lurking beneath his skin. Something immense and ancient and merciless. The pressure in the room had changed, the air grown heavier. You felt the way the light dimmed, like it was being pulled inward, like the very shadows in the corners of the kitchen were watching.

“Why is he doing this to you?” You whispered, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Why would he hurt you? He’s never done this before.” Bob’s eyes opened, barely. There was no gold in them, it was as if Sentry was camouflaging himself–but you could see the panic, the regret, and longing even.

”…It’s be-because I won’t tell you the truth.” He croaked, shivering a bit, twitching against you.

”What truth?” You asked, confused.

“Now, Robert. Say it, or I’ll peel your consciousness apart piece by piece and make you feel every single moment of it.” Bob winced at his words, as he let out another grunt of pain, his stomach aching, his lungs burning.

”Stop. Pl-Please stop.” He begged, his breath hitching in his throat. You moved fast, gripping his cheeks again, forcing him to look at you.

“Bob,” You started, voice breaking, “Whatever it is, just tell me. I’m right here. If it makes him stop, just tell me for god sake!” He stared at you. Pupils blown wide, almost eating the familiar blue he always sported. Sweat dripping down his neck in steady streams, wetting your legs beneath him. The heat had reached his ears, his fingertips. He felt like he was dissolving–turning into a puddle in your arms.

And finally, with his lips trembling and his body shaking in your arms, he whispered “…I’m in lo-love with you.” You stayed just where you were, cradling his burning cheeks, the sweat from his skin soaking into your palms. Your legs were going numb beneath him, but none of that mattered now. His chest heaved with shallow, uneven breaths. His eyes were wide and desperate, waiting for impact.

But your expression didn’t change.

“That’s it?” You asked softly.

Bob blinked. “Wh-What?”

“That’s the truth that was going to kill you?” You shook your head a little, almost in disbelief. “You’re burning alive from the inside out because you didn’t want to admit you loved me?” He nodded. Quickly. Frantic. The heat still trembled beneath his skin like something half-released.

“I’ve–I’ve loved yo-you since I first saw you,” He stammered, words tangling into little balls of misunderstandings. “I thought it would go away, I tried, I really tried, but it just…It just got worse and I didn’t know how to…I’m so sorry.” You stared at him for another beat, your thumbs brushing instinctively along the damp skin beneath his eyes. He was flushed and shaking and somehow still apologizing. A soft laugh slipped from you.

“Only you would apologize about loving someone.” Bob groaned, like his body had finally started to come down, the tension bleeding slowly from his frame. His breathing began to even out, though he still looked like he’d run a marathon through a thunderstorm.

“Ye-yeah…” He muttered, eyes fluttering closed for a second. “Because I have a god inside me who wants to kill me and have me ruin all my friendships in th-the process.” He tried to breathe through the humiliation, through the cool air finally creeping back in. He was regaining himself, physically. But emotionally, he was trying to retreat, blinking away from your eyes, gaze dropping down to your chin, then your lips, then the floor. You leaned in slightly. The space between your mouths thinned. You could feel his breath–still hitched, still hot–against your lips. You didn’t blink.

“Who said the friendship was ruined?” You whispered. Bob’s eyes flicked up. He blinked at you, lashes damp and heavy.

“…Well…” He rasped, “Yo-You don’t…You don’t like me like that…” You raised your eyebrows, a dry laugh slipping from your throat.

“Who told you that?” You shot back, a smirk coming up on your lips. He swallowed hard.

“…My-Myself.” He replied, voice breaking around the answer. You let out a breath through your nose, equal parts amusement and affection.

“Then I guess you’re wrong.” That confused look passed over his face like a ripple in water–eyebrows scrunching together, lips parting just slightly like he was about to ask–

And then you leaned in, your lips finding his before he could finish the thought.

It wasn’t a rushed, breathless kiss like the kind that usually came after a confession. It was slow. Sure. A quiet answer. Your lips moved against his in steady rhythm, grounding him more than the cold tile, more than the sweat that was now cooling on his skin. His breath caught in his throat again, but this time not from pain–just pure shock.

He kissed you back like he was afraid he was imagining it.

Like he couldn’t believe he hadn’t melted for nothing.

When you pulled back, just slightly, his eyes were glassy again–but softer now.

“…You kissed me,” he whispered, stunned.

You grinned. “Yeah. I noticed.”

“…Can you do it again?”

You laughed.

And then you did.

[sixeyesonathiel]

a sunset ferris wheel ride turns into a minor disaster when satoru unknowingly tests your fear of heights—thankfully, he has a very… hands-on way of calming you down.

the thing is—you really thought you could power through it.

you love him. he said he wanted to ride the ferris wheel. he looked so excited with his stupid beaming face and that oversized soda in hand like a golden retriever getting a treat. you’d ridden high-speed trains, drones, even elevators with glass walls. how bad could a ferris wheel be?

the answer: horrific.

you’re sitting stiffly across from him in this tiny swaying metal cage, twenty feet up and climbing, while he’s sprawled across the seat like he’s in a massage chair. legs wide, head tilted back, sunglasses on (it’s sunset), sipping his drink like this is peak romance.

his hair—christ, his hair—catches the dying light like spun platinum, each strand moving independently in the breeze that rocks this death trap. not silver, not white, but something rawer, like moonbeams tangled in morning frost. it shifts and falls across his forehead as he moves, and you hate how beautiful it looks even when you’re about to die.

“babe, look,” he points lazily, gesturing out the clear window with fingers that are too long, too graceful for someone who’s basically a human weapon. “you can see the whole fairground from here. the cotton candy stand looks like a little ant. that’s crazy—”

“don’t point,” you snap, voice tight as piano wire. your knuckles are bone-white where they grip the safety bar, tendons standing out like cables under your skin. “every time you move, this thing swings.”

he freezes mid-gesture, arm still extended, and his sunglasses slowly slide down the bridge of his nose. those eyes—god, those eyes—peek over the rim like arctic lightning trapped in glass. not just blue. blue doesn’t do justice to the way they seem to hold their own light source, like staring into the center of a glacier where the ice burns coldest.

“…are you scared?”

he sounds genuinely confused, head tilting with that puppy-dog bewilderment that makes you want to strangle him and kiss him simultaneously. like the idea never even occurred to him that you—his unshakeable, razor-sharp girlfriend—could be anything less than invincible.

you glare at him with every ounce of the dignity you have left—which is rapidly crumbling as the wheel climbs higher and the ground shrinks away beneath you.

“no. i’m fine.”

you are not fine. you are gripping the metal bar so hard your knuckles are white and your shoulders are hunched up around your ears like you’re trying to disappear into yourself. your legs are glued together, pressed so tightly that your thighs ache, and you can feel sweat beading along your hairline despite the cool evening air. your breath comes in shallow, measured sips like you’re rationing oxygen.

“wait,” satoru says, sitting up straighter. the movement makes the cart rock slightly and you flinch so hard you nearly bite your tongue. his sunglasses slip further down his nose, revealing more of those impossible eyes that seem to see straight through you. “you’re actually—oh my god. you’re scared of heights?”

“shut up.”

“but you’re like… the scary one!”

“i said shut up.”

he stares at you for a long beat, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. the ferris wheel stops—god knows why—and sways slightly in the breeze. you flinch again, a full-body shudder that you can’t control, and your bottom lip starts trembling despite your best efforts to keep it together.

suddenly his expression shifts. the teasing light in his eyes dies, replaced by something softer, more serious. his mouth—usually curved in some variation of a smirk—goes slack with realization.

“…baby.”

you don’t answer. your eyes are glued to the floor of the cart like it might open up and swallow you whole, anything to get you out of this nightmare. he reaches across the gap between your seats and takes your hand—firm, warm, grounding. his palm is slightly callused from training, and his fingers are impossibly long as they wrap around yours.

“you should’ve told me,” he says, quieter this time. his thumb traces small circles on your knuckles, and you can feel the slight tremor in his usually steady hands. “i wouldn’t’ve dragged you up here.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the sensation of swaying, of being suspended in nothing but air and prayer. “i was fine. i was fine. until we got stuck.”

“ohhh. yeah. that’s on me. this is kinda high, huh.”

he peers out the window again, and you make a sound that’s half whimper, half growl. your free hand shoots out to grab his wrist, nails digging into his skin.

“okay, okay, i’ll stop looking. you’re okay. i’ve got you.”

you’re not even sure when he moved, but suddenly he’s sliding next to you on your bench, the vinyl seat creaking under his weight as he presses flush against your side. his thigh is warm and solid against yours, and you can smell his cologne—something clean and expensive that makes your head spin in ways that have nothing to do with the altitude.

“hey,” he murmurs, nudging your cheek with his nose. his breath is warm against your skin, carrying the sweet scent of the soda he’d been drinking. “look at me.”

you shake your head, jaw clenched so tight it aches. “i can’t. i’m going to cry.”

“then cry,” he says, and there’s something in his voice—something tender and raw that you’ve never heard before. “you still look hot when you cry.”

you make a choked sound, equal parts laugh and sob, and his thumb brushes your jaw with a touch so gentle it makes your chest ache. his skin is warm and slightly rough, and you can feel the callus on his index finger from how he holds his phone.

“you want me to distract you?” he asks softly, voice dropping to that low register that makes your stomach flip. “i can make you forget we’re even up here.”

you turn to him finally, wide-eyed and a little breathless. your vision is blurry with unshed tears, but you can still see the way his hair falls across his forehead, the way his lips part slightly as he waits for your answer.

“how are you going to do that?”

he grins—stupid, bright, dangerous—and for a moment the dying sunlight catches in his hair again, turning it into a halo of white fire. his eyes crinkle at the corners, and there’s something wild and reckless in his expression that makes your heart skip.

and then he kisses you.

you yelp against his mouth, nearly jerking away, but he’s already cupping the back of your head with one large hand, fingers tangling in your hair. his other hand finds your waist, thumb pressing against your ribs through your shirt. his lips are soft but insistent, and when his tongue sweeps across your lower lip you part for him automatically.

it’s not gentle. it’s not shy. he kisses you like he means to erase every thought in your brain—including the part that remembers you’re dangling two hundred feet in the air in a metal death trap.

his tongue slides against yours, hot and demanding, and you can taste the sweetness of his drink, the slight salt of his skin. he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and you feel his teeth graze your lower lip before he soothes it with his tongue.

your brain turns to static.

his hands are everywhere—one still tangled in your hair, tugging slightly at the roots in a way that makes you gasp, the other sliding down your side to grip your hip. his thumb finds the sliver of skin where your shirt has ridden up, and the touch of his skin against yours sends electricity racing up your spine.

“better?” he murmurs against your lips, but doesn’t wait for an answer before kissing you again, harder this time. his hand slides under your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you onto his lap in one smooth motion.

you go willingly, straddling his thighs with your knees on either side of his hips. the new position brings you closer, chest pressed against chest, and you can feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat against your ribs. his hands span your waist, thumbs tracing the line of your ribs through your shirt.

“that’s it,” he breathes against your mouth, voice rough with something that makes your core clench. “just focus on me.”

his mouth trails to your jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the line of your throat. you can feel the heat of his breath, the slight scrape of his teeth, and when he finds that sensitive spot just below your ear you arch against him with a soft moan.

your hands find his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle through his shirt. he’s broader than he looks, all lean strength and sharp angles, and you can feel the tension in his body as he holds himself back.

“satoru,” you whisper, and his name comes out breathier than you intended. he makes a sound low in his throat, almost a growl, and his hands tighten on your waist.

“say it again,” he demands, mouth moving against your throat. his teeth graze your pulse point and you shiver.

“satoru,” you repeat, and this time it comes out as a whimper. his control snaps.

he drags you closer, eliminating any space between your bodies, and claims your mouth again. this kiss is hungrier, more desperate, and you can feel his need in the way his hands roam your body, the way his hips shift beneath you.

your fingers tangle in his hair—god, his hair—and it’s softer than you expected, like silk threads between your fingers. he makes a sound of approval when you tug gently, and you file that information away for later.

his hands slide under your shirt, palms warm against your skin, and you arch into his touch. he traces the line of your spine with his fingertips, each touch leaving fire in its wake, before his hands settle on your lower back, pressing you impossibly closer.

you’re lost in the sensation of his mouth on yours, the way his tongue moves against yours with practiced skill, the way his hands map the curves of your body like he’s memorizing them. time becomes meaningless—there’s only the heat of his skin, the taste of his mouth, the way he whispers your name like a prayer.

you forget. you genuinely forget. about the height, the sway, the goddamn ferris wheel. there’s only satoru—his hands, his mouth, his body pressed against yours.

when the cart finally jolts and resumes its descent, you pull back with a gasp, eyes wide and unfocused. your lips are swollen and tingling, your hair is messed up, and you’re sitting on his lap like you’ve lost all sense of pride.

he’s grinning at you—flushed, breathless, but still managing to look smug. his hair is disheveled from your fingers, sticking up in impossible directions, and his lips are dark and slightly swollen from your kisses. his eyes are bright with satisfaction, like he’s just won some kind of contest.

“better?”

you want to kill him. you want to kiss him again. you want to do unspeakable things to him in the privacy of your apartment.

instead, you try to salvage what’s left of your dignity. “that was... adequate.”

he laughs, the sound rich and warm, and his hands squeeze your hips. “adequate? baby, you were practically purring.”

“i do not purr.”

“you absolutely purr. you purred when i did that thing with my tongue—”

“shut up,” you hiss, but there’s no real heat in it. the ferris wheel is descending steadily now, and you can see the platform approaching. your heart rate is finally starting to slow, though whether that’s from the impending return to solid ground or the lingering effects of his mouth on yours, you’re not sure.

when the ride ends and the doors open, you both stumble out—your lipstick smudged beyond repair, his collar askrew, and a family in the cart behind you definitely saw everything. the teenage daughter is staring at you with wide eyes while her mother tries to shield her view.

a teenage girl side-eyes you as you pass. her friend whispers, “they were in there for like ten minutes.”

you practically bolt, face burning with embarrassment. satoru just strolls after you with his hands behind his head, looking proud of himself like he’s just accomplished some great feat.

“you’re not getting laid tonight,” you hiss over your shoulder.

“what?!” he chokes, long legs eating up the distance between you. “after i just saved your life with tongue?! that was like—emergency mouth-to-mouth but romantic!”

you glare at him, but it lacks your usual venom. he’s right, and you both know it. if he hadn’t distracted you, you probably would have had a full panic attack up there.

he grins again, that stupid, beautiful grin that makes your knees weak. his hair is still messed up, and there’s a faint lipstick stain on his collar that he hasn’t noticed yet. he looks thoroughly debauched and entirely too pleased with himself.

“…next time we do the haunted house instead?”

despite yourself, you feel your lips twitch upward. “next time, we’re staying on the ground.”

“deal,” he says, then adds with a wink, “but if you change your mind about tonight—”

“not happening.”

“we’ll see,” he says, and the confidence in his voice makes you suspect he might be right. again.

you hate how well he knows you. you hate how easily he can unravel you with just a look, a touch, a kiss. you hate how much you want him, even now, even after he just thoroughly embarrassed you in public.

mostly, you hate how much you love him.

but as he slings his arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to your temple, his lips warm and familiar against your skin, you think you might be okay with that kind of hatred.

“love you too, babe,” he murmurs, like he can read your thoughts.

and maybe he can. maybe that’s just another one of his many annoying talents.

you lean into his side despite yourself, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something that’s purely him. “you’re still not getting laid.”

“we’ll see,” he repeats, and this time you don’t argue.

after all, you both know he’s probably right.

[kxsagi]

okay okay play fighting with the blue lock boys (obviously losing) then suddenly realizing you're fucked in real life situations

“𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬”

a/n: HELL YEAH

blue lock nation am i feeding you

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, ness alexis, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, itoshi sae, karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

you try to fake a jab to his stomach and suddenly you're getting flipped over his back. no hesitation. no remorse. one minute you're like, “come on, yoi, show me what you got!” and the next you're kissing the hardwood floor like it owes you money. 

he immediately panics, crouching next to you like, “are you okay?? i didn’t mean to actually–” 

no. no. you're not okay. you just realized this man, who giggles over bubble tea and kisses your forehead like it’s his religion, has the strength and reaction speed of a trained assassin. like, genuinely, you try to tickle him and he blocks it like he’s in the matrix. 

and what’s worse? he gets excited. play-fighting turns into a weird drill session and suddenly he’s coaching you mid-chokehold like, “nah, babe, if someone grabs you like this in real life, you wanna turn your body like–” BRO. STOP. YOU’RE DIZZY. this isn’t a lesson, it’s a near-death experience. 

then at night, he wraps those same strong arms around you all innocently like, “you were so cute today trying to fight me.” yeah. cute. until you accidentally die. 

itoshi rin

you slap his back playfully. maybe throw a pillow at his head. you even smirk like you’ve won something. mistake number one. 

rin doesn’t “play.” there’s no such thing as friendly violence to him. your “haha got you!” moment lasts 0.2 seconds before he hip-checks you into the couch, pins your wrists down, and just stares at you like: “... you done?” 

you’re not. but your pride is. 

you wiggle and whine and he doesn’t even move. not an inch. like you’re some featherweight anime character trying to fight a titan. and the worst part is he smirks. a little. just the corner of his mouth. as if to say: “look at you. helpless. how adorable.” 

you go silent. because that’s the moment you realize: if anything ever happened IRL, you would be so utterly screwed. 

you call him a jerk. he kisses your forehead. 

you call him terrifying. he goes, “good.” 

rin might not say much, but the man knows he’s the final boss. 

kaiser michael

you go to jab his side. you don’t even touch him before he grabs your wrist, spins you into his chest, and drops you onto the couch like royalty. all while grinning like he just committed a charming war crime. 

“trying to fight me, huh? do it again. i dare you.” 

you do it again. now you’re pinned against the wall, both arms above your head, zero effort. and he’s just watching you like he’s so amused. like you’re a kitten trying to take down a lion. 

you realize, in the most dramatic slow-mo possible, that this man could ruin your life and still have time to fix his hair in the mirror. he taunts you while he traps you. he winks while you’re wheezing. and he has the audacity to say, “don’t tempt me unless you’re serious.” 

like. sir. you were literally play-fighting. now it feels like foreplay and a threat all at once. 

anyway, you’re never slapping his ass again in public. because if this is how he reacts to teasing… you’ll end up married, injured, or both. 

shidou ryusei

you swing at him and this man barks like a mad dog and tackles you onto the floor. you’re laughing one second and screaming the next because he’s got you in a full body pin, legs tangled with yours, breath fanning against your neck like he’s about to eat you alive. 

“you really think you can take me, babydoll?” 

you’re squirming. yelling. calling for backup. there is none. shidou’s idea of “play fighting” is 80% violence, 20% unhinged flirting, and 100% domination. 

you try to push him off and he just growls. growls. 

you say “you’re gonna break my ribs,” and he goes, “i’ll kiss ‘em better.” 

you say “help i can’t breathe,” and he goes, “i know, hot right?” 

and in that moment, pinned under a half-naked demon boy with biceps for days and no regard for laws or limits, you realize: if someone breaks into your house, he’s not calling the cops. he’s eating them. 

conclusion: shidou’s not allowed to play-fight anymore. or exist near sharp objects. 

ness alexis

he’s graceful. giggly. dramatic. when you throw a pillow, he spins. when you lunge, he twirls. for the first five minutes, you’re like, “aw, this is cute! i can totally win!” 

wrong. 

because the moment you say, “you’re not even trying,” he switches to demon mode. 

and suddenly he grabs you mid-tackle, does this unnecessarily sexy dip like you’re ballroom dancing, and lowers you to the ground slowly, holding your chin. 

“who’s not trying, chérie?” 

you are. you are trying so hard not to combust. 

you try to slap him out of embarrassment, but he catches your hand with two fingers. two. and then leans down, whispering, “you’re fun to tease when you think you have a chance.” 

you lie there in emotional shambles, plotting your next move (which you know will fail). 

nagi seishiro

you go in with a sneak attack. he’s sitting on the couch, arms tucked under a blanket like a lazy lil cat. you smack his thigh. no reaction. then suddenly, your whole body’s horizontal. 

you blink. you’re on the couch. on your back. he’s lying on top of you, sighing like you’re the one that made life hard. 

“mm. don’t start things you can’t finish.” 

you want to scream. cry. maybe kiss him. 

he’s not even trying. you were play-fighting and he just used your own momentum against you like some shonen sensei. 

and when you whine about being manhandled, he doesn’t even apologize. he just curls up next to you and goes, “you’re warm. fight me again later” as if you’re not currently traumatized. 

mikage reo

it all starts because you’re bored. reo’s lounging on the couch in some soft designer hoodie, legs stretched out like he owns the place (which… he probably does), scrolling on his phone like a pampered cat. so you do what any sane person would do: you launch a sneak attack and smack his thigh. hard. 

he pauses. slowly looks up. “... you just hit me.” you nod, smug. “with my bare hand.” 

the next five seconds are a cinematic blur because suddenly he’s standing, phone forgotten, and you’re running for your life down the hallway screaming “I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D ACTUALLY DO ANYTHING!!” 

too late. he catches you so fast it’s like he used a cheat code. you’re tackled onto the bed, wrists pinned, and he’s hovering above you with that perfectly smug smile like he just won the lottery and your suffering was the prize. 

“aw. were you trying to win?” he’s so mocking about it. and pretty. and rich. it’s infuriating. you thrash like a banshee. reo just leans down and hums, “hmm, not strong enough. but very cute.” 

you yell. he laughs. you call him a spoiled brat. he kisses your cheek. you scream “I’M GONNA BITE YOU.” he whispers “then do it properly next time.” 

you go silent. because wait. is he flirting or threatening?? or both??? 

and the worst part? you realize, as you’re pinned under 6’1 of casually jacked billionaire heir energy, that this man could actually survive an apocalypse. he’s not just a fashion-forward golden retriever with a trust fund, he has training. rich kid probably took krav maga lessons for fun. he could break your wrist and then buy you a diamond bracelet for it. 

later, he gets all cuddly again, arms wrapped around you, giggling like, “you’ll never win, y’know. i’m stronger, richer, prettier. you’re just lucky i love you.” 

… and honestly? you are. but also? you will try again next week. and probably lose. again. 

10/10 final boss energy disguised in pastel cashmere. 

itoshi sae

you poke his cheek. smug. maybe even say, “you don’t scare me.” 

he looks up slowly, blank-faced, like a cat about to destroy your entire kitchen just because you looked at it wrong. 

you blink. the next three seconds are a blur. he grabs your wrist, flips you over his shoulder with zero effort, and suddenly you’re face-down on the couch, arms pinned behind your back. he doesn’t even raise his voice. he just whispers, “what was that? didn’t hear you.” 

and you’re just lying there like, did i die??? 

he smirks. the most smug, godforsaken smirk to ever grace a face. and then he lets go like nothing happened and walks away, already on his phone again. the audacity. 

you follow him around all day after that with the most suspicious side-eyes, because how did he instantly go from calm to deadly without blinking? 

and then, just to ruin you further, he leans in at night, all low voice and bedroom eyes, and says, “you looked kinda good when you lost, though.” 

sir. SIR. you need to be stopped. you should not be allowed to combine violence and flirtation like that. 

karasu tabito

he invites you to fight. literally pats the floor and goes, “come on, baby bird, give me your best shot.” 

you throw a punch. he dodges like he’s in slow motion. smirking the entire time. 

“ooh scary. so aggressive. should i be trembling?” 

you yell. flail. kick. maybe scream a little. he lets you. lets you think you’re doing damage for a full minute, then body slams you into a bear hug and drags you down with him. you’re under him now, and he’s just grinning like this is his favorite movie. 

“you mad?” yes. “you wanna hit me again?” also yes. “do it. i’ll just pin you down again.” HE’S SO SMUG ABOUT IT. 

and the worst part? his trash talk is hot. somehow he manages to combine cocky wrestler energy with that teasing, “i’m totally gonna kiss you while you’re mad” vibe. 

you hate him. you love him. and you are never throwing hands with this man again unless you’re trying to get absolutely wrecked (physically or emotionally or… you know). 

and of course, later he stretches like nothing happened and casually goes, “ngl, seeing you all angry made me wanna marry you.” 

karasu tabito. certified menace. do not engage unless you are prepared to lose. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[witchkisssed]

ours ☀︎

summary : you may be the compound’s resident sunshine girl, but you belong to the witches and widow who keep you worshipped and ruined and completely theirs. always.

word count : 4.4k

warnings : dom/sub dynamics, smut, mommy kink, daddy kink

— — — — —

You’d been at the Avengers Compound for nine months now.

Nine months of flower beds and herb gardens, of dancing barefoot in the grass with soil on your cheeks and petals caught in your hair. Nine months of soft greetings and laughter slipping freely from your lips.

Nine months of falling in love, feeling loved, and being utterly ruined.

You didn’t have powers. Not like the others.

No super serum, no spells, no assassin training, or enhanced intellect.

Just a basket of wildflowers, tangled curls, flowing sundresses, and a heart so open it practically bled gold.

You were the kind of girl who left bundles of lilies on doorsteps, talked to animals, and gave genuine compliments to terrifying people who didn’t know how to accept kindness before you came along.

Tony called you “Sunbeam.”

Steve made you fresh coffee in the mornings just to see you smile.

Peter couldn’t stop blushing whenever you helped clean a scrape on his hand.

You were sunshine.

Always smiling. Always humming. Always warm.

You were also the only person in the world that Agatha Harkness, Wanda Maximoff, and Natasha Romanoff ever truly softened for.

Everyone noticed. No one understood.

You were tender and kind and unarmed.

They were weapons in skin. Sharpened in wildly different ways.

And yet—

It’s Wanda who holds your face between her hands after missions, magic sparking at her fingertips as she whispers, “my sunshine, my baby, my perfect little thing” like a prayer.

It’s Natasha who slips behind you when you’re getting bratty in the kitchen, her thumb pressing under your jaw with a rough, “watch that mouth, baby.”

It’s Agatha who tugs you into her lap when you’re too giggly to sit still, her fingers trailing slowly up your skirt as she drawls, “You really don’t know what you do to me, do you, little flower?”

They don’t touch each other like that.

They have no desire for anyone else. No hunger, no craving—not even for each other. Their fire, their adoration, their obsession, is all reserved for you. You’re the only one who stirs that kind of devotion, that kind of all consuming need.

You’re their center, chaos, and calm all at once.

The first time Tony Stark saw you, your apron was crooked, your smile was crooked-er, and you were gently tucking a dandelion behind a child’s ear.

He didn’t know why he’d walked into that sleepy roadside diner in the first place. He certainly didn’t expect to be sucker punched in the face by the sun herself.

You, with your hair a little messy from the long shift, eyes full of honeyed light, and skirt flowing past your knees like some beautiful forest creature who just happened to be holding a coffee pot.

He watched you call an old man “sweetheart” as you filled his mug, then turned to let down some teenager who was trying to flirt with you, all without losing your kind smile and laughing tone. When Steve asked what he was staring at, Tony simply said, “A problem.”

Because you weren’t like anyone else.

You didn’t try to be radiant. You just… were.

And that was exactly why you were so dangerous.

Within a month, you were officially the Avengers Compound’s “resident flower girl”, which mostly meant you had total control of the gardens and the entire team wrapped around your dirt stained fingers.

You weren’t sure when it happened. When your life became less about compost and chamomile, and more about silk sheets and powerful hands that couldn’t get enough of you.

But you never questioned it.

You never wanted to go back.

You were their shared obsession, and they didn’t pretend otherwise.

The party is already in full swing by the time you arrive on the rooftop.

Golden light from the sunset pools around your shoulders as you slip through the doors, adorned in a white dress that flutters lightly around your thighs. Your hair, wild and unbrushed, is threaded with daisies and delicate silver rings, little braids winding through like vines.

Tony's voice cuts through all the chatter, loud and bright. “Our sunflower has finally arrived! Now the real party can start.”

You giggle, cheeks warm as Pepper pulls you into a hug and kisses both your cheeks. Maria follows suit, and Kate immediately swarms you with questions about what you’ve been doing all day. Steve hands you a drink while Sam loops his arm around your neck, and Bucky mumbles something about you looking like summer incarnate.

You thank them all, affectionate and glowing, but your gaze has already started to wander.

You don’t have to look for long.

You feel Agatha before you see her, her fingers trailing possessively up your spine.

“Such a pretty little thing in white,” she murmurs, her voice like steel draped in silk. “Practically begging to be ruined.”

Your breath catches as her fingers slip into your hair, tilting your head until your throat is exposed and her lips press against your jaw.

“Say hello to Mommy, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Mommy,” you sigh out breathily.

She hums, low and pleased, the sound curling in your stomach. “Good girl.”

You could say something clever. Could remind her that you’re surrounded by friends and superheroes and people with very good hearing. But you know she wouldn’t care. She’d probably just take it as a challenge.

Before you can even try, Natasha’s hands find you.

One palm slides over the curve of your ass and squeezes. Hard. The other curls into your hair from the right side, tugging just enough to make you sigh.

“Look at you,” she rasps, eyes heavy-lidded and dark. “All that sweetness and nowhere to put it.”

Agatha laughs low in her throat, a dangerous kind of amusement. “Oh, I’m sure I can think of a few places.”

You shift to face her, the movement making your skirt ride up just enough to catch Wanda’s eye as she walks closer.

You kiss Agatha slow and deep, one hand tangling in her silver streaked curls, the other bracing on her hip.

She moans low into your mouth, her nails digging sharply into your side. Pulling you closer to her, she wraps one hand tight around your middle, the other gripping your chin as the kiss deepens until your head spins.

You gasp when you feel Wanda’s fingers trail over the bare skin of your spine, her body warm and flush against your back. She kisses along your shoulder, up your neck, along the shell of your ear.

Natasha replaces Agatha’s mouth with her own, all teeth and tongue, devouring you without shame. You whimper, melting between them, and the sound has Wanda moaning quietly behind you, hands fisting in your dress.

“Careful,” she breathes, her hand wrapping around your neck in the softest, surest grip. “She’ll come apart right here if we let her.”

“She wants to,” Natasha growls, grabbing your thigh and lifting it up over her own. The pressure of her hand around your waist keeps your hips tight to hers, rocking in time with the low thrum of music vibrating through the rooftop floor.

“Oh, I know she does,” Wanda grins, voice syrup sweet and dangerously fond. “But she loves being our good little girl. Don’t you, baby?”

You nod, dazed, head full of them. “Yes, Mama.”

The party around you continues like nothing’s happening.

Bruce and Carol are laughing near the bar. Sam and Bucky are playing pool. Kate’s trying to beat Clint at darts. And you’re trapped between three women who make it their mission to keep you adored and ruined all at once.

Eventually, Agatha shifts to face you again, thumb stroking just beneath your eye.

“Why don’t you go say hi to the others, sunshine?” Her voice is all velvet and challenge. “Be sweet. Maybe flirt a little.”

Her smile is pure wickedness. “Let’s see how long we can behave.”

You swallow, thighs pressed together, because you know that means they’re going to spend the next hour watching you—tracking your every move—and punishing you later for every eye that lingers too long.

Wanda adjusts your neckline, brushing the curve of your skin like she knows she owns it. “And keep that smile on, little flower. We want everyone to see how pretty you are before we take it all away.”

Natasha kisses your temple, then lands a playful smack to your ass the moment you start to turn. “Go on. We’ll be right here.”

You nod shakily and drift off towards the others, the heat of their touch still lingering.

Everyone welcomes you with the same warmth as before, doting and excited, like you’re the center of every good thing in the world.

And you love them, you love all your friends.

But the moment you look across the room and see their eyes on you—dark, sharp, possessive—you know exactly where you belong.

Later, when the rooftop empties and the music fades, when you’re tucked away in their room, stripped of your sundress and sunlight, voice hoarse from begging—

They’ll make you cry for them.

Make you say who you belong to, over and over and over again, until you can’t speak at all.

And you’ll thank them for it.

Just like you always do.

It’s well past dusk when the party finally settles into that haze of warmth and wine, when the laughter spills easier, the drinks flow slower, and the music feels lighter.

Your skin glows under the twinkle of fairy lights, body loose from a few drinks as you drift toward the middle area where Tony turned concrete into a makeshift dance floor.

You step into the center, eyes fluttering shut, hips swaying as you let the beat take you. Your arms lift above your head, fingers weaving through your hair, the motion slow and sexy as your sundress floats around your thighs like it’s made of starlight.

Wanda, Agatha, Natasha stand just past the edge of the floor. Watching. Burning.

Their gazes pin you in place even as you move, drinking you in, seething with barely contained hunger.

Maria just lifts a brow. “God, she’s trouble.”

Peter, red faced, mumbles, “I think I’m in love.”

Yelena mutters something in Russian that sounds suspiciously like “She’s going to die. Slowly.”

And Steve just clears his throat, politely looking away.

Meanwhile, Agatha is gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles are white, with a dangerous look gleaming in her eye.

Wanda’s jaw is clenched tight. One hand is already twitching with restrained magic, glowing a faint red where it curls into a fist at her side.

Natasha just stares, arms crossed over her chest, head tilted slightly, like she’s deciding how many walls you’re going to be pinned to later.

You twirl again, deliberately slow this time, catching the hem of your dress in one hand and lifting it just enough to tease. Your lips curl into a wicked little smile as you bite down on your bottom lip and wink directly at them.

You know what you’re doing.

You want them hungry.

And a minute later, someone finally steps onto the floor behind you.

A firm grip wraps around your hips, dragging you back against a body you know as well as your own.

“Okay,” Natasha growls, voice low in your ear. “I was patient. I gave you a song.”

You giggle softly, breath hitching as your back arches into her chest. Your head falling against her shoulder and your lips ghosting over hers.

“I know,” you murmur, pouting up at her with mock innocence. “You were so good for me, Daddy.”

She groans under her breath, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh possessively, fingers curling hard enough to bruise. But before she can fire back a response, another presence slides in, hot and humming.

Wanda’s fingers thread through yours, with her other hand finding your throat and tilting your head so she can mouth along the underside of your jaw. “You’re going to pay for that one, sunshine.”

You can’t help the shiver that rolls through you. Especially when Agatha steps beside you, letting her nails trail lazily down the side of your arms.

You whimper, helpless under their hands, and feel their collective smile. Dark. Wicked. Proud.

“I was just dancing,” you whisper, the protest weak and useless.

“Is that what you were doing?” Natasha asks, tone dry and dangerous, like she’s daring you to lie again.

Wanda continues dragging her lips along the side of your neck. “Kinda looked like teasing to me, baby.”

You squirm, flushed and bright. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You never mean to, do you, little one?” Agatha cuts in, voice dripping with faux curiosity. Her hand slips up under your skirt with the kind of certainty that makes your knees weak.

“You’re always just so pretty,” she purrs. “So sweet. Wandering off like a little lamb in the woods.”

You tremble as her fingers skim the backs of your thighs, cool rings dragging goosebumps up your skin. Wanda’s mouth is still on your jaw, and Natasha’s breath is hot behind your ear.

“And you know better,” Natasha adds, her voice a low promise. “Don’t you?”

You nod quickly, cheeks burning. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” she praises, and your whole body melts into her. Wrecked with just two words.

Wanda hums against your cheek in approval. “So responsive. So needy.”

“She’s always needy,” Agatha sighs, almost fond. She bites your earlobe gently, her hand sliding up higher under your skirt. “Always looking for someone’s hands on her.”

“Yours,” you whisper quickly, eyes snapping open. “Only yours.”

Three different smiles curve along three dangerous mouths.

“Ours,” Natasha repeats, hands tightening around your waist, grounding you. “Not theirs. Not anyone else’s.”

“Those little boys flirt with you,” Agatha murmurs, dragging her teeth down the curve of your shoulder, “but they don’t know what they’re asking for. Sweet, soft, needy thing that you are. They’d die trying to keep up.”

“They wouldn’t last a second with you in their lap,” Wanda echoes, almost pitying. “You’d break them. That’s why you belong with us.”

“Yes,” you whine, breathless, eyes fluttering closed. “I belong to you. Only you.”

Just what they want to hear.

And then Natasha’s hand is sliding between your legs, over the damp spot on your underwear.

The touch is confident, practiced, possessive.

“Already wet?” she murmurs, smugness dripping in her tone.

You whimper. The sound is barely a breath.

“Just from us touching you a little,” Agatha coos, purring at your ear. “God, we’ve ruined you.”

You nod again, because it’s true. Every word.

They’ve unraveled you. Rewired you. You can barely go an hour without their touch, their voice, their scent curling into your brain and turning your knees to liquid.

They know everything. When to push you down or lift you up. When to soothe and when to punish. They know how to make you cry with just a look, how to make you beg with just a sigh, how to piece you back together after being the ones to take you apart.

Natasha leans in, her tongue dragging a slow, deliberate line up the side of your neck. Her breath is hot against your skin when she growls, voice barely restrained—

“You taste so sweet, baby. Like you’ve been dreaming about this all night.”

You whimper before you can stop yourself, trembling under the heat of them—hands at your waist, lips brushing your skin, magic like static in the air around you. You're coming undone and they haven’t even really started.

Wanda’s fingers are already sliding beneath your dress from behind, grazing the top of your thigh.

Agatha’s nails scratch a slow, lazy pattern along the back of your neck, just sharp enough to make you shiver.

And then, Natasha’s voice turns to gravel in your ear. “Ten seconds. That’s all I’m giving you before I take you right here and ruin you for everyone.”

By the time you leave the party, you’re trembling.

Natasha just scoops you into her arms like you weigh nothing, one hand under your thighs, and the other gripping the back of your neck.

Wanda walks ahead, heels clicking and hips swaying in a way that’s not fair, not when you’re already soaking.

Agatha follows behind with a dark smile—slow, unhurried, hungry. She trails her fingers along the backs of your calves, then lands a sharp slap to your ass that makes you gasp loud enough for the whole rooftop to turn.

But again, no one says a thing.

The bedroom door shuts behind you with a decisive click, and your body is immediately pressed against it.

Wanda’s magic curls around your wrists and pins them above your head. Natasha’s hand wraps around your throat, tilting your head up just enough for Agatha to lean in and kiss you—biting your bottom lip, licking the sound out of your throat.

“You were such a good little flower tonight,” she purrs, hand dragging up your thigh to cup you over your ruined panties. “Maybe a little too good. Letting everyone see how loved you are. How owned.”

“Please—” you whisper, but you’re not even sure what you’re begging for.

“Oh, baby,” Natasha groans in your ear, voice low and full of hunger. “You don’t have to beg yet. We’re just getting started.”

Wanda’s lips press against your cheek, your temple, then your ear. “But you will,” she murmurs. “You’ll be begging for it so sweetly, little one.”

They move you like a doll—gently but with total control.

Your dress is gone in seconds, peeled off your body and tossed carelessly to the floor. Hands press you back into the mattress until you’re laid out flat with your arms still above your head, magic twined around your wrists like ribbons.

Agatha leans over you, eyes traveling lower, taking in the sight of you bare, legs spread, and shaking under the weight of their attention.

“Mine,” she says, her voice all velvet and fire. She drags her nails down the length of your stomach, watching you shudder. “All mine.”

Wanda sinks to her knees in front of you, dragging your panties down with teasing slowness. “Look at this pretty pussy,” she breathes. “Dripping and desperate and ours.”

And then, without warning, her mouth is on you.

Possessive. Precise. Devouring.

You cry out, back arching, head pressing hard into the pillows as white hot pleasure ignites in your core. Your thighs try to snap shut on instinct, the overwhelming sensation too much, too fast. But a firm grip stops you.

Natasha.

One hand clamps around your jaw, her fingers curling tight, steadying you. The other holds your thighs open with practiced strength, refusing to let you hide from what’s coming.

She climbs in behind you and your body instantly melts into hers. Already trembling and boneless, you press back into the heat of her chest. One of her arms wraps around your waist, while the other tips your chin back, baring your throat for her mouth.

“Let her hear you,” she growls against your skin, voice dark and smoky. “Let the whole fucking Compound know how good your Mama’s making you feel.”

You whine, high and raw, as Wanda’s tongue flicks just right. Your hips buck without permission, needing more, needing everything.

“That’s right. Take it, baby.” Natasha breathes again, quieter this time, lips grazing your ear like a secret promise. “Be good.”

You sob out a moan, your wrists pulling helplessly against the scarlet ribbons of Wanda’s magic still binding them above your head. Completely at their mercy.

And that’s exactly where you want to be.

Agatha watches from the foot of the bed, pupils blown wide. “Such a good girl. Keep those legs open, sunshine.” Her voice drops lower, silk turning to smoke. “Or Mommy will tie them open herself.”

You obey without hesitation, your legs falling open, trembling as Wanda works you closer to the edge.

There’s no mercy in her touch, no pause. It’s her mouth, relentless and hungry, and the slow, deliberate slide of her fingers now curling inside you. She hums low in her throat, and the vibrations make your vision blur.

Your first orgasm hits fast, so hard it knocks the air from your lungs. You sob into Natasha’s chest, your body arching helplessly as the pleasure crashes through you. But Wanda doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even slow. Her hands pin your hips, her tongue and fingers dragging you right back into the fire.

She owns you in this moment, and she knows it.

It’s only when your breathing turns ragged that Agatha finally tugs Wanda back by her hair, guiding her away from your sensitive core.

Her lips are wet. Her pupils blown wide. Her smile feral.

Natasha’s voice is low in your ear when she rasps, “My turn.”

She doesn’t waste time. The harness is around her hips before you even see it.

She rolls you onto your front, palms flat on the mattress, and presses her chest against your back as the slick heat of her strap teases between your thighs.

“You ready for me, baby?” she murmurs against your ear, one hand sliding under your belly to find your soaked cunt, fingers teasing your entrance. “Already fucked out from Mama’s mouth, and we’ve barely started.”

“Yes, Daddy. Please,” you whimper, hips canting back toward her without thought. “Need you.”

“Oh, I know, sunshine,” she groans, dragging the head of her strap through your folds, coating it in your slick. “You always need me.”

She slides in slow, thick and deliberate, savoring every inch as your back arches and your breath breaks in a gasp.

Wanda watches from the side of the bed, mouth still wet from you, cheeks flushed, lips parted in awe.

“She’s so beautiful like this,” she whispers, cupping your face as Natasha bottoms out with a hard thrust that steals the air from your lungs. “Completely full. Completely ours.”

You moan into Wanda’s palm, and she smiles sweetly as she kisses your temple. “You take her so well, baby. You’re doing so good.”

Behind you, Natasha sets a brutal pace. Deep. Consuming. She’s not just fucking you, she’s staking a claim. Every thrust is punctuated with a low growl in your ear, with filthy praise and rough hands pinning you down.

“You’re mine,” she grits out, one hand yanking you by your hair. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you cry, broken and breathless. “Daddy, I’m yours.”

“That’s right. Who fucks you like this?”

“You—only you—”

The bed dips as Agatha climbs up in front of you, spreading her legs with slow grace, her smirk electric.

“Not just Daddy, sweetheart,” she admonishes, hand threading through your wild hair. “Now open your mouth.”

You do. Immediately. Obediently.

She pulls you in with a soft sigh, your tongue instantly flicking out to taste her, and her reaction is one you’ll never get tired of—hips rolling, grip tightening, breath hitching.

“Good girl,” she moans. “So eager to please. Mommy’s perfect thing.”

The room is hot and spinning, the scent of sex beginning to thicken in the air. Wanda watches with a hand tucked between her thighs, barely touching herself, too focused on you.

“You look divine like this,” she whispers. “So used. So loved.”

You’re stretched and filled, your tongue worshipping Agatha while Natasha pounds into you from behind, and Wanda whispers sweet encouragement as she lazily touches herself.

Agatha starts to roll her hips—slow at first, watching your tongue flick and swirl and your lips wrap around her with that same desperate devotion she’s addicted to. But then she hears the way you moan into her, broken and wet and so fucking needy, and she loses all composure.

She groans, low and guttural, hips snapping forward with more purpose now, grinding down deeper onto your mouth.

She watches your eyes flutter, stray tears leaking from the corners as you try to keep up with her pace, with Natasha’s pounding behind you, with Wanda whispering how good you are while pinching your nipples between her fingers.

“That’s it, sunshine,” she breathes, voice thick with lust as she tightens her grip in your hair, tugging to guide your tongue. “So sweet, so obedient. Mommy’s perfect little mouth.”

Behind you, Natasha is relentless, every thrust slamming deep. She’s groaning now, rough and low, her hand locked on your hip to drag you back into her again and again.

“You feel that, baby?” she growls in your ear. “How well you’re taking Daddy’s cock while you lick Mommy like she’s the only thing that matters?”

You whimper and moan around Agatha’s cunt, tongue flicking in a rhythm that makes her hips stutter.

Wanda’s beside you, kissing every inch of your body she can reach—shoulders, spine, the curve of your ass. She’s murmuring in Sokovian now, soft praises laced with heat and adoration, her fingers ghosting over your skin like she’s etching her love into it.

“My sweet girl,” she whispers, and you sob, overwhelmed and glowing with pleasure. “We’re going to make you feel so full. You’re already shaking, little one.”

Agatha’s hips rock faster now, her moans getting sharper, her thighs trembling around your face.

“Don’t stop, just like that,” she gasps. “Yes, baby—gods, your tongue—”

She comes with a cry, grinding down against your mouth, and you don’t stop. You lap at her, greedy and eager, wanting every last drop until she’s shivering and breathless and easing off you with a shudder and a flushed smile.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, fingers wiping your mouth lovingly. “Always so perfect for Mommy, aren’t you?”

You’re barely breathing when Natasha’s hand wraps around your throat again, pulling you up as she fucks into you even harder now, the pace relentless.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you let out a stream of cries and groans and whimpers.

“Come for me,” she demands. “Let go, sunshine. Now.”

You unravel instantly, your second orgasm ripping through you with a guttural sob as your whole body tenses. Thighs clenching, your cunt flutters around the strap inside you as you cry out for her—for all of them—your body trembling in the cradle of their hands.

But they’re not done.

Not until you’re limp and soaked and twitching.

Not until you’re brainless, blissed out, babbling into Agatha’s thigh while Natasha holds you open and Wanda rubs soft circles into your clit just to watch you come again.

They don’t stop until you can’t remember your own name.

Only theirs.

[sweetonsin]

SUNDRESS

pairings: dbf! Joel Miller x minx! reader

summary: you come home from college soft and sun-kissed, all curves and confidence—nothing like the quiet girl Joel remembers. He tries to keep his thoughts buried, tries to be respectful, but you make it damn near impossible in those little sundresses and skimpy bikinis, teasing him without even trying. When you catch him staring one too many times, you decide to push. Then when he finally snaps, you learn exactly what it means to be called a minx—spanked, pinned, and owned, as Joel teaches you what happens when you tempt a man like him too long.

warnings: nsfw, 18+, implied large age gap (20s and 40s), pervy!joel, teasing, spanking, piv sex, female and male anatomy descriptions, fingering, orgasms, backshots hehe, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampies, male solo, swearing.

WC: 5.1K

idea requested by @allyourfavesinoneblog <3

You come outside just as your dad cracks open two beers on the porch, the late afternoon sun bleeding hot and gold across the yard. It’s been years since you’ve been back—college kept you away, new cities, new lives—but summer brought you home again. And somehow, the house is exactly the same.

Joel Miller is leaning on the porch rail next to your father, work boots dusty, sleeves rolled up, tan forearms flexed as he brings the bottle to his lips.

He doesn’t even recognize you at first.

You’re barefoot, wearing a soft yellow sundress, and your hair’s longer now, skin warm from the sun. Your body’s different—fuller, woman-shaped, not the lanky little thing that used to sneak popsicles behind the garage or cannonball into the lake with scraped knees and chipped nail polish.

“Hey, hon,” your dad says. “You remember Joel, don’t you?”

Joel glances over, casual, and then his eyes catch.

Hold.

Something sharp flickers behind them.

You smile politely. “Hey, Joel.”

And when you say his name, something low in his gut twists.

He knows that voice. But it’s wrong now—older, smoother, more confident. You are wrong now. Not the girl he remembers. Not even close.

“Shit,” Joel mutters under his breath. “Didn’t even recognize you.”

You laugh, and he hears it in his spine.

He swallows thickly and looks away, jaw working.

It gets worse from there.

You’re always around now—barefoot in the kitchen, legs curled under you on the porch swing, wearing tiny shorts and tanks that ride up too high when you stretch. Sundresses with straps that slide down your shoulders. Bikinis so small they make his brain stutter.

Joel does his best.

He doesn’t stare. He doesn’t touch. He doesn’t say a goddamn thing.

But God, he thinks.

At night, he lies awake in his dark bedroom, one hand under the waistband of his boxers, your laugh still echoing in his ears. He strokes himself slow, biting his lip, eyes squeezed shut like that’ll make it less wrong.

He shouldn’t want this.

He watched you grow up. You’re his friend’s daughter. Too young. Too soft. Too off-limits.

But then you bend over to grab a towel by the lake, and he sees the soft curve of your ass under that floral bikini, and Joel thinks he might die from it.

He grits his teeth through every shared dinner, every pool day, every innocent smile you flash him when you catch him glancing. You don’t seem to notice what you’re doing to him—don’t seem to know you’re killing him every time you come out of your bedroom in nothing but a shirt and tiny shorts, all sleepy-eyed and barefoot.

And he?

He’s holding on by a thread.

—

The heat in the garage was thick and heavy, the kind that made sweat cling under collars and tempers short. Joel wiped his forearm across his forehead, grease smearing across tanned skin, as your dad muttered curses over a stripped bolt on the workbench.

“Wrench,” your dad grunted, hand out.

Joel passed it over without looking—because he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

You were lying on a beach towel in the middle of the yard, sunglasses on, bare legs stretched out, bikini barely covering anything. The strings of it looked like they could be snapped with two fingers. Your skin glowed golden, kissed by sun and sweat, chest rising and falling slow beneath a tiny triangle of floral fabric.

Joel’s mouth was dry.

You shifted, flipping onto your stomach, and your ass arched just slightly higher than it should’ve, those bikini bottoms cutting into the soft swell of you. You reached back lazily to adjust them, the motion slow, unbothered, like you had no clue someone was watching.

And that was the worst part.

You didn’t know.

Didn’t know that your little sigh as you settled into the sun made his cock twitch in his jeans. Didn’t know that when you licked your popsicle slow by the porch yesterday, he had to turn around and leave before he embarrassed himself. Didn’t know that right now, standing beside your father covered in grease, Joel was seconds from saying fuck it and storming out of this garage just to stop thinking about your thighs.

“You listening, Miller?”

Joel blinked hard, jerking his eyes back to the workbench. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s the heat.”

Your dad didn’t seem to notice the way Joel’s jaw clenched when you bent your legs up behind you, kicking lazily, ass shifting with the movement. Or the way Joel’s fingers twitched at his sides like they wanted to touch something.

"She’s always out there like that now," your dad said offhandedly. "Sunburn waiting to happen. College girls don’t believe in sunscreen, apparently."

Joel let out a tight laugh. “Yeah. Guess not.”

He turned back toward the workbench. But not before stealing one more glance over his shoulder.

Just one more.

You were looking straight at him.

Sunglasses low on your nose, face unreadable. Your lips curved—barely. Not quite a smirk. Not quite nothing, either.

Then you dropped your head back down and kept tanning.

Joel gritted his teeth and picked up the damn wrench.

He was going to hell.

That night, the house was quiet.

Summer air drifted in through the screened windows, warm and thick with the scent of grass and far-off rain. You padded into the kitchen barefoot, wearing nothing but a thin tank top and a pair of cotton shorts that barely covered your ass.

Your hair was damp from the shower, clinging to your shoulders, and the hem of your top swung loosely against your hips—no bra, no concern.

You thought the house was empty. Your dad had left ten minutes ago to pick up takeout.

So when you opened the fridge, leaned down to grab a cold bottle of water, and heard the low scrape of a chair behind you—

You jumped.

Joel was still here.

Sitting at the kitchen table in the dim overhead light, beer in hand, elbow resting lazily on the wood.

Your eyes snapped to him, wide.

“Shit,” you breathed. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

Joel’s eyes were unreadable, shadowed in the warm glow. His gaze dropped—just briefly—to your legs. The swell of your ass. The outline of your nipples under the thin fabric. Then back up.

Slow. Controlled.

“I can see that,” he said, voice rough. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You took a small step back, water bottle still in your hand, heat crawling up your neck. “I thought you were going with him.”

“Nah,” Joel muttered, taking a slow sip of his beer. “Stayed to finish up that wiring in the garage. Figured I’d wait.”

Your throat felt dry.

He wasn’t looking at you like he had before.

Something had cracked in his expression—no more pretending he didn’t notice the way you looked. No more pretending you were still a kid.

You leaned against the counter, slowly unscrewing the cap, feeling the tension hum between you like a live wire.

You took a sip of water. Swallowed. And then—because you felt bold, or maybe reckless—you said it.

“You’ve been looking at me different.”

Joel’s jaw flexed. His eyes flicked up, meeting yours with something heavy. “No, I haven’t.”

You tilted your head, letting your lips curve—just slightly.

“Yes, you have.”

A pause.

Joel didn’t move. But his grip tightened on the bottle.

“You think I don’t notice,” you said softly. “When I lay out by the pool. When I wear dresses. But I do.”

Joel exhaled slowly, something sharp behind it.

“You don’t know what you’re sayin’.”

“Yes, I do.”

You pushed off the counter and took a step toward him.

Joel’s chair creaked as he shifted, leaning back slightly, his body still, jaw tight, eyes watching every inch of you like you were something dangerous.

You pushed off the counter and took a step toward him.

Joel’s chair creaked as he shifted, leaning back slightly, his body still, jaw tight, eyes watching every inch of you like you were something dangerous.

“I’ve grown up, Joel,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not some kid anymore.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you—through you—like he could see every inch of your skin, every dark corner of your thoughts.

And then, finally, low and hoarse:

“Trust me, sweetheart. I noticed.”

Joel didn’t move.

But something shifted in him. Like a damn ready to break.

You stood in the middle of the kitchen, the silence thick between you, your heart pounding and your skin lit up with the thrill of knowing. Knowing he’d been watching. Wanting. Fighting it every time you came outside in too-little clothing, too-aware now of how his eyes would follow and then look away.

You took another step toward him.

Joel’s hand clenched around his beer bottle. His knuckles were white.

“You like looking, don’t you?” you said, voice quiet but playful. “You’ve been doing it since I got home.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “You need to stop talkin’ like that.”

“Why?” you whispered. “Because I’m right?”

Joel’s eyes darkened, gaze flicking to the curve of your chest again—quick, unintentional—and you caught it.

“Watch your eyes, Joel,” you said, taking another slow step, now standing right in front of where he sat. “You’ll give yourself away.”

His nostrils flared. His jaw ticked.

You reached out, fingers light on his shoulder, dragging down the sleeve of his t-shirt, over the thick muscle of his arm.

“You’ve been so good,” you murmured. “Pretending not to look.”

You let your hand slide lower. Slowly.

Joel’s thighs were broad, solid—and your hand drifted there, fingertips grazing along the inside seam of his jeans.

He tensed.

You smiled.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

Your fingers brushed over the bulge in his jeans—thick and hard, straining against the denim. He didn’t stop you. Couldn’t. His body was rigid, breathing shallow, his cock twitching under your touch like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

“Is this why you’ve been acting like that?” you asked, voice all sugar. “So grumpy. So quiet.”

You gave a soft, slow stroke over his zipper and watched his jaw clench so hard it looked painful.

“Christ,” he said, barely more than a growl. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”

“Then maybe you should teach me,” you whispered.

That was it.

Joel stepped forward.

Joel’s grip on your hips was tight—almost punishing. His face hovered inches from yours, breath hot, eyes wild with restraint he was barely holding onto.

You could feel him against you, hard and thick where his jeans pressed into your stomach. His body heat seeped through your skin like fire, and you didn’t move—didn’t need to.

You had him.

And he knew it.

“You wanna play grown-up?” he growled, voice low and ragged. “Keep talkin’ like that, keep touchin’ me like that—and you’ll find out exactly what that means.”

You tilted your head, lips just barely brushing his cheek as you whispered—

“I hope I do.”

And then—

The front door opened.

“Joel?” your dad’s voice rang from the living room. “Food’s here.”

Joel froze.

His hands dropped from your waist like you’d burned him. He stepped back fast, one hand running over his face, the other adjusting the thick, obvious bulge in his jeans. His eyes darted everywhere but your face, like he couldn’t even look at you now.

You just smiled. Slowly. Lazily.

You leaned close, brushing past him on your way to the table, your breath a whisper in his ear:

“Better move before he catches you.”

Joel exhaled sharp through his nose, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.

You threw him a little smirk over your shoulder before grabbing some napkins from the drawer, as casual as if you hadn’t just been touching his cock under the kitchen light.

Joel stayed rooted in place, fists tight at his sides, watching you walk away like you were the fucking devil wrapped in bare legs and tank tops.

He was wrecked. Hard. And now he had to sit through dinner with your father while you sat across from him, smiling.

You were driving him mad.

And you knew it.

He barely made it out of your house.

The way your foot slid up his leg under the table while your father bit into his burger, totally oblivious. The way you smiled at him like you knew—like you owned every filthy thought in his head and were daring him to act on them.

He left early.

Said he was tired. Had an early job. Lied right to your dad’s face.

Now he was home, standing in the middle of his kitchen, still hard in his jeans. Still aching.

He didn’t even bother turning on the lights. Just kicked off his boots, tore off his flannel, and stalked upstairs, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

His cock throbbed in his hand before he even reached the bedroom.

He tried to resist it—again. Tried to tell himself to cool off, to take a cold shower, to go to bed and forget the feel of your hand stroking over his jeans like you’d done it a thousand times before.

But then he heard your voice again in his head.

“Watch your eyes, Joel.”

“Better move before he catches you.”

Fuck.

He collapsed onto the edge of his bed, rough fingers unzipping his jeans like a man possessed.

His cock sprang free—already leaking, already twitching in his hand.

“Fuck,” he hissed, voice strangled, as he wrapped his fist around it.

He stroked hard, thumb swiping over the head, precum smearing slick and hot over the flushed tip. His free hand grabbed the base, squeezing just the way he liked, hips thrusting into the tight tunnel of his grip.

You filled his mind—barefoot in the kitchen, little shorts hugging the curve of your ass, nipples tight under that paper-thin tank. Looking at him like you wanted it. Like you were offering it.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned, head falling back.

He imagined your lips wrapped around him—wet, warm, wide-eyed with inexperience and curiosity. Imagined you gasping as he pushed his cock between your legs for the first time, telling you how sweet and tight you were.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, stroking faster. “You’re such a goddamn—”

He stopped himself. Jaw locked.

But the word echoed in his head anyway.

Minx.

Such a sweet little minx.

All grown up, all attitude and soft skin, driving him insane.

Joel’s breath turned ragged, sweat clinging to his chest as he chased the release he shouldn’t need, shouldn’t want. But your voice, your laugh, your fucking smirk haunted him.

It hit him hard—heat rising in his belly, cock pulsing in his hand as the orgasm tore through him.

“Fuck—fuck—baby,” he gasped, come spilling over his knuckles, thighs tensing, jaw clenched tight as the last of it wracked through him.

Then silence.

The kind that made everything worse.

His breathing slowed. His hand dropped. And the shame hit like a slap.

He looked down at the mess on his stomach, his hand still twitching.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

He swiped a hand over his face and lay back against the pillows, chest still rising and falling.

You were dangerous. Untouchable.

And he was already lost.

He didn’t know how much more he could take.

Three days of you prancing around in those tiny sundresses, bending over just a little too far to “pick something up” while your dad mowed the lawn, pretending not to know your white cotton panties were on full display. Three days of you walking around in wet bikini bottoms, the outline of everything burned into Joel’s brain like a brand.

He was going insane.

And the worst part?

You knew it.

Your smirks. The way you looked at him over your sunglasses. The way your bare legs brushed against his when you passed him on the porch, saying "Excuse me" with just enough sweetness to make it dangerous.

He thought he was doing a damn good job holding it together.

Until tonight.

It was late. Quiet. Crickets humming. He was halfway through a beer, leaning back in his worn-out recliner, when there was a knock at the door.

Not loud. Almost hesitant.

Joel frowned, setting the bottle down.

And when he opened it—there you were.

Wearing another fucking sundress. Thin and soft and practically see-through in the porch light. Your arms were folded under your chest, making your tits push up just slightly, lips parted like you were trying to catch your breath.

“Hey,” you said. Voice soft. Shaky.

Joel’s eyes scanned you instantly. “Somethin’ wrong?”

You nodded. “I think… I think someone’s in the house.”

His whole body went tight. “Your dad home?”

“He’s working late,” you said quickly. “Didn’t want to call the cops. Thought maybe you…”

He didn’t even let you finish. He was already moving.

You followed him back inside your house—quiet, cautious, his hand resting instinctively on the small of your back. Your heart beat fast, but not from fear.

He checked the rooms. The windows. The doors.

No one. Of course.

When he turned to you in the hallway, frown already forming, you bit your lip.

“Well?” you asked innocently.

He narrowed his eyes. “There’s no one here.”

“I guess I was just… scared,” you said.

Joel stared at you. Silent. Something sharp simmering just beneath the surface.

And then—

You stepped closer. Just an inch.

“I didn’t want to be alone.”

He knew. Right then. The lie. The game. The reason you were barefoot in that little sundress with no bra, nipples hard under thin fabric, looking up at him like you were the most innocent thing alive.

“You’re fuckin’ with me, baby,” Joel said, voice low.

You tilted your head. “Am I?”

Another step.

You pressed your hand to his chest, soft and slow, dragging it down, down, until your fingers brushed over his belt.

His jaw flexed. He grabbed your wrist—tightly.

“Stop,” he growled.

But you smiled. Sweet. Deadly.

“You want me to stop?”

Joel’s nostrils flared.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered—and shoved you gently but firmly back into the hallway wall.

You gasped, not in fear—but something hotter. Deeper.

His hand braced beside your head, the other still wrapped around your wrist.

“You’ve been teasing me for days,” he said through clenched teeth. “Little dresses. No fuckin’ bra. Bendin’ over like a damn show pony. You think I didn’t notice those panties you wore yesterday? The white ones?”

Your breath hitched. Wetness pooling between your thighs instantly.

“You wanted me to snap, didn’t you?” he growled. “That was the whole fuckin’ plan.”

You nodded.

Joel let out a ragged, dark laugh, like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

“You’re a goddamn menace,” he said—and then his hand slid up your thigh, pushing your dress high enough to reveal the soft lace underneath.

You’d worn lingerie.

Silky, pale, and completely fucking intentional.

He cursed, low and filthy, eyes darkening.

"You come over here dressed like this, lyin' to my face, beggin' me with your body... and you think I’m gonna stay a good man?”

You swallowed hard, looking up at him. “I don’t want you to be good.”

Joel’s eyes burned through you.

And then he kissed you—hard.

His mouth crashed against yours like it had been waiting years for permission. Teeth and tongue, one big rough palm cupping the back of your head, the other gripping your hip tight enough to bruise.

It was messy. Greedy.

Exactly how you wanted him.

Your fingers clawed at his shirt, tugging it up his stomach, desperate to feel skin—muscle, heat, him. Joel grunted low in his throat when you scraped your nails down his chest, his body already pressed flush to yours.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he growled against your lips. “Knew you were trouble.”

You gasped, voice breathy with a grin. “You’re the one with your hands up my dress, Miller.”

He pulled back just far enough to look at you, chest heaving, lips swollen from your kiss.

“Don’t think I’m not gonna make you pay for that mouth.”

He kissed you like he couldn’t help himself.

Like he’d spent weeks thinking about it, weeks suffering through every tease, every sundress, every slip of skin—and now he had permission.

Now you were in his hands.

And Joel Miller was not a man who took that lightly.

“Been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he muttered against your mouth, hand sliding up the back of your bare thigh. “Parading around in those tiny little dresses. Knowin’ damn well what you were doin��.”

Your breath caught as he grabbed the back of your leg and hitched it up higher on his hip.

That earned a sound from him—low, wrecked, half growl, half groan—and suddenly you were in the air, hands gripping his shoulders as he picked you up like it was nothing.

You let out a surprised gasp as your legs wrapped tight around his waist, the fabric of your dress sliding up dangerously high.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, holding you like you weighed nothing. “Feel so fuckin’ good wrapped around me.”

You clung to him, body flush with his chest, heart pounding like a drum.

“You gonna carry me all the way?” you whispered, teasing.

“Darlin’, I’ll carry you wherever the fuck you want. You earned that.”

You buried your face in his neck, drunk off the feeling of his hands gripping the backs of your thighs—big, rough, claiming you like you were his. He walked you down the hall with slow, purposeful steps, your wet heat pressed right to the firm bulge in his jeans.

“Been wantin’ this,” he said, voice quieter now. “Didn’t wanna admit it. Didn’t wanna be that guy.”

You kissed the side of his throat. “And now?”

He shoved your bedroom door open, eyes locked to yours.

“Now I’m fuckin’ done pretendin’.”

He laid you back on your bed, your mattress dipping under his weight, and you watched him as he hovered over you—broad and beautiful in the dark, chest rising and falling like he’d just run miles.

His hands reached for the hem of your dress.

“Take this off,” he said. Not a question.

You swallowed hard and sat up slowly, pulling the straps down your shoulders, skin prickling under his gaze as you peeled the dress over your head and tossed it aside.

Joel froze.

You were wearing nothing underneath soft lace panties—barely there, delicate and soaked.

He looked like he wanted to fall to his knees.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he whispered. “You did this on purpose.”

You nodded. “For you.”

That broke something in him.

He leaned in close, dragging a hand up your stomach, to your perched nipples, then down again to your waist, tracing the edge of your panties.

“You’re a fuckin’ dream,” he muttered, kissing just under your jaw. “So soft. So goddamn pretty. That little mouth, those fuckin’ eyes. Sweetest thing I’ve ever touched.”

Your head fell back as his mouth traced down your neck, his voice hot against your skin.

“You’re not gettin’ away from me now, baby,” he murmured. “You asked for this. Begged for it.”

“I’ll beg again,” you whispered.

Joel smiled—dark and slow.

“You will.”

“You ready for this, baby?” he asked softly, voice low and thick with emotion.

You nodded, breath catching as his fingers traced lightly along your skin — gentle, patient, as if memorizing every inch.

He leaned down, lips brushing your temple, then the hollow of your throat, whispering words just for you.

“So damn sweet. You’re so tight, gotta take it slow, make sure you’re good with every little thing.”

His fingers found you, sliding in slowly, carefully, the slight tension making you gasp — a mixture of nerves and something thrillingly new.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he murmured, thumbs stroking reassuringly, his touch like fire and ice.

You bit your lip, nodding again, voice barely a whisper, “It’s okay… just… keep going.”

He smiled, that rough, half-grin that made your heart pound.

“That’s my girl.”

Joel moved with care, drawing out every second, never rushing, but never hesitating. His hands cupped your hips, holding you steady, while his eyes locked on yours, silently checking in.

“God, you feel so good,” he breathed, voice thick with need. “I’ve been wantin’ this… wantin’ you, for so long.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he leaned down, lips brushing over your collarbone, then trailing kisses lower.

He guided you, whispering praise between soft touches — telling you how beautiful you were, how perfect you felt, how he wasn’t going anywhere.

Your breath hitched as he curled his fingers deeper, slow and steady, every inch a tender exploration.

“Fuck, baby…” Joel groaned, voice rough as he pressed closer, thumb circling your clit.

You clung to him, heart racing, every nerve alive — overwhelmed, vulnerable, but safe in his arms.

As he moved with care and fire, you whispered, “Please… don’t stop.”

His answer was a low growl and a kiss — rough and hungry, full of promise and everything you’d been waiting for.

Joel’s fingers moved slowly, tracing delicate patterns along your skin, exploring you with a patient reverence. His voice was low, a husky whisper filled with both awe and promise.

“You’re so tight,” he murmured, thumb brushing lightly over your most sensitive spots. “I’m gonna have to take my time—stretch you out, get you used to my touch. No rush. Just you and me.”

You gasped softly at the careful pressure of his fingers, your breath catching as he teased deeper, making sure you were ready.

“That’s it,” he praised gently, voice like velvet. “You’re doin’ so good. So perfect for me.”

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice thick with admiration. “So damn responsive. Makes me wanna take my time, make sure you feel every bit of this.”

Your breaths came faster, hips pressing closer without even realizing it. Joel’s hands held you steady, grounding you as he watched every reaction with focused intensity.

When you finally trembled and let go, a soft moan escaping your lips, Joel didn’t pull away. Instead, he smiled. Fingers still circling your sensitive skin.

His fingers stayed gentle but confident, tracing slow circles as you caught your breath, his praise wrapping around you.

Joel’s hands gripped your hips firmly, his eyes dark and fierce as he looked down at you. The teasing, the waiting—it was over.

“This is what you get, baby,” he growled, voice low and rough. “Been playin’ all week, but now you’re mine.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding, breath quick. Your hands clenched at his shoulders as he positioned himself, every inch of you electric with anticipation and need.

He moved in slow at first, pressing deep enough to make you gasp, but never rushing. His grip tightened, holding you steady as he guided you through every sensation.

You whimpered, tilting your head back. “Joel... please...”

His thumb brushed over your cheek. “Shh. You’re doin’ good.”

He started to move—slow, powerful strokes that pulled a soft moan from your lips. His hands held you close, fingers digging in just enough to remind you who was in control.

“Look at you,” he teased, leaning down to brush his lips along your jaw. “All sweet and fucked out already.”

You gasped, arching into him. “Joel... harder.”

He smiled darkly. “You want hard? You got hard.”

His rhythm picked up, rougher, demanding, but never cruel. He checked in with a whispered, “You good, baby? Tell me.”

“Yes... I’m good,” you breathed, voice shaky but sure.

“That’s my girl.” He kissed your forehead, then bit gently at your shoulder. “Lesson’s just startin’.”

You clung to him, overwhelmed, caught between pain and pleasure, needing him more than ever.

Joel’s hands slid up your sides, fingers pressing firmly as he kept his pace steady but relentless. The heat between you was thick, your breaths tangled, your body aching and alive under his touch.

“You’re such a fuckin’ mess for me,” he growled, voice thick with desire. “So tight, so fucking mine.”

You gasped, nails digging into his back as he leaned in close, lips brushing along your collarbone.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice low and dark. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered, voice trembling but sure.

He smiled against your skin, teeth grazing gently as he pressed deeper.

“That’s right. I’m the only one who gets to touch you like this.”

His rhythm didn’t falter, each movement a deliberate claim. You felt yourself melting, losing control, wrapped in the storm of sensation he was creating.

“Beg for it,” he teased, fingers tightening slightly. “Show me how much you want it.”

“Please, Joel,” you moaned, voice desperate. “Don’t stop. I need you.”

He laughed, low and rough, his breath hot against your ear.

“You’re learnin’, baby. This is what happens when you tease me.”

His hands gripped your hips harder, pulling you flush against him as he set a fierce pace, chasing the edge with you.

“Come on,” he urged, voice breaking into a growl. “Let go for me. Show me everything.”

You shuddered, voice breaking, body trembling as you tipped over the edge. Joel held you through every pulse, never letting go.

When you finally came, spent and trembling, he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Good girl,” he whispered, voice rough but tender.

Joel’s hands gripped your hips tightly as he moved over you again, rough and relentless. Your body was trembling from the first wave, but the look in his eyes told you this wasn’t over. Every thrust was a claim, every breath between you both thick with need.

Flipping you over, pulling your ass up to him— He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You think you’re done? Been fuckin’ teasing me since you've been home—..”

Your hands tangled in the sheets, heart pounding, breath hitching. “Joel… please,” you begged, voice shaking, “don’t stop.”

He chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Joel’s movements grew slower, deeper, each stroke measured and filled with burning need. Your bodies moved together in perfect rhythm, the air thick with heat and quiet gasps.

Joel’s hand came down hard against your bare ass, a sharp smack that made you gasp and shiver all at once.

“Fuckin’ little minx,” he growled, voice low and rough. “Teasin’ me like that… thinkin’ you can make me lose control?”

His fingers dug into your hip as he pulled you closer, pressing you firmly against him.

Another smack, harder this time, and you bit your lip, breath hitching.

He leaned down, his breath warm against your collarbone, voice rough. “You like that, baby?”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, heart pounding wildly. “Joel….”

A growl escaped his lips as he pressed closer, hand gripping your hip tightly. “Come for me.”

The world narrowed to the two of you — skin slick, breaths mingling, hearts racing.

With a final, powerful thrust, Joel’s body tensed above you, voice breaking as he called your name. You trembled, waves of pleasure crashing over you both, leaving you breathless and filled.

[fleuryns]

✸ 𝓞𝐔𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐖 ! YOU GOT THE BAD BOY FOR A BOYFRIEND

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬──── 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍.

❪ 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐄 ❫ 𝟏𝟏𝟎𝟎 ───── enhypen x female reader 𖥔 established relationship 𝘄 ｡ kissing skinship suggestive themes 芸 REBLOGPLS

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

heeseung parks his bike right in front of your house. the engine is loud, his helmet hangs from one handlebar, and he kicks his legs out like he owns the sidewalk. you spot him through your bedroom window and groan — it’s barely seven in the morning.

“heeseung, go home — seriously!” you shout at him. he just leans back on his seat, arms behind his head and eyes flicking up to you. he’s been out there for hours, and he’ll stay a whole week more if he has to.

you eventually cave in, like always, approaching him with a scowl. “you seriously have nothing better to do?" you huff "what do you even want?” he finally stands, slow and smug, like this was all part of the plan.

“you.” he pulls you in by the waist, making you bump against his chest. and it’s stupid how fast your anger fades when he says things like that, like he hasn’t been parked here already since sunrise just to see your pretty face.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

the night air is freezing — jay is leaning against his bike, arms tightly crossed and sporting his signature frown, the one he always seems to have except for when he's looking at you. “took you long enough” he mutters — for once with no malice in his tone — handing you his extra helmet without another word. 

“i could get in trouble for this” you can barely meet his eyes, but your fingers still wrap around the strap. “that’s the fun part, angel” he smirks, voice low as he swings one leg over the bike. you hesitate, but one look from him has you moving without thinking.

“hold on tight” he says, turning his head slightly “i can't lose you, beautiful.” the bike roars to life and so does something in your chest. maybe you shouldn't be out with someone like him.

maybe he’s all leather and danger and trouble. but when he reaches down mid-ride to squeeze your thigh — like he's making sure you're still there — you think maybe trouble’s not so bad.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

"don't move!" you huff, dabbing the cut on his arm with disinfectant, trying to aim despite jake's constant squirming. "ow! okay, okay, take it easy, doc" he laughs, but his smile falters when he sees the worry in your eyes.

“this isn’t funny, jake — you could’ve broken something.” he just shrugs, wincing slightly. you glare at him, but your hands falter for a second — just long enough for him to catch it. he grins again, more careful this time.

“was worth it” he watches you in silence for a moment, the teasing slipping from his face just long enough to let something softer show. he leans in a little, voice dropping. “it’s nice seeing you like this, fussing over me” he says, voice lower now “you always patch me up so pretty, makes me wanna get hurt more often”.

you roll your eyes, press the cotton harder than necessary, making him hiss. he’s ridiculous, reckless, impossible. but when he looks at you like that, you almost forget to stay mad.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

sunghoon’s fist slams into the guy’s jaw, the sharp crack echoing through the empty alley. you flinch, while he doesn’t even react. his eyes are locked on the guy, who’s now stumbling back, blood dripping down his chin.

“touch her again, and i’ll make sure you never forget it” sunghoon growls, his voice cold like he’s done this a thousand times. you stand there, wide eyed, heart pounding. this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him like this, always ready to fight, to protect you. 

“you didn’t have to do that” you say as he turns to you, wiping his hand on his jeans like it’s no big deal. the faintest smirk pulls at his lips: “someone was getting a little too close” he says.

“you’re mine to protect” his tone is low. he grabs your wrist and pulls you close as his thumb brushes the back of your hand “don’t think i won’t do it again, sweetheart.” and even though you know it’s dangerous, you don’t want him to stop.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

sunoo tosses his leather jacket over your shoulders without a word, his eyes following your every move as the heavy material settles around you. “it’s heavy” you protest, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of it.

he smirks, watching you like he’s enjoying the view a little too much: “i know.” you glance at him, and he’s still leaning against the wall, his hands casually tucked in his pockets.

the way he looks at you is different, softer somehow, like you’re the only thing worth paying attention to in this moment. “why are you giving it to me?” you ask. “because i like seeing you in it” he answers, voice low and smooth, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

your heart skips a beat, but you try to hide it by adjusting the jacket shyly. it smells like his cologne. "you look better in it anyway" he adds with a grin, stepping closer. “don’t get used to it though” he teases, but his voice is softer than usual.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

jungwon’s fingers grip the ledge of your window, pulling himself up with a casual ease that only makes you roll your eyes. “what are you doing?!” you hiss, glancing nervously toward your bedroom door, afraid your parents might see him.

“what does it look like i'm doing?” he grins, easily hoisting himself onto the balcony like he’s done it a thousand times “i came to see you obviously.” “we’re gonna get caught!” you whisper-yell, but he just shrugs, like it’s nothing.

“parents are asleep. besides, you always say you want me here.” his gaze flicks over you with that smirk, and you can’t help the way your heart skips. “this is insane, you're insane” you mutter, but you know you’re not going to tell him to leave.

he steps closer, the tension between you two thick enough to cut with a knife. “if it’s insane, why do you let me keep doing it?” his voice drops, a teasing whisper now “just admit it, baby, you like my chaos, don’t you?”

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

your parents don't like riki. your friends don't either. but there's something about him that makes you crawl back every time, despite knowing he's bad for you. 

maybe it's the way he kisses like he’s hungry for you, gripping your body so tightly that it leaves a faint mark on your skin. he pulls you closer, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers:  “can’t stay away, can you?” his hands move with that familiar urgency, like he can’t get enough of you.

you should stop it. you should pull away, tell him you can’t keep doing this. but when he looks at you like that, with those dark eyes full of mischief and something dangerous, you can’t bring yourself to. “you always say that” you whisper, but your hands are already sliding up his chest slowly, betraying your words.

he chuckles, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you closer. he kisses you again, and his touch feels like home, even when it’s tearing you apart.

밤비 : yeah ik, it's literally the same post as my old one but bear with me alright ㅠㅠ

[dismalflo]

remus x hyper reader pleaseee where she’s golden retriever energy and he’s more black cat

thanks for requesting!

Remus lupin x reader who gives him a flower ✩ 772 words

cw: fluff, grumpy x sunshine

Sirius likes to think of himself as a pretty sharp guy. He can tell when Remus just wants some quiet company, he’s learned the pattern behind James' chaotic mood swings, and – after a lot of trial and error – he’s even figured out what Regulus' barely noticeable shifts in expression mean. So yeah, Sirius considers himself fairly perceptive.

That is, until you show up out of nowhere, your head suddenly popping into the narrow space between him and Remus with your arm twisted behind your back, making him nearly jump out of his skin.

“Christ,” he mutters, a hand flying to his chest. “should get you a bell or something.”

“Hello, Sirius,” you grin at him, beaming like you haven’t just startled him half to death. “I’ll start stomping around more if that’ll help.”

You’re impossible to stay annoyed with – not that Sirius tries particularly hard. There’s something disarming about the way you grin, unapologetic and radiant. It’s endearing, honestly, how you make the effort to chat with him at all. He knows you’re not really here for him. Not when your eyes keep flicking sideways toward Remus like you’re trying not to look too eager.

Sirius suppresses a sigh, already feeling secondhand embarrassment bloom in his chest on your behalf. Moony’s in one of his usual silent moods today, the kind that comes with a permanent scowl and a drawn brow. You haven’t been seeing him long enough to recognise that yet, to know that sometimes he doesn’t want affection or words or even eye contact. 

Sirius is halfway through crafting an excuse to get him far away from whatever is about to happen, when you finally turn your full attention to Remus.

"Hi, honey," you say, soft as anything. Your fingers move before Remus can flinch or lean away, gently brushing a stray bit of hair off his forehead and away from his eyes.

Sirius watches with morbid fascination. He’s seen Remus Lupin do a number of things over the years. He’s watched him break up fights, endure full moon recoveries, and drink James’ horrible attempts at fancy coffees without so much as a grimace. But now? With your fingers ghosting across his hair and your smile all warm and unbothered?

Remus is blushing.

And not just a faint, dignified flush either – no, this is a full-bloom, down-to-his-neck pink, the kind that looks particularly unfair on someone who normally prides himself on his unshakable composure. Remus clears his throat, eyes darting to Sirius for one mortified second before you continue like you haven’t just completely dismantled him.

“Oh!” you say, suddenly remembering yourself. “I brought you something.”

Remus blinks. "You… what?"

You smile wider and reveal the hand you’d hidden behind your back, a small, slightly crushed wildflower. Yellow, with ragged petals and a bent stem, clearly plucked mid-walk or from somewhere inconvenient. Sirius squints. It looks like the kind of flower a child would press between book pages and then forget about for a decade.

“I saw it and it made me think of you,” you say, tone offhanded, like the connection between Remus and a half-wilted flower is the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s pretty.”

Remus stares at you like you've grown a second head.

Then, without saying a word, he takes it. He’s careful, absurdly so,  and before you can flit away again – because you’re already turning back toward the door, likely off to check on whatever it is sunshine people check on – Remus reaches out.

His arm slips around your shoulders, pulling you gently into his side.

It’s awkward at first, mostly because you weren’t expecting it, but then you melt against him like you were built for it. Your head tips to rest against his collarbone, just for a second, before you hum contentedly and pat his chest.

Sirius can’t believe his eyes.

“Be back in a bit,” you say, already halfway out the door again. “Look after it, please!”

The door closes.

There’s a moment of silence.

Remus exhales, the faintest sound of breath escaping as he starts fiddling with the flower. He doesn���t look at Sirius, he can't stand the thought of it. The pink is still climbing up his ears.

Sirius, for his part, stares at him like he's trying to solve a riddle.

“…You’re cuddling now?”

Remus grunts, still very pink. “Shut up.”

Sirius exhales dramatically and leans back against the couch. “Mate...”

Remus only half-hides the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He tucks the flower into the page of his book, precisely, carefully.

Sirius watches this development unfold and mutters, not without fondness, “You poor bastard.”

[prettydaisygirl]

lovely amber would you be interested in writing something about gym bro!james potter? i fear i can’t stop thinking about his muscles 🥵🫦… and i think you’d work magic w this sort of au! maybe things are getting flirty between james and the girl who works at the check in counter at his gym, but would love n appreciate anything! feel free to ignore if inspiration doesn’t strike x 🫶

jolie!!! Thank you so much for this request, I am absolutely obsessed with gymbro!James, I want to bite his biceps plz and thank youuuuu. Hope you enjoy this one <3

gymbro!James Potter x frontdesk!reader who needs to eat breakfast ✿ 950 words

cw: fem!reader, James' biceps are all I can think about, reader is sleepy

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

You don’t bother looking up at the light ‘ding’ that sounds as the front doors slide open. You yawn, sitting back in your chair, having just sat back down from unlocking them. The sound of footsteps head in the direction of your desk, right on time.

“Good morning, James.” You greet, peeking one eye open. You’re exhausted and want to rest your eyes for a little longer but you’d be doing yourself a disservice if you didn’t catch at least a glimpse of him as he walks by.

“Good morning!” A human embodiment of a ray of sunshine even this early in the morning, James Potter beams brightly at you. The fabric of his tank-top is loose, the sleeveless nature of it giving you an unblocked view of his biceps, and even a little bit of the side of his chest. You soak in the view as much as you can regardless of if he notices or not. He steps up to the counter, but doesn’t swipe his card right away. Instead, he says, “I brought you something.”

This catches your attention, making you sit up, rubbing at your eyes a bit. “Oh yeah?” 

He swings his bag around in front of him and opens it, pulling out a brown bag and handing it to you over the counter. It’s warm when you take it, and when you open it, you see it’s a breakfast sandwich.

“James, you didn’t-”

“You mentioned how you don’t usually eat breakfast. You should, though. Remus tells me it’s the most important meal of the day!” He flashes you a wink, and somehow you feel incredibly awake despite the early morning hours. 

“Well… thank you?” You smile back at him, trying to ignore the way your heart seems to be doing jumping jacks in your chest. It almost takes your breath away, how pretty he is. 

“You’re welcome! I’ll see you later!” James waves again as he finally swipes his card, followed by a small beeping sound, and he’s off, ducking away into the locker room. 

You eat your sandwich in silence, eyes focused on James through the glass windows of the gym walls as he lifts. You barely glance up at the rest of the patrons that enter, waving them on once their card beeps. 

James is the perfect entertainment, given that everything he does is hot. Your stomach flutters when he curls his biceps, when he drinks water, when he wipes sweat off, all of it. 

This is a routine for you. James is always the first one in the gym, in the doors right as you unlock them. When you’re stumbling over your feet, trying to get a few more minutes of sleep before your boss shows up, James has already had a protein shake with preworkout and a warm up. You don’t know how he does it but you’re so incredibly grateful he does it in front of you. The breakfast, though, that’s new. He’s said good morning before, the two of you exchanging casual pleasantries, but never more than that. You had mentioned last week that you usually don’t eat breakfast, a combination of the early morning shift and not feeling hungry when you're still waking up. You didn’t think anything of it at the time, but…

He brings you a sandwich the next morning, too.

“Oh, thank you!” You say, more awake this morning when he walks in. You take the bag from his hands, setting it aside and smiling at him. “You really don’t have to.”

“Did you already eat breakfast?” He asks, his hands absent-mindedly playing with one of his sweatbands. 

“Well… no.”

“Then, I did have to.” James smiles again, and he is so bright and beautiful you think he might blind you. “Can’t have you wasting away. Then who would let me in?”

“You know they would replace me the moment I keel over.” You argue, opening the bag to pull out the sandwich, setting it on a napkin next to you. “I don’t even think it would take a day.”

“It wouldn’t be the same without you.” James argues with a shake of his head, his curls bouncing just slightly, mostly held in place by his headband. “I’d have to find a different gym.”

Well, that certainly had your heart racing. 

The third time he brings you breakfast, you give him a look.

“You have to stop doing this.” You say, leaning forward on your elbows to smile up at him, lips glossier than usual. If you actually woke up early to doll up a little bit before you saw him this morning, then who can blame you? “Don’t get me wrong, the sandwich is great, but isn’t this expensive?”

He shrugs with one shoulder, his dark eyes sparkling, and a smile on his lips. “Guess you’ll have to repay me.”

“Oh?” 

“You’ll have to take me out to breakfast sometime.” His words reach you, that twinkle in his eye brighter than before. You find your breath catching. Is he asking you out, by telling you to take him out?

“Okay.” You say with a nod, a little breathless but the both of you brighten further at your agreement. “We can- um- after your workout sometime?”

James sends you a wink and a nod, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “Sounds great, love. See you later!” 

You watch as he walks past you into the locker room, feeling a bit light headed. You’re pretty sure James just asked you to ask him on a date. And you did. 

You’re going to go on a date with James Potter.

You can’t help but blush when he catches you watching him through the windows this time.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[idkyetxoxo]

Two | Dreamy Nights | Little Shadow

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.2k

Warnings - None

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1 week later

It was late. How late, I couldn't say. 

Time had become a strange, shapeless thing measured not in hours or moon cycles, but in feedings, in diapers, in those precious, fleeting minutes of sleep. The kind of sleep that left you more disoriented than rested, but still grateful.

A soft cry pierced the quiet. Not a wail. Just a small, plaintive sound, wet and warm, like a question being asked into the dark.

I stirred, already dragging myself upright before I was fully conscious, my body now hardwired to move at the slightest sound from Kalel. 

I'd barely managed to swing my legs over the edge of the bed when a gentle rustle of wings and shadow signalled Azriel was already up.

Of course he was.

He crossed the room with careful steps, shirtless, hair mussed from sleep, cradling Kalel's tiny body against his chest. His shadows shifted sluggishly around his shoulders, half-asleep themselves as he rocked slowly back and forth, murmuring something soft I couldn't quite hear.

"He's hungry," he said after a moment, his voice hoarse with sleep and worry.

I nodded blearily, managing a sleepy smile as I pulled down the straps of my nightgown and reached for our son. Azriel passed him over with reverent hands, as if Kalel were made of glass and starlight. 

He always did.

As expected, Kalel latched instantly, his little hands fisting into the pooling fabric at my chest, his body relaxing with the familiar rhythm of feeding.

I let out a long, tired sigh, shifting to get more comfortable. 

Azriel didn't return to bed. Instead, he sat across from me, legs folded beneath him, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes stayed on me—and on Kalel.

"You're exhausted," he said softly, watching as my eyes drifted shut between blinks.

"I'm fine," I murmured, a yawn escaping despite my best efforts. I adjusted Kalel gently, trying not to wince at the tenderness. "You can go back to sleep, Az. No point in both of us being awake."

"I don't like that you have to wake up like this—multiple times a night," he replied, ignoring my suggestion entirely. "You shouldn't have to do this alone."

"Well, unless you can learn to produce milk, I don't see that changing anytime soon," I said with a crooked smile, my voice wobbly with exhaustion but still teasing. "You already help with everything else. I couldn't do this without you."

Azriel didn't smile back right away. His jaw worked slightly, like there was something unsaid lodged behind his teeth. 

His shadows stirred, restless and anxious then floated toward me, curling gently into my hair and brushing over my temple like a soothing whisper. 

Kalel suckled quietly, his tiny body warm and heavy in my arms.

"I just..." Azriel began, then stopped, his throat working as he tried again. "I just hate seeing you so tired. You gave everything to bring him here, and now you keep giving. I wish I could take more of the weight."

"You already do," I said softly, reaching out and brushing my fingers along his forearm. "Azriel, you've been here for every feeding, every diaper, every second of the day. You rock him to sleep more gently than I ever could. You barely even blink when he cries—you just move, like you know what he needs before he does."

He looked down, embarrassed by the praise, his shadows curling shyly behind him now.

"I just... love him so much," he murmured, like it surprised him. Like the weight of it still stunned him.

"I know," I whispered. "I do too."

Kalel let out a soft sigh, unlatching with a sleepy grunt as he drifted back into dreams. I adjusted him, pressing a kiss to the crown of his downy head.

"Here," Azriel said quietly, reaching out. "Let me take him. You should rest."

I handed Kalel over, and Azriel moved as if handling precious treasure. He tucked him into the crook of his arm and began to sway again, almost instinctively, humming something under his breath that sounded like a lullaby passed down through shadow and silence.

I watched them from the bed—Azriel, shirtless and tousled, cradling our child with a reverence that made my chest ache. 

Shadows danced across the walls around them, quiet and gentle. Kalel sighed again, utterly content.

This was our rhythm now. Sleep-deprived. Overwhelmed. Raw at the edges.

But gods, it was beautiful.

Azriel caught me watching and smiled, not his rare smirk, not the secretive grin he wore in battle but something soft and real and completely unguarded.

"We're getting the hang of this," I whispered, eyes fluttering closed as the last of my strength slipped away.

"We are," he murmured, rocking Kalel with one arm and brushing a shadow over my cheek with the other. "One night at a time."

The next day passed in a dreamlike haze.

It was the kind of day where time blurred around the edges, where every second felt suspended between reality and that soft, sacred exhaustion that followed bringing a new life into the world. 

Kalel was napping in the next room, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly of lavender and sunshine.

Azriel and I were curled together on the couch, my head resting in his lap while he slowly raked his fingers through my freshly washed hair. 

His shadows fluttered lazily around us, brushing over my skin like a lullaby. The house was quiet, still basking in that rare moment of peace that came between feedings and fussing.

Until a sharp tug of magic stirred the air.

In a sudden ripple of light, two figures winnowed directly into our living room, sending Azriel's shadows flaring and my heart leaping into my throat.

"I brought dinner!" Mor declared, her voice as radiant as her smile. 

She was practically glowing, arms full of takeout bags that smelled suspiciously like spicy lamb stew and honeyed flatbread. 

Her golden curls bounced as she grinned down at us, barely able to contain her excitement.

"And wine," Amren added coolly, stepping in behind her with a trio of dark glass bottles that clinked against one another ominously. 

She set them down with an almost ceremonial air, silver eyes narrowing as she took in the sight of me curled against Azriel, looking half-alive but thoroughly content.

"Kalel's in the next room napping," I said, sitting up and smoothing my shirt. "Though he's due for a feeding soon."

Before I'd even finished the sentence, Mor disappeared in a flurry of red mist and enthusiasm. She returned moments later, cradling the baby like he was spun from starlight.

"He is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," she whispered reverently, bouncing lightly on her heels as she cooed down at him. "I mean—look at those tiny wings!"

Kalel stirred in her arms, a soft sound escaping his lips before settling again, nestled against Mor's chest like he already recognised her warmth.

"He's already a heartbreaker," Mor sighed dramatically, brushing her fingers over his cheek. "It's in his blood."

Amren rolled her eyes. "He's a week old."

"Don't act like you're not also obsessed," I teased gently, watching as Amren's gaze flicked to the baby.

Azriel shifted beside me, amusement twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Want to hold him?"

Amren sniffed, folding her arms. "If I must."

Mor pouted, but reluctantly handed Kalel over, muttering something about needing to check on the dinner bags anyway. 

Amren took the baby with the kind of care she would reserve for a priceless ancient artefact—arms a bit stiff, eyes narrowed in concentration.

"He's... small," she observed dryly, staring down at him like he might combust at any moment.

"Well, duh, he's a baby," Mor called over her shoulder, already rummaging through the food bags. "They usually are."

Azriel chuckled lowly, and I caught the quick exchange of looks between him and Amren—one layered with years of quiet understanding and deeper bonds than either would admit out loud.

A soft curl of Kalel's shadows reached out to Amren, swirling near her wrist like it was testing the waters. Amren blinked down at it, tilting her head as the shadow brushed gently along her sleeve. 

She didn't recoil. She didn't scold. She simply lifted one elegant finger and tapped the little wisp on what might have been its 'nose.'

"Hm," she murmured. "Braver than you, at least." She shot Azriel a smirk, and I swear he flushed.

"Stay for dinner?" I asked, hoping they would but already sensing that Amren wasn't one for long visits.

Before Mor could answer, Amren surprised us all by saying, "No. You two eat. I'll watch the baby. Just so you don't waste away."

With that, she swept toward the back room with Kalel in her arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Terrifying," Mor whispered, laughing as she leaned over to press a kiss to my cheek. "But I kind of love her."

"She adores him," I whispered, my heart swelling at the thought of Amren, the ancient and mysterious, pacing a quiet room with our newborn in her arms.

"She'd kill for him," Azriel added, voice low and certain.

And then he turned back to me.

I didn't even have time to blink before his mouth was on mine, warm, soft, and slow. He kissed me like he had all the time in the world, like there was no one else in the room, like he hadn't been aching for this all day.

When he pulled back, I was breathless. 

"Eat," he ordered gently, reaching for the food Mor had unpacked before disappearing herself into the next room.

"I'd rather kiss you," I murmured, still dazed.

A flush rose in his cheeks, just the barest tint of colour, but it was enough to make me grin.

"Tough luck," he muttered. "When was the last time you ate?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just lifted a forkful of lamb and pressed it toward my lips. I opened obediently, chewing as he watched me with that ridiculous mix of exasperation and affection that I'd come to treasure.

"Why should I have to remember," I said as I swallowed, "when I have my big, strong mate to do it for me?"

Azriel just shook his head with a smile, but his hand never stopped moving—feeding me piece by piece, brushing my hair back, the picture of quiet, unwavering love.

Mor and Amren had left not long ago, the echo of their clinking wine glasses still lingering faintly in the air. 

The house had settled into stillness again, the kind of hush that only comes at the end of a long day filled with love and new memories.

I hummed softly to myself as I stepped out of the bathing chamber, the scent of rose oil still clinging to my skin. 

The pain in my body, so sharp, so constant had finally begun to dull into something manageable. Aching, yes, but no longer unbearable. I felt lighter somehow, even if still fragile.

Padding barefoot into the bedroom, I paused at the doorway, heart catching at the sight before me.

Azriel stood over Kalel's bassinet, shirtless and still barefoot, the muscles of his back shifting beneath golden skin as he leaned slightly over the tiny sleeping form. 

One of his shadows curled around his wrist like a silken ribbon, another gently flicked across Kalel's blanket, as if soothing him in sync with Azriel's heartbeat.

"You're hovering," I teased softly, my voice barely above a whisper as I smiled and crossed the room.

He glanced back over his shoulder, and the look he gave me—it nearly unravelled me. That soft, aching smile he reserved for only a few in the world. That expression like he was watching the moon rise and set all at once.

"He's fine," I added, sliding under the covers and into the nest of pillows that had become my sanctuary. "Go to sleep, Shadowsinger."

"I will... in just a minute," he murmured, turning his gaze back to Kalel.

I sighed, the good kind, the full-bellied kind that came from love and exhaustion and peace. My eyes fluttered shut, the warmth of the blankets and the fading pain lulling me closer to sleep.

But just before I drifted off, I heard his voice again. Low. Gentle. 

The voice he rarely let others hear. The one he reserved for the rarest things, truths, fears and now tenderness.

"Hey there, little one," Azriel whispered, so soft I wasn't sure if I was dreaming it.

My breath hitched, eyes still closed.

"You have your mother's smile," he went on, his voice roughened by awe. "I saw it earlier—just a twitch of your lips when you were dreaming. Same curve. Same softness. Just like hers."

The room was quiet again for a heartbeat.

"I used to wonder if I'd ever have this," he confessed. "If I'd ever be enough to be someone's father... someone's safe place. But you? You make me want to be the best version of myself every time I look at you."

A pause. A soft rustling sound maybe him brushing his fingers over Kalel's hair, or letting a shadow dance across his tiny hands.

"You won't ever have to wonder if you're loved. Not for a single moment. Not while I breathe."

I smiled through the sleepy haze, emotion swelling in my chest so powerfully I thought it might spill out of me.

Azriel's voice dipped even softer, barely a breath.

"I'll teach you everything I know—how to fly, how to listen to the wind, how to wield shadows. But most of all, I'll teach you how to love with your whole soul... because your mother? She taught me that."

Silence again.

When I finally opened my eyes just a crack, I saw him kneeling beside the bassinet now, his hand gently resting on Kalel's chest, his wings tucked tight around his frame. Shadows moved softly around him, not guarding him, but holding him. 

A man of darkness, bathed in light.

And just before sleep took me completely, I heard him whisper one last thing.

"You are my beginning, little shadow. Not my end."

A/n - If you thought I was going to write Azriel as anything other than the most helpful, soft, doting dad in the entire universe... you are very mistaken xx

It's acc so refreshing to write fluff and comfort for once instead of drowning us all in angst :)

This part was basc baby Kalel meeting Mor and Amren! I debated including Feyre and Nyx too, but ultimately I love the idea of Kalel being the first baby in the Inner Circle—it makes everything feel more monumental, more intimate, more special. Every interaction feels like a first!!

Thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts <3

Little Shadow tag list - @queenoffeysand @scatteredstardustt @thisfireheart @serena-capella @anon1227 @tothestarsandwhateverend @saamanthaag3 @moonlitlavenders @tele86 @whump-loverz @hyruledemigod20

[manycolouredglass]

here's to a forever with you

author's note: you can thank tobin heath retiring for this one. be grateful it's not pure angst and it's actually kind of fluffy. wives!pazzi with a couple of rascals, paige is announcing her retirement. some angst, but i promise it's all very bittersweet, with emphasis on the sweet. this is really more inspired by dt and penny than anything else. i'm going to entertain a bunch of my delusions for this one. seriously. delusional. i'm gonna need everyone to suspend their disbelief. don't worry, this is all set in the very far future.

wc: 5k

tw: swearing and children

paige leaned back on the warm leather, tipping her head to the bright, spotless sky. her eyes gently closed, as she listened to the chains creak next to her and felt the grass brush the top of her feet. the swing she was on rocked back and forth softly, like it was trying to let her mind slow down with it.

she remembered when she convinced azzi to get this swing. it was one of the bigger ones, one that looked like a bench swinging from two ropes, and paige was convinced that it would be the perfect addition to their backyard. azzi had brought up that they had a whole mini playground set for the kids that included two regular swings that worked perfectly fine. paige had just smiled and said that this was different. she knew she didn't have to try that hard, azzi already had on that lopsided smirk that meant that she was going to agree with whatever paige suggested but was pretending she was stricter than that.

really, paige had simply wanted something that was constantly in motion like she was. she wanted a place that would keep moving even when she stopped.

paige had had two knee surgeries in the last year. and she felt that fact every day. when she was younger, she thought she would know that she had to stop playing because she physically couldn't do it anymore. she didn't expect this.

it took so many more hours to stretch and prepare her body for another bruising game. and all the the training to keep her in top form was costing her moments in her life that she couldn't get back. she wanted to bend down and pick up her kids without her knees screaming at her. she wanted to crawl across the bed and blow annoying raspberries into her wife's stomach. she wanted to walk the dog with her family without every step punishing her.

basketball was slowly taking things from her life. she didn't want to wake up one morning and find everything gone. she didn't want to resent the game that saved her life. so she knew.

this was it.

one last season.

_____ ___ _____

azzi had retired a couple seasons earlier. she had numerous business plans in the work and she had wanted to spend more time with their kids, so she knew it was time to let it go. some people might have thought it was easier for her. they assumed that azzi didn't live for basketball, not like paige did. but azzi had spent the last 3 decades shifting her veins into the perfect shooter, into a body, mind, and soul built for the game. she had sacrificed so much and she had found so much joy in it. none of it was ever going to leave her gently.

everyone else had seen her small smile and gentle wave after she had officially announced the retirement. but paige had been there when she finally broke down in the restless night, tears soaking through paige's sleep shirt. she just held her, rubbing small circles in the base of her neck, whispering easy truths like "you're still the best player in the nation."

no one knew how hard you had to fight to let something like this go.

paige thinks it might kill her slowly.

she slid open the back door and padded into the kitchen. azzi was at the sink, washing some strawberries. multicolored light shines through one of their stained glass windows, bouncing off azzi's curls and creating a sort of halo around her head. an angel, paige thought. which wasn't a surprise, she's been thinking that since she was 15. an angel, fallen from heaven, who chose her from some reason. yeah, she knows she's lucky.

azzi turns her head at the sound, gently smirking. "you done wallowing, bueckers?"

paige didn't respond with words, just walked up behind azzi and wrapped her arms around her waist, letting her forehead fall onto azzi's shoulder.

azzi's skin was so warm and soft, tinged with the scent of salted caramel and something so entrancingly azzi. if she could choose where she wanted to die, it would be right here.

paige inhaled, reaching for the words she never thought she'd have to say. felt them slice their way out of her.

"az...i think this season is it for me."

azzi stopped moving, breath catching. she turned slowly in paige's arms, tears already pricking in her eyes. paige let her hands move upwards, pulling azzi closer. azzi was looking at her like the ground was shifting from underneath them, and paige just knew that azzi understood every single feeling burning in the back of her throat. it was terrible, but paige was so grateful that their hearts were so intertwined that they broke together too.

she felt azzi's hands on her cheek, thumb swiping gently at the tears streaming down her own face.

"baby."

"i gotta let it go, and i don't know how. i don't know how to do this, az."

"well, the first thing is, you don't have to do it alone. we're here for you. i'm here for you."

paige closed her eyes and let azzi coax her somewhere her body felt a little lighter.

"the second thing is, you don't have to do anything right now. we can take this slow as you need to."

her thumb stilled, and paige opened her eyes to find azzi looking at her with so much love, it almost knocked the air out of her lungs. the first time paige saw that look was when they won the natty together, like the love and pride was spilling out of her so fast she couldn't stop it.

"i am so proud of you, p. you're the strongest person i know."

"you're the strongest person i know. couldn't do this without you, babe."

the sound of feet pattering down the corridor broke the two lovers out of their reverence, and paige felt an involuntary smile sneak onto her face.

"mama, mommy!"

paige reached down and picked up maya, their youngest, nuzzling her nose in the side of her cheek. maya let out a bubbly giggle at the motion, and paige's heart grew two sizes larger.

"mommy, stop."

paige gently tickled the sides maya's stomach, letting every laugh stich her soul back together. "never, peaches."

their eldest, jordan, latches herself on azzi's leg and azzi doesn't even blink, just reaches for the washed strawberries on the counter.

"want some, baby?"

jordan tilts her nose up and shakes her head aggressively, always with a touch of drama.

azzi side eyes paige. "like mother, like daughter."

"my kid twin would pick trufru over real fruit, so i don't know about that."

azzi doesn't justify that with a response, just crouches down and feeds jordan a strawberry. some of the juice from the fruit stains jordan's cheek, in that way only kids can get sticky substances in the most random of places. azzi licks her thumb, swipes at jordan's cheek, and places the softest kiss there.

paige doesn't think she'll ever get used to watching azzi raise their kids. it's everything she'd ever wanted when she was 17, lying next to azzi and staring at the ceiling, hoping that whatever this feeling that strangled her heart when azzi was near would disappear. but it only got stronger and more insistent until finally, she caved. and god, is she so thankful she did, because she doesn't know what she did to deserve every dream she ever had, all alongside the girl that changed her life with her smile and her jumpshot.

maya decides that she hasn't had enough attention yet and grabs at paige's cheeks with her tiny hands.

"oof, peach, i can't talk."

maya does not care. "so squishy."

paige sighs. "death by human stress ball. it's a good way to go."

azzi hands her a strawberry as jordan tries to climb up the counter and reach the bowl. they needed to get that kid into some kind of sport to burn off a little of that gremlin energy. paige isn't a saint, and she hopes a little selfishly that jordan'll latch onto basketball, just like her.

"you're so dramatic, bueckers."

paige drops a kiss on azzi's lips. "only for you, fudd."

"ewww, mommy."

yeah, she could get used to having more of this.

_____ ___ _____

there was nothing quite like the chase center arena. this place truly lived and breathed basketball. paige could feel it in the walls, just like she feels it in her bones. there was a reason they called it ballhalla. it was heaven for a player like her.

she never expected to end up on the valkyries team, but azzi had got traded there in her 3rd year, right when paige's contract finished. the timing was too perfect not to try. plus, she really did love purple. (azzi looked really good in the uniform, which isn't really that significant cause she looks good in every uniform.) by some miraculous grace of god and an insanely talented representation team, they managed to completed a complicated three way deal that resulted in paige ending up in the bay. she sent her agent a way too expensive arrangement of sweet wines and smelly cheeses.

the valkyries had reunited the backcourt that everyone had only got to witness for one season at uconn, and it created a lot of buzz. paige couldn't help looking at the headlines and worrying that the dream that their uconn selves had lived was too much for their present selves to carry. she knew how quickly the media and the fans could turn on you if you didn't deliver and she didn't want any of the extra sound to warp what she had with azzi.

but azzi, in all her infuriatingly solid calmness had simply looked at her and said, "it's still us, p. they can say whatever they want to, but we'll still be the best backcourt duo in the nation."

paige looked up at her. "still riding till the wheels fall off?"

azzi smiled. "always."

all the useless chatter was proven wrong anyway, as it always was. paige and azzi still had that undeniable chemistry on the floor, the same chemistry that drew two young players together on that usa basketball team. the same chemistry that made people think, it's not just basketball, it's like their souls are always looking for each other.

paige and azzi had taken the valks to the semi finals that first year, and won the championship the next.

she still remembered how big azzi's smile was that day, dimples so deep you could've hidden a star in there. there was champagne clinging to her eyelashes, laughter curling in the air, and if paige could've frozen time, this would've been the second she chose to live in. she had tried to kiss every inch of azzi's skin that night, forever chasing the taste of winning together.

there was a mural of the 2031 team that had won it all for the first time on the walls of the chase center. paige had found herself staring at it multiple times over the years, still remembering that smile. today, on the first day of her last training camp, was no different.

someone came up from behind her, hooking their arm around her neck and dragging her down. paige looked at her side and was met with flau'jae johnson's signature sideways smile.

"come on, old ass. gotta show the rookies what the w is made of."

"you're literally only one year younger than me,"

"yeah, but you've been here forever and have won like a thousand chips with that wife of yours. pretty sure that makes you much older than me."

"that makes no sense."

"shh, bueckers, just accept it and move on."

paige shakes her head and throws open the gym doors. most of the players were already starting to settle in and warm up. well, here comes the hard part.

she had already told natalie about her plan to retire and the coach had just smiled and hugged her like she knew what paige was going to say before she even walked through the door. paige had cried for the third time that day. now the next step was telling her team.

coach blew the whistle and everyone formed a circle in the center of the gym. natalie began with her regular training camp spiel that paige had heard at least 50 times in her life, so she took the chance to look around at her newer teammates. she immediately recognized mila bazzell, napheesa collier's daughter and the valk's first draft pick. the kid had a deadly jumpshot that was almost as pretty as azzi's and a fadeaway that was pretty impossible to guard. she was soaking in every word coach was saying, with the same determined expression her mother used to wear when she was wrestling for a shot in the paint.

paige remembers when mila was just a little kid, cheering courtside for her mama. and now she was here as the future of the valkyries team, someone who could keep up the team's reputation for clutch dagger shots and the unguardable middy. flau'jae still had a couple good years of being the dynamic player that she always was, and dom malonga, the clinical legend in the paint, was sure to create some incredible plays and offer some much needed veteran presence.

this was the team she was leaving behind. they were going to be okay. more than okay.

"alright, that's all i've got. before we get started, paige has an announcement."

paige blinked at the sound of her name, slowly realizing that everyone was looking at her. here goes nothing.

"right. hi everyone. i am so excited to be playing with each and every single one of you. i've been on this team for most of my career and i'm really proud of what we've built here. i wish i could be a valk for the rest of my life, but the ball has got stop bouncing sometime."

flau'jae gasped. "paige, you're...?"

she nodded. "this is going to be my last season in the w. guess you were right, johnson. i am getting too old for this."

the whole gym was quiet. paige tried to keep her smile from wobbling.

flau'jae was the first to move, rushing to hug her. "goddamnit, paige."

everyone she played with last season quickly followed suit, all dogpiling on top of her into a giant group hug. paige could see natalie starting to tear up and then her own vision started to blur with her own tears.

damn. she had a bet going with azzi on whether she was going to cry today. she hated doing the dishes.

eventually, everyone let her out of their vice grip and natalie started barking out some drills, directing people to their positions. paige took her place at the perimeter, rock in her hand like it was always meant to be there.

dom elbowed her side playfully as she walked by. "one last season, huh?"

paige smirked. "let's make it a good one."

_____ ___ _____

her last season was a pretty good one, ending when they lost the fifth game of the semi finals series against the lynx, led by sarah strong. paige couldn't think of a better person to lose to.

paige had dropped 35 pts and 8 assists, a season high for her, and the entire team had played well. it just wasn't in the cards for them. she would have loved to add a seventh championship to her resume, but she was also secretly a little glad they didn't win. paige had shared every single one of her major career accomplishments with azzi. the natty, her six championships, and every gold medal was fought for by her side. paige didn't want to find out what winning without azzi felt like.

she watched as the lynx held onto each other, jumping up and down like they had already won the chip. and even though she lost, all she could do was smile. this was her last game of professional basketball, and it was so much fun. she was going to miss this so fucking much.

"paige, you recorded a season high in tonights game. how does it feel to lose despite your stellar performance?"

twenty plus years in the league and the questions still haven't gotten any better.

"honestly, i feel okay. sure it was a loss, but it was a well fought one. my team played some pure, unselfish and beautiful basketball tonight, and that's what i'm going to remember. they really made this game a good one to end it on."

the reporter stared at her. "...to end it on?"

paige smiled. "this was my last professional game. i'm officially retiring."

the entire arena exploded.

mics and cameras came rushing up to her, and paige suddenly regretted her decision to make this a surprise. this was one of those moments when she wished cd's media training stuck a little harder.

after a good thirty minutes, paige finally managed to disentangle herself from the media brigade and sneak away to find her favorite people waiting in the tunnel.

jordan and maya were both renacting parts of the game for azzi, or at least jordan was and maya was trying to copy everything her sister was doing. both of them had purple glitter sprinkled throughout their hair, valks merch on their tiny bodies, and purple 5s painted on their cheeks.

jordan noticed her first. "mommy!"

paige drops to her knees (yes, it hurt) and both kids barrelled into her. jordan let go of her almost immediately, full of excitable energy, while maya was happy enough clinging to paige's chest.

"mommy, you were so good out there. and that shot you made when there were three people around you but you just turned around and swish."

jordan punctuates the sound by jumping a little and flicking her wrist, a passable imitation of paige's own form. paige simply smiles at her daughter and hoped the love didn't leak out of her eyes again.

"you know mommy always hits those shots. isn't that right, middy princess?"

paige looks up and locks eyes with her wife, who was wearing her #5 jersey. azzi always looked good in whatever she was wearing, but paige was always a bit obsessed (and slightly feral) for when she wore paige's number.

azzi loved to show up and show the world who she was here for, and paige loved that about her. maybe a little too much.

she stood up and wrapped her free arm around azzi's waist, letting her head fall into the crook of azzi's neck. paige always found herself here after the big moments, folding herself into azzi and letting her carry the weight for a bit. azzi lifted her hand to cradle the back of paige's head. paige felt azzi's next words more than heard them.

"you were so good out there, p. so beautiful."

"i missed you next to me. i always do."

azzi moves back so she could look paige in the eye. "i missed being there with you."

paige let out a small hum, and leans over to leave a soft, lingering, kiss on azzi's cheek. she feels something tugging on her shorts and she looks down to find jordan's big doe eyes that were a carbon copy of azzi's looking up at her.

"can i make a shot in the basket? i wanna make one just like you."

paige hands maya over to azzi and reaches for jordan's hand. "of course, peanut."

it takes her a second to hunt down the game ball, which was already stolen by the lynx team in the middle of their celebration. she pulls jordan into the middle of the paint and hands her the rock.

"do not let go of the ball until i say, okay? no matter what."

jordan nods at her, face full of determination, which paige matches immediately. she gently moves jordan in front of her.

"ready?"

jordan holds the ball up, ready to shoot, but before she can, paige grabs her waist and hoists her onto her shoulders. jordan lets out a laugh and paige gives herself a mental high five.

"mommy, this is not how you make your shots."

"trust me, this way is better."

jordan tries to glare at her but it comes out looking more soft and squishy than she probably intended. paige pointedly ignores it.

"come on, peanut. make your shot."

she throws the ball at the basket with virtually no form, and still, miraculously manages to get it to hit the rim. the kid might have some natural talent after all. paige looks around for her wife who was currently trading funny faces with maya.

"azzi! rebound please!"

azzi spots the ball before she spots them. she scoops up the ball and hands it over to jordan, whose hands start fidgeting immediately

paige rubs one of jordan's legs. "peanut, you've got this."

azzi sees the hesitation in her daughter's eyes and recognizes it immediately. she's seen it in the mirror too many ties to count.

she steps a little closer. "breathe, baby. it's just us. just focus on the ball and the basket. nothing else matters."

jordan closes her eyes for two seconds, and opens them. she sets up her shot more confidently and lets it fly.

azzi smiles before the ball even falls through the basket. "look at you, baby. best shooter in the nation."

paige bounces jordan on her shoulders, relishing in every giggle her baby girl lets out. "i think the best shooter is still your mama, but if you keep practicing, i'm sure you'll beat her."

azzi lifts jordan off paige's shoulders and sets her down. "i know you will."

_____ ___ _____

"so i don't know if anyone remembers, but azzi and i won uconn's twelfth natty together, our first title out of seven. the most championships in wnba history, by the way."

azzi's probably rolling her eyes at her right now.

"everyone's asked me about that day, about that season, at least a thousand times over my career. makes sense, it was the fairytale ending to my college career, 5 years full of injury and obstacles that finally led to what everyone wanted most. but what i remember the most was azzi the night before. the way she looked me in the eye and said 'we're winning it tomorrow. i am not letting you leave here without a natty, paige bueckers.' "

paige blinked, trying to stop herself from being transported back to that hotel room when azzi had looked at her so earnestly and promised her everything.

"to those who know azzi, y'all know that she can kind of get in her head about these kind of things, but that night there was no doubt in her face and i knew, if she had to take down the entire south carolina team herself, she would. which she basically did end up doing."

"i fell in love with azzi's game first. the way she was so calm and collected on the floor, completely unshakeable. a monster on defense with the smoothest game i'd ever seen. and of course, a shot that's taken my breath since i was fifteen. i've never lied when i said she was the best player in the nation. she was back then and she is right now. just as a fan of basketball, watching azzi play has been one of the greatest things i've ever witnessed."

"then i realized that her heart was the same way, so strong and steady and unbreakable. her consistency was what got me, the way she showed up in the same way, every single day, no matter what. she made everyone around her better just being herself, grounded in her ability and her faith in her team. she was kind in the way that made everything easier, flow better. she was magic. and really there was no hope for me after that. i was gone."

paige smiled at azzi, wide and unforgiving, and azzi ducked her head, blush creeping in by her ears. so cute.

"she was my dream girl, gorgeous and could beat me in a shooting contest. i was always going to marry her."

the crowd cheered.

"today, we're hanging up the jersey of one of the best to play the game, probably the greatest shooter it'll ever see. it has been such a honor to watch you achieve every dream by your side. and i am so excited for the future that we're still building together. i love you so fucking much, az."

paige needs to wrap this up before she starts sobbing into the mic.

"here's to the princess. let's give her a bow."

the crowd erupted at that, everyone standing to their feet. paige walked over to azzi, handing over the mic before placing a small kiss on her lips. there were a tear running down azzi's face which paige wiped away.

"had to make me cry, huh?"

"wouldn't have been the perfect jersey retirement with some waterworks."

azzi got up to go to the floor, and paige took her seat, lifting maya into her lap and giving jordan a high five.

she mumbles into the mic while finding her position. "why did i let paige go first, now i gotta top that."

the crowd laughs lightly at that.

"don't worry, you've seen paige and i in media together. i don't like to talk as much as her, so we won't be here for much longer."

paige feels a laugh punch out of that, azzi's dry humor constantly surprising her.

"in 2013, gary knox went to a game at hopkins high school and saw a twelve year old paige play. he then tweeted that one line that we've all seen, 'remember the name: paige bueckers.' he even included a picture of paige in a very fashionable orange headband and that signature smile of hers."

azzi smirks at her when she notices the way paige cringes. paige just wishes everyone would stop bringing up the way she looked in the 2010s.

"that was the first time someone went online and acknowledged paige's greatness, but it would be far from the last. paige's name has been in the same sentence as the word 'goat' since her freshman year. and she's proven again and again, with her championships, gold medals, various accolades, that she deserves the label."

"but what i remember isn't how she was the greatest of all time. it was how she was the greatest person of all time. she was always the first to check on her teammates, always willing to drop everything to make sure that they were okay. she stood up for the people she believed in and the people who believed in her. out of everything, what everyone who's met paige remembers about her is her beautiful soul and kind heart."

azzi stopped, taking a deep breath. her voice was a bit more vulnerable after that. she looked directly at paige, tears brimming her eyes.

"the valks had actually reached out to me a two years ago and asked if they could retire my jersey. but i told them to wait until you retired because this is where i want to be for the rest of eternity. right next to you. 535 forever, watching over the team we helped build together."

"paige madison bueckers, the love of my life, the mother of my children, and my basketball goat, you really are one of the best of us and it is one of greatest joys of my life to have my jersey retired alongside yours. thank you for everything, baby."

paige can't help herself after that. she rushes towards her wife, wrapping her in the tightest hug she could and burying her face into the crook of azzi's neck. both of her kids follow suit, tucking their tiny bodies in the small spaces between paige and azzi.

they just held each other.

the crowd fell away entirely, leaving only two jerseys, 5 and 35, hanging overhead.

_____ ___ _____

sunlight streamed in through the window, harshly dragging paige to wakefulness.

she grunts, sitting up with the gracefulness of a baby hippo. goddamn, would it kill azzi to close the blinds every once in a while she thinks, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

the bathroom door bursts open and out walks the very girl occupying her thoughts. azzi had on a cream blouse that was tucked into a matching pair of slacks, all perfectly tailored. white had always looked absolutely delectable on azzi's caramel skin and paige can feel her brain short-circuit at the sight. not to mention, she's wearing her number 5 necklace that always make paige think mine, mine, mine.

"good, you're awake."

paige just looks at her kind of dumbly. "huh."

"i've got a meeting in thirty, so i'll drop maya at daycare. jordan's got basketball camp today, so you need to get her breakfast and drop her off. then i need someone to pick up maya from day care, and pick up some food for dinner tonight. got that?"

it is too early in the morning for this. "uh, huh."

azzi pecks her cheek and paige leans into the touch like she always does. she grabs her stuff and leaves to deal with maya who has somehow already started to cry.

paige kicks off her blankets. "man, i thought retirement would be more relaxing."

[yasministration]

mobility exercises - oliver wood

summary: oliver wood doesn't expect to walk onto the quidditch pitch to find the slytherin team finishing up their post workout stretches. nor does he expect to be flirted with by their captain wc: 1.3k+ cw: a little suggestive

“Okay, stretch all the way up, touch the sky - if you’re not feeling it in your muscles, you’re not trying hard enough… Now keeping your legs straight, bend down and touch the floor. Stretch those hamstrings. If it hurts too much, you can open your legs a little so you can lay your hands flat on the ground.”

When Oliver Wood booked the pitch after the Slytherin quidditch team, the last thing he expected to guide his team towards was a team post-practice stretching session, led by non other than the captain of the team herself. The captain who was weirdly flexible. Now, he and his team were staring with amused expressions and slacked jaws, unsure what to do.

“And now spread your legs a little,” A few members of your team cackled, but you promptly ignored them, “And fold your arms and just swing your torso from side to side. Let those shoulders relax.”

“That’s how they all stay so mobile then.” Commented Fred from next to Oliver, grinning. Oliver gulped, admiring as you instructed your team to sit down, stretching your legs as far to the side as possible and leaning forward to place your elbows on the ground in front of you, smiling as you watched your male teammates attempt to replicate your movements. “Do not bend your knees! Come on Draco, you’re thirteen! You should be more flexible than the rest of us.”

“Watch out Cap, Wood’s taking note of your stretching routine as we speak.” Your head snapped back toward the entrance of the quidditch pitch, eyebrows pinching together when you caught sight of the gryffindor team standing near the entrance. “What time is it?” You asked, pushing yourself up to your feet and sighing when Oliver took a few steps towards you. “It’s already 6.” You straightened up, bringing a hand up to rub over your face as you turned to face the Gryffindor captain. Clearing your throat, you avoided the eyes of the other gryffindor players, focusing on your classmate instead. “Would you mind if we just finished stretching while you guys warmed up? We’ll be like, seven minutes. Max.”

Oliver chuckled, his eyes fluttering behind you. “Yeah, sure. We don’t mind the free entertainment.” You followed his gaze, eyes hardening as you yelled “Knees, Draco!”

“It hurts!”

“Then don’t open your legs so wide!”

You turned back to face Oliver, grinning. “Thanks, Wood. We’ll be out by the time you guys begin tactics. Okay, butterfly!” Marcus immediately followed your order, folding his knees and pressing his feet together, fluttering his legs. The rest of your teammates mimicked the movement, groaning at the stretch in their limbs. You joined them on the grass, pushing your knees down as far as they could go.

A few meters away from you and your team, the Weasley twins both turned to face Oliver with matching expressions in their face. He glanced at them, face flushing as he mumbled “What?” “Since when do you let anyone on the pitch when you’ve booked it?” Pressed George, raising an eyebrow. “She asked nicely.” The twins hummed, entirely unconvinced, and Katie clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “If I remember correctly, you threatened to hex Davies last week, and he was being terribly kind too.”

“Start running laps around the pitch.”

They hadn’t gotten five minutes into their warmup when your team stood unanimously, grabbing your brooms and making your way to the changing rooms. You waved a hand at Oliver, and he smiled at you, huffing as he ran past you. You giggled quietly, pushing the door to the slytherin girls’ changing rooms. Luckily for you, being the only girl in the team had its perks, and you could take as long as you wanted to shower and get changed after practice, not having to worry about holding up the showers for everyone.

You took your time showering, lathering soap on your body and shampoo through your hair. The changing room was kept clean, the floors dry and cubicles empty after you put your things away. You did your hair routine before packing all your belongings in your heavy duffel bag, making sure not to forget your broom, lying abandoned on a bench.

When you finally left the changing room, you were surprised to see the entire Gryffindor team on the ground, chugging eagerly from their water bottles. You searched for Oliver in the small crowd, chewing on your bottom lip when you spotted him, jersey clinging onto his sweaty muscles, back flexing as he ran a hand through his hair. “Are you planning on stealing our tactics by ogling at Wood all day?” Your head snapped towards the sound of the teasing voice, eyes widening at the sight of the Weasley twins, who looked like they’d won the lottery. “You never know, I might be a legilimens.”

A call of your name had you spinning around, waving a hand up awkwardly at the sight of Oliver trotting towards you. “What are you still doing here? Your entire team left ages ago.”

“Making the most of the empty changing rooms. The showers here are so ridiculously spacious compared to our dorms, so I like to spoil myself a little.”

“It took you forty five minutes to shower?”

“Well, you know, I had to do my hair and stuff.”

“Sore muscles slowed you down, eh?”

You scoffed, playfully rolling your eyes. “Not sure if you saw, but I have some amazing stretches that make my muscles immune to soreness.”

“Does stretching actually do that?” Chimed in Harry, fully aware that he was interrupting some sort of chemistry happening between you and Oliver. Oliver broke eye contact with you to briefly glare at the younger boy, who smiled boyishly at him.

“Yeah. I’d offer to give you guys a little workshop, but, you know. I have to make sure slytherin has the most agile players at hogwarts.”

“Don’t worry. As long as Gryffindor has the fittest ones.” Fred winked at you, and you laughed. Oliver’s jaw clenched, and he cleared his throat. “You want Gryffindor to have the fittest players then get in your brooms. Break’s over.” Oliver’s strict tone made you swallow thickly, and you watched at his teammates begrudgingly complied. You were happy to see that Oliver stayed in front of you, watching you watch his team. “I’ll let you steal some of our tactics if you let me steal some of your mobility exercises.”

“Don’t worry about my tactics, Wood. But I can show you some mobility exercises any time. Just come find me.”

Oliver spluttered, face going red. You grinned eyes twinkling with mischief. You stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning your lips close to his ear. “And, I’m not so sure about gryffindor having the fittest players in general, but their captain is definitely the fittest player I’ve seen.” You pulled away just in time to see Olivers’s flustered face, mouth gaping in surprise.

Laughing quietly, you stepped away from him, spinning on your heels and announcing loudly “You know where to find me for those stretches, Wood!”

From the air, his teammates cheered loudly. Oliver squinted his eyes at you, glaring playfully when you glanced at him from over your shoulder. You knew this would distract his teammates for long enough to stray them off their practice schedule. To make up for it though, he tried getting his teammates to do stretches after practice.

Oliver stared at them, wincing as his muscles pulled uncomfortably. Neither he nor anyone else knew what they were doing.

“Go shower, maybe I really should ask about those stretches.” Oliver said the last bit of his sentence mostly to himself, but it brought the most reaction from his friends. Angelina winked as she passed him, echoing your past words “Yeah, you know where to find her, Wood.”

taglist:  @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @matcha-kitty13, @thenasoneshots, @slytherin-princess-x, @bxuzi, @rory-cakes, @dlljdhsh, @girlontheblock, @5sospenguinqueen, @bluebvrriee, @aouoo, @spider–girl, @fandomhoe101, @user010380, @simp-for-fiction, @selenewowww, @paytonluvxx, @sharkers00, @joonbread, @rhettsluvr, @gr1mesgirl, @iluvhrj

[street-smarts00]

Drabble: Hypotheticals

Clark Kent x Reader

Established relationship, fluff

A/N: I watched Superman (twice) and I’m obsessed. This convo came to me while I was at work the other day. I’m still working on Bucky Barnes fics don’t worry. Sadly I’m kinda busy but I'm trying to write every day!

The room was quiet. A gentle, peaceful quiet that didn’t demand anything of you.

Neither of you had said anything in the last ten minutes. Just laying on your couch, resting your head on Clark’s chest. Your fingers were busy tracing over the back of his hand.

“Hey, Clark,” you broke the silence.

He hummed in acknowledgement.

“Have you ever watched Superman fly?”

“Yeah I have, a bunch of times. Why?” He asked, his voice cracking at the end in that cute awkward way it always did.

You continued tracing his hand. “Just seems cool.”

“What? Flying?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. You paused for a second, thinking. “I wish I could fly.”

He shifted to get a better look at you. “Really?”

“Ever since I was little. It was one of my biggest fantasies as a kid,” you confessed meeting his eyes. “Every time I’d go on the swings at the boardwalk or a carnival, I’d imagine I was flying.”

The corners of his lips turned up into a soft smile. “What would you do if you could fly?”

“Probably be late for work a lot less,” you chuckled.

Clark matched your laugh. It was quiet, but you felt it against his chest. His glasses fell slightly down his nose and he pushed them back up. After, his hand resumed its previous spot, intertwined with yours.

“I’m not sure,” you finally answered.

You sat with his question in silence. Your eyes returned to his hand as you began tracing it again.

He kept his eyes on you though. Watching you with a fond expression that matched just how enamored he was with you.

“What about you?” you inquired, turning back to him. “What would you do if you could fly?”

Clark didn’t have to think very hard about his answer. For someone who really could fly, he didn’t say one of the many things he’s done before. Save a cat from a tree, fly across the world, or even view earth from space. Instead, he said what he’s currently planning to do once he tells you he’s Superman.

“I’d take you with me.” His voice was soft and sincere. “So you could live out your fantasy.”

Your cheeks turned pink as you smiled at him.

“Have I ever told you you’re the sweetest person ever?” You tried to hide how bashful he made you, but he could tell. He always heard the way your heart skipped a beat and sped up when he said things like that.

Clark squinted and pursed his lips, playing along and pretending to ponder the question. “Once or twice.”

He brought your intertwined hands up to his mouth and pressed his lips to the back of your hand.

Your smile brightened, “well, I appreciate the hypothetical offer.”

That's the thing though. To Clark, it wasn’t hypothetical.

He wants to take you flying with him. Wants to watch the surprise and shock on your face when he first picks you up. He wants to see the awe as your feet lift off the ground. The excitement as the reality of the moment sinks in.

He can’t wait for the day he can go flying with you.

But first he has to tell you he’s Superman.

He always knew he could trust you. But, like some people have told him, he can be a bit too trusting right off the bat. So, he decided to wait. Wait and see where this goes with you.

Maybe he’s done waiting.

“What if I told you I could fly?”

“I’d be really jealous,” you replied immediately, not taking him seriously.

He smiled, finding your response amusing. “I’m being serious.”

You turned your head to look up at him. Your eyebrows furrowed in disbelief and confusion.

“I really can fly,” he affirmed. His voice was deeper, like he was speaking truthfully (because he was).

Something in between a scoff and a laugh left your mouth. “What are you gonna tell me next? You’re Superman?”

You felt his hand tense against yours. His lips formed a fine line as he let the question hang in the air. His face had an awkward expression that read yeah, I kinda am.

As you stared at him your eyes went wide and mouth agape.

“Clark!”

[camficdiner]

[1.1], [2.9] Luke and her have been friends since they were little and in this Quinn and jack catch them fucking, [3.3], [4.3]

☕️ cams fic diner — order 120

🍒 thank you to the ones who love chaos, tension, and getting caught. you know it’s wrong, they know it’s wrong — and still, it happens.

💬 “On My Guest Bed?!”

✨ description & prompts:

character: Luke Hughes

prompt: his brothers walk in on you mid-hookup.

type: childhood best friends, secret situationship, summer house chaos, rough smut

🧁🍒🛼✨

You’ve just always been there.

Every summer, every road trip, every lake house weekend. You and Luke were a package deal from the beginning — both hockey kids, both a little too competitive for your own good, both hiding something no one else has figured out yet.

Which is why no one suspects a thing.

Why Jack doesn’t think twice when Luke pulls you into the guest room after a pickup game. Why Quinn doesn’t ask questions when Luke’s hand stays on your lower back just a beat too long during dinner. You’ve been around forever.

They just don’t know you’re getting railed by their baby brother behind closed doors.

Tonight it’s late. Everyone’s asleep — or so you think.

Luke is on top of you, one knee pressed between your legs, hand gripping your hair like it’s the only thing tethering him to the planet. He’s rough like always, fast and greedy and starved, whispering filthy things against your jaw as he grinds his hips into yours. You’re already shaking, mouth parted in a breathless moan, arms above your head like he told you to.

“Say it,” he grunts, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me who you’re for.”

“L-Luke,” you gasp. “You, it’s—fuck—Luke—”

“That’s right,” he snarls, and the thrust that follows has you arching up into his chest, whimpering into his mouth. “You’ve been mine since you were sixteen, don’t fucking pretend otherwise.”

You don’t. You can’t.

His fingers are between your legs, slick and messy and skilled. You feel him everywhere — his weight over you, his palm flat on your belly, his cock moving harder, deeper, meaner. He’s not sweet tonight. He never really is. He’s a hurricane with a mouth and a jealous streak. His teeth find your neck and you don’t care about the marks.

“You always gonna let me fuck you like this?” he pants. “Right under their noses?”

You nod frantically. “Always. Please don’t stop—”

The door swings open.

“Jesus CHRIST—!”

“OH MY GOD.”

Jack’s voice. Quinn’s voice. Luke goes completely still.

And you? You throw a pillow over your face.

There’s a moment of pure, suffocating silence. Then a choked noise that sounds like Jack dying.

“Bro, are you kidding me? On my sheets? On my guest bed?!”

“Get OUT,” Luke growls, voice hoarse and full of venom. He doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t pull out — he just grabs the blanket, yanks it over your bodies, and glares toward the door.

“LUKE—”

“I said out.”

Quinn mutters something about bleach. Jack is gagging. They both shuffle back and slam the door behind them.

Luke doesn’t stop.

If anything, it makes him more brutal. You’re wide-eyed and overstimulated and trying to muffle your own sounds into the pillow as he keeps going. “They know now,” he breathes. “So I’m gonna make sure they never forget.”

You come again minutes later — hard, messy, loud. Luke swears and pulls out just in time, finishing across your stomach, hands braced on either side of your head, mouth slack and wet with need.

You lie there in silence for a beat, both panting.

Then he laughs.

You roll onto your side, hair a mess, skin flushed, completely mortified. “We’re gonna die.”

He snorts. “You mean Jack’s gonna die. I’m going back to finish round two in the kitchen. You coming?”

[rafesteddy]

Ｂｉｒｔｈｄａｙ Ｂｌｕｒｂｓ

Ｎｕｍｂｅｒ 𝟼

𝓽𝓸𝔁𝓲𝓬𝓯𝓻𝓪𝓽!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝔁 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

+18 -> “𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝.” + “𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎. 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎.”

c/w: toxic relationship dynamics, jealous!rafe, possessiveness!rafe, verbal arguments (rafe + reader), degradation, name-calling, rough sex, pet names, reader calls herself a bitch, dirty talk, creampie, unprotected public sex on a jet ski, messy make up sex.

A p!link for fun because jet ski sex screams rafe to me ♡︎

3.4K

ᯓ★

You’re sitting quiet, glassy-eyed, nursing a hangover from the night before and a wild night with JJ Maybank. The oversized t-shirt swallowing your frame? His, of course. His arm’s around your waist like it’s natural, possessive, easy—and you let it linger.

But you’re done here. You’ve had enough of the baseball boys. And there’s only one person you know will come pick you up when you call.

Rafe.

The situationship you two have carved out is as toxic as it is inevitable. He’s avoidant. You’re a bitch. And you both know exactly how to get under each other’s skin.

So you text him, knowing he’ll come.

And five minutes later—he does.

A loud roar cuts across the water making heads turn as he pulls up on a jet ski—shirtless, golden skin burning under the afternoon sun. His muscles glisten with water, backwards hat tugged low, and sunglasses hiding his eyes.

His face is sour; jaw, coiled tight, not even trying to hide it as he slows beside the boat because from his angle, he can see it all. JJ’s arm still slung lazily around your waist, fingers brushing the hem of that too-big shirt you borrowed.

Then, just because it’s hot and sticky and you know exactly what you’re doing, you casually lift the hem of the shirt, wiping sweat from your face, giving Rafe a perfect, full view of your ass in that tiny bikini.

His whole body stiffens.

And just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse he notices your neck. A dark hickey. Teeth marks. His teeth marks should be there. But they aren’t.

Rafe doesn’t say a thing. He just swings in smooth, bringing the jet ski right alongside the boat. His sunglasses are still on but you can feel his eyes on you—hot and heavy, even without seeing them.

“Get in.”

No greeting. No smile. No question. Just an order, all low and rough and barely restrained. You don’t hesitate, sliding toward the edge of the boat, not fully registering his mood. But JJ does.

JJ leans in, fingers brushing your hip, voice all honey-smooth and cocky: “I could’ve brought you back to shore, princess—”

“Don’t fuckin’ call her that.” Rafe snaps—voice sharp and cutting, loud enough for everyone to hear before you can even react.

Tension zips through the air—JJ freezes for a beat, lips curling into a smirk. “Relax, man. Didn’t realize she was off-limits.”

JJ’s grin is all teeth, cocky and smooth as he tugs your hand gently, helping you down from the boat like he’s Prince Charming come to life. His fingers linger a little too long for Rafe’s liking; JJ’s eyes, locked on you like you hung the moon and the stars.

Rafe reaches to steady you as you climb onto the back of his jet ski, his grip tightening on your hand. “She is,” Rafe says finally—voice low, clipped, brimming with heat.

JJ laughs under his breath because the only person who’s truly bothered right now is Rafe. Irate. Seething. So quiet it’s almost terrifying and everyone can feel it.

JJ tips his chin at you, voice drenched in innuendo. “Sure you don’t wanna stay, sweetheart? Got another game tonight. M’sure we can celebrate again…” he trails off with a smirk, loud enough for Rafe to hear.

He shoves JJ back, violent enough that he stumbles, making the boat rock, and the water slosh. The whole boat erupts, laughing and shouting, their taunts raining down over Rafe.

“Damn!”

“Someone’s mad.”

“Chill out, frat boy!”

“What’s wrong Chad? Maybank steal your girl?”

And it makes everything worse. So much worse. And you can’t help it—you giggle. Just a little. Because Rafe’s temper is predictable… This whole mess is predictable.

You slip your arms around Rafe’s waist like nothing’s wrong, like the entire athletic department isn’t watching him unravel and the second your arms tighten around him he takes off.

The engine roars and he pushes it hard, going faster than he should, weaving through the buoys like he’s trying to outrun the entire day.

Spray hits your skin, salt and wind tangling your hair, but you hold on tighter, chest pressed to his back, breathless from the speed.

You catch it in the little wing mirror attached to the handlebars. His smirk. That awful, self-righteous, smirk. Like he’s proud. Like he got the girl. You roll your eyes. Hard.

And the second you do he sees it.

The smirk disappears instantly and he cuts the engine so abruptly that you jolt forward into his back.

Silence falls around you. Just water clapping and the party you just left raging in the distance.

“Go,” you mutter, shoving at his shoulders.

He twists halfway toward you, sunglasses sliding low on his nose, expression sharp, mouth already open, ready to bite back.

And then it starts. Every toxic thing about the two of you laid bare in a single messy, snarled exchange.

It’s mean and cutting, full of bitter little digs and cheap shots, escalating way too fast. Words that you don’t really mean but say anyway, because he ruined it. Because he always ruins it—doing exactly what someone like him would do. The push-pull games. The way he pretends not to care until he absolutely can’t help himself.

“You called me,” he fires back, voice low but lethal. “You wanted this ride home, didn’t you, princess? You wanted me.”

Your stomach twists—not just from the words but from how true they are, and how much he knows it.

You bark out a bitter laugh. “I called you because you always come running. No matter how much you act like you don’t care, you always show up, Rafe. Every damn time.”

He gives you that look—that bitter grin he wears right before he’s about to be an absolute dick. “Yeah,” he mutters, leaning back, voice low and cutting. “Because I know you. You do this shit every time; run around with guys like JJ, try to act like you’re over me, like you’re so fuckin’ above it, and then what? You crawl back. You always crawl back.”

You recoil in disgust as your eyes narrow on his. “Crawl back?” You echo, voice dripping with condescension. “You think that’s what this is? I tolerate you, Rafe. You think this situation is because I can’t get enough of you? Please. You don’t even know how easy it is to replace you.”

The second it’s out of your mouth, you know you’ve hit your mark—and you hit it hard. His whole body goes still.

For a split second, he says nothing.

Then he leans in—slow and deliberate—voice plunging to a near-whisper. “Replace me?” He repeats, eyes locked on yours. “You couldn’t if you fuckin’ tried. And that’s what pisses you off. No one else can ruin you like I can. No one else gets under your skin like I do.”

You grit your teeth, chest heaving. “Fuck you,” you whisper—but your voice breaks.

Rafe smirk returns, adding salt to the wound. “That’s what I thought,” he says under his breath, fingers trailing down your thigh, squeezing just enough to remind you who you belong to. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, shifting a little closer, even after everything. “You like this shit,” he mutters. “God, you’re just as fucked as I am.”

“I’m not—”

“You want me,” Rafe spits, his voice dark and low as he cuts you off. “You just don’t want to want me.”

Your heart hammers, rage building in your chest.

“You’re delusional.”

He leans in, close enough that his breath is warm against your lip, close enough that his sunglasses slip down even more, and you can see his eyes fully. “Look me in the eyes when you lie to me like that,” he mumbles.

God, he’s infuriating—but that ache low in your stomach never goes away when he talks to you like this.

You freeze for a moment but your fight comes back. Before he can say another word, you twist hard, body sliding off the side of the jet ski, splashing into the cool water without warning.

“M’swimming back—”

“Fuck’s sake—” You hear him bark behind you as you start to push through the water—furious strokes toward the distant shore, every muscle aching, hangover and adrenaline coursing through you.

You barely make it a few yards before there’s a rev of the engine, the water churning near you as Rafe spins the jet ski back around.

“Get back here,” he snaps but you don’t look back.

He reaches down, strong arms hauling you back up, dragging you over the side like you weigh nothing, water dripping from your hair and body as you gasp and curse at him.

He doesn’t let you settle behind him. Instead, he pulls you right into the driver’s position, your legs straddling the seat, your soaked body pressed flush against his chest.

He slips behind you, chest to your back, arms caging you in so you won’t do it again.

“You’re being fuckin’ dramatic,” he mutters near your ear, breath hot and exasperated. “These waters are dangerous, alright?”

You huff and drag in a tight, shaky breath, jaw clenched as you glare off at the horizon. “Whatever, Rafe,” you snap, refusing to turn your head.

And then he exhales. Hanging his head low, resting his forehead gently between your shoulder blades—wet hair brushing your neck, tension draining from his arms as his chest rises and falls behind you.

It’s quiet now.

You feel it shift—the fight’s there, but it’s only simmering now. Your shoulders loosen as you feel the weight of him against you.

You roll your eyes but your voice softens just a little. “What now, Rafe?”

“I just—Fuck. I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’,” he mutters, “but I can’t help it. I can’t stand seeing you with him. I can’t stand the thought of you walkin’ away from me. I can’t—” he breaks off, sighing hard.

His arms bind around you, chest pressed tight to your back, mouth brushing your damp skin. And even though you’re still pissed, you warm a little. Not all the way. Not enough to forgive or let go or pretend this isn’t still toxic as hell. But enough.

Enough that you let him hold you there, his forehead pressed to your back; hands steady on the handlebars—his big body wrapped around yours like he never wants to let you go.

The engine idles, the water gently turning the jet ski as Rafe’s forehead stays rested, his breath hot and uneven on your skin.

“What do you even want, Rafe?”

Your question slices straight through the silence—laced with vulnerability neither of you are good at that.

You swallow hard before you can stop yourself, fingers tightening around the grips.

“Because this isn’t working. Clearly.”

Your tone is bitter, designed to provoke, but he hears that crack again.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits. “Fuck, I really don’t know.” Your nostrils flare, lips pinching together as your irritation swells again. “I know I want you here,” he adds quietly but something in you just snaps.

“I don’t care.”

He tenses, somehow thrown off by your answer like he doesn’t know you. You bite your lip so hard it nearly cuts.

“If you don’t know what you want, Rafe, then you’re not getting shit from me. I’m done. You’re wasting my time. Again—” You twist the throttle hard.

The jet ski screams forward violently, spray shooting up on both sides as you start gunning it back toward shore at reckless speed, forcing him to grip your waist even tighter.

“Slow down,” he shouts over your shoulder, voice raw with panic and fury, but you don’t. “Slow the fuck down.” But you only push it faster, the two of you in a brutal game of thumb war for the off switch until he reaches down, pulling the emergency off key. The engine chokes and sputters, stalling out completely.

“You’re done?” Rafe snaps immediately, twisting you around on the seat so you’re practically straddling him now, facing him head-on, wet and furious; breathing hard.

“Yeah, Rafe,” you spit back. “I’m fucking done. You don’t listen. You never listen—”

“You’re not listening either,” he snarls. “I’m telling you what I want—”

“No you’re not,” you cut in. “You’re saying bullshit, Rafe. You never say what you actually mean.”

“I want you. Okay? I fucking want you. There, I said it—”

You throw your head back with a bitter laugh, cutting him off before he can say another word. “Oh fuck off…”

“Don’t laugh at me,” he yells.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you mock his stupid voice. “Why would you say it like that? Jesus fuck, Rafe. ‘I want you? There I said it?’ What am I expected to swoon?”

“Who knows what to expect from you. The only person who hasn’t said exactly what the fuck they want is you… Miss Perfect. Bein’ a bitch to me like I can just read your mind and know what the fuck you want—”

“I want you. I already fuckin’ told you that once… You think I’m going to say that shit again and embarrass myself. Fuck no. I’m not gonna chase after you.”

“But you want me to chase after you? You live for that shit, huh? Get off on the fact that I can’t help myself when it comes to you? You’re such a fuckin’ brat right now,” he mutters darkly, pulling you into him, making you gasp despite yourself.

“Yeah? You gonna fuck the brat outta me, Rafe?”

“Worked every other time—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Your heart’s racing, the tension sharp and breathless.

“Or…” He adds, tilting his head, eyes dark and predatory, “you want me to shut the fuck up, huh? You just want my mouth between your legs.”

You snort, leaning back just far enough to let the next jab land. “Didn’t know you were into tasting JJ—”

“Fuck you.”

You laugh again, teeth bared. “Right back at you. What were you doing last night, huh? I’m sure it was the same shit—hittin’ it raw again and again… and again.”

He puffs out a breath, dragging a hand through his damp hair as he glares at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever truly driven him crazy.

You lean in closer, eyes gleaming. “Damn, Rafey. Double standard goes crazy—” His mouth crashes into yours, hard and messy, all teeth and tongue, hands gripping your soaked skin. His hold tightens at your waist as he drags you fully onto his lap, right there on the jet ski, the water rocking gently beneath you.

You can feel how hard he is already, straining beneath his swim trunks, grinding up into you. His lips tear away just long enough for him to rasp, “Are you lyin’ about hooking up with JJ?”

“No,” you whisper.

“Fuck you,” he mumbles like it hurt to hear. “You’re killin’ me—”

You drag your nails lightly down his chest, “but I was lying about the other part,” you admit between sloppy kisses. “You’re the only one who I let have me like that…”

That hits him somewhere deep, his grip tightens even more, hips rutting up into you harder.

“Same,” he grits out, voice low and rough and worn. “Fucking same.”

You gasp as he shifts you again, tugging your bikini bottoms to the side, not wasting another second, his cock slipping free, thick and hot and aching as he presses against your entrance.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he mutters into your neck. “I’m sorry.”

The words hang heavy in the air. You freeze for half a heartbeat because Rafe Cameron has never said that before—not once.

But then he thrusts in deep, so deep and fast that your gasp turns into a ragged cry and he swallows the sound with another kiss.

His hips snap up, desperate and rough, drowning everything else out. His hands are on your waist, palming your ass; holding you down like he’s trying to break you. Like he’s trying to make you forget about any night you had with someone else, and the night before that.

He’s fucking you with a purpose, like he’s got something to prove, and someone to lose. You rock against him, waves lapping at the jet ski, your curses and moans tangling together in the hot summer air. “You can’t do this either… Tell me you can’t,” he rasps.

You twist suddenly, breath hitching as you spin around on his lap, planting your feet wide on either side of the jet ski’s narrow seat, grabbing the handlebars.

Your back arches, your soaked hair dripping down your spine, the sun glinting off your wet skin as you start rocking your hips back against him, taking control but not slowing down.

The angle changes and Rafe groans, low and filthy, his hands sliding immediately to your waist, fingers digging in hard as he guides your movements.

“Fuck—” He breathes, voice shredded and he wants to ask you again but you look too good. “Fuckin’ look at you, baby,” he praises.

He changes his angle, tilting back to get the full view, the drag of his cock making your brain fuzzy. He slaps and jiggles your ass in his hands, moaning and muttering under his breath about how ‘you wouldn’t do this shit for anyone else’s’.

And as soon as those words leave his lips he’s hauling you back, eyes catching the name Maybank, soaked and clinging to your body, the white t-shirt plastered to your skin.

His hands leave your hips just long enough to grab the hem of that shirt and tear it up and over your head in one fast, brutal motion, ripping it off, sending the shirt sailing into the water, where it lands with a splash.

“Not wearin’ that shit,” he mutters, breath hot and furious against your back.

His hands return immediately, catching your waist harder than before, his chest pressed flush to your spine. Rafe’s mouth at your neck as he ruts up into you again, every thrust brutal and claiming, looking over your shoulder watching your breasts bounce with every wet slap of your pussy on his lap.

You gasp, squeezing his thick thighs to keep your balance as his teeth scrape your skin, breathing warm against your ear, “You’re mine… And I ain’t asking you a fourth time, alright?” He snarls, slapping your pussy, making you whimper. “Tell me you can’t do this. I. Am. Yours. Say that shit—”

“I’m yours, Rafe,” you whisper, the fight still smoldering in your chest but softening at the edges. “I… I can’t do this either.”

His touch turns sweeter, soothing the sting of his slap with the circling of his fingers on your clit. Rafe kisses you over your shoulder, deep and owning, swallowing your cries as you cum around his cock.

His lips separate, just a few inches from your own, forehead pressed against yours and you know exactly what he wants to hear.

He grits his teeth, fighting back his climax as he waits for those three filthy words to fall from your lips without being drug out of you. You smile, making him suffer just a moment longer as his muscles stiffen.

“Cum in me—”

“Fuuuck,” he answers with a deep, fucked out moan, tucking his face in your neck as he cums hard; thick ropes of pearly white claiming you as he pins you to himself tighter than ever.

His smile brushes your shoulder, that damn smirk curling at the corner of his mouth—but softer now, almost relieved. You roll your eyes and bite back a dizzy grin, finally letting him hold you right.

He releases a self-satisfied laugh, but under it all you can tell he was worried. He wasn’t sure if you felt the same—he wasn’t sure if you’d say those words; but he does his best to hide it all.

“Thank you, baby.”

“Mhmm…” You hum, like you did him a favor and he bites down on your shoulder playfully. The jetski rocks under the two of you, moving with the current. You can tell he’s trying to speak but he doesn’t know what to say just yet.

“Rafe—”

“Tell me ‘you meant it’,” he starts as you do, the two of you tripping over your words. “You meant that right? ‘Cause that… Whatever the fuck that was back there. That can’t happen again… ever. I do like you. M’sorry I said it like that. You were right. Now you got me sayin’ ‘sorry’ twice and ‘you were right’ once,” he huffs out a nervous laugh as he rambles on.

You cup his cheek in your hand, pressing your lips to his, so gentle he hums into it.

“I meant it, Rafe.”

He smiles against your lips, soft and sure as you offer him the last piece of assurance he needs.

“Now was that so hard, princess?”

@rafesthroatbaby | @ietss | @lilithblackkk | @cherrywriterrr | @rafecameronsfavourite | @my-name-is-baby | @urmotherlvr | @forgiveliv | @barnesboo1967 | @wtfisastiles | @k4yr14 | @taliescapes | @rafesbuzzcutseason | @sky-44 | @biascriptum | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @lolasangelz | @st8rkey | @lhhlver | @slut-4-rafey | @gri959 | @prettybabyyyy | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @maybankslover | @littlelamy | @buckybarnessweetheart | @angelicameron | @lover-girlyy | @rcameronlova1 | @rafesbabygirlx | @mayanqueenxx | @bimbob1tch | @dylsdaily | @blair-bears-blog | @akobx | @countryclubwhore | @esmerai-artemis | @jkmylove97 | @wtfdudesblog | @livie4lifestarkeyblyth | @yasmin-oviedo | @queen-cs | @floredaqueen | @alexxavicry | @aerie717 | @cokewithcameron | @premiumshitt | @rcameronlova1

[pacifistsworstnightmare]

suddenly having yummy thoughts abt bf bartender keigo. who tells you he didn’t put much alcohol in the drinks he serves you (it tastes like juice) and suddenly he’s flustered when you start flirting like a freak while he’s on the clock at work (you’re never allowed to visit and drink while he’s works every again)

bartender marcelli swings out for this one hai everybody

MINORS DNI or i'll get you :3

bartender!keigo, who leans over the bar all smug and lazy when you wander in looking cute, and when you pout at your drink and go “kei this tastes like a fruit cup not a cocktail,” he just grins and says: “yeah, baby. i wasn’t tryna get you wasted. just wanted you relaxed.” but you get too relaxed. leaning over the bar and whispering things you have absolutely zero business saying while he’s at work, still half-shaking a mixer in his hand while you coo at him like: “you look so hot when you’re all serious like this. ‘m gonna hop the bar in a second. oh, we should do body shots— s'that allowed? you can have a drink on the clock with your baby, right?” he freezes for like two seconds and then laughs it off— light, raspy, a little too high— but now he’s visibly flustered. cheeks a little pink, hand wiping the back of his neck, eyes darting away like: “jesus, dove, you tryna get me fired?” and you just giggle all syrupy sweet like “you’re the one who giving me drinks, baby” while dragging your nails up his forearm when he brings you a new drink (water). he’s trembling just slightly. fully sweating. wiping down glasses with furious concentration. trying to keep up with other customers and doing everything in his power to not react when you murmur: “gonna let me blow you in the storeroom later or are you gonna make me wait ‘til you’re off?” he's not getting through this shift in one piece, is he?

— 2025 © pwn. all rights reserved. do not repost, narrate, or translate my works. thanku!