#wanted practice small expressions with him

[zorosunwashedleftcheek]

Switchin’ Up Positions

Summary: OP men and their fav positions 👅

feat: Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Kidd

cw: f!reader, NSFW, spitting, biting, bruises, idk what to tell you this is a freaky fic

a/n: ignore how I already posted Zoro’s section. it’s NOT my problem… and i edited it bc it was highkey cheeks. Also if this is rushed… i don’t care

Zoro: ✨Riding✨

As a swordsman, he is constantly aware of what and who his back is facing towards. It’s been engrained in him since he was a young child to never leave area unguarded.

And as much as he trusts you, there’s nothing stopping an enemy from breaking down the door and stabbing him in the back while he’s balls deep in your cunt.

You’re the one who proposed the idea… and he shot it down immediately. He saw it as relinquishing control and hated the idea with every once of his being.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about it… when he’s on top of you, he’s never able to fully focus on you, his ears straining as they listen for enemies outside the door, waiting to attack him while he’s pounding your pretty wet pussy.

So after a few night of thinking, he begrudgingly made his way to your quarters and muttered something along the lines of, “I guess we can try it if you really want…”

And it’s been smooth sailing ever since. He still had complete control, one hand constantly gripping your hips to guide your pace. And he was able to pay attention to you fully and completely.

He found subtleties that he had never noticed before because he was too busy being paranoid. The way you would mewl just barely when his fingers curled and twisted in your cunt. The way your thighs would twitch when he pressed down on your tummy while also thrusting in.

Riding quickly became his go to.

~

He tastes of sake.

It’s as if he’s trying to consume you, his tongue jamming down your throat and his teeth clacking against yours. Zoro took everything he did to the extreme, and kissing was no different. He may not be super experienced or skilled, but he was hungry, and that more than made up for it.

“C’mere…” Zoro wraps an arm around your waist and drags you down onto the bed, rolling you on top of him and running his hands up and down your bare legs. You’re wearing a skirt… far too small for his liking. And watching you dance and twirl with others all night pissed him off. Sure, Zoro denied your numerous pleads to dance, but that didn’t mean that another man could fucking dip you, your head nearly touching the ground like that one guy had done.

Now the two of you are alone on the Thousand Sunny, the night still too young for the other Strawhats to retreat.

Zoro kicks off his pants and boxers in a swift movement, his cock sliding out to rest against his stomach, precum beading the tip. He looks up at you expectantly, a stupid smirk on his lips.

God, you hate that you know exactly what he wants.

Zoro grabs your skirt, bunching it up around your waist to watch as you hover above him, your fingers hooking in your panties to pull them aside. He licks his lips at the sight of your pretty pussy, a small string of arousal connecting your folds to the fabric of your underwear.

His hand slides to up and down your thigh, soothingly, before he brings his thumb down to your clit. Rolling his thumb with familiar practiced movements over your pearl, he watches with amused eyes as you suck in a harsh breath, your face flushing as you lick your lips.

“Put it in?” You huff softly, bracing your palms on Zoro’s bare anbdomen and rocking your hips forward to rub against Zoro’s length. His mouth twitches and he curses softly under his breath.

Zoro scoffs in response, using his freehand to pop open your blouse. He trails his fingers down the expanse of your stomach before circling around to unclip your bra, freeing your breasts to his hungry gaze. “Why are you asking my permission. It’s yours. You put it in.”

Your nose wrinkles at his expression, he’s looking at you as though you’d asked the dumbest question he’d ever heard. You click your tongue, but lift yourself off of him. Grabbing his twitching cock and giving it a few good pumps to spread his precum across his length before positioning his fat, pink tip against your leaking hole.

Zoro twists his hand in your hair and tugs you down for a kiss, his teeth scraping against your bottom lip. You’re dizzy just from his mouth, it’s astounding how you’re ever able to survive his cock.

You can hear Zoro hiss into your mouth as you slowly yet surely suck him inside of you. He’s snug, his tip scraping your walls with every small movement.

“Fuck… you’re good.” Zoro murmur quietly, breaking the kiss to watch your pussy eagerly gobble him up, your hips shimmying to accommodate his cock as it bullies its way into you.

“Zoro…” You groan softly, leaning back to brace a hand on his thigh, your back arching towards him, your tits laying tantalizingly close to his mouth.

“You want it? Yeah, I gotcha, just hold on.” Zoro plants his feet on the mattress, one large, calloused hand moving to grab your hip while the other paws at your breast, squeezing and rolling your areola. between his thumb and forefinger. “Use those pretty thighs and help me out, how about it?”

Zoro starts out with a brutal pace, never one to ease into anything. He enjoys the feel of your nails biting into his thigh while the other rests on his navel to brace yourself. Your face is all screwed up, your nose wrinkled and your lips parted as he drills into you. You work to match his pace, but you don’t contribute much. It’s alright though, Zoro likes it that way. He loves having complete control, adjusting how fast you move and how deep you take it. His favorite thing to do is grab your hips and hold you up until just his tip is inside of you, and then watch as you squirm and roll your hips, desperate for the rest of his cock to fill you up.

Zoro leans forward, sucking your tit into his mouth and pressing searing kisses and bites down the valley of your breasts.

Your eyes meet his piercing grey gaze and he can feel your pussy flutter around him. God, everything got you wet, didn’t it?

Your brows furrow, a pout making its way onto your face as you pant, strangled whines and moans slipping past your lips.

“Shit… fucking…” Zoro closes his eyes and drops his head back against the pillows, he can’t even look at you without getting the urge to cum. Your pretty flustered face and those fluttering eyelashes always did him in.

He has to end this quick before he accidentally cums first.

Zoro wraps an arm around your back, tugging your chest down again him. His lips attach to your shoulder as he adjusts his hips, allowing his cock to ram against your g-spot with each brutal thrust.

He continues to bite and suck along your neck and shoulder while his eyes focus on your thighs watching them twitch and shudder as your ass bounces up and down with each thrust.

“You… gonna cum?” Zoro chokes out as he feels you clamp down around him. It’s more of a statement than a question. He’s fucked you enough times to know your body better than he knows his own. Snaking a hand down to grope and massage your thigh, he drops his head back once again, willing his orgasm away for a few more moments.

Zoro’s wasn’t one to talk during sex. He was way too concentrated to try and string together sentences. But he knew that you absolutely adored the sound of his voice, the way it would drop an octave when he was aroused. And in emergency’s he knew that his voice could bring you to the edge with only a few sweet croons.

You give a small, weak nod, a whine tumbling out of your lips, “Fuck… yeah… ‘m gonna cum, Zoro. You’re gonna make me cum… please…”

His lips quirks at your needy voice, god, you were so sweet to him. “The hell’s stopping you? I wanna feel you cream my cock. Come on… do it already. I’m getting bored.”

His words did unimaginable things to you, the low rasp could bring you straight to the edge. Within moments your gummy walls are clamping down around him as your grind your hips roughly down against his throbbing cock.

“Ah… shit, baby… I can’t-“ You coo weakly, burrowing your face against Zoro’s neck as he continues to rock your hips, his navel bumping against your clit with each steady movement, causing your thighs to tremble and sharp hisses to escape your lips.

Zoro does his best to ease you through your orgasm, but eventually he has to hoist you off of his cock and set you down on his thighs so that he can pull out in time. Grabbing his blushing cock, he finally allows his orgasm to tear through his body. Zoro’s eyes squeeze shut, his body tensing as he shoots hot ropes of cum onto your stomach. He can feel the evidence of your orgasm dribbling out of your leaking pussy and pooling on his thighs.

“Fuck you’re so messy…” He drawls as a wrack of pleasure shoots down his spine.

-

The two of you lay in your mess, dozing in and out of sleep until you eventually grow uncomfortable, your mixed cum beginning to dry on both of yours’ body. Zoro didn’t seem to mind in the least, his muscled arms wrapped tightly around your body, keeping you trapped as he snores softly.

“…Zoro.” You huff, tapping his cheek.

No response.

“Zoro.”

Nothing.

“Zoro!”

You smack his cheek, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to catch his attention. His eyes shoot open, searching the dark room for the cause of your yelling. “Hell’s your problem, woman?” He scoffs, raising a hand to his face and wiping sleep from his eyes.

“I feel gross. Let’s shower.”

“I don’t need a shower, I’ll wipe myself off with a towel or something.”

“God, you’re gross.” Sitting up on Zoro’s chest, you glare down at him. “Come on, just keep me company at least.”

“How about you ask the guy you were dancing with to shower with you.” Zoro grumbles, turning his head to the side to avoid your annoyed gaze.

“You’re still mad about that? You’re so stupid. Dancing doesn’t always have to be romantic.”

Zoro scowls at your insult, “You’re the stupid one, that guy’s dick was practically waving in the wind and begging for a hug when you asked to dance with him.”

“Oh shut up. I’m sorry, okay? I’ll never dance with anyone else ever again.” You tease, crossing your arms over your chest. Zoro’s gaze lazily slides to where your tits are being pushed up and squished together and his scowl slowly melts into a smirk.

You glare at his expression, but there’s no real heat behind it, that hungry look in his eyes has returned, his nap seemingly replenishing his energy. Perhaps there was only one way to get him clean.

“Shower sex?”

“Deal.”

~

Sanji- Missionary

Let’s be lowkey, Sanji’s default vanilla

He does NOT pull bc he’s such a freak, and when he finally gets together with you, he’s definitely clueless. He’s gotten all of his knowledge of intimacy from romance books and poems for sure

He’ll go along with anything you want, but his go to will always be good old missionary

He likes to see your face, to know that he’s making you feel good, but most importantly, he wants you to look into his eyes and see the undying devotion he has to you

He’s SO talkative, literal yapaholic in bed

He likes being able to lean in and let your soft moans and whispers fill his ear as he rocks gently against you, soft praises tumbling past his lips as his arms hug you tight against him

He's constantly searching for reassurance and praise, he wants you to tell him that he’s doing great, that he’s making you feel good. And in return he’ll whisper the sweetest nothings in your ear as he eases you through your orgasm.

He absolutely adores the feeling of your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your face burrowed against his neck. He can cum just from feeling your bare legs lock around his waist, and it’s happened numerous times before.

Sanji would never admit it, because it’s a little perverted, and Sanji is definitely NOT perverted, but he also loves missionary because he can feel your breasts squished against his chest. He loves sliding a hand down and caressing and kissing the fat, never pinching or biting, he wouldn’t want to bruise your pretty skin.

~

“Are you ready for me, love?” Sanji murmurs, his fingers continuing to pump in and out of your leaking pussy, your first orgasm of the night steadily dribbling over Sanji’s wrist.

You give a small nod, grabbing for your lover’s wrist and intertwining your fingers with his shiny, slick, ones. Sanji ducks his head down, kissing your knuckles and lapping up a mix of your cum and arousal. “Please, Sanji… need you.”

He could cum just from your words alone, but instead he gives a mute nod and leans back on his haunches. Sanji stares down at you with bated breath as he massages your thighs with deft fingers. “God… you’re beautiful. I’m gonna make you feel good… I promise… I promise…”

Grabbing your hip with one hand while the other guides his flushed cock to run along your slit. The cook’s breath trembles just slightly and he has to bow his head, his eyes squeezing shut tightly, “I could never get tired of you… you make me feel things that I’ve never felt before… I need you…”

“Sanji…”

Sanji knows that tone, you’re getting impatient. He gives an apologizing murmur, his face flushed in slight embarrassment as he finally rocks forwards, stopping once he’s half way in, his cock easing you open and stretching you perfectly. “You’re so perfect… I love you… I couldn’t live without your touch… You feel so good… so so good… please.”

You love Sanji with every bone in your body, but during sex, he could get a little preoccupied with praising your body that he nearly forgets he’s inside of you somehow. With a soft laugh, you cup his face with your hands and tug him down to your mouth, your tongue darting out to run along his bottom lip, “Shhh, Sanji. I know. Just feel me, yeah?”

Closing his eyes with a shudder, Sanji melts against your mouth, his chest pressing down against yours as he begins to rock his hips into you with slow, firm, thrusts. “…Sorry… y’ feel good…” He mumbles against your lips, his words muffled as he speaks into your mouth.

You go to respond, but instead, a soft moan is torn from your lips, eliciting a shiver to travel down Sanji’s spine. His mouth begins to wander, as it always does when he’s inside of you, and he trails soft, ghosts of kisses across your jaw and down your neck. “I love you… you complete me… y’ make me… ngh… so, so happy-“

Sanji is never one to be aggressive during sex, he obviously comply if you asked him to but he prefers soft, yet firm movements as he rocks against your pretty, puffy pussy. He wants to make love to you, make you feel beautiful and wanted.

“Sanji… you feel so good… faster?” You murmur softly, your back arching against his so perfectly as you gasp and coo against his ear.

Sanji very nearly whimpers at your soft question, your voice just too pretty, too sweet, to be asking anything of him. You were an angel, perfection incarnate, and Sanji would be a fool to deny you anything.

“Of course… legs around my waist, love, wanna feel you hold onto me.” Sanji purrs, licking the shell of your ear, eliciting a delectable squeak from your lips. Your ankles easily hook around the curve of Sanji’s spine, your thighs squishing against his hips and causing a weak groan to sound from Sanji’s throat.

You can feel Sanji’s stomach tensing as he moves, sliding his cock out to the tip before snapping his hips forward, making your eyes roll back and your back to arch as if offering yourself to the heavens.

The bed creaks beneath your body as your toes curl, your hips rolling to meet Sanji’s movements. “Good?” Sanji murmurs, his stubble tickling and scratching your collarbone as he slides his lips across your shoulder.

“…yeah. It’s good-“ You gasp, twisting beneath Sanji’s hands. Sweat dots at your forehead and you can feel your orgasm approaching, glancing at Sanji, you know he’s not far behind.

Sanji grimaces, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before they quickly dance away to watch himself piston in and out of your wet pussy, he listens to the squelches of your body as it practically begs for him. Sanji shudders at the sound, his shoulders bunching up as he listens to your body.

Everything about you is perfect in Sanji’s eyes. You could gut him like a fish and he would thank you before preparing himself into a dish for you to eat. You hold Sanji’s heart in your hands and he trusts you completely, knowing that you’d never break it.

“Damn it, angel.” Sanji hisses, running his hand down through his hair before catching your lips in a passionate kiss. “Please cum. Please, please. I wanna see you cum, angel. Wanna feel it- feel you.”

God, you can’t believe what Sanji’s words do to you. You bury your face again sanji’s neck as your hips buck up against his, searching for your release, “Come on…” You mumble impatiently, your face twisted; your nose scrunched and your brows furrowed.

Sanji leans forward, pressing feather-soft kisses to your furrowed brow and scrunched nose. His hand slides down your navel and lower, rubbing firm circles against your clit. His other arm wraps around your neck, tucking you firmly against his chest as his pace begins to stutter, shuddering breaths escaping his lips.

You writhe so sweetly against him, your heels digging into the small of Sanji’s back. He watches with rapt attention as your orgasm washes through you, reveling in the feel of your nails digging into his shoulders. Sanji feels as though he’s staring at an angel as your lips part, your lashes fluttering and your throat bobbing.

Sanji very nearly cums inside of you, too enraptured with the sounds and sensations he’s caused you to make. You’re mid orgasm when Sanji suddenly pulls out, his eyes widening and his breath catching in his throat in a panic as he coats your stomach with sticky cum.

Normally Sanji would never cum on you. As much as he absolutely adored the sight, something about it made him feel strange, as if he were defiling a priceless artifact. Usually, he would use a condom, or jerk himself off into his hand, or your panties on special occasions- your hand on really special occasions.

“Shit- sorry, sorry, angel.” Sanji groans, pulling back to sit on his haunches. His eyes glued to the sight of your covered not only in your own cum, but his as well. It makes his heart pound faster.

You hold a finger up, needing a moment to catch your breath, your thighs twitching from the pleasure. Finally you open your eyes and look up at him with a sweet smile. Catching his embarrassed face, you quickly think of ways to reassure him.

Sliding your index and middle finger across your navel, gathering up Sanji’s mess. Sanji watches, struggling to keep his eyes from rolling back as you bring your fingers to your lips and slowly lick up his cum.

Letting out exaggerated coos as you suck on your fingers, you grin at him. His face is beet red, and he sniffs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a groan.

“You taste as good as your food, baby.” You hum, your fingers pulling away with a pop.

~

Ace: Against The Wall

Ace is a straight up show off

He loves to throw his weight around, and casually display his strength as if it were normal

Another thing about Ace is that he’s impatient. He wants what he wants and he’ll take it as soon as possible

That doesn’t change during sex. Ace loves picking you up and throwing you around, his hands exploring your body as he shoves you against a wall. At first it’s simply because he was too lazy and impatient to make his way to a bed, he’d simply drag you into a spare closet or pin you against a door

But he soon realized that he preferred a good old wall instead of a bed. He likes the way you giggle when he hoists you up, your thighs wrapping around his waist (or in some cases his face), he over the way you cling to him, too weak to hold yourself up and relying on Ace to keep your from falling

Sometimes Ace likes to pretend his legs give out, he likes the adorable look of panic on your face before Ace quickly snaps his hips up, adjusting your weight and burying himself deeper inside of your walls, gravity helping to sheath himself deeper inside of you

You stopped letting Ace eat you out against the wall after a situation during a storm. A violent wave sent the ship rocking and Ace had gone careening backwards, falling straight on his back… with you still on top of him. It was a horrible experience as the two of you had made your way to the infirmary, Ace happily holding his two missing teeth in his hands as you waddled, a wound on the inside of your thigh that suspiciously looked like a bite mark.

You haven’t seen Ace in weeks. He’s been on some excursion, fighting someone or other. He hasn’t left your mind in the time he’s been gone. You thought of him while cooking, while fighting, damn it all, you even thought of him while cleaning the toilets. Ace is your other half, and it’s like you can physically feel it when he’s apart. When you can’t hear his laugh or feel his touch. It hurt.

But that doesn’t matter anymore because Ace is back. The ship has been a flurry of activity this morning, preparing his welcome back feast. Ace had arrived back home in the middle of the night and had been spending most of his time back in the infirmary before passing out from exhaustion. He hadn’t bothered to say hi to anyone, too tired to think of anything but sleep.

But now was the time to celebrate the return of the Fire Fist.

You’re rummaging through yet another closet, Marco having asked you to search for tablecloths, but for some reason you can’t find them anywhere. You’d prefer if there wasn’t any sort of party, you’d much rather have a quiet day with Ace, just him and you. Yet, you suppose that was slightly selfish, the rest of the crew wanted to see the safe return of their crew mate as well. Just as you’re about to give up on what you think is the third closet, your eyes catch on a hint of fabric poking out from the bottom shelf.

With an annoyed gruff, you brace your hands on the wall and hoist yourself up, standing on the bottom ledge and praying it doesn’t snap under your weight as you stretch your arm out, your fingers just barely brushing against the cloth.

Just as you manage to hook your finger in a fold, you hear the familiar squeak of the closet swinging shut. A curse escapes your lips as you twist around in an attempt to reach for the door, but in the process, your foot slips and you go tumbling towards the floor.

You yelp, bracing yourself for the pain that’s sure to follow, but it never comes. Instead you feel a pair of arms wrap wrapping around your chest, tugging you backwards away from the shelf. Hold on… those arms… they feel a bit too familiar.

“Clumsy girl.” Ace muses with a chuckle, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek and tightening his hold around you, “Y’miss me?”

Spinning around, a grin already on your face, you meet the familiar eyes of one Portgas D. Ace. His silhouette just barely visible in the dim light of the closet. Adrenaline still pounds at your chest, but it’s mixed with excitement as you wrap your arms around Ace’s neck. “You scared me.” You scoff, a playful pout on your lips as you tug him down for a light kiss.

You’re expecting some banter in return, but instead; Ace lets out a groan as if he hadn’t drunken water in weeks and you were the sweetest of nectar. Suddenly his hands are slipping up your shirt to press against your abdomen, walking you backwards against the shelf as his mouth practically devours yours.

“Jump.” Ace pants softly, hooking his hands beneath your thighs.

-

Ace is thrusting into you with reckless abandon, the shelves creaking and groaning with your weight as the ledges dig into your back. Mouthing at your throat, Ace coos quietly, “Missed you so, so much, pretty girl. Yeah? You miss me too? You’re sucking me in right now.””

His hands devour your body, his fingertips warm to the touch as he pushes your shirt up around your neck. Ace pulls back for a moment to watch your tits bounce with thrust. His freckles glow faintly as he licks his lips.

Your quiet coos and moans surround Ace, your eyes kept focused on the door as if physically willing any crewmates from walking in on the two of you. You distantly pray that they can’t hear the sound of Ace’s skin slapping against yours.

But Ace is decidedly not trying to be quiet.

If anything, he’s louder than normal. A stupid grin on his face as he lets out low groans and cries of passion as if he’s in some cheap porno. You scowl at him, your stomach flipping as Ace brushes against your g spot. “Quiet!” You hiss, your scowl broken by a sweet gasp as Ace drives his hips up while tugging yours down.

Ace grins madly, throwing his head back and letting out a long, loud moan. “God… I missed you so much…” He cries out, grabbing the shelves and shaking them, objects wobbling and clattering together, “I can’t believe I’ve gone so long without your pretty body… your pretty little pus-“

You grab the back of his neck, a scowl on your face as you tug him into a deep kiss. Ace chuckles against your mouth, your lips finally managing to shut him up for once. You grab his hand, prying his fingers off of the shelf and guiding his palm to cover your breast.

“…missed you.” Ace finally murmurs against your lips, his voice much softer as he rolls your nipple between his fingers, his hand massaging the underside of your tit.

“Shit- Ace… missed y-“ You’re barely able to get your words out before Ace is slapping a palm over your mouth, pausing in his movements and bracing his knee against the shelf to hold you up as he reaches behind him to grab the doorknob. Your brows furrow in confusion, you hadn’t heard anything, but a few moments later you hear the sound of a pair of footsteps making their way down the hall.

Ace grins wildly, holding a finger to his lips. You know that mischievous look on his face. Shaking your head, you glare at Ace, already knowing what he’s planning. He quirks his head, pouting his lip in a false questioning look.

There are voices outside the door, some dumbasses chose this particular hallway to have some stupid conversation while you’re getting fucked balls deep only feet away.

Adjusting his stance, Ace grab your hips and begins to move once again, careful not to let his skin slap against yours. Biting his lip, Ace grins at your annoyance, using his freehand to massage your thigh while the other keeps its hold on the door.

You can feel him pulsing inside of yours, his tip ramming against your g spot with each thrust. It feels good. Too good.

Bringing your hand to your mouth, you bite down, your breath shuddering. Ace guides your head down against his shoulder, pressing featherlight kisses to your ear.

“Come on… good job being quiet, baby.” Ace whispers softly, resting his chin on your shoulder. His words are sweet and smooth, each thrust sending your heart beating out of its cage. “Gonna cum when there’s people right outside? I swear you’ve been gripping me even tighter since they showed up.”

Your hand moves away from your mouth to grip at Ace’s shoulder, your face is pressed firmly to his neck as your thighs begin to tremble from the strain of keeping quiet.

“Ace…” You groan, your words muffled as you grind your hips down against Ace, your clit bumping against his navel with each buck of your hips.

“You know I love your voice, but you gotta keep quiet.” Ace murmurs, “Can you be quiet, or do I gotta stop?”

With a firm shake of your head, your thighs tighten around Ace’s waist. You’re so close, you think you might actually start crying.

-

It feels like an eternity as you wait for whoever’s outside to leave, Ace continuing his steady thrusts into your wet pussy. He whispers quietly to you, his lips brushing against your ear as his filthy words flood your brain.

But finally, the sound of voices fades and you nearly sob in relief. “Faster.” You snap impatiently, too frustrated to try and be nice.

Throwing his head back, Ace lets out a laugh, “Yeah… yeah I can do that.”

Your brain positively melts as Ace bucks his hips into you with reckless abandon, each roll of his body causing his cock to drive straight against your g spot.

Shuddering moans and cries fill the closet as you writhe in Ace’s arms, squirming as you chase after your orgasm.

“You gonna cum, pretty girl? Yeah… me too.” Ace pants, “So you better make it quick before I accidentally cum inside.”

You click your tongue at his teasing but you can’t deny the excitement at the thought of Ace cumming inside of you. Fucking his seed up into your cunt and putting a pretty baby in your stomach. You know that Ace has… difficulties with the idea of fathers, but you can’t help but think he would be a great one.

Before you know it, you’re thrown into an orgasm, your back arching as you throw your head back. Ace just barely manages to cup the back of your head in time, stopping you from bashing yourself against the shelves and probably giving yourself a concussion.

Your thighs tense and your whimper, pawing at Ace’s chest as you slam your hips down against Ace, chasing after your orgasm.

Ace curses, turning his head to the side at the sight of your pretty face. Your cheeks are puffed out adorably, your lips pursed and your brow furrowed in concentration. Glancing down, his eyes catch on the small flame that had burst on his foot. Ace flushes in embarrassment, stomping it out.

Ace hauls you off of him, holding you up against the wall as he pulls out, your pussy tries to cling to his cock, and it practically breaks Ace’s heart. With a grunt, he cum over his hand, careful not to get any of his mess on your clothes.

“I want…” Ace pants, stooping down to grab his boxers and wipe off his sticky palm, “I want you to go to the bedroom… I’ll meet you in about fifteen minutes, ‘kay?”

He lowers you to the floor, pinching your shaking thighs playfully, “You’ll make it there alright?” He teases, wiping up any evidence of orgasm with his underwear before tugging your pants back on. Ace goes about fixing your clothes, buttoning your shirt, zipping your pants and fixing your mussed hair.

Once he thinks you look presentable enough, he quickly tugs his own pants back on, throwing his boxers to a corner and silently promising to grab them later (he won’t).

Pressing a kiss to your cheek, Ace opens the door and shoves you out with a smack on the ass, “See you soon, sweetheart,” He coos, walking in the opposite direction. He sends you a stupid wink before turning the corner.

~

Kidd: BACKSHOTS!!!!

BACKSHOTSBACKSHOTSBACKSHOTS FACE DOWN, ASS UP, THATS THE WAY WE LIKE TO FUCK!!!

Guys I may or may not love backshots as much as I love Kidd

Kidd loves every position as long as he’s able to see your body jiggle and move. He especially loves hitting it from the back in any way; doggy, prone bone, face buried in the pillows and your hips wiggling around, throwing your ass back against him like the needy thing you are

He’ll bend you over anything, a desk, a bed, the railing. Hell, if you’re flexible enough, he’ll make you bend down and touch your toes while he plows your shit

One of his favorite things to do is make you grab your ass and present your pussy to him, showing off the way you drip and leak for his fat cock

Kidd uses any jewelry you have to his advantages. Bracelets? He’s forcing them above your head while you practically suffocate in his pillows. Anklets? He’s tugging your legs apart until you’re nearly doing the splits as he bullies his dick into your tiny cunt. But his absolute favorite piece of jewelry that you wear are waist beads.

Even if you’re completely and utterly exhausted, too tired to move or even cry anymore. He’ll take control of your waist beads and force you to keep throwing your ass back against him, the fat jiggling and practically begging for him to slap and fondle

Let’s be honest, Kidd’s fucking feral. He licks and bites his way down your spine, leaving a path of red kisses in its path. By the time he’s done with you, you’re absolutely covered in Kidd’s lipstick. Red pigment smeared down your spine and across your face.

~ Metal clatters against the ground as your body is roughly shoved down against the cool metal of Kidd’s work table. Your bikini top has been haphazardly tugged up around your neck, the strings all tangled, showing off your pretty tan lines. Your skin tingles from the temperature as you lift your head to look behind you. Kidd grins wolfishly at your lustful gaze as he toys with the strings of your bikini bottoms.

Kidd isn’t quite sure what’s come over him, he’s seen you in a bikini hundreds of times before, damn it, he’s seen you naked even more. But the sight of you lounging on the deck of his ship, your skin shiny from tanning had made his heart jump to his throat. You had been sleeping on your stomach, the slope of your spine and the curve of your ass on full display for the crew to see.

He had been working in his workshop when he had caught a glance of you through the window, your tits squished against the floor and your lips pouted slightly in sleep. Kidd hadn’t even realized what he was doing before he was activating his devil fruit powers, latching onto the silver bracelet he’d bought for you and tugging. You awoke to your hand being tugged by a seemingly invisible string. You were bleary from sleep but you already knew what was going on.

Your captain was waiting for you.

And that’s how you’d been practically dragged to the workshop, your feet stumbling over steps and nearly sending you crashing into the railing. The crew snicker and whistle at the sight of your hand being dragged by an unseen force. They knew exactly what Kidd wanted.

You’re barely able to get the door to the workshop open before Kidd is grabbing the back of your neck and tugging you into a bruising kiss. His hips rut against your thigh as he drags you towards his desk, haphazardly sweeping his hand and sending his little ‘projects’ (deadly weapons) flying. Sliding a hand to your shoulder, he slams you down against the table, hoisting your hips up onto the surface so that your toes just barely graze the ground.

“You’re lucky I didn’t go out there and fuck you in front of the whole crew.” Kidd snarls, his hand groping your ass, his touch rough enough to make you flinch as he swats your thigh. Your hips jolt, your body jerking against the table as a sharp keen escapes your lips. “Maybe I should make an announcement, huh? Call everyone in here and make ‘em watch you cream my cock like the slut you are. How’s that sound?”

He chuckles, reaching down to poke and prod your hole through the bikini bottom, pinching your clit and rolling the nub between his fingers, watching the fabric grow damp with your arousal as your feet twitch. You twist around to look at him, your thighs clenching at the sight of your lover; he’s practically drooling at the sight of you laid out across the table. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he kicks your legs apart, stepping forward and rutting himself against your clothed pussy, earning a gasp from your lips.

“What’s got you all worked up?” You tease, rolling your ass back against Kidd’s raging hard on. Even through his clothing, you can feel that one prominent vein on his cock that never fails to drag you into orgasm. Arching your back, you wiggle your hips in the way that makes Kidd’s eyes roll back as he attempt to hold himself back from fucking you hard and deep.

Kidd snarls, his eyes locked onto your ass as if entranced. In on swift movement, he tugs the string of your bikini, the fabric falling to the side to give your captain a wonderful view of your messy cunt and puckered asshole. “Tch. Show me.”

This was Kidd being nice, giving you a few moments to prepare yourself, because there are many things that your captain is, but patient is definitely not one of them. When Kidd had first asked you to expose your weeping hole to him, you had been an embarrassed, blubbering mess. Arguing and telling him that it was weird.

But that was then, and now it was like second nature as you ease a knee onto the table and reach your hand behind you, sliding your pointer and middle finger between your dripping folds and sliding them apart to reveal your pulsing hole to Kidd, arousal steadily dribbling out of your cunt and over your skin. Sliding your digits inside, Kidd watches with rapt attention as you scissor your fingers, preparing your tight pussy for Kidd’s above average cock. More slick drips down your wrist as your ass shakes, your knee jerking and your head dropping down against the table.

With a growl, Kidd unbuttons his pants and you can hear his fat cock slap against his abdomen as he watches your fingers eagerly “Whaddya need, baby?” He croons, his voice sickening sweet as he wraps a hand around your hair and tugs your head back up. Hoisting your back against his chest, Kidd licks up into your mouth, biting your lip and stealing the breath from your lungs. His other hand travels up your navel, across your stomach before grasping the fat of your breast, tugging and twisting. It’s painful, his fingers pinching and flicking your areola as if it were a toy, making you squeak and squirm against him. Yet your hand continues to work at your pussy, it was better for both of you if your cunt was plenty stretched by the time Kidd entered you. Once Kidd lost his patience, there wasn’t much that you could do to stop his from entering you.

You try to respond, your chest fluttering as you try and fail to catch your breath. Kidd’s mouth chasing yours every time you try and pull away. “Mph- Kidd… can’t-“

It’s not until you fear that you might actually pass out, black spots dancing in your vision, that Kidd finally pulls away. Lipstick and saliva smeared across his lower face, and most likely yours as well. “I said, whaddya need?”

You pant, tears dotting your lashes as Kidd finally releases his bruising hold on your tit, his hand sliding to your shoulder and shoving you back down against the table. “Fuck… fuck me, Kidd… shit.”

Kidd catches your wrist, stopping your hand from continuing its ministrations against your pussy, before slamming it down by your face, your eyes linger on the sight of your shiny fingers, strings of arousal coating your skin. Without a moments hesitation, Kidd aligns his twitching length with your entrance and bottoms out inside of you. One moment he’s outside of you, and the next he’s balls deep, his tip very nearly kissing your cervix.

A mix between a relieved groan and a chuckle fills your ears as you let out a ragged cry of pleasure, a sharp jolt of pain coursing up your spine before it melts away into a blissful throb. Your back arches and your hips jerk back against Kidd as he massages your ass, his attempt at comfort. Slowly dragging his cock back, the ridges of his vein catches on your ring of muscle and you shudder, a soft coo sounding from your mouth. Kidd pulls back until his tip is just barely lingering inside of you, his gaze focused on the sight of your pussy all stretched out around him, your arousal coating his cock and dripping over his balls.

You shimmy your hips enticingly, whining with need and impatience as you look at him over your shoulder, “Come on. Hurry up.” You huff, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and pouted lips.

Scowling at your order, Kidd scoffs and rolls his eyes, but the sight of your pretty face makes his heart jump, he secretly loves it when you’re bossy, “Yeah, yeah. You always say that shit and then cry and beg me to slow down a few minutes later. You’re annoying you know that?”

You open your mouth to shoot back an equally sharp retort, but all that comes out is a choked cry as Kidd’s hands move to grip your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh as he hauls your ass back against him, beginning his punishing pace.

Your core aches with each brutal thrust. It’s painful, the pleasure coursing through your body just enough to make it worth it. Or maybe the pain is what making it feel so good? You’re not quite sure that it even matters.

“Fuck, you love it when I treat you like this. You probably couldn’t even cum if I’m not at least a li’l mean, huh?” Kidd teases, his teeth baring as he ducks his head down. Starting at the small of your back, his mouth attaches to your skin, sucking and biting and licking his way up the curve of your spine, leaving a mess of saliva, bruises and lipstick stains in his wake. You taste of sun tan lotion, coconut oil, and sweat. It’s making Kidd’s knees buckle with how good you feel on his tongue.

“You talk… way too much…” You bite out, dropping your head in your arms as your eyes squeeze shut, your head buzzing with pleasure.

“Good thing my teeth are as sharp as my tongue.” Kidd snarls, biting down on your shoulder. His canines dig into your skin as he feasts on your pretty figure. As if to punctuate his point, Kidd thrusts into you, purposefully pressing his tip to your cervix and making you keen in a mix of pain and pleasure.

Stars dance in your vision as you very nearly wail, your body writhing on the table as you attempt to wiggle away. It’s in vain as Kidd grabs your hips and drags you back. “See? I ain’t all talk.”

Kidd snakes a hand around your front, his fingers digging into your abdomen as if searching, “I can feel myself right… here.” Kidd sounds triumphant as he massages the slight bulge. He groans as he presses down, your gummy walls closing in around him as he resumes his thrusts. “Maybe I should put a baby up there one day, how’s that sound, babe?”

You bite your lip, unable to respond anymore for fear that you might let out a sob. Tears dot your lash line, your face splotchy and your breath shuddering. Each rock of Kidd’s hips send electricity up your spine. “I-“

Kidd cocks his head, leaning forward to peer at your face. He grins rakishly, wrestling you into a chokehold and brushing your hair past your ear. He presses a kiss to your cheek, “Are you gonna cry? Go ahead, you know I don’t mind.” Kidd grunts, snapping his hips. He’s close, both of you can tell, he’s struggling to keep his rhythm, his hips stuttering every few moments.

“‘m not… gonna cry.” You choke out, the metal beneath the two of you has grown slick with sweat and condensation. Each time Kidd thrusts his cock into you, there’s a squeak as your skin rubs against the table. You can’t help but giggle at the stupid sound, your cheek pressed against Kidd’s bicep as your eyes roll back.

“God, you’re so sweaty. What’s your problem?” Kidd gruffs, but you can hear the hint of endearment in his voice. “Just cum already, yeah?”

You turn your head, your tongue lolling out in search for Kidd’s mouth. Grinning at your fucked out expression, Kidd eagerly accepts your tongue into his mouth.

You bite down on Kidd’s lip as your orgasm washes over you like a wave. Your entire body jerking and twitching as your hips chase after Kidd’s cock, sucking him in deeper and deeper.

Kidd watches with bated breath as tears slip down your cheeks, your cries and moans quickly swallowed by his eager mouth. He continues to thrust impatiently into your creamy pussy, dragging you through your orgasm while chasing after his own.

Your cum is creating a foamy ring around the base of Kidd’s cock. His face burns and he allows you to kiss him one final time before he pulls back, blood coating his bottom lip from how hard your teeth had dug in.

You feel empty as Kidd finally drags his dick out of your cunt, your hole pulsing with his absence. Kidd grunts in annoyance as he jerks himself off, his bicep flexing around your throat as his own orgasm washes through him, his cum painting your back.

“I’m gonna cum in your pretty pussy one day, and it’s gonna be the best day of our fucking lives, I promise.” Kidd grunts, releasing his hold on you and running a hand through his hair. He steps back from between your legs, admiring the view of your body on display for him to see.

The lipstick marks on your back are partially covered by his cum, oil and sweat still lingering on your skin as bruises form on your ass. Your thighs tremble, your fluids coating your folds and dripping down onto the table.

-

You wake up in Kidd’s arms, your body aching as you lounge across his lap, your nose nestled against his neck. He’s toying absentmindedly, one hand tinkering with a small trinket (bomb), while the other massages your thigh.

Your body feels as though it’s been through the wringer, your thighs aching and your core throbbing. There are bruises on your hips from the table repeatedly digging into your skin.

“Hi.” Kidd grunts, barely soaring you a glance.

“…Hi.” You croak, clearing your throat as you sit up to peer at Kidd’s little invention. You smooth a hand through your hair, groaning as your hands run down your face.

“I told you you’d cry.”

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hey, love your fics!! Can you write one where max’s and charles’ little girls meet at the paddock and become friends over the course of the season and they really want to meet each other during the summer break so they have a cute play date

Best Friends Forever

The sun was warm against their skin as Max leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out with a satisfied sigh. The paddock buzzed with energy, the distant hum of engines being prepped for the weekend mingling with the occasional burst of laughter from the mechanics. Next to him, Kelly adjusted her sunglasses, keeping a watchful eye on their daughter, Penelope, who was happily bouncing a bright pink ball against the pavement.

“She’s going to wear herself out before lunch,” Max murmured, amused, watching as Penelope chased after the ball with the endless energy only a six-year-old could possess.

Kelly chuckled softly. “Better now than during the press conference. You remember what happened last time.”

Max groaned, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me. I’m still recovering from that.”

Their easy conversation was interrupted when Kelly spotted a familiar figure approaching from the other side of the paddock. “Look,” she said softly, nudging Max’s arm.

Max followed her gaze, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he saw Charles walking toward them, his five-year-old daughter, Yn, clutching his hand tightly. Charles, ever patient, adjusted his steps to match Yn’s smaller ones, walking slowly to keep her from having to run. Yn’s brown hair bounced slightly with each step, and her bright eyes were fixed on Penelope playing with the ball.

When they reached them, Kelly stood up to greet them warmly. “Charles! And Yn!” Her voice softened as she crouched down, pressing a gentle kiss to Yn’s forehead. “You look so pretty today, sweetheart.”

Yn blushed slightly, hiding her face against her father’s leg.

Max, still seated, reached out to stroke her hair gently. “Hi, little one,” he said in a soft, affectionate tone. “You having fun with your Papa today?”

Yn gave a small nod, her fingers curling tighter around Charles’ hand.

Charles smiled down at her before encouraging her quietly in French. “Dis bonjour, ma chérie.”

With a shy glance upward, Yn whispered, “Bonjour,” her accent soft and sweet.

“She’s getting better at saying hello,” Max teased lightly, his smile widening.

Charles rolled his eyes playfully but couldn’t hide his pride. “She’s working on it. Right, ma puce?” He leaned down a little, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Go on. Ask them what you wanted to ask.”

Yn hesitated for a moment, her small teeth tugging at her lower lip before she finally gathered the courage to speak. “Um… Can I… Can I play with Penelope?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but her hopeful expression was clear.

Before Kelly or Max could answer, Penelope, ever the enthusiastic one, ran over in excitement. “Can she, please? Please, Mama? Dad? It’s boring playing alone!” She clapped her hands together, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Kelly laughed softly, exchanging a glance with Max, both of them unable to resist their daughter’s pleading. “Of course,” she said warmly. “Just be careful, okay?”

Penelope squealed with excitement, immediately grabbing Yn’s hand. “Come on! I’ll show you how to bounce the ball really high!”

Yn let herself be pulled along, casting a shy but grateful glance over her shoulder at her father. Charles gave her an encouraging smile, his heart warming at the sight of her slowly coming out of her shell.

“They’re going to tire themselves out,” Max said, shaking his head as he watched the two girls run to the grassy area nearby, their giggles filling the air.

“That’s the goal, isn’t it?” Charles chuckled, settling into the seat beside Max.

The two men fell into easy conversation while Kelly leaned back comfortably, occasionally glancing toward the girls. Penelope, always full of ideas, was now showing Yn her collection of colorful bracelets, proudly sliding one off her wrist to give to her new friend. Yn accepted it with wide eyes, holding it carefully as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

“She’s brave to ask,” Max remarked after a while, his tone soft with admiration.

Charles smiled faintly, his gaze fixed on his daughter. “She’s been wanting to play with Penelope for a while now. It took her some time to work up the courage.” His chest swelled with pride seeing Yn laughing freely, her usual shyness melting away under Penelope’s infectious energy.

“She’s doing great,” Max said sincerely, giving Charles a friendly nudge. “And P’s loving it. She’s been asking for someone to play with all week.”

The conversation drifted from family to racing and back again, the atmosphere light and easy. Through it all, the two girls remained inseparable—Yn showed Penelope how to weave tiny flower crowns from the wildflowers along the edge of the paddock, while Penelope proudly taught Yn how to spin the ball on her fingertips.

By the time the sun began to dip lower in the sky, painting everything in warm golden hues, the girls came running back, hand in hand, their faces flushed with happiness.

“Dad! Dad!” Penelope called out first, dragging Yn toward the group of drivers gathered nearby. Charles and Max stood next to Lando and Oscar, their laughter echoing through the paddock.

Charles knelt as the girls reached him, his hands resting on Yn’s shoulders. “What is it, ma chérie?”

Penelope took the lead, her words tumbling out in an excited rush. “Can Yn and I see each other during the summer break? Please? We’ll die if we can’t!”

Yn nodded vigorously, her braids bouncing. “Please, Papa,” she added softly, glancing up at Charles with her big, hopeful eyes.

Max let out a laugh, ruffling Penelope’s hair. “Dying might be a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Penelope shook her head fiercely. “No, we will,” she insisted, clinging tightly to Yn’s hand as if letting go would make her vanish.

Charles, his heart melting at his daughter’s earnest expression, exchanged a glance with Max. “I think we can arrange a playdate,” he said, his voice warm.

“Definitely,” Max agreed without hesitation. “Maybe a beach day or something?”

“That sounds perfect,” Charles said, giving Yn a reassuring squeeze.

The moment the words left his mouth, the girls erupted into joyful squeals, bouncing on their toes.

“Thank you, Dad! Thank you, Charles!” Penelope cheered before tugging Yn toward the hospitality area. “Come on, let’s get juice!”

The adults watched them go, their laughter lingering in the air long after they disappeared.

“They’re going to be trouble together,” Max said, shaking his head with a fond smile.

“Maybe,” Charles mused, a soft smile on his lips. “But I’m glad Yn found a friend like Penelope.”

“And I’m glad P found her,” Max added, his voice filled with warmth.

As the paddock buzzed with preparations for the last race before the summer break, two little girls had already claimed their victory—finding a friendship that promised to last a lifetime.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed this story. My requests are always open for you. In my opinion, Penelope is already Max daughter.

-💙🦋

[alinathinkstoomuch]

Heels of Dreams

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: you wear heels for a fancy dinner, but in the end, it’s not your shoes that carry you home. warnings: suggestive, fluff, hotch being the perfect man once again by carrying reader home and taking off her heels, age gap implied, reader giving hotch a hard time about being old. (all i hear is hotch is a boobs man, hotch is an ass man no! hotch is a legs man! he told me himself!) word count: 2k ✧ masterlist

Your feet ached – so much so that you weren’t even surprised when Reid, probably fed up with your quiet whining, casually mentioned over dinner that high heels were originally invented for men. And honestly? That made perfect sense. Only creatures that ridiculous would willingly subject themselves to this kind of torture.

He had then launched into an explanation about how, somewhere in the eighteenth century, heels became associated with women’s fashion, but by that point, you were far too focused on two things to pay attention: the persistent throb in your feet and the slow, deliberate movement of Aaron’s hand as it slid over to rest on your thigh.

That had effectively wiped out any interest in Reid’s history lesson.

It had been a small dinner, one of those rare nights where the girls – Penelope, really –  insisted on dressing up. She had made a reservation somewhere far fancier (and significantly less sticky) than your usual bar, declaring it a much-needed change of scenery.

So, you had picked out the prettiest pair of shoes you owned – the ones you knew Aaron liked because he had insisted on buying them for you. He hadn’t even flinched when the price climbed high enough to require a comma, just given you that quiet, unwavering look that made it clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

And now, after hours of balancing on them, you were really hoping that look extended to carrying you to the couch.

“Regretting your choice of footwear?”

You huffed, dramatically shifting your weight onto one leg. “I regret your choice of footwear.”

His brow lifted. “Mine?”

“You picked these out, remember?” You gestured toward your aching feet, the expensive, unreasonably gorgeous shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of your dress. “You practically demanded I get them.”

Aaron hummed, slowing his pace just enough to make you aware of how much effort you were putting into keeping up. The ass. “I don’t recall any demanding,” he said, tone far too innocent. “I seem to remember you trying them on and looking at me like you were hoping I’d tell you to buy them.”

You gasped, stopping in your tracks. “That is not what happened.”

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable – except for the glint in his eyes, the one that only appeared when he was in the mood to toy with you. “No?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No.”

He paused for a moment before asking, “Which one is it going to be?”

“Huh?

“Do you want to walk home in my shoes,” he clarified, like he was offering you something as normal as his jacket, “or am I carrying you?”

You stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was actually serious. “You can’t just carry me,” you argued, crossing your arms.

Aaron arched a brow and before you could react, he took a deliberate step forward, closing the space between you. “You underestimate me,” he said and suddenly, you were very aware of how close he was.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you can – I just don’t think you should.”

His lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. “Why not?”

“Because it’s ridiculous.”

“You’re limping,” he pointed out, not unkindly. “And you’re already dramatic when you’re comfortable, I can’t imagine how much I’ll have to hear about this tomorrow if I don’t carry you.”

“Jeez, you’re making me sound like a real catch.”

His smirk deepened just enough to make your breath hitch. “You are,” he said simply, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “That’s why I’m carrying you.”

And before you could even form a protest, his arms were around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

A surprised yelp escaped your lips as he adjusted his hold, settling you securely in his arms, carrying you like you were weightless. The absurdity of it all – his confidence, the way he did it without hesitation, the sheer ridiculousness of being carried down the street like some sort of Disney princess – sent you into a fit of laughter.

“This is silly,” you managed between giggles, clinging to his shoulders. “Baby, put me down, I’ll walk barefoot.”

“Not happening.” His grip on you tightened, as if the very thought of letting you go was out of the question.

You let out another giggle, looping your arms around his neck for balance – not that you needed to, because Aaron held you like you were made for this, like carrying you home was just another part of his routine. Like it didn’t even require effort.

“Well, at least it’s not too far,” you mused, mid-yawn. “Wouldn’t want you throwing your back out.”

Aaron huffed out a laugh, the warmth of it brushing against your temple. “My back is fine. I think I can manage a few blocks.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, a teasing smile curling at your lips. “You think you can manage? Should I be concerned?”

“I should drop you just for that.”

Your eyes widened in mock horror, gripping his shoulders a little tighter. “You wouldn’t.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a smile “Wouldn��t I?”

Still, you gasped dramatically, clutching him even tighter. “Wow. Threatening to drop your much younger wife? That’s low.”

He sighed, the kind of long-suffering exhale that only came from years of dealing with you. “Here we go.”

You bit back a grin, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I mean, I get it – you’re not as young as you used to be. It must be exhausting carrying someone so full of youthful energy.”

“You do realize I’ve tackled suspects more than twice your size, right?”

“Yes, yes, very impressive,” you conceded with a wave of your hand. “But, you know, they don’t cling to you and distract you with conversation while you’re carrying them.”

“No, usually they’re either trying to stab or shoot me.”

You blinked, considering that. “And I’m the difficult one?”

Aaron didn’t bother dignifying your last remark with a response, he just shook his head, adjusting his grip on you. The movement brought you even closer and you could feel his warmth bleeding into you. If you weren’t still revelling in the absolute delight of being carried, you might’ve admitted that this had been your plan all along.

Eventually, the familiar sight of your apartment building came into view, and you sighed dramatically. “Well, we made it. Against all odds. How’s your back? Need me to book you a chiropractor?”

“Maybe a divorce attorney,” he mumbled, earning a swat at his chest from your clutch.

“Excuse me?”

But before you could demand a proper retraction, he angled you slightly, adjusting his hold so effortlessly it was almost infuriating, and you barely had time to react before he nodded toward the door.

“Kick,” he instructed.

Rolling your eyes but obliging anyway, you lifted a foot and tapped the door open, muttering, “Chivalry is dead.”

“Chivalry is alive and well,” he corrected smoothly, stepping inside with you still securely in his arms. “It’s just carrying a very mouthy woman up the stairs.”

You gasped again, scandalized. “Wow. I think that definitely just earned you a night on the couch.”

“We both know you’d end up joining me anyway. In fact,” he mused, his voice dropping as he carried you up the stairs, “I recall you saying that the best sex we’ve ever had was on that couch.”

Your mouth snapped shut, heat rushing to your cheeks so fast it was disorienting.

“You cannot just say things like that,” you hissed, your head whipping toward the door opposite yours. “We have neighbours. You know Agatha is a night owl.”

Aaron exhaled a quiet chuckle, completely unfazed. “Agatha’s hard of hearing.” He paused then added, “Keys, honey.”

With a dramatic sigh, you started digging through your clutch, fingers sifting through a graveyard of lip glosses and tiny perfume samples you had no intention of ever using but refused to throw away.

Aaron tilted his head, watching with mild amusement. “Need some help?”

“I’ve got it,” you muttered, ignoring his deeply unnecessary smirk as you fished out your keys. “Not all of us have the luxury of bottomless suit pockets.”

“That’s not what they’re called.”

“Whatever, Mary Poppins.”

He shook his head as he patiently waited for you to unlock the door – still very much carrying you.

Finally, your fingers closed around the keys, and with an exaggerated motion, you yanked them out. Aaron hummed, the sound low and pleased, before lowering you just enough so you could reach the lock.

The door swung open and he carried you inside, kicking it shut behind him. He made his way over to the infamous couch. The moment he set you down, you let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, stretching out dramatically. “Ugh. My hero,” you drawled. “My feet may never recover, but at least I died beautifully.”

You watched as he crossed the room with that same grace, making his way back toward the door. He slid off his suit jacket, draping it neatly over the back of a chair before reaching for the lock.

He made his way back over to you without a word, nudging your legs apart just enough to settle between them, sinking onto his knees. His fingers went immediately to the delicate strap of your heels, the pads of his thumbs brushing against your skin as he worked.

“Wow. Didn’t even have to ask.”

Aaron barely glanced up, his focus on your ankle as he did his best to undo the tiny buckle – one-handed, no less, because his phone and wallet were still in his grip. “I take care of what’s mine.”

Your stomach did a little flip, but you refused to let him win just yet.

“Hold these.” He pressed his phone and wallet against your stomach, and you took them instinctively.

Your fingers brushed over the wallet – the one you had given him for his birthday last year, the worn leather soft and familiar against your palm. You turned it over in your hand, shaking your head. “Oof. Trusting me with your wallet? Big mistake, Hotchner.”

He slipped the first shoe off your foot. “Spend whatever you want,” he murmured, his fingers wrapping around your ankle, lifting it slightly. “Take whatever you want. Take everything.”

Before the words could even land, he dipped his head and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your ankle. His lips continued to trail lower, placing another kiss just above the curve of your foot, then another, his movements achingly tender.

You exhaled a quiet, contented moan, your body melting into the cushions as his touch worked its magic. It was like he knew – of course he knew – the exact places that hurt, the spots that had been aching for hours, and now, with nothing more than his lips, his touch, his presence, he was undoing all of it.

Like he needed to make it better.

Like he wanted to erase every trace of discomfort you’d felt all night.

His hands skimmed up your calves, pushing your dress up, fingertips pressing gently into the sore muscles before his thumbs followed, kneading warmth back into you.

Then, with that same patient care, he reached for your other foot, undoing the second buckle. The strap slipped free and he set the shoe aside before his hands returned to you, skimming up the length of your legs.

And then his mouth followed. Kissing. Worshipping.

His lips trailed over your shin, each kiss pressing something deeper into you – something that made your chest feel full.

His breath was warm against your thigh when he mumbled, “Marry me, baby.”

You blinked down at him, another giggle slipping from your lips, light and breathless. “Aaron, we’re already married.”

You felt him smile against your skin.

“Marry me again.”

Another kiss.

“And again.”

Another.

“And again.”

Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging it slightly, your heart stuttering as warmth curled deep in your stomach.

He looked up then, eyes full of love, lips hovering just above your skin.

“As many times as you’ll have me.”

And just like that, you knew – you’d say yes to him a thousand times over.

[hy6erion]

Hi, Christine!!:)

can you pls write Viktor/jayce x small s/o with like small curves? like small breasts and ass etc.

I’m on my knees. PLEASE PLEASEEEE DO ITT😔🥹🙏🙏

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫/ 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 (𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲) 𝐱 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 ᰔ

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬

𝐬𝐟𝐰

�� Jayce is the kind of guy who doesn’t care much about body types—he’s all about personality and connection. But that doesn’t mean he won’t absolutely adore every part of you.

✰ Loves wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder, pulling you into his broad chest. He likes how petite you feel against him.

✰ If you ever express insecurity about your body, he’s quick to shut that down. “Are you kidding? You’re perfect.” His hands will settle on your hips, and he’ll make you look at him. “You don’t need curves to be gorgeous, sweetheart.”

✰ Jayce is a sucker for practical fashion, so if you wear fitted shirts, crop tops, or high-waisted pants that show off your proportions, he thinks you look effortlessly good. He’ll definitely hype you up.

✰ If anyone even tries to make a rude comment about your body, Jayce will shut them down so fast. He’s that boyfriend who will make a whole speech about how beauty comes in all forms.

✰ Playfully calls you “tiny but mighty.” He knows firsthand that physical size has nothing to do with how powerful or brilliant someone can be (cough Viktor cough).

✰ Jayce is very into lifting you up randomly. He’s strong, and since you’re smaller, he takes advantage of it—throws you over his shoulder just to make you laugh. “Too easy. You weigh nothing.”

✰ When he hugs you, you completely disappear in his arms. He loves how snug you feel against him.

𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰

✰ Jayce is an ass guy, no question, but he doesn’t care about size. He’s obsessed with the shape of you, how your hips fit into his hands perfectly.

✰ He loves touching your chest. Even if you’re smaller, his hands still grope at you like you’re the most irresistible thing in the world. He’ll cup you, thumb over your nipples, and mutter, “Perfect handful.”

✰ Definitely the type to kiss down your torso slowly, savoring every little curve of your body. He’ll take his time appreciating all the details you might think are insignificant.

✰ “Doesn’t matter how big they are, they’re still sensitive, aren’t they?”—and then he’ll prove it with his tongue, teasing you until you’re squirming.

✰ If you ever try to cover yourself up during sex, Jayce won’t let you. He’ll pin your wrists down and murmur, “Nah, let me see you.”

✰ Loves when you ride him. Since you’re smaller, he loves putting his hands on your waist and lifting you up and down himself—all strength, little effort.

✰ If you wear lingerie, especially something sheer or lacy, he’s done for. He’ll just sit back and groan, pulling you onto his lap. “You trying to kill me, sweetheart?”

✰ Spanking? Oh, he still does it. Just because you don’t have the biggest ass doesn’t mean he won’t leave a red handprint on you. He loves making you feel how much he wants you.

✰ Growls into your skin when he’s deep inside you, holding you tight. Size kink unlocked—you feel so small beneath him, and it drives him crazy.

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫

𝐬𝐟𝐰

✰ Viktor is completely indifferent to body type. His attraction is all about intelligence, wit, and emotional connection. Your size? Completely irrelevant to him.

✰ That being said, he adores how dainty you are. His fingers ghost over your arms, your collarbone, your waist—he memorizes you.

✰ He loves resting his head on your shoulder when he’s tired, mumbling in his accent, “You are very comfortable, you know that?”

✰ Since he struggles with mobility, he appreciates how light you are. It’s easier for him to pull you into his lap, have you sit beside him, or keep you close.

✰ If you ever mention feeling insecure, he raises a brow. “Who told you that you are anything less than beautiful?” His voice is so genuine that you immediately melt.

✰ Unlike Jayce, he doesn’t physically lift you, but he will pull you into his coat on cold nights, letting you tuck yourself against him.

✰ He’s obsessed with the way you curl up beside him. He traces patterns on your skin absentmindedly, always touching you in some way.

✰ If someone makes a rude comment about your body, Viktor won’t even look up—he’ll just say something so sharp and intelligent that the person leaves embarrassed. “I see ignorance is still thriving. How unfortunate.”

𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰

✰ Viktor is fascinated by every inch of you. He’ll trace your entire body with his hands, lips, tongue—his admiration is scientific and intimate.

✰ You can feel the reverence in his touch. He worships your body, slow and deliberate, taking his time. “It is perfect, because it is you.”

✰ He likes being between your thighs. Doesn’t care about the size—he just wants to be buried there, lazy tongue strokes making you beg.

✰ Viktor is teasing. He’ll roll your nipples between his fingers, murmuring, “Sensitive, hm? And you were worried about their size.”

✰ Unlike Jayce, he prefers taking control. He loves pressing you down into the sheets, keeping you under him, making you feel small but cherished.

✰ Eye contact. The entire time. He loves watching your reactions, seeing how your body responds to him.

✰ He loves soft whimpers. If you make any noise when he touches you, he smirks—low, amused, and a little possessive.

✰ Marks your body everywhere. Not just your neck—your collarbones, the inside of your thighs, places only he gets to see.

✰ “Do not compare yourself to others,” he murmurs against your skin. “This body is mine to admire.” And then he shows you exactly how much he means it.

[gf2bellamy]

Okay okay so I was watching episode 6x6 (Devil's Night) and the beginning when Spencer was really excited to share the origin of Halloween and talk about his Halloween plans and everyone just went 🙄 when he invited them mad me so sad - my poor baby just wanted someone to talk to :(

So is it alright if I please request fem!bau!reader just shyly being like "I'd love to come, if that's okay 😊" and he's like 😳🥹🥰 "yeah"

I found a link to that scene if it helps (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WrBzi9VBIFw)

halloween — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: some facts abt halloween a/n: thank you so much for your request ( and the link !! ) <3 i hope you like this <3 also this healed something in me bc this scene always made me sad like i'd go with you pookie ☹️

You sat at the conference table, flipping through the file in front of you. Next to you, Rossi sipped his coffee, deep in thought, while Derek leaned back in his chair, absentmindedly twirling a pen between his fingers.

The silence was comfortable, broken only by the occasional rustle of paper.

Suppressing a yawn, you blinked tiredly at the text on the page.But then—your ears picked up on something, or rather, someone.

Spencer.

His voice carried through the open door and just like that, your mood shifted instantly, a small smile tugging at your lips before you could stop it.

Derek caught the change. From the corner of your eye, you noticed his amused smirk as he tilted his head slightly in your direction.

He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to.

The look alone was enough to say busted. Still, he simply shook his head and returned his attention to his paperwork, letting you off the hook.

Moments later, Spencer and Emily entered the room. Spencer was mid-sentence, his voice animated, eyes bright.

“—it became a little more commercialized in the 1950’s with trick or treat and today it only rivals Christmas in terms of popularity.”

His words tumbled out effortlessly.

As he spoke, his gaze found yours, his expression softening just slightly as he smiled in greeting. You felt your heart stutter in response, but you quickly masked it with a small nod, returning the smile.

Emily, on the other hand, looked less than amused. With a sigh, she dropped into the chair beside Rossi, rubbing her temples.

“All I asked was what he was doing this weekend,” she muttered, exasperation evident in her voice.

You glanced at Spencer, who remained standing, still lost in his Halloween tangent. Your eyes trailed down, taking in his outfit—a soft red cardigan over a crisp button-up.

It suited him, and you had to resist the urge to comment on how ridiculously cute he looked.

Across the table, Rossi, Derek, and you were all watching Spencer with varying degrees of amusement. His hands gestured slightly as he spoke.

“You know, I'm toying with the notion of either going to the Edgar Allan Poe puppet theater or the reenactment of a 19th-century phantasmagoria,” he said, sounding excited when naming those two events.

As he talked, Garcia swept into the room in a burst of color, her outfit an explosion of orange hues. Your gaze flickered to her for a brief second, a smile forming at the sheer Garcia-ness of it all.

Rossi, however, had no interest in indulging Spencer’s train of thought. He raised a hand in protest, shaking his head. “I don’t want to know.”

You frowned at his answer, turning back to Spencer with genuine curiosity. “I do,” you chimed in, tilting your head slightly as you watched him.

“Phantasmagorias are these amazing pre projected go shows invented in France where the showman attempted to spook the audience using science magic.” Spencer explained, his voice picking up excitement.

His eyes lit up as he emphasized the words science and magic, his enthusiasm practically infectious.

And if you weren’t already hopelessly smitten, well—you were pretty sure you had actual heart eyes by now.

Spencer met your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, his confident rambling faltered. A faint blush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks as he registered the way you were looking at him. But, ever Spencer, he pressed on, his hands moving expressively as he spoke.

“And it just so happens that I have an extra ticket,” he said, nodding slightly, his voice just a touch more careful now.

You weren’t oblivious—you could practically feel the impending remark forming on Derek’s lips or the teasing smirk playing at Garcia’s expression. Rossi looked thoroughly unimpressed, as if this entire conversation was a waste of his time. The disinterest from the others was obvious, and you knew exactly where this was going.

So, before anyone could ruin the moment, you spoke up.

“I’d love to join you,” you said, your voice warm.

The room—somehow, impossibly—grew even quieter.

Spencer’s wide eyes locked onto yours, his lips parting slightly as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. “Really?” he practically whispered.

You nodded, offering him a warm smile. “Sure. It sounds fun.”

For a second, Spencer just stared at you, as if trying to determine whether or not you were joking. When he realized you were serious, his lips curled into a small, almost shy smile. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his cardigan, and you could see the gears turning in his mind—he hadn’t expected this.

Garcia’s eyes flicked between the two of you, a knowing grin slowly spreading across her face. Derek, meanwhile, chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.

Spencer, still looking a little shocked but undeniably happy. “O-okay,” he stammered, clearing his throat. “Uh, great. I mean—yeah, it’ll be fun.”

“Well, pretty boy, looks like you’ve got yourself a date,” Derek teased, his tone light but clearly pleased.

Spencer’s face went an even darker shade of red. “It’s not a—” He stopped himself, glancing at you quickly before deciding not to finish that sentence. Instead, he cleared his throat and adjusted his cardigan, trying to regain composure.

You just smiled to yourself, finding his flustered reaction entirely too adorable.

Maybe this Halloween was going to be more fun than you thought.

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 22

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: Angst, tension, feeling of betrayal, mentions of loss of appetite, arguments, this ones a looooooong one

The sun is beginning its slow descent by the time I finally drag myself out of bed. My body feels heavy, like I’ve been carrying the weight of the world in my chest. I need something, anything, to ground me, and right now, a cup of tea sounds like the only thing that might help.

That’s the plan. Go to the kitchen, make it, and come straight back up to my room. I’ll sit on my balcony and watch the last bits of sunlight disappear while I think about what to do next.

 But my main goal: avoid Matt.

I slip out of my room, moving as quietly as possible. The last thing I want is to draw attention to myself. The house is silent apart from the distant murmur of voices outside on the patio. I catch a glimpse through the window, figures sitting around, but I can’t make out exactly who. Not that it matters. I’m not stopping to find out.

The only sound that gives away my presence is the low whirl of the kettle. I stand there, staring at it as it heats up, feeling every second drag out like an eternity. I grab a mug and put the tea bag in it so as soon as it clicks off, I can pour the water and milk, moving quickly but carefully. Just get in, get out.

Successfully, I make my tea. 

Mission accomplished. 

Now, I just need to make it back upstairs.

But just as I start up the steps, the sound of the patio door sliding open sends a jolt of panic through me. 

Shit.

I don’t even turn to see who it is, I just pick up my pace, practically going up the steps two at a time.

I reach the top of the stairs and turn the corner, then..

BAM.

I nearly spill my tea everywhere as I slam into someone, my breath catching in my throat. I look up, and my stomach drops.

Matt.

For a split second, time slows. His eyes lock onto mine, searching, but I don’t give him the chance. Like I’m on autopilot, my feet keep moving, my mouth stays shut, and I walk right past him without a single word.

I don’t stop. I don’t hesitate. I reach my room, step inside, and lock the door behind me.

I let out a shaky breath, gripping my mug a little tighter. I try my best to shake it off. It was just a few seconds. Just an unfortunate encounter in a house that now feels way too small.

I know I’m going to have to face him sooner or later. There’s no avoiding it forever. But I’m not ready right now, not for a one on one, not for the inevitable conversation.

So, instead of dwelling on it, I step onto the balcony. The sun is slowly dropping lower, so I sit here and try an appreciate the sky, and for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe..

Until there's a knock at my door.

I freeze.

No. No, no, no. If this is Matt, I swear to god.

But then I hear a familiar voice from the other side of the door.

“Y/n? It’s me.”

Nick.

Relief washes over me so quickly it almost knocks me over. I exhale, setting my tea down on the small table before walking back inside. I hesitate for just a second before unlocking the door.

Nick steps into the room, his expression soft but searching mine. "How you doing?"

I shrug lightly, forcing a small smile. "I'm okay.. I just made a cup of tea. Was gonna sit out on the balcony while the sun sets."

Nick nods, his eyes flicking toward the open balcony doors. "Mind if I sit with you?"

"Of course not" I say, stepping aside so he can follow me out.

We settle into the chairs. The silence between us is comforting, a huge difference to the chaos of the past twenty four hours.

After a minute, Nick clears his throat. "I ran into Matt coming up the stairs."

My body stiffens, fingers tightening around my mug. "Oh."

“I just asked if he had spoken to you yet, and he said no."

I huff out a breath, looking back toward the view. I take a slow sip of my tea before turning back to Nick. "So, what's your plan for the night?"

He leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I'm gonna go meet that guy."

I raise an eyebrow. "That guy? You’ve been talking about him for days, and I still don’t even know his name."

Nick hesitates, his expression shifting slightly. He looks at me like he's bracing for something.

I narrow my eyes. "Nick.. what?"

He winces, rubbing the back of his neck. "His name is.. George."

For a second, we just stare at each other. Then, at the exact same moment, we both burst out laughing.

"George?!" I manage between laughs.

"I know! I know!" Nick groans, covering his face. "I was hoping you wouldn’t ask."

"I'm sorry, but that’s just- " I laugh harder, shaking my head.

Nick grins, finally giving in. "I know I never pictured myself with a George but I swear, the way he is makes up for it though!"

"I'm sure it does.." I say, still giggling. "It's just.. George."

We end our fit of laughter and I don’t bother asking what everyone else’s plans are, especially after overhearing Chris earlier. My guess is he’s going to meet Rachel. Whether Matt tags along to meet Christina too is a different story. I don’t want to know. All I know is that I’m not moving from this room.

Nick doesn’t press the conversation any further, and I appreciate that. Instead, we sit there, laughter lingering in the air between us. I'm glad Nick came into me because suddenly I feel a little bit lighter.

Eventually, he checks his phone and sighs. "I should probably start getting ready."

I nod, still staring at the sunset. "Yeah. Have fun."

Nick hesitates for a second before standing. "You sure you’re good?"

I glance at him, offering a small smile. "Yeah, I’m good." I mean it is a lie, but he doesn’t call me out on it.

He squeezes my shoulder before heading out. I exhale, setting my empty mug down on the table beside me. I know I should eat something, try to distract myself, maybe even attempt to sleep, but I don’t move. I stay curled up in my chair, staring at the fading sky, wondering how everything changed so fast.

When I finally move to my bed, I pull the covers up around me, but even laying here feels weird. The sheets feel awful against me now, tainted with memories that once brought comfort but now only make my stomach churn. My mind spirals, picturing how easily our history could be replicated in his bed, with someone else. The thought makes my chest tighten, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting it all to stop.

I take a deep breath, then another, but it doesn’t help. My mind keeps circling back to the same place, the same questions, the same ache in my chest that refuses to go away. How could he do this? Did any of it mean anything? Was I just another passing moment for him?

I need to make it stop.

I turn onto my side, curling into myself, exhausted from it all. Being honest, my eyes hurt that much from crying, I don’t find it hard to fall asleep.

I wake up the next morning determined to be a new woman. I have a shower to wash away all of yesterday's sorrow, before pulling out the smallest blue bikini I could find. I make my way downstairs and throw myself together a small breakfast, considering I haven't eaten in over 24 hours but not forcing myself too much as my appetite still isn't fully back yet.

I take my breakfast outside to the patio and I settle onto a lounger, my plate resting on my lap. The villa is silent. Everyone must still be asleep, sleeping off their drunken choices, their reckless mistakes.

Good. I need the peace.

I take a slow bite of my food, staring out at the water. The pool glistens under the morning light, the water undisturbed. Today is a new day. A fresh start.

I adjust my sunglasses and stretch out after putting my plate under my lounger, determined to soak in the sun and let it warm the parts of me that feel cold and bitter. If anyone sees me out here, I want them to see that I’m unbothered. That I’m fine.

A few minutes pass in silence before I hear the sliding door creak open behind me. I don't turn to look. I don't react.

I realise it’s Nate and Nick coming out, both looking more awake than I expected.

"Morning" they say in unison, and I greet them with a small smile “Morning early birds.”

I turn to Nick first. "Soooo? How was your night with George?"

Nick rubs the back of his neck, and I can tell he’s holding back his excitement for my sake. "It was good" he says simply.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Nick."

He sighs, then finally lets the grin slip through. "Okay, fine. It was great, actually. We got drinks, had a laugh. He’s funny, really easy to talk to."

I smile at him, genuinely happy. "That’s what I like to hear. You deserve a good time."

Nick gives me a look, like he’s checking if I really mean it. I do. Just because my love life is a disaster doesn’t mean I want everyone else to be miserable with me.

I turn to Nate next. "And what about you? What were you up to?"

Nate stretches his arms over his head, looking far too well rested. "Didn’t move from my bed. Best sleep I’ve had in weeks."

I laugh. "Of course you did. You look like you just got back from a spa retreat while the rest of us look like we barely survived the night."

The three of us settle into conversation, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the lightness of it. But in the back of my mind, I know this moment won’t last. The rest of the villa is still asleep, for now. And soon enough, I’ll have to face the reality I’ve been trying to avoid.

"Is Chris up?" I ask Nate, trying to sound casual.

Nate shakes his head. "Don’t think he even came back here last night."

I swallow hard, nodding slowly. "Oh right"

There's been no sign of Matt either. That tells me everything I need to know.

Guess that means he went out with Chris and stayed with Christina last night again.

I should’ve expected it, but expecting something doesn’t make it hurt any less.

For the rest of the morning, it stays just me, Nick, and Nate chilling outside. The sun climbs higher, and the villa remains quiet, no sign of Chris or Matt. I sip on my water, listening to the distant waves crashing on the shore, slipping in and out of conversation with Nick and Nate as a distraction.

By midday, that peacefulness is interrupted. I hear the sliding door open, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching.

I lift my head slightly, peering through my sunglasses. Chris and Matt step outside together. Just seeing them like this, together, appearing at the same time, only further confirms what I already knew. 

Matt was with Christina last night.

I can feel my heart break over again, but I refuse to let it show.

Without a word, I rest my head back down on the lounger, keeping my sunglasses on, blocking them out. I’m not ready for any type of conversation. Not yet.

Nate and Nick casually greet them, like nothing is out of the ordinary. Chris stretches, rubbing the back of his neck, and asks if anyone’s hungry.

My stomach twists at the thought of food. The second I saw Matt, my appetite vanished again. So I keep my mouth closed.

Nate says he is and disappears inside with them, leaving just me and Nick alone by the pool.

The quiet settles between us for a moment before Nick turns to me. “Are you coming to dinner tonight?” His tone sounds like he wants me to be there, even though he understands If I don’t want to.

I hesitate. The idea of sitting at a table with Matt, pretending everything is fine, feels impossible. I open my mouth to say no, but Nick is already cutting me off.

“You don’t have to talk to him at all” he reassures me. “I’ll be there the whole time.”

I exhale, chewing on my bottom lip. I do feel bad if I don’t go. It’s just dinner, right? I mean, the tension between Matt and I is like old times, nothing I haven’t had to deal with or experience before. The only thing is, the feeling in my chest is a hundred times worse than it ever was before.

“Okay” I finally say. “I’ll come.”

Nick grins, tapping my arm lightly. “We’ll have a good time, I promise.”

I nod, but the weight in my chest doesn’t lift.

By now, it’s nearly 3pm, and the sun has drained me but nowhere near as much as the situation with Matt has. The exhaustion clings to me, both physical and emotional, and I know if I don’t rest now, I’ll be useless later.

“I think I’m gonna go for a nap” I mumble, pushing myself up from the lounger.

Nick gives me a small smile. “Good idea. I’ll wake you if you’re not up in time.”

I nod again, grateful, and make my way inside. The second I hit my bed, the world around me fades.

When I wake up, the air in my room feels heavier, the remnants of my dreams still in my brain. I shake them off and head straight for the shower.

By the time I step out, wrapped in a towel, I feel better. Maybe, tonight won’t be as bad as I think.

I walk out and go to sit at the vanity, but I feel like I need to lift the vibe even more.

A drink and music.

That’s what I need if I have any chance of enjoying myself tonight.

Still in my towel, I make my way downstairs, moving quickly so I don’t run into anyone. I pour myself a vodka lemonade, throwing pieces of ice into the fancy glass.

Running back up to my room, I shut the door, take a sip, and set my speaker on full blast. I turn on It’s ok, i’m ok by Tate McRae, the lyrics hitting a little too close to home. I let the music drown out my thoughts as I start getting ready, determined to feel like myself again, even if it’s just for tonight.

I move through my routine on autopilot, letting the music and the slight buzz from my drink carry me through. I’m not overthinking my outfit, my makeup, or my hair, yet somehow, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I look effortlessly put together. Maybe it’s the lighting, maybe it’s the fact that I’ve just given up on caring, but either way, I feel like this is the best I’ve ever looked.

I pick up my phone and text Nick, asking him to come to my room to take pictures. It barely takes a minute before he’s knocking on my door, slipping inside with an approving grin.

“Damnnnn!” he says, dragging the word out. “You look amazing.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my lips. “You have to say that.”

“I really don’t” he laughs, already pulling his phone out. “We need evidence of this moment.”

We take a few pictures together, Nick hyping me up between shots, making me laugh just enough to keep it natural.

When we’re satisfied with the pictures, I wonder where it is we’re actually going to eat. “So, where are we even going for dinner?”

“Some Italian place Chris booked” Nick says, glancing at his phone. “He said he made the reservation earlier.

I nod, I love italian food, so I’m hoping this whole thing is just easy. I grab my purse, double checking that I have everything, phone, keys to the villa, money. I take a deep breath before heading downstairs with Nick.

The moment we step into the foyer, I see them. Chris, Nate, and Matt are all standing together, talking casually like nothing has changed, like the last few days haven’t flipped my world upside down. Matt looks up first. For the briefest second, our eyes meet, and I swear I see something flash across his face, it’s something, but I can’t make out what. But I don’t let myself dwell on it.

I adjust the strap of my purse on my shoulder, forcing my expression to remain neutral. This is the closest I’ve been to Matt since the nightclub, since everything, but I refuse to let it get to me. Not tonight.

I tilt my chin up slightly, gripping onto my confidence like it’s my lifeline, and step forward like I don’t have a care in the world.

I stay locked in conversation with Nick as we leave the villa to make our way to the restaurant, trying to distract myself from the tension in the air. Chris lingers back slightly, eventually matching my pace as we walk. His presence next to me is quiet at first, almost hesitant, before he finally speaks.

"You okay?" His voice is low, careful, like he already knows the answer but feels the need to ask anyway.

It’s a weird one. I haven't heard from Chris since everything went down. He’s been distant, not in a hostile way, but in a way that tells me he didn’t know how to approach me. And now, here he is, finally asking.

I glance at him briefly, weighing my response before settling on, "I will be."

Chris nods slowly, seeming to accept that answer. “Can we talk later? About everything?”

I exhale softly, not quite ready to dive into whatever everything entails but knowing that it’s overdue. I don’t think there was any malice from him in this situation. And I’m not mad at him at all. I would like to know what his thought process was throughout all this. And maybe, he's actually done me a favour. “Yeah,” I agree. “Later.”

That seems to be enough for now. The group keeps moving, making our way toward the restaurant. When we arrive, the guys step inside ahead of us, but I notice them mumbling amongst themselves, their voices low and almost hurried, like there’s some sort of confusion.

Something about their body language makes me pause, and I follow their line of sight before realizing exactly what has caught their attention.

Rachel and Christina.

They’re seated at a table near the back. Five empty seats are pulled out beside them, waiting.

A sharp, sinking feeling settles in my stomach.

Of course. 

Of course they’re here. It was already bad enough having to see Matt, to sit across from him and pretend I wasn’t still breaking, but now, this?

I don’t even have to look at him to know. I can feel his presence, his hesitation. I wonder if he knew they’d be here. If this was always the plan.

My fingers tighten slightly around the strap of my purse as I will myself to keep my composure.

This night just got a whole lot harder.

Nick squeezes my hand gently, a silent reassurance that he’s here, that I’m not alone in this. “What do you wanna do?” he asks quietly, his voice just for me.

I take a breath, steadying myself. “Sit at the other end” I say, keeping my voice even, refusing to let this shake me any more than it already has.

Without hesitation, Nick follows my lead, guiding me toward the farthest end of the table, away from Rachel and Christina. I slide into my seat, positioning myself as far as I can from them, while Nick sits beside me, his presence like a barrier between me and whatever mess is sitting across the table.

Matt and Chris take their seats. Chris next to Rachel and Matt next to Christina. Whether it was planned or just happened naturally, I don’t know, but it doesn’t make a difference, the damage is done. 

The tension is suffocating. You could cut it with a knife. I never thought at the start of this trip I’d be sitting diagonally across from Matt and another girl.

Nobody speaks at first. There’s an awkward shuffle of menus being picked up, the quiet clinking of silverware as waiters move around us, but no real conversation. 

I keep my gaze down, focused on the menu even though I’m not really reading it. My appetite had started to come back earlier, but now? Completely gone again.

Nick, ever my lifeline in this nightmare, leans in slightly constantly making sure I’m okay. “You good?” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

I nod once, though I’m not sure if I mean it. “Yeah” I lie. “I’m fine.”

But we both know I’m not.

I try to keep my focus on the menu, pretending to be absorbed in the options, but it’s impossible to ignore Christina. She is relentless, shifting in her seat so she’s angled toward Matt, her body language screaming interest. The way she leans forward, the way her fingers reach out casually to graze his forearm as she talks, it’s all so intentional.

“Oh my God, Matt, you look so good tonight” she purrs, tilting her head as she studies him. “Did you do something different? Your hair? A new cologne?”

Matt barely reacts, only offering a tight lipped smile as he glances at her briefly. “Uh, no. Same as always.” he replies, going back to his menu.

But Christina isn’t deterred. She lets out a soft, exaggerated sigh. “God, I can’t believe we’re all in Hawaii together. It feels like such a movie moment, don’t you think?” She flicks her gaze up at him through her lashes. “Like, if this was a movie, we’d be the main characters.”

Matt huffs a small laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “Yeah, I don’t know about that, don’t really take myself as the main character type of guy.” His tone is light, but there’s no real engagement. He’s keeping it neutral.

She’s not giving up, though. She leans in again, dropping her voice to something more sultry. “You know, I had so much fun the other night” she murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. 

My stomach twists, but I don’t react. I refuse to. Instead, I lift my glass of water to my lips, taking a slow sip as if I’m completely unbothered.

Nick shifts beside me, subtly kicking my foot under the table as if to say don’t react. I know he’s watching me closely, waiting for me to crack, but I won’t.

Chris, who’s been silent this whole time, suddenly clears his throat. “Christina, didn’t you say this was your first time in Hawaii?”

It’s so obviously a distraction tactic, and I can’t tell if he’s doing it to get her off Matt’s back or because he knows I’m sitting here, silently absorbing every word.

Christina finally tears her gaze away from Matt and glances at Chris. “Oh, yeah it is.” she says, waving a hand dismissively. 

Matt doesn’t say anything. He just flips a page of the menu, like none of this is even phasing him. Meanwhile, Rachel is watching me like a hawk, waiting for a reaction.

I meet her eyes for a split second and give her the most nonchalant look I can muster before turning to Nick. “What are you getting?” I ask, my voice steady.

Nick glances at me, eyes scanning my face for any sign of weakness before answering, “Probably the carbonara.”

I nod. “Good choice.”

Nate, ever the sweetheart, seems to pick up on everything, the way I’m keeping my head down, the way Nick keeps a protective presence beside me, the way Matt and Christina’s exchange is unfolding just within earshot. Without missing a beat, he slides into conversation with me and Nick as he’s seated opposite us, as if we’re in our own little bubble, separate from the tension on the other side of the table.

“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Nate asks, leaning forward with a smile. “I was thinking of heading down to the beach early. Maybe rent a jet ski or something. You two in?”

Nick catches on immediately, grateful for the shift in attention. “Absolutely. I’d love to see you wipe out within the first five minutes.”

Nate pretends to be offended, placing a hand over his chest. “Excuse you, I’m actually a professional. Very experienced!”

I can’t help but smile at their antics, grateful for the distraction. “Professional, huh? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Nate smirks. “Oh, you will. And when I leave you both in my wake, don’t come crying to me.”

Nick scoffs. “Yeah, okay, Nate. Keep dreaming.”

As we laugh, it’s almost easy to forget the rest of the table exists, almost. Because out of the corner of my eye, I see Chris sitting stiffly, glancing between me and the rest of the group, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He hasn’t even touched his menu. He just sits there, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, like he’s caught in the middle of something he never signed up for.

At one point, he opens his mouth like he wants to say something,to me, but then he hesitates, pressing his lips together instead. His fingers drum restlessly against the table. It’s almost like he wants to acknowledge the elephant in the room, but he can’t.

I keep my focus on Nate and Nick as everyone gives their orders, letting them carry me through the moment, keeping me occupied. And for now, that’s all I need.

The food arrives shortly after, and I focus on my meal, keeping my eyes down, keeping my composure. If I just get through dinner, I’ll be fine.

But Christina doesn’t make it easy.

She just doesn’t stop, her voice carrying just loud enough to ensure I hear every flirtatious remark, every exaggerated giggle. It’s all so obvious, the way she leans toward Matt, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger. 

“Oh my God, Matt, you’re so funny” she forces, brushing her fingers against his wrist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He hasn’t even said anything that funny.

“We should totally do something after this!” Christina continues, tilting her head. “Maybe check out that tiki bar? It would be so fun.”

Matt doesn’t commit. “Maybe.”

Maybe.

That single word twists something in my stomach, because it means he hasn’t outright said no. And I know it shouldn’t matter but that doesn’t stop the sting.

As everyone starts discussing where to go next, I stay quiet, already knowing my answer. The only place I want to be right now is home. I only ever agreed to dinner, nothing more. The idea of trailing behind while Christina continues her performance, while Matt does whatever he’s doing, is unbearable.

I lean toward Nick and quietly tell him, “I’m heading back.”

He nods in understanding, not even questioning it. “That’s fair. I’ll go for one drink, then I’ll be home after. We can debrief, I’ll try to get more info.”

I manage a small smile at that. If there’s anyone I can count on to feed me the details later, it’s Nick.

We both stand, and I feel Chris’s eyes on me, but I don’t meet them. If he wants to talk, he can find me when I’m not on the verge of either snapping or crying.

Nick walks me to the taxi rank just outside the restaurant, following behind me as we weave through the crowd. I should want to stay out, to drown out my thoughts with drinks and distractions, but all I want is to be alone.

“You sure you’re okay going back on your own?” Nick asks as we wait for a taxi to pull up.

I let out a breath. “Yeah. Just over it.”

Nick doesn’t push. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”

A taxi pulls up, and he opens the door for me. Before I get in, he squeezes my hand briefly, just a reminder that I’m not alone in all of this.

I nod my thanks, slide into the backseat, and as the car pulls away, I finally let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

I pull up to the villa and thank the taxi man, paying him for the fare. I step out of the car and as I do one pulls up directly behind me.

I freeze for a second, my stomach tightening as I watch Matt step out of the taxi behind me. Of all people, of all times, it has to be him.

I don’t wait for him to say anything. I turn toward the villa, walking quickly up the steps, my heels clicking against the cobblestone pavement. I take my keys out of my bag, unlocking the front door.

I can hear him behind me, his footsteps unhurried, like he’s debating whether to call my name.

“Wait” Matt’s voice finally breaks the silence, and I feel his presence closer than I expected. “Can we talk?”

I let out a slow breath before turning to face him, the front door slightly open behind me. His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to figure out where my head is at.

“Talk about what, Matt?” My voice is steady, but I can feel the exhaustion creeping in.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost.. nervous? “About this. About everything.”

“I’m not too sure what there is to talk about” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. “I’ve seen it all. I saw Christina in your bed. I saw how she was with you tonight.”

Matt’s face falls, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but I don’t let him.

“And now, what? You think you can stand here and make some sorry excuse for your actions? Do you even realize how disrespectful that is?” My voice rises slightly, frustration taking over. “You can’t just act like nothing happened, Matt. You don’t get to do that.”

He sighs, rubbing his hand over his jaw. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Well, it’s a bit too late for that now.” I say, my voice sharp. 

"I’m sorry." he mutters.

I let out a short laugh. "Yeah. So am I.”

Matt stands there looking at me, almost confused.

“I'm sorry I let you play with me for so long. Sorry I let you in, that I actually believed there was something real between us. But it’s clear now, isn’t it? Whatever tension was there, it was only ever sexual for you."

Matt steps forward, opening his mouth to protest, but I cut him off.

"So what now?" I snap, my voice shaking with anger. "What’s your next move? You feel bad for how you’ve treated me, so you’ll do what? Buy me flowers? But never actually give them to me? Did you ever track down Christina’s ex to get her locket back too? Or was that just a special little stunt for me?"

I let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking my head. "And don’t you dare try to tell me you haven’t been with anyone else since that night in the house. Christina basically spelled out what happened in Vegas to me at the club.”

Then realisation hits me. “It makes sense to me now, the real reason you customised your jacket that way. You didn’t do it because you felt something for me. You did it so if the topic of her in Vegas came up, you had something to sway me from believing it, so you could keep stringing me along.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Can you please listen to me? I didn’t even know they were coming out here” he says quickly, almost desperately, like that one fact will make any of this better.

I scoff, shaking my head. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes a lot” he insists, stepping forward. “Chris was the one that brought them out here, he has a thing with Rachel and probably just-”

"-wants to smash?" I finish for him, my voice sharp. 

"Yeah, Matt, I know. Just like you said before, that Chris only gave me a job because he wants to smash?" I tilt my head, watching as realization dawns on his face. "Yeah. I heard you when you said that."

Matt shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never meant that" he mutters. "I swear, I didn’t mean it like that."

"Oh really?" I fold my arms, my patience running dangerously thin. "How exactly did you mean it then, Matt?" My voice is sharp, no bullshit. "Because it sounded a lot like you were trying to discredit any of the work I do."

Matt exhales sharply, looking away. "It wasn’t about that, okay?" His voice is tight, like he’s struggling to find the right words. "Maybe I was jealous, maybe I was pissed off at the whole situation, maybe I just-" He stops himself, his jaw locking.

"Maybe you just what?" I push, my voice rising slightly.

His silence is louder than anything he could say. And then, it hits me.

I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. "Oh my god. It was projection, wasn’t it?" I take a step closer, my words like a slap to the face. "You said Chris only gave me a job because he wanted to smash, but really, that was just you speaking for yourself. You only ever kept me around because that’s what you wanted."

I take a breath, my heart pounding. "And congratulations, Matt. You got it."

Matt’s face falls completely.

"And then you got it from her too, only a matter of hours later." My voice is laced with disgust, and I see the tears welling in Matt's eyes, but I don’t stop. "It’s obvious to me now, you never had feelings for me. You never cared."

I take another step closer, my chest rising and falling with the force of everything I’ve kept inside. "I know you saw me leave the club that night. I know you saw me walk out. And not once did you check on me. Not once did you care enough to see if I was okay. It was like, out of sight, out of mind. I disappeared, and you moved on like I was nothing."

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. "And then you brought her back here, to the same villa I’m staying in, to rub it in my fucking face? Like this is some sick joke to you?" And then to keep doing it, over and over again, like it wasn’t enough to break me once?" My voice shakes, but not from weakness, from the sheer weight of the betrayal burning inside me. "You didn’t just move on, Matt. You made sure I saw it. You made sure I felt it. Like twisting the knife wasn’t enough, you had to keep pushing it in, again and again."

I shake my head, my breathing uneven. "And for what? To prove a point? To get back at me for something you thought I’ve done? Or was it just fun for you? To watch me fall apart while you played pretend with her?"

Matt’s mouth opens like he wants to say something, to defend himself, but I cut him off before he can even try. "No. Don’t. Because there’s nothing you can say that will make this okay. Nothing you can do that will undo the fact that you chose this. You chose to hurt me. And I’m fucking done." I spit, my chest rising and falling with the force of everything I’ve held back. 

"Because all you’ve ever done is choose to hurt me. Over and over again, like it’s second nature to you." I stop for a second to catch my breath, realising how pointless this all is. "I don’t even understand why you’re standing in front of me right now, when what you want is down at the bar with everyone else. Stop bothering me, and go back down there and get it."

Matt looks at me, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, like he wants to argue. Like he wants to fight his case. But he doesn’t get to, not now. Not after everything.

"In fact" I breathe out a bitter laugh, shaking my head, "don’t ever think of speaking to me again. Because it’s clear now, Matt, we were always better off when we didn’t speak. When we just ignored each other. Maybe that’s what we should’ve stayed."

My heart is hammering in my chest, my entire body shaking from the adrenaline coursing through me. 

I turn around and storm into the villa, slamming the door so hard behind me that the walls seem to shake with the force of it. But he doesn’t follow. He doesn’t even try. Probably heading straight back down to the bar to get exactly what he wants. What he’s always wanted.

My blood is boiling as I march into my room, every step fueled by the sheer rage burning inside me. I feel like a bull, seeing red, ready to destroy everything in my path. But I don’t, because I don’t have time to waste on any of this anymore.

I grab my phone with trembling fingers, my vision blurring from unshed tears as I unlock it.

 I can’t stay here.

I refuse.

I pull up the American Airlines website, my breathing heavy, my chest rising and falling too fast. I don’t even hesitate as I search for the first available flight back home. 

The sooner, the better.

And when I find one, first thing tomorrow morning, I don’t even think twice. I press confirm before I can second guess myself, before the pain can catch up with me.

I’m leaving.

I’m done.

a/n : OOOOF. thats gotta sting.

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[rafes-slut]

Rafes makes you hump his thigh to get off

Summary: you were needy and whining but he waant paying any attention to you at all. Until he made you hump his thigh to get off.

Warnings: Explicit content, sexual themes, rough play, dominance/submission dynamics, manipulation, grinding, no foreplay.

---

You’d been begging him for the past hour. It felt like every nerve in your body was on fire, screaming for his touch, but Rafe hadn’t so much as glanced in your direction. His eyes were glued to his phone, his body unbothered by the way you shifted in his lap, your hands wandering aimlessly in search of any kind of relief. You were desperate, needy, and he was just sitting there like you weren’t falling apart in his arms.

“Rafe,” you whined, your voice laced with frustration. “Please, just touch me.”

But he didn’t respond. His thumb swiped lazily across the screen of his phone, completely ignoring you as if your pleas were nothing more than background noise. You bit your lip, trying to keep the embarrassment at bay, but it was getting harder. Your need was overwhelming, and the way he was so calm about it, so cruel, was only making it worse.

You moved your hips slightly, hoping the friction would ease the ache, but still, Rafe didn’t react. It was maddening, the way he was playing this game with you. Every inch of your body screamed for him, and yet he seemed content to leave you hanging.

“Rafe, please,” you moaned, now practically grinding against him, your legs straddling his lap. You didn’t care anymore. You were past the point of pride. You just wanted him—needed him. “I can’t take it anymore. Just touch me.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he set his phone aside and locked eyes with you. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of amusement in his gaze, like he was enjoying watching you suffer.

“Then hump my thigh if you’re so desperate,” he said, his voice low and commanding. There was no tenderness in his tone—only an order, like he was daring you to follow through.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but they made something inside you snap. You were already this far gone, weren’t you? You had no choice but to follow through. You shifted your position on his lap, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. Your breath came out in shaky gasps as you began to move your hips, slowly at first, just enough to feel the rough material of his jeans pressing against you.

Rafe didn’t help you at first—just watched. His eyes burned with a mix of lust and something darker as he observed your movements. You were desperate, grinding against him with all the frustration you’d been holding in, and you could feel his gaze on you like a weight.

“Yeah? Feels good, doesn’t it?” Rafe’s voice was smooth, almost mocking, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded slightly, not trusting your voice to speak. The pressure building between your legs felt almost unbearable, and you started moving faster, your body jerking with each thrust against him. Rafe’s hands slid down to your hips, guiding your movements as he finally took control of how you moved.

“Don’t stop now,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “I want to see you finish. Show me you can do this on your own.”

The words pushed you further, and you began to move more eagerly, your body rocking against his thigh as the heat in your core started to build. The friction from the rough denim felt like heaven, and you let out a soft moan, your pace quickening with each passing second. Rafe didn’t let up, his hands firm on your hips, forcing you to grind against him harder, deeper.

With a final, desperate cry, you felt the tension in your body snap. Your hips jerked forward, and you came, a wave of pleasure crashing over you as you rode it out. Your legs were weak, your breathing ragged, and you could hardly believe what had just happened.

Rafe’s lips curled into a small, satisfied smile as he watched you, clearly pleased with how well you handled yourself. He stroked your cheek lightly, almost tenderly, as he whispered, “That’s my girl.”

[currentloser]

playing pretend

pairing: choi seung-hyun x reader word count: 2557 summary: When you just try to enjoy your day at a bar you're bothered by your ex, so you ask Choi Seung-hyun to help avoid them. content: fake dating trope, alcohol, strangers to (fake) lovers

( ao3 link )

The bar you'd chosen for the night thrummed with low music and quiet conversation. The slow pulse of a bass-heavy song lingered in your ribs, buzzing against your skin. Overhead, dim golden lights hung low and cast hazy reflections against the polished counter. The faint scent of whiskey and something musky clung to the air, mixing in with the occasional clatter of glasses from the bartender’s study hands.

The crowd was sparse, just enough to make the place feel more intimate than you prepared. You sat by the bar, sipping through your drink before a figure poked out from the crowd. You were enjoying your drink, letting the warmth settle in your chest, when a shadow flickered at the edge of your vision. The moment your gaze landed on them, a heavy weight settled in your stomach.

Suddenly, the sickly sweet aftertaste of the alcohol you'd sipped on was sticking to the roof of your mouth, burning the back of your throat. Your grip went stiff around the glass, your knuckles paling. You tore your gaze away before they could catch you looking, but the damage was done. None other than your ex had decided to sour the night in an instant. You pressed your palms onto the table, close to making a break for it.

No. You wouldn't let them ruin a good time, especially when you'd gotten here first. You avoided glancing back at them, instead focusing on the man who had just slid into the seat beside yours.

Choi Seung-hyun.

Of course, you knew who he was. Anyone with half a sense of pop culture would recognize him, it was no wonder he would pick a less popular venue. To avoid the prying eyes of the media and crazed fans. His presence had a quiet gravity as if he could change the mood of the room without even trying.  Still, he managed to lighten up the heavy atmosphere that took hold over the room.

Your eyes bugged out for a moment. Instead of gawking you gave him a polite nod, not wanting to make the idol uncomfortable as much as you felt close to fumbling over yourself. He was a person, just like you were. 

“You don't look like you’re having fun,” He mused, tilting his head as his eyes flickered toward your barely touched drink.

You exhaled sharply and glanced toward the table where your ex still sat, “Just bad company.”

His gaze followed yours, lingering for a moment before turning back to you. He leaned in slightly, his elbows propped up on the counter. The corners of his lips quirked up into a small smirk.

“Ah, that kind of night?” He quickly became comfortable beside you, breaking his concentration to tap at the counter.

The bartender attended to him, taking his order quickly. You weren't sure what made you admit why you'd come, if only for how reassuring his presence managed to be. Silence passed as his drink slid across the counter to him and he took a sip of it, peering back to you. The way he looked at you had you speaking before you could second-guess yourself.

“Be my date.”

Seunghyun blinked, caught off guard, “You want me to be your date?” His expression melted into a small smile, his eyes crinkling, “To make them jealous?”

“Maybe I want to remind them what they lost,” You shrug, playing nonchalant.

You were certain this wouldn't work. Seung-hyun would laugh you out of the bar or politely turn your offer down. It was a ridiculous thing to ask if someone who had the media breathing down his neck, had all eyes on him. You grab your drink and quickly take a sip to steady yourself. You could practically hear the cogs in the other man’s head turning. Beside you, Seung-hyun broke it with a low, rich laugh. The sound made you want to lean in just a little closer.

“So, you want to give them something to watch?” He asked, tipping his glass toward you.

Surprised at his seeming eagerness, you nod slowly, not quite sure what he meant by it. His grin spread out wider and his hand slipped around your waist, scooting himself closer beside you. The edges of your chairs met and he was warm. Dangerously, his hand closed around the side of your waist and held onto you there.

Outside of this moment, Seung-hyun was an idol, a name, and a presence larger than life. Here in the dim glow of the bar, he was just a man warmed up easily to your side. It was easy to forget under the heat of his gaze this was all just an act.

A flush rose to your cheeks and you pressed into his side. Playing into the show he was putting on, as flustered as you felt at the moment. He raised his glass between the two of you for a cheer before throwing back his drink, exhaling hard as he set the glass back down. Through the reflection, you spot the mischief in his eyes.

“You're selling this, you know,” He leaned in to purr into your ear, teasing you.

You couldn't help how you fought between shying away and melting into him, “You're the one putting on a whole show.”

Seung-hyun pulled away just enough for you to see a playful part. His eyes sparkled even in the low light of the bar, with a mask of a false allure towards you. Somehow, even if you knew it was an act, his gaze was hungered. He kept staring at your lips before pressing close enough that his warm breath teased the shell of your ear.

Shuttering from the sensitivity, he chuckled, “That was the point, wasn't it?”

It was a show, after all, you reminded your traitorous mind wandering too far with the attention he gave you. The way he treated you was all too natural, the comfortable weight of his arm and how his gaze never left you. How quickly hid demeanor shifted from a kind stranger to a man you could've imagined as a partner instead. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of your ex beginning to shy away from the crowd.

You were grateful no one had seemed to recognize him. Your luck was beyond you. Even as your ex began to shrink away, Seung-hyun wasn't quite done playing along with you.

“We should kiss,” He proposed first, his eyes wide and managed to be much more desperate than you expected.

Your eyes widened as you whispered, “I know what we planned, but– really?! Are you crazy?”

Your demands were met with a low chuckle from him. He let go of his glass and pressed his thumb over your chin, his other fingers hooking underneath to guide your face to his own. You didn't back away, and instead melted underneath his warm gaze. He gave a little nod before pulling you in, tilting your head to the side at the last moment. He helped to create the illusion of a fake kiss, but you were still so close.

The warmth of his cheek pressed against yours, his hand pressed against your back slowly stroked over your back. The faintest trade or cologne lingered on his skin, an earthy subtle sweetness that made your head swim. The hand on your back moved in slow, deliberate strokes. His fingertips dipped down along the edge of the fabric of the shirt and pressed forming, as if testing your reaction.

Then, with a practiced ease, his fingers ghosted beneath the hem of your shirt. His skin was surprisingly cold against your back, jumping slightly. It was a touch so fleeting you could've written it off as an accident, yet still enough to make your stomach tighten. Again he teased his palm against the small of your back, lingering right at your waist. A touch that painted the image of a touchy, even possessive partner. 

Dizzies by the attention, your breath catches as he pulled away and gestured toward the crowd with a lazy tilt of his chin.

You had just enough time to witness your ex push their way through the crows, their stiff shoulders and quickened place made it all too obvious they'd seen enough. They disappeared through the exit without so much as a glance back your way. Your plan, surprisingly, had worked. That should've been the end of it.

Seung-hyun still made no move to retreat. Instead, he stayed close as his lips curled into a slow, teasing grin. His face only made his amusement more obvious to you. Toeing the line between genuine enjoyment and playing it up to keep your ex far, far away.

Instead of pulling away though, Seung-hyun gave you a teasing grin, his voice was rich with satisfaction, “That was a job well done.”

“Thanks for playing along,” You exhaled a quiet laugh and shake your head at the sheer absurdity of it all, “I owe you one.”

He clicked his tongue, in mock disapproval, waving a dismissive hand, “Don’t be silly.”

His glass sat forgotten on the counter, barely half-finished. The amber liquid inside caught the low light and casted a golden glow in the countertop. You had assumed he might have needed the buzz of alcohol to humor your plan, but he couldn't even be tipsy. His gaze flickered across the table before looking back to you.

“You know,” He hummed, his fingers tapping idly against the counter, “I didn't expect it, but we do make a good team.”

“What are you getting at?” You raised an eyebrow, tilting his head in his direction.

“Why stop now?” Seung-hyun turned slightly, propping his elbow against the bar with a playful gleam in his eye, “If we keep this up, you get to keep them on their toes. Maybe even a little bit jealous.”

You hesitated, unsure of whether to laugh at the suggestion or to consider it. The idea was ridiculous. For someone of fame such as himself you knew it was reckless, too. The thrill of it, and the giddy unpredictability made something spark inside you. Still, you couldn't help but be skeptical.

“You're serious?” You asked, narrowing your eyes slightly,  “What's in it for you?”

“Well, I could use a good distraction,” He chuckled, slow and rich, “What's life without a little fun?”

You studied him for a long moment, searching his face for a sign of insincerity. Curiosity fueled you- this game seemed to be going a bit too far, yet you couldn't bring yourself to mind it. The same easy confidence he displayed had an undeniable pull to it. The warm lighting, and his magnetism made anyone steal a second glance. You weren't immune to his charms, especially not his looks.

“Alright,” You finally leave your drink behind, “Let’s pretend I agree. How far do you plan to let this go?”

Seung-hyun as a second nature, reached across the bar and let his fingertips brush against your own. He pushed his hand far enough to enter twine your fingers together, clasping your hands together. He was savoring the anticipation, of this fake date the two of you created.

“Until you're out the door? As far as it needs to go,” He murmured.

There was something about the way he carried himself that felt more real than you could've expected. Before you could unpack it, he straightened himself up and unlaced your hands that were ones kept together. Besides the two of you, your glasses are whisked away. You're too busy meeting his gaze to fully register it.

“We should make it believable,” He considers, “For the sake of our relationship.”

You scoff softly, “Oh, now you care about commitment?”

“You wound me,” Seung-hyun held up a hand to his chest in mock-hurt.

Seung-hyun was effortlessly bold, leaning into your space yet again. As if he belonged there. Instead of curling around your waist he lets your hand find its way to your knee under the bar, curling at the fabric of your pants. His touch was warm, steady. It felt like a silent invitation rather than a demand.

“I don't do things halfway,” His voice dropped low as if he was warning you, “If we’re going to pretend, we might as well do it right.”

Your heart kicked up against your ribs. The absurdity of the situation must've been getting to him, suggesting such a thing to you.

“This was only supposed to be until they were gone,” You reminded him, though your words lacked any real conviction, “What if someone sees?”

His thumb brushed absently against your knee, considering your words for a moment. He glanced out to the crowd and tilted his head. He made a point of looking over it another time, pointing out no one could've cared about the two of you, as unlikely as it felt. Then, he pushed his way out of his chair without another warning. 

Suddenly his warm presence was gone, his gaze expectant on you, “Then let’s make sure they left.”

The challenge in his voice escalated a thrill in your stomach. Adrenaline soared through you, the way his hand was so warm and so inviting, you found yourself wondering. What if you didn't just stop at tonight, and you let yourself see where it went? The thrill those thoughts gave you was unfamiliar, but entirely welcomed.

You nod and follow him through the crowd. He leads you through the quiet bar and makes a show out of stopping by each table, exaggerating his movements as he makes sure that shadowy figure is gone. You're breathless with a giggling laughter by the time he’s made it to the exit, slipping out into a silent alley.

Ducking between the low lighted sidewalk, and the soft glow of passing headlights you walk by his side. The crisp night air brushed against your skin along with the soft fabric of his shirt. At he distant hum of the city surrounded you. Despite the coolness of the evening casted by the setting sun, a warmth lingered in your chest.

“Wow,” You sigh, fidgeting with your shirt, “This was really fun. Someone could've seen you, made rumors, but you helped me. It means a lot. Thank you.”

Beside you, Seung-hyun reaches out and grabs your hands to stop you, stopping you at the intersection, “I'm glad I was able to help you out of there.”

Before the opportunity is gone, you break your hands held together to sheepishly pull out your phone and shove it into your hands before you can think better of it, “We should go out again sometime.”

Somehow, Seung-hyun only managed to look more eager. He took your phone, typing on the screen for a few moments before sliding it back into your hands. His promise was kept, his contact jokingly titled Oppa. You couldn't help but chuckle at it, hiding your flush behind your hand as you meet his gaze yet again. 

“Oppa?” You read out loud, unable to help the grin that spreads across your face at his terrible humor. 

Seung-hyun shrugged, “You want them to believe we’re together. I should get going,” He gestured back to the alleys, “I'll see you later, ttoki.”

Soon enough you were left to the empty alley, your heart restless. The rush left in your chest was palpable. He called you cute.

taglist: @petersasteria @sherrayyyyy

[chxnsgirl]

황현진 & 한지성 ─── pas de trois 3

♡ pairing ៸៸ ballet dancer!hyunjin x ballet dancer!jisung x afab!reader ៸៸ genre ៸៸ love triangle, ballet academy au៸៸ cw ៸៸ none, lmk if anything needs to be a warning !! ♡ synopsis ៸៸ in the world of ballet, every step is choreographed—but love never follows the script. what happens when you get accepted into the ballet academy of your dreams? MAKE SURE YOU READ PARTS ONE AND TWO FIRST (HERE & HERE) a/n ๑ new part hehe. r u guys excited for where the story is going? ♡ masterlist

after class, the tension from earlier still clung to the air like a thick fog. though everyone tried to act normal, there was an undeniable undercurrent of curiosity, especially regarding hyunjin’s sudden departure. you, celeste, yeji, and the rest of your group moved toward the cafeteria together, the low hum of conversation filling the hall.

“i still can’t believe she’s here,” yuqi muttered, stretching her arms above her head. “madeline picard. that’s insane.”

“i know,” lia added, adjusting the strap of her dance bag. “people would kill for the chance to work under her. this could be huge for whoever gets cast.”

your stomach twisted slightly at the thought. as incredible as the opportunity was, it was overshadowed by what happened earlier.

felix sighed. “hyunjin looked like he was ready to break something.”

minho, walking a step ahead, clicked his tongue. “tch. can’t really blame him, though.”

you stayed quiet, your mind still replaying the way hyunjin’s expression had darkened the second he saw her.

as you all passed by one of the smaller practice rooms, a voice caught your attention.

familiar. soft. and painfully sweet.

“…i’m really glad you’re back.”

the group instinctively slowed down, eyes flickering toward the cracked-open door. you exchanged a glance with yeji, who raised a brow.

it was madeline.

no one said anything, but your curiosity got the better of you. you edged slightly closer, just enough to peek through the small opening. inside, hyunjin stood with his arms crossed, his back facing you. madeline was a few feet away from him, her expression open and hopeful.

“i want you in manon,” she continued, taking a small step forward. “you know as well as i do that you’d be perfect for it. i can talk to emile—”

“no.”

hyunjin’s voice was cold, curt.

madeline blinked, clearly taken aback. “what?”

“i said no.” he shifted slightly, his jaw tight. “i don’t care what you want, madeline. i’m not interested.”

a beat of silence passed between them.

“i don’t understand,” she said softly. “this is everything you ever wanted—”

“what i wanted?” hyunjin let out a bitter scoff, finally turning to face her. his eyes were sharp, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “that’s funny. because last i checked, what i wanted never mattered to you.”

madeline flinched, hurt flashing across her delicate features. “hyunjin…”

“you don’t get to waltz back in here and act like nothing happened,” he went on, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “you left. you made your choice.”

she exhaled, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “i didn’t want to leave you—”

“yeah?” hyunjin tilted his head, a humorless smirk playing on his lips. “well, you did. so congratulations.”

madeline’s lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something—maybe to argue, maybe to apologize—but nothing came out.

another tense silence.

hyunjin shook his head, running a hand along his hair. his shoulders were stiff, his entire body seemingly wound tight with frustration. “just drop it, madeline. i’m not doing your ballet.”

and with that, he turned on his heel, walking toward the door.

your heart nearly stopped.

panic surged through you as you quickly grabbed yeji’s wrist, yanking her forward. “let’s go,” you whispered urgently, making a beeline for the hallway. the rest of the group scrambled after you, pretending as if they hadn’t just been eavesdropping.

just as you rounded the corner, you heard the practice room door swing open behind you.

you didn’t dare look back.

the dining hall was buzzing with conversation as you and your friends made your way to your usual table, trays in hand. despite the lively atmosphere, there was an unspoken weight hanging between you all—everyone was thinking about what they had just overheard.

celeste was the first to break the silence, stabbing her fork into her salad. “well, that was… intense.”

“no kidding,” yeji murmured, picking at her food. “i didn’t expect madeline to waltz in here and act like nothing happened.”

“she has some nerve,” yuqi huffed, leaning back in her chair. “did you hear her? ‘i’m glad you’re back, hyunjin’—as if she didn’t rip his heart out and stomp on it.”

lia glanced at you, sensing the way you were quietly processing everything. “what do you think?”

you hesitated, twirling your fork against your plate. “i don’t know. she sounded… sincere.”

yeji raised a brow. “you believe her?”

“i didn’t say that,” you corrected quickly. “i just mean… what if she really does regret everything? maybe she’s trying to make amends.”

celeste scoffed. “even if she is, that doesn’t mean hyunjin has to forgive her. did you see the way he stormed out? he looked pissed.”

your stomach twisted at the memory of his tense shoulders and clenched jaw as he left the room. you’d never seen him like that before.

minho and the guys walked over then, their trays clattering onto the table as they sat down. “you all look like someone died,” minho remarked, taking a sip of his drink.

felix sighed. “we’re talking about madeline and hyunjin.”

jisung, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since joining, finally spoke up. “i mean, can you really blame him for being mad?” his voice was unusually firm. “she broke his heart, and now she’s back like nothing happened, expecting him to be in her ballet? it’s messed up.”

you blinked, a little surprised at the bitterness in his tone. “you really don’t think people can change?”

jisung’s eyes flickered to yours for a second before he shrugged. “i think some people don’t deserve a second chance.”

the statement lingered between you both, heavier than it should have been. you couldn’t shake the feeling that jisung wasn’t just talking about madeline and hyunjin.

felix exhaled, stretching back in his seat. “either way, this is going to make things messy. if hyunjin refuses to dance in manon, they’re gonna need a replacement.”

minho smirked. “guess that means one of us might have a shot at the lead role.”

your stomach twisted again. another ballet meant another chance for you, but it also meant working under madeline.

and worse—if hyunjin really did refuse, it meant watching someone else stand where he was supposed to be.

would you be okay with that? would he?

as you poked at your food, your thoughts drifted back to hyunjin’s face before he stormed out. the anger, the pain beneath it.

after lunch, while the others lingered in the dining hall, chatting about class and upcoming auditions, you found yourself walking in the opposite direction—toward the quieter, more secluded practice rooms.

you weren’t entirely sure why.

maybe it was the way he had stormed out earlier, anger carved into every sharp movement. maybe it was the way jisung’s words at lunch lingered in your head—some people don’t deserve a second chance.

or maybe it was something simpler.

maybe you just wanted to see him.

the hallway was empty as you approached one of the smaller studios, the faint sound of music playing from inside. the door was slightly ajar, and when you peeked in, you saw him.

hyunjin sat on the floor, his back against the mirror, his long legs stretched out in front of him. his phone lay discarded beside him, and a half-empty water bottle rested near his hand. his expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed downward, lost in thought.

you hesitated before pushing the door open further. “hey.”

his head lifted slightly at your voice. for a moment, he didn’t say anything—just looked at you, as if debating whether he wanted company. but then, with a sigh, he nodded toward the floor beside him. “you can sit, if you want.”

you stepped inside, letting the door close behind you, and sank down beside him. the room smelled faintly of wood polish and sweat, the air thick with lingering tension.

a beat of silence passed. then another.

finally, you spoke. “you left pretty fast.”

hyunjin let out a dry chuckle, tilting his head back against the mirror. “yeah, well. not really in the mood for a reunion.”

you studied him carefully. the hyunjin sitting next to you wasn’t the confident, teasing guy you had come to know. he wasn’t the flirt, the golden boy of the company. he looked… tired. guarded.

“she said she’s glad you’re back,” you murmured.

his jaw clenched. “yeah. funny, isn’t it?”

you hesitated before asking, “do you believe her?”

hyunjin exhaled sharply through his nose, running a along his hair. “i don’t know,” he admitted. “i don’t know what she wants. but i do know that i can’t just pretend nothing happened.”

you nodded slowly, tracing invisible patterns on the floor with your fingers. “and the ballet? manon?”

he scoffed. “i don’t know about that either. she really thinks i’d want to be in her production?”

“she might just want to work with you because you’re talented.”

he turned his head slightly, his gaze locking with yours. “or she just wants control over me again.”

the weight behind his words settled deep in your chest. you didn’t know the full details of their past, but you knew enough to understand why he’d be wary.

“i don’t think she deserves that power,” you said softly.

hyunjin’s lips twitched into a small, humorless smile. “yeah?”

you nodded. “yeah.”

for the first time since you sat down, the tightness in his shoulders seemed to ease. he let out a slow breath, tilting his head back again. “thanks,” he murmured.

the silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before. it was comfortable.

after a moment, he nudged your knee with his. “you didn’t have to come find me, you know.”

“i know.”

he turned to look at you again, his dark eyes searching yours. “but you did.”

your pulse skipped. there was something about the way he said it—like he was trying to figure you out, like he wanted to understand why you cared.

you held his gaze, the space between you suddenly feeling smaller, the air warmer. but before either of you could say anything else, the door creaked open.

both of you turned as emile poked his head in. “ah, there you are, hyunjin.” his eyes flickered to you briefly, but he didn’t comment on it. “come with me. we need to talk.”

hyunjin’s expression shifted instantly—back to the mask, the composed dancer, the golden boy. he stood up, brushing his hands over his pants before glancing back at you.

“i’ll see you later,” he said, and this time, his voice was a little softer.

you nodded, watching as he followed emile out of the room.

and as you sat there alone, you realized something.

even with all the uncertainty surrounding hyunjin and madeline—about whether or not he would take the role, about what she really wanted—there was one thing you knew for sure.

you weren’t just starstruck by him anymore.

you cared.

maybe more than you should.

hyunjin followed emile down the hall in silence, his jaw tight as he braced himself for whatever was coming. the older man’s office was tucked away in the administrative wing of the building, away from the main practice rooms. when they arrived, emile pushed open the door, motioning for hyunjin to step inside.

the office was neat, as always—stacks of neatly arranged papers on the desk, a single framed photo of a past production hanging on the wall. the windows let in soft afternoon light, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor.

emile shut the door behind them and turned, folding his arms as he studied hyunjin.

“you want to tell me what that was about?” his voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

hyunjin exhaled sharply through his nose. “i don’t think it needs explaining.”

emile arched a brow. “walking out on class? storming out like a child? that’s not the hyunjin i know.”

hyunjin’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “i’m not a child. but i also don’t have to sit there and pretend everything is fine.”

“no one’s asking you to pretend,” emile countered. “but you are expected to act like a professional. you think you can just walk out on class because you don’t like the guest director?”

hyunjin let out a dry laugh. “i don’t just not like her, emile.”

“i know.” emile’s voice softened, if only slightly. “i know the history. i understand why you’re upset. but personal grievances or not, madeline picard is directing manon. and you—” he pointed a firm finger at hyunjin “—are going to be the male lead.”

hyunjin’s brows shot up. “excuse me?”

emile walked around his desk, leaning against it. “you heard me.”

“no.” hyunjin scoffed. “no way. you can’t be serious.”

“i’m very serious.”

hyunjin shook his head in disbelief. “you want me to be her lead?” he let out a humorless laugh. “after everything?”

“yes.” emile’s tone left no room for argument. “you are the most talented dancer in this company, hyunjin. the best. no one else comes close.”

hyunjin clenched his jaw. he knew he was good—he had worked himself to the bone to be where he was. but this?

“you expect me to just go along with this like it’s any other role?”

“i expect you to see the bigger picture.” emile straightened. “you being the male lead isn’t just about you. this is a workshop. if we have you in manon, every girl here will want to audition. it raises the stakes. it guarantees a better cast. and it keeps this company’s reputation exactly where it needs to be.”

hyunjin’s hands twitched at his sides. “so i don’t have a choice.”

emile sighed, rubbing his temples. “i’m not forcing you, hyunjin. but i am telling you to be smart about this. don’t let your feelings cloud your judgment.”

hyunjin stayed silent, his thoughts racing.

emile watched him carefully before speaking again. “take the night to think about it.” he turned back to his desk, signaling the conversation was over. “but i expect an answer tomorrow.”

hyunjin scoffed under his breath, shaking his head as he turned toward the door. he yanked it open, stepping out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him.

his mind was a whirlwind.

madeline wanted him in her ballet. and emile wanted him to agree—for the sake of the company, for the sake of the production.

but could he really do it?

the cafeteria hummed with life—students talking animatedly, utensils clinking against plates, and the occasional burst of laughter echoing through the space. you sat with celeste, yeji, and jisung, half-listening to their conversation while your mind drifted to the looming auditions.

then, yeji abruptly nudged your arm. “look.”

your head snapped up just in time to see hyunjin weaving through the cafeteria, heading toward a table near the center. sitting there, poised and elegant, was none other than madeline picard.

your stomach twisted.

celeste raised a brow. “didn’t he storm out of class the second he saw her yesterday?”

jisung crossed his arms, watching closely. “yeah. so why is he voluntarily going up to her now?”

the four of you fell into silence, your gazes locked on the interaction unfolding across the room. hyunjin stopped beside madeline’s table, hands in his pockets. she glanced up at him, her lips parting slightly in surprise before she smirked.

hyunjin said something, his expression unreadable. madeline tilted her head, twirling her fork between her fingers as she listened.

your fingers tightened around the edge of your tray.

a few heads in the cafeteria turned, clearly noticing the two as well. it wasn’t every day that two of the most well-known dancers in the academy shared a conversation—especially not with the history they had.

then, to everyone’s surprise, hyunjin pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

yeji’s eyes widened. “okay, now i really want to know what they’re talking about.”

you did too. and a part of you—the irrational, insecure part—hated that he was sitting with her at all.

as if sensing your gaze, hyunjin briefly glanced in your direction. but before you could decipher the look in his eyes, he returned his focus to madeline, speaking again.

hyunjin leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but firm. “i’ve decided.”

madeline arched a delicate brow. “oh?”

“i’ll do it,” he said. “i’ll be the male lead in manon.”

a pleased smile ghosted across her lips. “i knew you’d come around.”

hyunjin’s expression didn’t change. “i’m not doing this for you.”

madeline chuckled softly, unfazed. “of course not.”

he exhaled through his nose, then leaned back against his chair. “there’s something else.”

she tilted her head. “go on.”

hyunjin didn’t return the sentiment. he was here for business, nothing more. “i want to talk about the female lead.”

madeline arched a delicate brow, folding her arms. “oh?”

hyunjin scooted closer. “i know you probably already have names in mind, but i think you should seriously consider someone.” he held her gaze. “y/n.”

madeline blinked, clearly not expecting that. “y/n?”

“yes.” his voice was firm. “she’s the best fit for the role.”

madeline hummed, mulling over his words. “she’s talented,” she admitted. “but she’s young. inexperienced.”

“so was i, once,” hyunjin countered. “that never stopped you from choosing me.”

she exhaled a soft laugh. “you always were ambitious.”

“she’s good, madeline,” he insisted. “and you want this ballet to be the best it can be, right?” he met her gaze pointedly. “she’s the one you should cast.”

madeline studied him for a long moment, then a knowing smile played on her lips. “you care about her.”

hyunjin’s jaw tightened. “that’s not the point.”

“isn’t it?” she leaned in closer, searching his expression. “you never put in a word for anyone before. not even when we were together.”

his expression remained unreadable. “i’m telling you she’s the right choice.”

madeline watched him carefully before exhaling softly, her arms falling to her sides. “i’ll think about it,” she finally said.

“that’s all i ask.”

hyunjin didn’t wait for anything else. he turned on his heel and strode toward the cafeteria doors.

as he passed your table, madeline called out, her voice soft but certain.

“it’s nice to have you back, hyunjin.”

he paused, but he didn’t respond.

instead, he started walking again, staying on his path to the door.

the atmosphere in the studio hallway was thick with anticipation. dancers huddled in clusters, whispering in nervous excitement as they waited. every few seconds, someone stole a glance toward the door, where miss cassandra was expected to emerge with the casting results.

the wait felt excruciating. you stood with yeji and celeste, your stomach churning with a mixture of hope and dread. jisung was nearby, hands shoved in his pockets, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

finally, the door creaked open, and miss cassandra stepped out, holding a crisp white sheet of paper. the hallway fell into a hush as she walked toward the bulletin board, each click of her heels echoing off the walls. without a word, she smoothed the paper against the corkboard and pinned it in place.

"congratulations to all," she said, glancing over the anxious crowd. "rehearsals begin tomorrow. make sure you’re prepared."

the moment she stepped away, the crowd surged forward. bodies pressed together as everyone strained to see their fate.

you inhaled sharply, pushing through with yeji and celeste at your side. your fingers trembled as your eyes darted across the list, scanning frantically until they landed on your name.

manon

manon – your name

des grieux – hyunjin hwang

des grieux understudy / supporting role – jisung han

the words blurred for a moment as your breath hitched. your heart pounded against your ribs. you blinked, making sure you weren’t imagining it. your name. next to hyunjin’s.

a soft gasp escaped your lips. yeji, reading over your shoulder, shrieked. "oh my god! you got the lead!"

celeste let out a triumphant laugh. "i knew it! i knew you would!"

your body felt light, almost detached from reality. this was it—this was everything you’d been dreaming of.

yeji quickly found her own name under another ballet. "yes!" she cheered, grabbing minho’s arm. "we got the lead together!"

celeste beamed as she pointed at her own role. "felix, we’re partners."

laughter and celebration erupted around you, but your eyes instinctively searched for jisung. you found him a few steps away, his gaze locked on the list. his expression was unreadable at first, but then his jaw tensed. his shoulders sagged just slightly.

you swallowed hard.

"jisung..." you said softly, stepping toward him.

he turned, schooling his features into something neutral. "hey," he said, forcing a small smile. "congrats."

you hesitated. "i… i thought you would get a lead."

he shrugged, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. "i guess they thought i was better suited for supporting." he let out a small, humorless chuckle. "and an understudy. in case hyunjin suddenly forgets how to dance."

you frowned, guilt gnawing at you. "you deserve more than that."

"it’s fine," he said quickly, waving it off. "i’ll still be in the ballet. it’s not the end of the world." but his voice lacked conviction.

your stomach twisted. you knew how much this meant to him. he was always so confident, so lively—but now, he looked… small.

before you could say anything else, movement in the crowd caught your eye. hyunjin stood off to the side, leaning casually against the wall, watching the reactions unfold. his expression was unreadable, but when his eyes met yours, he gave you a slow, knowing smile.

your breath hitched. this was real. you were going to be partners.

jisung followed your gaze and exhaled through his nose. "looks like you and hyunjin will be spending a lot of time together," he said, his tone light but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

you turned back to him, unsure of what to say. but before you could respond, emile clapped his hands, calling for attention.

"congratulations to everyone," he announced. "rehearsals start tomorrow. bring your best, because i expect nothing less than perfection."

the hallway buzzed with chatter, but a strange unease settled in your chest.

this was everything you had worked for. so why did it feel like something wasn’t quite right?

the rehearsal studio was alive with movement, dancers stretching, adjusting their shoes, and murmuring about the newly assigned roles. the atmosphere was thick with anticipation, the weight of their new responsibilities settling on their shoulders.

you stood near the center of the room, nervously adjusting the straps of your leotard. this was it—your first rehearsal as the lead in manon. your heart thudded against your ribcage as you stole a glance at hyunjin. he was across the room, tying the ribbons of his pointe shoes, his expression unreadable.

“all right, everyone, places,” madeline’s voice cut through the chatter, and the room quickly fell silent. she stood at the front with a clipboard in hand, her sharp eyes flicking between you and hyunjin. “we’ll begin with the first pas de deux. let’s see what we’re working with.”

you swallowed hard as hyunjin finally met your gaze. he smirked, pushing himself up from his seat before sauntering over to you. he moved with the kind of effortless grace you had always admired—and envied.

“nervous?” he murmured as he came to stand beside you, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

you straightened your posture, refusing to let him get under your skin. “no.”

hyunjin chuckled under his breath. “you’re a bad liar.”

madeline clapped her hands once. “we’ll start with the lift.”

your stomach twisted. the lift.

it was one of the most challenging parts of the duet—hyunjin would have to sweep you off your feet and spin you before carefully lowering you into his arms. you had rehearsed lifts before, but never with him.

he extended a hand toward you, waiting. you hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing your palm in his. his fingers curled around yours, firm but careful.

“just relax,” he murmured as he stepped closer. his free hand slid to your waist, fingers pressing lightly into your side. you shivered under his touch, the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of your leotard.

you barely had time to process the closeness before he moved.

with practiced ease, hyunjin lifted you into the air, his grip unwavering. for a fleeting moment, you felt weightless, suspended between the ground and his arms. but then—

“too stiff,” madeline’s voice rang out, making you flinch. “loosen up, (y/n). trust him.”

you barely registered the way hyunjin’s lips quirked into a knowing smirk.

“trust me,” he echoed, his voice dripping with amusement.

heat rose to your cheeks, but you nodded. you let yourself relax, allowing your body to mold against his movements. this time, the lift was smoother, more natural. when he lowered you into his arms, his face was just inches from yours, his breath ghosting against your cheek.

for a moment, it felt like the world around you disappeared. his dark eyes locked onto yours, and there was something unreadable in them—something that made your pulse race.

madeline’s voice shattered the moment. “better. again.”

hyunjin let out a low chuckle before pulling away, but not before his fingers lingered on your waist for just a second too long.

you exhaled shakily. this was going to be a long rehearsal.

the studio was nearly empty now. most of the dancers had filed out, murmuring about their aching muscles and plans for the evening. jisung sat on the wooden floor, untying his pointe shoes with more force than necessary.

felix plopped down beside him, stretching his legs out with a sigh. “man, that was brutal.”

jisung let out a dry laugh. “yeah.”

brutal was one word for it. torturous was another.

he had spent the entire rehearsal watching you in his arms. watching the way hyunjin’s hands traced over your waist, the way he lifted you with ease, the way your body followed his lead like you had done this a hundred times before.

and the worst part? the way you looked at hyunjin.

jisung had seen that look before—had seen it in your eyes when you talked about how talented hyunjin was, how much you admired him. but seeing it up close, right in front of him? it stung in a way he hadn’t been prepared for.

felix nudged his knee. “you okay?”

jisung exhaled sharply, dropping his shoes into his bag. “yeah. just—” he stopped, raking a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “it’s just hard to watch, you know?”

felix’s expression softened. “yeah, i know.”

jisung leaned back against the mirror, staring up at the ceiling. “i mean, i get it. hyunjin’s a good dancer, and they need chemistry for the ballet to work, but…” his voice trailed off as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “it’s not just the dancing. she likes him.”

felix was quiet for a moment before he spoke. “and you like her.”

jisung let out a bitter laugh. “yeah. and it sucks.”

felix studied him, his blue eyes thoughtful. “why don’t you just tell her?”

jisung opened his mouth, then shut it.

tell you? now?

the words sat heavy on his tongue, pressing against the back of his throat. he imagined pulling you aside after rehearsal, imagined the way your eyes would widen as he finally said the words that had been burning inside him for months.

i like you. more than a friend should.

but then he thought about hyunjin. about the way you had smiled at him during practice, about the way your body fit so effortlessly against his.

jisung clenched his jaw.

“it’s not that easy,” he muttered.

felix raised an eyebrow. “why not?”

jisung let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face. “because i don’t want to make things harder for her. she’s already got so much going on. and besides…” his voice dropped slightly. “she’s already looking at someone else.”

felix frowned but didn’t argue.

jisung pushed himself to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “it’s fine. i just need to get over it.”

felix stood as well, crossing his arms. “yeah? and how’s that going for you?”

jisung laughed, but there was no humor in it. “terribly.”

with one last glance at the empty studio, he turned on his heel and walked out, felix trailing behind him.

and as much as jisung wanted to convince himself that he could move on, that he could just let his feelings fade, he knew the truth.

he was in too deep.

and watching you with hyunjin was going to break him.

the studio was alive with movement, the grand mirrors reflecting every extension, every pirouette, every carefully rehearsed moment of passion. it had been a few weeks since rehearsals for manon began, and by now, you had expected to feel a deeper sense of connection with your partner. but something was off.

hyunjin had changed.

you noticed it in the way he carried himself—his steps were still precise, still beautiful, but there was something missing. the hyunjin you once knew, the one who made every touch, every glance electric, had started to dull. he barely looked at you when you danced together, his hands settling on your waist or wrist only when necessary, never lingering. his presence had once been magnetic, but now, he felt distant, cold.

even now, as you moved through a particularly intimate scene, you could feel it. the moment required a delicate interplay of emotions—love, desperation, longing. but hyunjin’s grip was detached, his gaze unfocused. when his hand brushed against your cheek, the touch was empty, mechanical, nothing like the heat you used to feel from him.

“hyunjin,” you whispered under your breath as you moved through the steps, hoping to catch his attention, to draw him back in.

he didn’t respond.

your stomach twisted as you fought through the rest of the sequence, trying not to let his detachment throw you off.

jisung was watching. you caught the flicker of his eyes from across the studio, his expression unreadable. he was warming up with the other dancers, but his attention kept drifting toward you and hyunjin.

madeline clapped her hands, signaling the end of the run-through. “alright, take a five-minute break before we go again,” she instructed.

hyunjin dropped his hands from you immediately, not even sparing you a glance before turning away. he grabbed his water bottle and moved toward the back of the room, running a hand along his hair in frustration.

you took a deep breath, stepping away as well. that was when jisung approached, his towel slung over his shoulder. “you okay?”

you hesitated before answering. “yeah, i just…” you glanced in hyunjin’s direction, watching as he wiped sweat from his brow, his posture tense, his expression dark. “…i don’t know what’s going on with him.”

jisung’s jaw tensed, and he let out a small scoff, though it wasn’t directed at you. “i could take a wild guess.”

your brows knitted together. “what do you mean?”

jisung sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. he hesitated, as if debating whether to speak his mind. his eyes flickered toward hyunjin, who was leaning against the mirror with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“look, i don’t know exactly what’s going on with him,” jisung admitted, lowering his voice. “but it’s obvious he’s… different.” he glanced at you again, his gaze searching. “and you’ve noticed it too.”

you swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. of course you had noticed. but hearing it from someone else made it feel more real.

jisung shifted his stance, gripping his towel a little tighter. “maybe he’s just stressed. maybe it’s the pressure of the lead role. or…” he paused, exhaling sharply. “maybe it’s something else.”

“like what?” you pressed, your heartbeat picking up.

he hesitated again, his lips parting like he was about to say something important—but then, at the last second, he clamped his mouth shut. instead, he shook his head, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“forget it,” he muttered. “it’s not my place.”

the words left a bitter taste in his mouth, but what was he supposed to say? ‘it kills him to watch you care so much about hyunjin when he can’t even see what he has? that he can’t stand watching hyunjin push you away while he’d do anything to be in his place?’

no. he couldn’t say that.

instead, he forced a light chuckle, nudging your arm. “just… don’t let him ruin this for you, okay? you deserve to enjoy this.”

before you could respond, madeline’s voice rang out, calling everyone back. jisung shot you one last look—something lingering in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite place—before stepping away.

you turned back toward hyunjin, but he still wasn’t looking at you.

and for the first time since rehearsals started, you felt a sinking feeling settle in your stomach.

the theater buzzed with quiet anticipation, the dim glow of backstage lights casting long shadows on the walls. you slipped past a few crew members, carefully navigating your way to the side of the stage, where you could catch a glimpse of hyunjin without disrupting the performance.

you had thought about this all day—how you wanted to surprise him, show your support, and remind him that you were here for him. lately, something had been off. you weren’t blind to it. but maybe he just needed reassurance. maybe he just needed to know you still cared.

your heart pounded as your eyes landed on him. there he was, in his element, his body moving with the kind of precision and grace that left audiences breathless. he looked stunning under the stage lights, his expression intense as he danced alongside his partner, completely immersed in the performance.

for a moment, you forgot about everything else. his coldness, the distance he had put between you—it all melted away as you watched him, captivated.

and then, as he turned with a flourish, his gaze flickered toward the wings. toward you.

your breath hitched.

but instead of surprise or warmth flashing across his face, his expression hardened. his movements didn’t falter, but the second he exited the stage for a quick costume change, you saw him make a beeline in your direction.

“hyunjin!” you whispered excitedly, but the look in his eyes stopped you short.

his jaw was tight, and his face was unreadable as he towered over you, his skin glistening with sweat. “why are you here?” his voice was low, clipped.

the coldness in his tone stung. you blinked, taken aback. “i— i wanted to surprise you,” you said softly, forcing a small smile. “i thought you’d be happy.”

his lips pressed into a thin line. “you shouldn’t be backstage,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. “i’m in the middle of a performance.”

you frowned. “i know, i just—”

“look, i don’t have time for this.” he cut you off, already moving past you. “enjoy the show, alright?”

and just like that, he disappeared back into the flurry of stagehands and dancers, leaving you standing there, stunned.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to brush off the interaction. maybe he was just in performance mode. maybe he was just tired, overwhelmed. that had to be it.

you shook off the uneasy feeling in your gut and made your way to the front of the theater, deciding to wait for him after the show. surely, once it was over, he’d explain. he’d apologize for being short with you, and everything would be fine.

right?

the performance ended, and the applause thundered through the theater. you waited by the stage door, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

and then, after what felt like forever, the door finally swung open.

hyunjin emerged, still in his stage makeup, his hair slightly damp with sweat. but he wasn’t alone.

your stomach dropped.

a girl followed close behind him, giggling at something he said. she was beautiful, elegant, with long, toned legs that told you she was likely another dancer.

you stiffened, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. he didn’t even notice you standing there.

didn’t even look for you.

your breath caught in your throat as you watched him place a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit.

he walked right past you.

your chest tightened, a lump forming in your throat.

you opened your mouth to say something—anything—but no words came out.

and just like that, hyunjin disappeared into the night with her, leaving you standing alone in the cold.

taglist: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin @tirena1 @nickgurl4life @geni-627

series taglist: @estella-novella @stayjinnie @wavetohannie @jehhskz @thecutiepieme @rousslut @mariteez @yeetmehome @stay3096 @akindaflora ♡

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 33: Let Me Be There

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: T (for mild language and themes of illness/recovery)

Warnings: Mentions of past harassment/stalking, mild angst, reader being stubborn about their health

Summary: Back in Connecticut, the stress of securing a permanent restraining order against Marcus takes its toll on you.

Welcome to the chapter 33 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

It had been two days since we got back to Connecticut, and in those forty-eight hours, my body had completely betrayed me.

The stress of dealing with the permanent restraining order against Marcus had been weighing me down since we landed. Even though the judge had granted it—thanks to the new evidence against him—it didn’t feel like relief. It felt like a wound that hadn’t even started healing yet.

Between barely eating, hardly sleeping, and pretending everything was fine, my immune system finally gave up.

And now, here I was.

Sick.

Miserable.

Hunched over in my dorm, wrapped in my thickest hoodie, shivering despite the heat being turned up. My throat felt like I had swallowed razor blades, my nose was both stuffy and runny, and my body ached like I had just played a full four quarters alone.

I knew I should tell Paige.

But I wouldn’t.

Because she had DePaul to worry about, and I wasn’t going to distract her.

10:45 AM – Paige’s Dorm

Paige wasn’t buying it.

“You’re sick.” She stood in front of me, arms crossed, brows furrowed in undeniable concern.

“I’m fine,” I croaked, immediately giving myself away. My throat burned like hell, and my voice sounded like I had been chain-smoking for a decade.

Paige’s expression softened, but her stance didn’t budge. “Babe, come on. You look miserable. Let me take care of you.”

I shook my head. “You have a game in two days. You can’t get sick.”

Paige let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. “So what? You’d rather sit here suffering alone just so I can go hoop?”

I avoided her gaze, suddenly very interested in the loose thread on my sleeve.

“I’ll be fine,” I mumbled. “I just need to sleep it off.”

Paige stared at me, and I could feel the internal battle she was having. She wanted to argue, to fight me on it, but I saw the flicker of hesitation. She really couldn’t afford to get sick, and she knew it.

That didn’t mean she was going to just leave me alone.

“If you won’t let me stay, I’m calling in backup,” Paige declared, already reaching for her phone.

My eyes narrowed. “Paige—”

She smirked. “Too late.”

11:30 AM – My Dorm

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at my door.

When I dragged myself out of bed and opened it, Kayla stood there, grinning like she had just won the lottery.

“You look like hell,” she greeted.

I groaned. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Tell that to your overprotective girlfriend,” Kayla said, stepping inside and shutting the door. “She practically threatened me to get my ass over here.”

I sighed, trudging back toward my bed and collapsing onto it. “She’s dramatic.”

Kayla flopped down into my desk chair. “No, she’s in love with you and wants to make sure you don’t die of self-neglect.”

I buried my face in my pillow. “I hate both of you.”

Kayla laughed. “No, you don’t. Now, let’s get some fluids in you before Paige actually loses her mind.”

3:15 PM – My Dorm Still

“Here. Granny-approved.”

I blinked blearily at the steaming mug Kayla placed in front of me.

“You actually made it?” I rasped.

Kayla gave me a pointed look. “I followed your grandma’s instructions exactly. I even FaceTimed Paige so she could watch me make it.”

I rolled my eyes but took the mug, cradling it in my hands. The scent of citrus, ginger, and warm spices filled my nose. I hesitated before taking a small sip, the heat spreading through my chest immediately.

“Better?” Kayla asked.

I sighed, nodding. “Yeah.”

She grinned. “Good. Now, drink all of it before I call Paige back and tell her you’re being difficult.”

I glared. “You’re evil.”

Kayla smirked. “Nah. I’m just her eyes and ears while she’s gone.”

Game Day – 6:50 AM

I wasn’t 100%, but I was better.

Enough that I convinced Paige—and the coaching staff—that I could travel with the team to DePaul.

I still kept my distance, though.

Even on the bus, I made sure to sit a row behind Paige, by myself, far enough that she wouldn’t be in my germ radius. I avoided the usual pre-game hugs, the playful jabs from the team, even the way Paige reached for my hand as we boarded.

I didn’t miss the way she frowned.

I didn’t miss the way Azzi nudged her, whispering something under her breath.

But I had already made Paige compromise by letting me come. I wasn’t about to make her risk getting sick before an important game.

So, I stayed back.

Even when Paige sighed dramatically and sent me a text.

Paige: stop acting like I’m some fragile little thing. let me love you.

I smiled to myself but didn’t reply.

Because I knew Paige, and I knew she wasn’t going to let this go.

And sure enough, not even ten minutes later, she turned around in her seat, leaned over Azzi, and whispered, “Babe, if you don’t let me sit next to you, I’m making a scene.”

I raised a brow, locking eyes with her. “Make a scene then.”

Paige blinked. “Huh?”

“You heard me,” I challenged. “Go ahead. Make a scene.”

I thought she would back down. I really did.

But I forgot who my girlfriend was.

Without missing a beat, Paige stood up in the middle of the bus, threw her arms up dramatically, and yelled, “MY GIRLFRIEND DOESN’T LOVE ME ANYMORE!”

The entire bus froze.

Azzi immediately facepalmed. KK started wheezing. Ice burst out laughing. And miss Sarah she was giving heavy side eye.

“PAIGE—” I hissed, my face burning as the entire team turned to look at us.

“I just wanna sit next to my sick, stubborn, beautiful girlfriend, but she’s being so cold-hearted!” Paige continued, clutching her chest like she was in a soap opera.

Coach Geno turned from the front of the bus, looking entirely done with her antics. “Bueckers, sit your dramatic ass down.”

Snickering, Paige flopped into the seat beside me, grinning triumphantly. “Told you I’d make a scene.”

I groaned, hiding my face in my hoodie.

Paige just laughed, lacing our fingers together.

I didn’t stop her.

Back at Campus – Paige Bueckers: Full-Time baller, nope. How about Full- Time nurse, Part-Time simp

By now, I’d accepted my fate.

There was no escaping Nurse Paige.

The second we stepped back into my dorm, she had a full recovery plan ready.

Hydration? Handled.

Soup? Cooking in the mini rice cooker.

Medicine? Already sitting on my nightstand.

Cuddles? Pending, until I was “fully healed.”

“You’re worse than my grandma,” I muttered, sitting up in bed as Paige fluffed my pillows for the third time in an hour.

Paige gasped, offended. “Excuse you! I am a loving and attentive girlfriend, not some random granny.”

“That’s debatable.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll withhold the Jolly Ranchers I bought you.”

I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

Paige smirked. “Try me.”

Before I could argue, my phone buzzed.

Group Chat: ‘UConn’s Finest’

Triple A: Not Paige ghosting us like we don’t have practice tomorrow.

Team mom: Is she even on campus??

Ice cube: She is. She’s just playing housewife rn.

Rah: Oh, she’s 100% in nurse mode. I give it two more hours before she starts spoon-feeding [Reader].

Triple A: Paige, defend yourself.

Paige peeked over my shoulder at my phone, then grinned as she grabbed hers from the nightstand.

A second later, my phone buzzed again.

Hot shot: y’all wish you had a girlfriend to take care of. stay mad. (Except Ayanna)

Fuzzy Fudd: Paige, that’s literally not the point-

Triple A: thanks, you simp. (Knowing I’m a simp too)

Hey Arnold: SIMP, both of y’all jus some simps.

I snorted, locking my phone and setting it aside. “They’re gonna bully you for weeks.”

Paige just shrugged. “Let them. I have more important things to do.”

She then proceeded to tuck me into my blankets like a burrito.

I sighed. This was my life now.

By the next evening, Paige was finally convinced I was on the mend—meaning I was allowed out of bed.

Our first low-energy activity?

Lego building.

Specifically, the tiny flower shop Lego set Paige had bought ‘for us’ but definitely wanted for herself.

“This is actually coming out cute,” I admitted, setting down the last window piece.

Paige beamed. “See? I told you we’re Lego masters.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You dropped a piece under the bed twice.”

“Shhh, it’s called the artistic process.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I reached for the remote. “Okay, what movie?”

“Ratatouille,” Paige said immediately.

“Predictable.”

“Iconic,” she corrected, pulling me into her arms as I hit play. “And the perfect cuddle movie.”

I sighed, relaxing into her hold. Finally, a quiet night.

At least, it was supposed to be.

Because just as we were settling in…

The door BURST open.

“YO, WHAT UP, LIVE?!”

Paige and I whipped around just in time to see KK Arnold standing there, phone in hand, on TikTok Live.

I groaned. “KK, no warning?!”

KK grinned, completely unbothered. “Gotta keep y’all on your toes!”

Before either of us could kick her out, the chat flooded with comments.

“NOT PAIGE BEING DOMESTIC”

“They were def having a date night omg”

“Y/n looks so done”

“KK the real MVP for interrupting them”

Paige facepalmed. “KK, why are you here?”

KK shrugged. “Y’all weren’t answering the group chat, so I figured you needed some excitement.”

I narrowed my eyes. “We were literally about to have a peaceful movie night.”

KK grinned. “Oh, bet! The whole squad’s coming.”

Paige and I froze.

“The what now?” Paige asked, eyes wide.

As if on cue, the door swung open again.

In stormed Caroline, Ice, Morgan, Sarah, Jana, Azzi, Ayanna, and Aubrey—each carrying snacks, drinks, and zero regard for the fact that we were NOT expecting them.

“Hope y’all weren’t planning on keeping this cozy night to yourselves,” Ice teased, plopping onto the floor.

“We brought popcorn,” Morgan added, holding up a bag.

Ayanna smirked. “And we came to see Paige in full simp mode live and in action.”

I groaned, hiding my face in Paige’s hoodie.

Paige, however, just sighed dramatically.

“You know what?” She pulled me closer, chin resting on my head. “Fine. But y’all are building your own Legos.”

Caroline gasped. “You think we came empty-handed?”

And just like that, the quiet night turned into a full-blown UConn team takeover.

9:15 PM – My Dorm (Now a Team Sleepover)

I should’ve known better.

I really should have.

A “quick movie night” with this team was never just a quick movie night. It was an event. A takeover. A full-blown production.

And now, my dorm—which was barely big enough for me and Paige—was packed with the entire squad, each making themselves comfortable like they owned the place.

KK had taken over my desk chair, spinning it in circles while still on TikTok Live, laughing as the chat roasted Paige’s “Full-Time Nurse, Part-Time Simp” status. Azzi and Ice were sprawled out on my floor, already battling in some intense Uno match, while Ayanna sat behind them, eating popcorn like she was watching a championship game.

Caroline, Sarah, and Aubrey had claimed my bed—because of course they did—leaving me exactly nowhere to sit.

And Paige?

Paige was sitting right in the middle of it all, legs stretched out, completely unbothered, holding onto me like I was some oversized teddy bear she had no intentions of letting go.

I sighed. This was my life now.

“So, what’s next?” KK grinned, finally putting her phone down. “I say we make this a game night.”

Paige perked up. “Ooh, Mario Kart?”

“I call Yoshi,” Ice said immediately.

“Bro, you always get Yoshi,” Ayanna groaned.

“Then be quicker next time.”

Azzi snorted. “It’s not even that serious.”

Ice gasped dramatically. “Oh, it is that serious, Fudd. Don’t let me catch you on Rainbow Road.”

Meanwhile, Sarah and Aubrey had started pulling out a deck of cards.

“Spades?” Aubrey suggested, smirking at me.

I raised a brow. “You sure you wanna go there, Griff?”

“Am I sure I wanna school you? Yeah.”

“Oh, bet.”

Caroline clapped her hands. “Alright, we got Mario Kart on one side, Spades on the other. What about Jenga?”

“Jenga?” Paige repeated, looking concerned.

Morgan nodded, already stacking the blocks. “Yeah, the giant kind.”

I groaned. “Oh no.”

I still had PTSD from the last time they played.

Because this wasn’t normal Jenga. No, UConn Jenga was a full-contact sport.

“House rules?” KK asked.

“House rules,” Sarah confirmed.

“Wait, what are house rules?” I asked, immediately regretting it.

Caroline grinned. “Oh, just a little added chaos.”

Aubrey smirked. “You have to remove the blocks with only one hand.”

Azzi added, “And if you make it fall, you have to do a dare.”

I turned to Paige, my last hope for sanity. “And you allow this?”

She shrugged. “I don’t make the rules. I just enjoy the show.”

I groaned again, but there was no stopping them now.

10:30 PM – The Games Begin

First up: Mario Kart.

And let me tell you—Ice did not play around.

By the time the first race ended, she had already hit KK with three shells and sent Ayanna flying off the track twice.

“HOW ARE YOU THIS GOOD?” KK yelled, staring at the screen in disbelief.

Ice grinned, completely smug. “Skill, baby. Try again next time.”

Meanwhile, Spades had gotten… heated.

“You reneged!” Aubrey accused, pointing at Azzi.

Azzi scoffed. “I did not!”

“You did!”

Sarah laughed, shaking her head. “Man, this is why I don’t play with y’all.”

Caroline leaned back, sipping her Gatorade like she was watching a courtroom drama.

And then came Jenga.

It started normal enough. Careful moves, steady hands.

And then Ashlynn decided to get bold.

She tried pulling from the bottom.

Everyone screamed.

The tower wobbled.

For a moment, it looked like she might save it.

And then—BOOM.

Jenga blocks went flying.

Ash sat there, stunned. “…Oops.”

The entire team erupted.

“Dare time!” KK announced.

She sighed. “Fine. Hit me with it.”

Sarah and Ayanna exchanged looks before smirking.

“You have to run down the hall, screaming ‘PAIGE BUECKERS IS MY MOM’ at the top of your lungs.”

The room exploded.

Paige choked on her water. “WHAT?”

Azzi wheezed. “Y’all are evil.”

But Ash? Ashlynn was fearless.

She stood up, cracked her knuckles, and sprinted out the door.

“PAIGE BUECKERS IS MY MOM! PAIGE BUECKERS IS MY MOM!”

We were crying.

Even Paige couldn’t stop laughing. “I hate you guys.”

Caroline wiped tears from her eyes. “Nah, that was legendary.”

1:00 AM – The Aftermath

Eventually, after multiple rematches, way too much yelling, and Ice still dominating in Mario Kart, the exhaustion hit.

One by one, people started crashing.

Azzi was knocked out on the floor, still holding a controller. Sarah and Morgan had taken over my bed, curled up like they owned the place.

KK was half-asleep in my desk chair, mumbling about getting revenge on Ice.

And Paige?

Paige was lying next to me, arms wrapped around my waist, fully content.

“See?” she murmured. “You’re feeling better, and we had fun.”

I sighed, sinking into her warmth. “Yeah, yeah. You win, Nurse Paige.”

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Always.”

And even though my dorm was a mess, even though my bed was stolen, even though KK was probably gonna snore all night…

I smiled. Resting against Paige’s chest and went to a peaceful sleep.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

       -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 , @0phantom0 , @yailtsv , @authentic-girl03 , @sevyscoven , @elalfywhore , @sitawita , @jadasogay , @vamptizm .... (more to be added) 

[callme-holly]

hi! i hope you are doing well! <3

can i plz get a dallas winston fic where dallas is being really sweet (like teeth rotting sweet) and he takes her out shopping and such and the day ends with them cuddling in bed <3

𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 [𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

a/n: I LOVE THIS STOP IT

The day has been nothing short of wonderful, a good end to the week, a good way to wind down and forget about everything for a few hours. You’d never expected Dallas to agree to the idea, not in a million years, but when he’d agreed to take you shopping, to carry your bags despite his grumbling, something inside of you had melted. He'd tried to pretend like he hated the day, that every single second of his was a drag and nothing short of torture, but you hadn't missed the occasional smile he let slip, the gentle look in his eyes as he watched you throw garments of clothing into the basket, practically skipping to the changing rooms. He'd enjoyed himself; you know that much.

And now he was reclined back against your headboard, watching with an amused smile as you showed him every single thing you'd bought, giving him a fashion show even though he'd been there for every single purchase. He didn't argue, didn't ignore you or turn you away, just let you do your thing.

"What do you think?" you asked, turning to face him suddenly, arms outstretched. His eyes roamed over your figure, taking in the way your new dress hugged your curves, the colour complementing you perfectly; you looked like something straight out of a magazine, and he loved it.

"Give us a spin, angel..." he drawled, motioning for you to turn; you did so, the skirt swirling around you in a way that had his heart stuttering and his breath hitching. He let out a groan, running a hand through his hair, nodding in appreciation as you slowed to a stop, grinning despite yourself.

"Is that a yes?" 

"Of course it is, darling." 

You stepped towards him, letting his hands take purchase on your hips, his thumb rough against the delicate lace as he traced idly patterns against it. The look in his eyes was something akin to the way a starved man would eye a meal, desperate for more.

Your fingers card through his hair, gripping at the strands in a teasing manner that you knew all too well would rile him up, and judging from the way his expression darkened, his jaw tensing, you were right.

 He pulled you close against his body, kissing you hungrily in a bid to get your attention, tongue flicking across your bottom lip, demanding entrance. Your arms snaked around his neck, letting yourself fall into his lap, the fabric of your dress flowing out like waves around the two of you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, simply trading heated, passionate kisses, both of you too wrapped up in one another to care about anything else. It wasn't until you were forced back to breathe that a small laugh escaped you; you let your head fall to the crook of his neck, loving the way his scent, all leather and smoke, seemed to wrap around you. 

"What's so funny?" He huffed, resting his chin atop your head, leaning back and pulling you with him so that you were settled comfortably on his chest. 

You shook your head, looking up at him through your lashes, cheeks tinted pink, lips swollen and red. “Just you…” You mumbled, cupping his jaw. “You’re so desperate…” 

“Desperate?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Please, doll. Any man would be desperate if they were in my position.” 

Butterflies erupted in your stomach, fluttering wildly and causing your heart to race. Something about the way he said it, the way his voice was gruff and a few octaves lower than usual, made you feel almost giddy with want. 

“Don’t tease, Dal.” You sighed happily, nuzzling into his neck like a cat begging for attention. 

Dallas huffed a laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest and you let out a quiet whine in response, shifting in his lap to get more comfortable.  The only sounds you could hear for a while were his heartbeat and the soft, pleasant rumble of his voice, which you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to pull away from just yet, feeling too relaxed and comforted to move. 

"This colour looks so good on you, you know that?" He pulls away, brushing a strand of hair back from your face, his brows raised. "If this is how shopping with you ended, I might take you up on the offer more often..." 

He laughed when you swatted at his chest, capturing your hand in his larger, rougher one, his scarred fingers lacing with yours. The cool metal from his rings pressed into your skin, making goosebumps prickle along your arms. 

"You better watch yourself, lover boy." You warned him, but he knew just what he was doing, just how easily he could make you melt without even trying.

"I'm ain’t doin’ wrong, baby. Just admiring my girl."  He grinned, bringing your hand to his mouth. He placed a feather-light kiss along your knuckles before releasing your hand. He pressed his forehead against yours, and you braced yourself for another cocky, playful comment. However, you paused when you noticed the gentle look in his eye, the way his whole expression softened.

"You look perfect. Seriously." 

He kissed you gently, slow and deliberate, and you let him because you weren't quite sure how to respond to something like that. So you just  sat, allowing yourself to sink deeper into this warmth, sinking further into his lap, his chest rising and falling beneath you. You let your fingers trace patterns into his shoulders as he peppered your face with kisses, humming contentedly against your lips, and for the first time Dallas Winston was quiet, silenced by the pure perfection of the girl in his lap. 

[sunshineangel0]

chapter one

pairing- Bang Chan x OC (Chi Nakamura) summary- Chi Nakamura, the owner of a cozy Seoul bakery, has a seemingly ordinary early morning encounter with a mysterious customer—one that lingers in her mind long after he’s gone. Little does she know, her small act of kindness has left an impression on none other than Bang Chan, leader of stray kids. genre- Slow burn, fluff, slice of life, a hint of romance (?) word count- 1.1.k warning- pure fluff, caffeine addiction (lol) a/n- This was just supposed to be a simple small idea with an oc I created in my head, but now I’m obsessed with their dynamic. Chi’s bright energy vs. Chan’s quiet exhaustion? Yes, please. Let me know what you think! 💕

The warm glow of early morning seeped through the tall windows of Mochi and Bean, casting golden streaks across the polished wooden floors. The air inside the small bakery was rich with the scent of vanilla, espresso, and fresh-baked pastries—a comforting aroma that wrapped around Chi Nakamura like a familiar embrace. She hummed softly along to the music playing through the speakers, a gentle K-R&B track that blended seamlessly with the quiet hum of dawn in downtown Seoul.

It was just past 5:15 AM. The streets outside were still sleepy, wrapped in the lingering hush of the night, where only the occasional early commuter or delivery truck broke the stillness. This was Chi’s favorite part of the day. The world felt softer, slower, like a deep breath before the city exhaled into the chaos of morning traffic. In these early hours, it was just her, her oven, and the quiet anticipation of a new beginning.

Behind the counter, she moved with precise, practiced ease, organizing the latest batch of butter croissants and matcha financiers onto their trays, each pastry arranged with delicate care. The polished glass display case gleamed under the soft café lighting, the golden layers of the croissants catching the light just so.

The bell above the door chimed, the sound crisp in the tranquil stillness. Chi glanced up, expecting to see one of her usual early birds—perhaps an office worker needing a caffeine fix or a delivery driver grabbing breakfast before the rush.

Instead, she was met with someone new.

A man stepped in, his presence quiet but deliberate. He wore a black hoodie pulled low over his forehead, gray sweatpants, and a mask covering the lower half of his face. He moved with the kind of energy that suggested he was used to going unnoticed—each step purposeful yet unassuming, blending into the background without effort.

Chi, ever the bright presence, propped her elbows onto the counter, resting her chin on her hands as she offered a natural, easy smile. She didn’t recognize him, but that didn’t matter.

"Good morning!" Her voice was warm, gently breaking the silence between them. "What can I get for you?"

The man hesitated for a second, as if her friendly greeting had caught him off guard. Slowly, he reached up, pulling his mask down just enough to reveal a glimpse of his lips and sharp jawline before tucking it under his chin. When he met her gaze, his deep brown eyes—slightly hooded with exhaustion—held an unreadable expression.

"Uh… just an Americano, please," he said, his voice a quiet rasp, the kind that came from too many late nights and not enough sleep.

Chi tilted her head slightly, observing him with a light curiosity. There was something about him that felt oddly familiar, but she didn’t press on it. Instead, she nodded, pushing off the counter with an easy grace.

"Coming right up! You want anything to eat? I just pulled out some fresh croissants—like, literally five minutes ago. Still warm," she offered, gesturing toward the display case where the golden, flaky pastries sat invitingly.

The man hesitated again, like he was about to refuse out of habit. But something in the way she looked at him—expectant but not pushy—made him pause.

"Yeah… sure. One croissant," he relented, voice softer this time.

Chi grinned, already turning toward the espresso machine, her movements fluid and practiced. "Great choice," she said as she punched in the order. The familiar hum of the machine filled the space, rich coffee dripping steadily into the cup. Meanwhile, she grabbed a pair of tongs, carefully placing a perfectly golden croissant into a small paper bag.

As she worked, she glanced over her shoulder, curiosity flickering in her gaze. "So," she started casually, "you’re out pretty early. Work?"

The man let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he tucked his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "Something like that."

Chi didn’t push for more. Instead, she simply nodded, setting the finished Americano on the counter alongside the bagged croissant. "Well, hope the coffee helps. It’s on the house since it’s your first time here."

The man raised a brow, clearly surprised. "You don’t have to do that."

"I know," she said with a small, knowing smile, "but I want to. I just opened like a week ago. I thought it would be nice offering a few things at first"

He exhaled through his nose—a quiet laugh, amused by her kindness. As he reached for the cup, his fingers brushed against hers—just for a fraction of a second, barely there.

Something flickered in his expression, like he was about to say something else, but instead, he just gave her a small nod.

"Thanks… Chi," he murmured, glancing at the name tag pinned to her apron before turning toward the door.

Chi blinked, slightly surprised that he’d noticed her name.

"See you around, uh…" she trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

He hesitated for a second before answering simply, "Chris."

And then, he was gone, slipping out into the early morning, leaving behind only the lingering warmth of his presence and the quiet weight of an interaction that felt like the start of something.

Chi exhaled, watching as the door swung shut behind him. Something about that guy was… interesting.

She just didn’t realize yet that Chris was Bang Chan—the leader of Stray Kids. And that was only the first of many mornings to come.

As the café settled back into its usual rhythm, Chi pulled out her phone, unlocking it with a quick tap. She hesitated for a moment before opening her messages and typing.

Chi: you ever just serve coffee to someone and feel like... that was kinda important???

A few seconds later, her best friend, Mina, responded.

Mina: girl it’s 5:30 in the morning what are you even talking about

Chi rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips. Before she could type back, Mina sent another text.

Mina: wait. was he hot.

Chi snorted, shaking her head.

Chi: idk??? maybe??? also kinda familiar but idk from where. anyway. just felt… different.

Mina sent back a string of eye emojis before typing.

Mina: oh you’re DEFINITELY seeing him again.

Meanwhile, across town, Bang Chan stepped into the JYP Entertainment building, the weight of exhaustion still lingering but… lighter, somehow.

Han looked up from where he was sprawled on the studio couch. "You look… unusually chipper for this time of day."

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, setting his coffee cup down beside the mixing console. "Do I?"

Han squinted. "Yeah. You actually look like you slept more than three hours."

Chan just smiled to himself, the faintest trace of warmth still lingering from the morning’s encounter.

"Maybe it’s just good coffee," he mused before slipping on his headphones, the soft hum of the bakery and Chi’s bright voice still echoing somewhere in the back of his mind.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general tags: @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789

(if you want to be added to my taglist, please comment under the post.)

[mortem-writes]

Which Witch?

In which, Simon wanders into a bar, looking for prey, and finds himself hunted instead.

This is for the Ghoap drabble exchange! I was so lucky to get @sfmothdaddy on tumblr's prompt: 'witchy au', it is SO unbelievably up my alley I was jumping for joy. I'm the type of writer that can spin a small idea into a 5k word fic, so keeping this short was a struggle for me I can't lie. I do kind of have the urge to turn this into a longer fic sometime in the future? Thank you @ramrage for organising all this <3 *Ao3 link*

CW: dub-con kinda?

Simon finds his feet wandering across the threshold of a dingy pub buried in the far outskirts of the village, his hand tucked into one of his many pockets and curled around the hilt of a sleek silver dagger. It’s not too busy inside, warm and bustling in a sleepy, small-town way that almost charms him. Almost.

But he knows the secrets winding under the pebblestone streets, how deep the rot burrows in this sleepy, innocent-looking little town tucked away in the Scottish countryside.

He slots himself among the throng at the bar, hood pulled low, still palming the blade in his pocket. The metal almost seems to hum, as if recognising its prey is near, a good meal that’ll soon wander into its jowls. 

“Heard there’s a witch hauntin’ these parts,” he murmurs lowly, catching the bartender's attention. “Word is, you can tell me where to find ‘em.”

It feels like an era in the time it takes for the man to turn and face him, mere seconds unspooling into decades as he locks eyes with Simon’s. Electric blue, and sharp like the teeth of a wolf digging into Simon’s lungs, ripping his breath away for a second before he drags his composure back under control.

The bartenders hums, polishing a glass with a fraying rag. Simon’s eyes are captured by how those skilled, dexterous fingers work, rolling over the smooth edges of the glass, leaving behind a pearly sheen.

“S’tha’ true?” the man says, voice soft and thoughtful but the smirk playing at the corners of his full lips and the dangerous glint of light dancing over his eyes tell a different story. “Have a drink, sir.”

Simon narrows his eyes with suspicion, but the man pays him no mind, pulling various bottles off the shelves, pouring and humming under his breath like a damn lunatic. He has a mohawk for fuck’s sake. He almost scoffs, does this man really think of Simon as a cocktail person?

Simon tells him so, the dagger hums, starving for blood.

“If y’drink it, ah guarantee you’ll never find a better love anywhere else,” the man winks cheekily, electric blue flashing away for a second before returning with a challenge blazing in his irises. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Simon grits, bringing the rim of the glass to his mouth, eyes never leaving the man’s. Brown and blue clashing like sparks.

It tastes sweet. Not overwhelmingly sweet like toffee sticking to your teeth, but sweet like an apple, a dart of tartness playing on his tongue. Sweet. Simon’s gaze darts to the man’s lips, plush and full, he wonders very briefly if he would taste just as sweet. He waves that thought away dismissively.

The man’s expression is positively gleeful, “y’like?”

Simon says nothing, glaring hard at him. The man's grin just widens, delighted at Simon's fury. “Stop fuckin’ around. Tell me where the witch is.”

“Wha’s in it fer me?” the man purrs playfully, dropping his elbows onto the bar between them and leaning too close. His blue eyes dart all over Simon’s face, he can feel it practically dragging over the rough texture of the scars. 

The blade sings under his hand, he ignores it. Hunger can wait. “What d’ya wan’?” he asks gruffly, cutting straight to the chase.

The man tilts his head, thinking for a moment, a pout on his lips that Simon wants to lick. “How ‘bout a kiss, handsome? Deal?” 

---

Simon wakes up the next morning, a luxurious burn stretching down the length of his thighs and his mind swimming in the signature sweet syrup of a long night of searing pleasure. The burning hunger in his stomach has been quenched. He hums, stretching, before bolting up in someone else's bed.

His mind races, heart pounding. A door swings open smoothly on its hinges, soft bare feet on wood. Simon’s fingers scramble, searching for silver. “Ah, you’re awake, mo leannan. Breakfast?”

Simon stares, bewildered, at the man from the bar. He’s bare chested, thick hair trailing from the valley between his pecs to under his boxers slung tantalisingly low on his hips, and carrying a platter of what smells suspiciously like toast. “Wha—?”

“Something wrong, mo leannan?” he asks worriedly at Simon’s expression, before those dangerous blue eyes soften with realisation. He sets the platter down on the bedside table, and Simon’s traitorous heart slows, something warm in his chest reaching for the man planting himself at his side instead of recoiling with horror. “Oh love, I did warn you.”

A thread of thought swims through the thick fog in Simon’s mind, and he trips over it as the man tenderly sweeps the tip of his nose across his jaw, then nuzzling into the hollow of his throat. The thread weaves in his mind, a patchwork of puzzle pieces falling into place.

“Fuck, yer— you’re—” The man kisses him, soft and slow, and Simon melts like a cube of ice sliding into a hot bath. Honey pulsing hotly in his veins.

“The witch,” the man says simply, dropping a feather-light kiss on Simon’s bobbing Adam’s apple as he swallows roughly. “I warned ye, sweethear’. Told ye tha’ you’d never find a better love anywhere else if y’drank.”

[cece693]

Felt not Seen

pairing: loki laufeyson x gender neutral reader tags: blind reader, you don't know loki, he likes it this way, loki feels safe and loved, technically is it lying when avoiding personal questions, fluff, reader forgives easily, doesn't follow any timeline

You can always tell when someone steps into the bookstore. The bells above the door chime, and the floorboards creak—each step as distinct as a page turning in a favorite novel. It’s your little sanctuary—dusty shelves lined with tales you might never see, but whose words you know and love by heart. And that’s how you first met him.

He walked in quietly, the shuffle of his shoes muffled and strangely elegant. Still, you heard the soft crack of the old wood, felt the subtle shift in the air currents, and caught the faint trace of sandalwood and morning frost. There was an undercurrent of tension in his measured footsteps, as though he was unsure if he was meant to be here at all.

“Hello,” you had greeted him, smiling in his direction even though you couldn’t see the details of his face. You might have been unable to see color or form, but you’d always had a knack for sensing expressions—like the surprise or curiosity that reverberates through the air. You felt it then, a light wave of something you interpreted as cautious intrigue.

He’d introduced himself as Luke. Your heart had fluttered—something about the soft lilt of his voice made you shiver, as though each syllable he spoke carried a hidden meaning. That day, he left without purchasing a single book, yet something told you he would come back.

He did.

Over the following weeks, Luke—though you began to suspect that wasn’t his real name—arrived like clockwork. Every Friday afternoon, he would step in, greet you politely, and linger among the shelves. Sometimes he would sit with you behind the counter, flipping through the pages of an old volume while you ran your fingers along your Braille copy of a classic. You’d talk of myths, of gods and kingdoms, of worlds beyond Earth and your own small shop.

You discovered that Luke had a wit as sharp as the letter opener you kept on your counter. He teased you kindly, drawing an easy laugh from your lips. He debated and challenged you, but never in a way that made you feel small. He was a whirlwind in your peaceful existence, and you loved it.

Yet beneath the warmth, you sensed an unspoken tension, a hidden secret. He evaded questions about his life with practiced ease. At first, you told yourself it was fine. Not everyone wants to share everything right away. But as the weeks turned into months, you felt the strain in his voice when he spoke about his past in vague statements. You could almost feel him turning his gaze from you to somewhere far away whenever he talked about “troubled years.”

You never pressed him. You already felt privileged that he chose to spend so much time with you, that he read your favorite passages aloud, that he asked how you navigated the city and listened, truly listened, to your answers. Someone who wanted to understand the way you experienced the world was precious indeed.

And, at some point, the gentle friendship transformed—softly, sweetly—into something more. A hand on your shoulder lingered a beat too long. His voice softened when he said your name. When you admitted you were feeling overwhelmed by the day’s chores, Luke was suddenly there, offering assistance. For a moment, you imagined him as a knight from a dusty fairytale, appearing to whisk you away from your burdens.

The first time he kissed you, it was a tentative brush of lips, loaded with so much affection you couldn’t help but shiver. One kiss became two, turned into three, and then you both lost count. You had never been so grateful to be in the darkness because there, in the hush of your bookshop, it felt like you were the only two souls in the universe. He would speak of love in half-finished sentences. “I never imagined…” or “I don’t deserve this…” Over and over, you told him you believed in him, but you didn’t know why he so firmly believed he was unworthy.

Then one evening, long after the store had closed, the door chime rang unexpectedly. You waited, confused, because Luke had just stepped out to run an errand and promised he’d be back soon. “Is that you, Luke?” you called out.

A deep voice, more resonant and powerful than Luke’s, answered, “Not quite.”

You recognized the man instantly, though not by voice—by presence. He felt like a storm; everything was bigger, more vivid. “I am Thor,” he introduced himself, warmth beneath the thunder in his tone.

“Thor,” you echoed softly, as if trying the name on your tongue.

He explained, in the gentlest way he could, that Luke had a past—one that involved Asgard, a shattered family, and near-cataclysmic deeds on Earth. Thor never once said the name “Loki,” but you realized, in that instant, that “Luke” was just a mask. And it all made sense: Loki, the fallen prince, the trickster, the one who once tried to conquer your world out of vengeance.

Thor, gentle despite his towering presence, placed a comforting hand over yours. “My sibling is no monster. They are flawed, yes, but they deserve to be seen for who they really are. You—” he paused, as if carefully choosing his words, “—you deserve the truth.”

When Loki returned, you were sitting on the shop’s old sofa, hands trembling in your lap. You heard the jingle of the door, slow footsteps, then silence as he sensed something was amiss. “Thor was here,” you said quietly, turning your face toward him even though your eyes could not meet. You tried to maintain some composure, but your voice wavered. “He told me everything.”

It was the first time you heard Loki’s breath catch so audibly. “I—” he started, searching for the right words, the usual silver-tongued trickery failing him. “I just…I couldn’t bear to lose you.” For a long, painful moment, neither of you spoke. You listened to his ragged breathing, felt the swirl of anguish radiating from him in waves. He expected you to condemn him. He expected disgust, hate, or fear.

“Why?” you whispered.

“Because I’ve done many terrible things,” Loki said, and for once, he sounded heartbreakingly earnest. “People view me as a monster—and perhaps I am. The illusions, the betrayal, the attempt to take your world…” His voice broke. “I was so tired of being alone, of being judged. You were the first person who never judged me at all.”

Your heart twisted at his words, sorrow mingling with affection. It wasn’t pity; it was the realization that so much of Loki’s life had been rooted in isolation. You reached out a trembling hand and felt his fingers entwine with yours. “If you want me to leave,” he said brokenly, “I’ll go. I wouldn’t blame you.”

But you shook your head. “No. Stay.” Your voice was gentle, insistent. “I wish you’d told me sooner, but I…I’m not going to pretend this isn’t shocking or complicated. Still, everything we shared, everything I felt…it wasn’t an illusion, was it?”

He tightened his hold on your hand, a hint of desperation there. “It was the only real thing I’ve ever had. You are the only real thing.”

Your next breath brought relief, tears burning at your eyes. Carefully, you lifted your free hand, finding the curve of his cheek. Loki leaned into your touch, as if starved for affection. You traced the lines of his face, memorizing his features by feel—the trembling of his jaw, the softness of his skin, the slight dampness on his lashes.

“I believe you, Loki,” you whispered, your voice fierce in its quiet certainty. “But please let there be no more secrets between us.”

"I promise."

Some days later, Thor returned—this time as a welcomed guest. He found you both behind the bookstore counter, Loki reading poetry aloud to you while you relaxed against his shoulder, your ear pressed to the comforting timbre of his voice. “You two look well,” Thor greeted, a gentle rumble of approval in his tone.

Loki shot him a glare that was more playful than menacing. Even if tension remained between the brothers, a fragile truce had begun. Thor nodded in your direction. “I just wanted to say that I am proud of my sibling. And of you.” He paused, his voice softening. “For seeing what others could not.”

You felt warmth bloom in your chest. So often in your life, you had been told you were at a disadvantage because of your blindness. But you had come to realize you could see people in ways most others couldn’t—beyond their surface. Beyond their illusions. Loki’s fingers curled around yours in a gesture of gratitude and silent devotion. This time, no illusions stood between you. He was himself—flawed, yearning, deeply caring. And you were there, heart open, ready to keep stepping into the unknown with him.

[somethings-are-meant-tobe]

Caught in the Act

Setting: The Bunker, post-Purgatory, Season 8

--‐-------------------------------‐------------------

Dean had always been good at sneaking around. Lying, deflecting, covering his tracks—hell, it was practically second nature. But keeping this a secret? That was a whole different game.

Cas had been back from Purgatory for a while now, and somewhere between whispered confessions, stolen touches, and nights tangled together in sheets, they’d stopped pretending they weren’t something more. But Sam didn’t know.

And Dean wasn’t ready for him to.

Which is why this was so, so bad.

The door to Dean’s room wasn’t locked. Rookie mistake. One second, Dean had Cas pressed against the wall, fingers tangled in his trench coat, lips mapping out the familiar curve of his jaw—then—

“What the hell?!”

Dean practically threw himself away from Cas. Sam stood in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in shock.

Dean scrambled for an explanation. “Uh—this isn’t— I mean, we were just—”

Cas, of course, was completely unbothered. “Hello, Sam.”

Sam blinked. “Cas. Dean.” His gaze flickered between them. Dean could feel the heat crawling up his neck.

There was an awkward beat of silence before Sam let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay. You know what? I’m gonna leave before I learn more than I need to. But we’re talking about this.”

He turned and walked out, muttering something about bleach and eye soap.

Dean groaned, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “Well, that was—”

“Unfortunate?” Cas offered.

“I was gonna say a disaster,” Dean grumbled, rubbing his face. “Damn it, man, I wasn’t ready to— I mean, I wanted to tell him, but—”

Cas sat beside him, placing a steady hand over Dean’s. “You were scared.”

Dean exhaled sharply. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Cas squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

A few hours later, Dean found himself pacing the library while Sam leaned against the table, arms crossed, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Look, man,” Dean started, running a hand through his hair. “I— It’s not like I planned this, alright? It just... happened.”

Sam’s expression softened. “Dean, you think I’m mad? I’m not. I’m just surprised. I mean—you and Cas?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah. I mean. Yeah.”

Cas stepped forward, his presence grounding. “I care for Dean deeply, Sam. This isn’t something either of us take lightly.”

Dean finally met Sam’s gaze. “I get if it’s weird for you, but... this is real. He’s real. And I don’t wanna hide it anymore.”

Sam let out a slow breath before breaking into a small, knowing smile. “Dude. I’ve literally been waiting for you to figure this out for years.”

Dean blinked. “Wait. What?”

Cas tilted his head. “Sam is perceptive.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You knew?”

Sam chuckled. “Dean, you’re about as subtle as a wrecking ball. I just didn’t think you knew.”

Dean huffed, crossing his arms. “Well, ain’t that just great.”

Sam smirked. “You happy?”

Dean glanced at Cas, who was watching him with that quiet, unwavering devotion that still took his breath away. He reached out, curling his fingers around Cas’s.

“Yeah,” Dean admitted. “I am.”

Sam grinned. “Good.” He clapped Dean on the shoulder before heading for the door. “Now, if you two are gonna keep making out in my home, at least have the decency to lock the damn door next time.”

Dean groaned. Cas merely smiled.

And for the first time in a long time, Dean felt light.

[bouncypickle]

here's a Roach drabble AU where he joins tf 141

Cockroaches are basically indestructible. They can eat anything, live through some serious radiation, and even survive getting their heads chopped off! Cockroaches are cool even if some people think they’re pests.

Gary doesn’t mind being Roach. His team gave him that moniker after surviving a grenade being thrown at his helmet. It bounced off and blew up the building he was in which then collapsed on top of him. Gary came crawling out of the rubble like a cockroach, alive and unharmed. He’d had a few close calls before so the guys in his squad coined him Roach–an indestructible little fucker, they’d said.

Sometimes, Gary wonders if that’s the only reason his squad decided on that name. Gary is the perpetual weird one, the freak, the guy who always says too much. So he feels like a pest sometimes too.

Ever since he was a kid, Gary has learned to stay quiet and keep to himself. He wears his helmet and balaclava and goggles–to keep his expressive face hidden–and lets himself be a mystery to his squadmates. They don’t ever care about him enough to ask Gary about himself though. So maybe Gary is less of a mystery and more of a background character.

It doesn’t matter anyway because Gary gets passed from team to team, completing missions with one team only to be transferred to a different team in need of more bodies. Gary is basically target practice for the enemy, an extra hand to hold a gun, another nameless G.I. Joe to be killed for his country.

Then Gary is transferred to Task Force 141 to serve under Captain John Price. The squad he’s to join is small with a focus on infiltration. Not usually Gary’s type of assignment. More often than not, Gary is put in front of a bunch of people with guns and told to shoot. This new team might be a refreshing change, honestly.

Gary is surprised to be greeted upon landing on the new base. His welcoming party actually looks welcoming. Usually, Gary is greeted by a grunt or two who bitterly show him the mess, the dorms, the gym and then leave him alone. This evening, two men who are clearly not recruits are waiting for him.

Gary has to do a double take, making sure some admiral isn’t landing instead of him. But the men approach and greet him with kindness.

“Sergeant Gary Sanderson, welcome. I’m Sergeant Kyle Garrick but you can call me Gaz.”

Gaz extends a hand in greeting and Gary shakes it eagerly. Then the other man reaches out and Gary shakes his hand too.

“Aye, welcome. Yer a bit shorter than I was expecting. Ghost made ya sound like a bleedin’ tank but that's alright. We short kings stick together, aye? Name's John MacTavish, call sign Soap.”

Gary has no idea what Soap is talking about but he nods anyway. Better to just agree than ask all the annoying questions on his mind. Like: Who is Ghost? Why are you two greeting me instead of some recruit? Don't you know to call me Roach? Do you like bugs?

Gary frowns at himself under his balaclava. Of course they don't like bugs; no one in their right mind likes bugs.

“Ghost really did talk you up though, mate. We're expecting to see some moves out of you.”

Gary just nods again.

Soap folds his arms, frowning, “Not much of a talker are ye? No wonder Ghost likes ye so much.”

Gaz elbows Soap playfully, “Jealousy is a bad look on you, mate.”

“Roach,” Gary pipes in, unsure whether or not he should interrupt but wanting to get his introduction out of the way, “That's what everyone calls me.”

“Cause of yer helmet?” Soap asks, flicking one of the radio antennas on Gary's helmet.

Gary ducks away from the teasing a bit.

“I'm an indestructible little fucker.”

The other two men burst out laughing. Gary hopes they're laughing with him, not at him. Well, he's not laughing. Anyway, he tries not to read into it too much. People laugh all the time, Gary doesn't always have to get the joke.

“Oh, Simon was right about you,” Soap tells him and suddenly Gary knows who Ghost is.

Only Gary didn't know him as Ghost, he knew him as Simon Riley. Si, actually. Si was his only friend back in the day. He liked Gary, actually listened when he talked about annoying shit like bugs.

What do you call an anxious bug?

A nervous tick.

Si used to make jokes like that over the radio. Then one day Si went MIA and Gary was transferred to another squad and he never heard from or about the man again. He knows this Ghost must be Simon Riley because no one else is weird enough to actually enjoy Gary's company.