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purplereina11 · 14 days ago

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Part 3

You spent your childhood drifting through foster homes, with nothing but a worn photo of two little girls and a note on the back: Your sisters, Alexia and Alba. You never imagined that at 25, after starting a new job, you'd meet them, through your boss who was your sister's girlfriend.

Word count: 9k

⚠️ This comes with a warning 🔞

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The phone rings only once before Patri picks up like she was already holding it, like maybe she still keeps you the only person set to ignore the do not disturb she always has on, even now.

Her voice is cautious but soft, immediately alert. “Y/N?”

You don’t speak at first. You try, but your throat is too tight, your voice caught somewhere between panic and exhaustion. All that comes out is a shaky breath.

That’s enough Patri’s voice lowers, gentle but steady like the ground beneath you just got a little more solid. “Hey. It’s okay. I’ve got you. What do you need?”

You still can’t explain it. Can’t bring yourself to shape it into words you don’t even know what you need, but your voice finally cracks through the pressure. “…Can you come over?”

There’s no hesitation, not even a beat. “Yeah. I’m already grabbing my keys.” You hear the clink in the background keys, door, a muttered “Vicky, I’ll be back later” then her voice returns, quieter now, but somehow more certain. “I’m on my way. Don’t worry, okay?”

You manage a whisper. “I’m scared.”

That silence holds for half a breath not because she doesn’t know what to say, but because she wants to say it right. “I know, but I’m coming. I’ve got you, cariño. Just hang on a little longer.”

She doesn’t ask for details, she doesn’t push, she doesn’t need to. She heard it in your voice something broke loose inside you and started flooding out, and all she cares about now is getting to you.

You hang up without saying goodbye, knowing she’ll be there.

And she will be, because no matter how messy or distant things have gotten, she’s always shown up when it counted and tonight, you didn’t need her to fix anything. You just needed her.

The knock comes quicker than expected sharp and urgent. You barely got the chance to sit down again after your panic call.

You call out, voice low but steady now, “It’s open.”

The door swings open with more force than necessary, and Patri storms in like she was ready to fight off an intruder keys still clenched in her hand like a makeshift weapon, eyes wild and scanning.

“Y/N?” she says quickly, stepping fully inside, breath just a little uneven. “What happened? Are you okay? Where are you?”

You step out from around the corner, a little sheepish, and point toward the ceiling near the window. “There’s a spider.”

Patri stares at you for a long, stunned second jaw slack, chest still heaving slightly from sprinting up the stairs like her life depended on it. She blinks. “A… spider.”

You nod slowly. “A big one.”

There’s a pause where you swear you can actually see the tension in her body trying to process whether to be furious, relieved, or amused. Patri exhales through her nose, visibly trying to remain composed but the twitch at the corner of her mouth gives her away, “You sounded like someone had broken in.”

“Well technically, the spider did,” you say weakly. “It certainly wasn’t invited.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, shaking her head, and when she opens them again, the panic is gone, replaced with dry amusement. “I left Vicky mid-sentence and ran four red lights.”

You bite your lip to stop the laugh bubbling up. “Sorry?”

She gives you a long look, then slowly, dramatically pulls off her jacket and tosses it on the back of a chair. “Where is it?” she asks, squinting toward where you pointed.

“Ceiling. Top right corner. It moved once.”

“I’m risking my life for this, you know.”

“You’re very brave.”

Patri grabs a magazine off your table with unnecessary determination and marches toward the window.

You stand behind her at a safe distance like the coward you are.

“You owe me so hard for this,” she mutters but she’s smiling now, and despite everything, it’s the softest she’s looked at you in days.

Even though you’ve clearly ruined her night and interrupted whatever plans she had, she handles the spider without complaint, because she always shows up even when it’s just for a spider and a scared voice on the phone.

Patri lifts the magazine gently, the spider inching along its edge like it has no idea it’s just narrowly avoided a death sentence.

You flinch instinctively, keeping a solid few feet of distance between you and her. “Kill it.”

She glances back at you, eyebrows raised. “No. I’m not killing it.” She starts toward the balcony.

“It’s just going to come back in,” you protest.

“It won’t.” Her voice is firm, like she’s the spokesperson for all spider-kind. “It’s more scared of you than you are of it.”

You scoff. “I doubt it.”

She shoots you a look over her shoulder, opening the sliding glass door. “Oh it is,” she says. “It’s seen how crazy you are.”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

She carefully taps the magazine so the spider drops down onto the balcony floor and scurries away. She straightens and turns to you with a smug smile. “Honestly, if I was that spider, I’d need therapy after this stunt.”

You narrow your eyes, arms crossing. “You didn’t have to come, you know.”

She shrugs, stepping back inside, letting the door slide closed. “But I did.” Then, softer, “You sounded scared.”

You pause, caught off guard again by how easily she shifts from teasing to gentle.

She sets the magazine down and walks past you toward the kitchen. “You got anything to drink that isn’t poison, I can take for the road that was such thirsty work” she reappears with one of your cold diet cokes from the fridge.

You watch her for a second, then finally exhale, the tension in your shoulders loosening as her presence settles the apartment back into something that feels like safety, even if she just called you crazy.

You follow Patri to the door, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve, nerves still humming slightly not from the spider anymore, but from her.

She moves slowly, like she’s waiting for you to say something. At the door, she turns halfway, her body angled toward you. “Thanks… for coming,” you say, voice quieter than you mean it to be. “I know it’s stupid.”

Patri shakes her head gently, her expression soft. “It wasn’t stupid. You called, I came. That’s it.”

You offer a small, lopsided smile. “Still. Thank you.”

For a second, neither of you move. The distance between you is small, but the silence makes it feel bigger. Then she meets your eyes fully, really looks at you, and something shifts.

Patri leans in slowly, giving you time to move, to stop her, but you don’t. You stay right where you are as her lips press against yours soft, steady, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. It’s not long. Just enough.

When she pulls back, you see the flicker of panic in her eyes regret, maybe, or restraint. Her brows knit slightly, and she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

You swallow, your heart beating in your throat. “It’s okay.”

She nods slowly, holding your gaze one last second before turning and stepping out the door. You watch it close behind her, the quiet settling in her absence but the feel of her kiss lingers, like a warmth on your skin you’re not ready to brush away.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The sky is bright blue and clear when you pull up, the engine humming low as you double-check the playlist and the coffee in your cup holder. The streets are mostly empty, the city not quite awake yet a perfect quiet before three hours of Alba. You were driving Alba and yourself to Huesca for the Copa del Reina final

She appears in the doorway dragging a small suitcase and a very large iced coffee, dressed like she’s about to be snapped by paparazzi, sunglasses too big, hoodie too low, leggings and a tiny, perfectly curated frown.

You roll down the window. “Wow,” you call, grinning. “You really went full celebrity on me.”

She gives a mock bow, then gestures to the back of the car. “Pop it. I’m not lifting with one hand. This coffee is more important than life right now.”

You laugh and hit the release. She throws her suitcase in, then climbs in the passenger seat without a word.

For a minute, there’s only the sound of your playlist starting up soft, low, safe. Then, after taking a long sip of her drink, she speaks, “So… this is weird, huh?”

You smile without turning to her. “Extremely.”

“Good,” she nods. “As long as we agree.”

20 minutes in.

The tension eases the further you get from the city. Alba has her feet on your dashboard, despite your protests, and she's already made three comments about your music taste being 'worryingly moody.'

You countered by switching to a girl group ballad from 2008 that made her grimace, but she didn’t skip it.

Somewhere past Terrassa, she glances at you and says, “You nervous?”

You blink. “About what?”

“Spending this long alone with me. Talking. Potentially sharing snacks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh no, I’ve emotionally prepared myself. I even packed backup snacks in case you start gatekeeping the good ones.”

She snorts, nodding slowly. “Smart. Very little sister of you.” There’s a beat. Then she adds, a little quieter, “Feels weird, doesn't it? Like… we missed the whole part where we were supposed to fight over clothes and annoy each other during puberty.”

You glance at her, then back at the road. “You say that like you’re not incredibly annoying.”

She grins but there’s something else in her voice when she adds, “I just… I’m glad we’re doing this.”

You let the silence sit for a moment before replying. “Yeah. Me too.”

An hour in.

The mood shifts again. She’s leaned her seat back, one leg tucked up beneath her, scrolling through your music and making quiet commentary.

“Patri text you yet?” she asks, eyes still on your phone screen.

You glance at her, caught off guard. “You have my phone you tell me.”

Alba nods slowly, like she knew the answer already. “Have you spoken to her at all?.”

“Little bit,” you reply, carefully, eyes on the road, "Nothings changed"

“You sure?,” she murmurs.

You shoot her a look. “Why do I get the feeling everyone’s been having secret conversations about my love life?”

She gives you a slow, too-innocent smile. “Because they have.” You groan. “But don’t worry,” she says, patting your arm. “On this trip, we talk about us. Not your tragic dating life.”

You snort. “Fine, but I’m gonna need another coffee if I’m gonna survive your version of sibling bonding.”

“Done,” she says, already pointing ahead. “Next town, we'll stop for food. You get coffee, but if you come back with fruit, I will abandon you on the side of the road.”

You grin, despite yourself and as the kilometres slip by, so does the awkwardness.

2 hours in

The sunlight’s turning gold, casting long shadows across the dashboard as you pull into a parking space just off the main road. You both have greasy paper bags of Burger King in your laps, the car filled with the comforting smell of fries and warm bread. Alba already has mayo on her hoodie and no shame about it.

You unwrap your burger slowly, watching a few birds circle lazily overhead through the windshield.

Alba takes a big bite, chews, swallows, then looks at you. “You miss her?”

You pause your fingers still holding half the bun mid-air.

She doesn’t push, just watches you with that too-serious look she gets sometimes, the one that reminds you she’s seen more than she says.

You sigh, set the burger back on the wrapper in your lap, and lean your head against the headrest. “Yeah,” you say, finally. “I do.”

Alba doesn’t say anything for a moment, just crunches on a fry and nods like she expected the answer but wanted to hear it from you.

“Is it the sex thing?” she asks casually, and you turn to glare at her. “Because Ale said—”

“Oh my God,” you groan. “Do you all have like a group chat or something? Y/Ns sex watch party 2025?”

Alba laughs, nearly choking on her drink. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s more like Drama Monitoring Services.”

You shake your head but you’re smiling now, even as your stomach tugs at the topic. After a moment, you say, quietly, “I think she wanted me, but she didn’t know how to want me in the way I needed.”

Alba leans back, sipping her drink. “And did you ever tell her how you needed to be wanted?” You’re quiet. “Yeah,” she says, shrugging. “That’s what I thought.”

You look over at her, frowning. “What, are you a relationship expert now?”

“Nope,” she grins. “I just don’t want you to keep pretending she broke your heart when you handed it to her with the manual missing. I reckon the first chance you get, just fuck her, solves all the issues then”

You stare at her, floored by the honesty, then laugh not because it’s funny, but because it hurts in that true kind of way. You nod. “I actually miss her.”

“Then do something about it,” Alba says, brushing salt from her fingers. “Or don’t, but don’t sit in this car acting like you didn’t feel loved just because it didn’t end with fireworks and lingerie.”

You stare at the horizon for a moment. “Wow,” you murmur. “You’re kind of wise.”

“I contain layers,” she says, deadpan, then immediately drops a fry in her lap and yells “Shit!”

You both burst out laughing, "Alba the Ogre"

"huh?" she turns her head to you and the expression on her face is like you've sprouted a second head

You glance over. “Shrek.”

She frowns. “I’ve never seen that.”

You slam the brakes, figuratively, but the gasp you let out is nothing short of betrayal. “You’ve never seen Shrek?!”

Alba looks confused, even a little defensive. “No? I don’t know, it just never looked that good.”

You turn to fully face her in your seat. “Take that back. Right now.”

She raises an eyebrow. “It’s an ogre movie. With a donkey.”

“That ogre movie is a cinematic masterpiece. It has layers, like onions and parfaits, and you won't even get that reference because you haven't seen it.”

Alba laughs. “You’re actually upset.”

“I’m furious,” you say. “I don’t even know how we’re related right now. What were you doing in 2001 when the world changed forever?”

"l was four,” she says flatly.

“And failing at life, apparently.” You shake your head. “There’s romance, there’s action, there’s Eddie Murphy singing about waffles. Alba, I can’t explain Shrek to you. You have to feel it.”

She looks at you, amused. “You want to put it on in the hotel later?”

“I want to put it on right now,” you say. “This road trip is cancelled. We’re going home, you can’t be trusted.”

Alba grins, finally a little sheepish. “Fine. You can show me, but only if there’s no singing along.”

“No deal,” you say immediately. “I will be singing, loudly and you will be emotionally moved by Hallelujah when it plays, or I’m leaving you at a petrol station on the way home.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles. “You’re insane.”

“And you,” you say with great drama, “are culturally bankrupt. I was one when that movie came out and even I've seen it, you have no excuse”

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You and Alba make your way through the crowds at Huesca stadium the Barcelona fans loud already, your matching sunglasses doing little to hide the fact you both look slightly road-weary but buzzing. Alba walks ahead of you with the practiced confidence of someone used to navigating stadiums, but you can tell even she’s excited there’s a bounce in her step that wasn’t there earlier.

You finally reach the family section, flashing your passes at security and he waves you through, you spot Eli first, seated near the front, scanning the pitch like she’s mentally coaching from the stands. She’s dressed casually, but her whole posture is alert, focused, maternal. Probably nervous.

Then she looks up and freezes, her eyes land on you and Alba together, side by side, and for a second, her mouth actually falls open in a silent, stunned kind of happiness. She stands immediately, hands over her chest like she needs to make sure she’s not imagining things. Alba grins and waves, you offer a small, awkward one of your own.

“Mi niña,” Eli breathes, moving to greet you both at the aisle. “What—what are you doing here?”

“We thought we’d surprise you and Ale,” Alba says casually, like it’s no big deal, but you can hear the warmth behind it, the meaning. She throws an arm around your shoulders and squeezes.

Eli’s eyes flicker to you, wide and glassy. “I didn’t think—”

You shrug a little, trying not to make it a big emotional moment, but your voice still comes out quieter than you expect. “Alba said she wanted company and, I wanted to see Alexia play.”

“She’s going to be so happy,” Eli murmurs, then steps in and hugs you both tightly, one arm around each daughter. “Thank you for coming.”

You sit between them once you're settled Eli to your left, fussing with her sunglasses, and Alba to your right, bouncing her knee with silent energy. The pitch below is alive, the players warming up under the late afternoon sky, and you spot Alexia easily in the distance, her ankle still taped up but dressed in full kit, talking with teammates near the bench.

“She doesn’t know either of us are here?” you ask quietly.

Eli shakes her head. “She thought it would just be me. I’m sure she’ll spot you both soon.”

You nod, feeling a little strange nervous, even, not in a bad way. Just unfamiliar, like being part of something you’ve spent your whole life picturing.

Then Alexia jogs toward the touchline, glancing up at the crowd probably looking for Eli. She finds her first, then her gaze lands on Alba and then you.

She stumbles mid-step and breaks into the widest, stupidest, most gleeful smile you’ve ever seen her wear. It’s not cool or composed at all. It’s just joy.

She waves frantically, mouthing something that’s probably ‘What the hell?’ at Alba, then pointing at you with mock offence. You smile right back.

Alba leans in and says quietly, “Worth the drive?”

You glance back at Alexia beaming like an idiot on the sideline, then over at Eli, who’s wiping her eye subtly like she isn’t. “Yeah,” you admit, voice low. “It really is.”

After warm-ups, as the players begin drifting toward the tunnel, Alexia peels off from the group and jogs over toward the family section her eyes locked on you like she's half afraid you'll disappear if she looks away.

She slows just before the barrier, cheeks still flushed from movement, her ponytail bouncing slightly as she beams up at you. She glances at Alba first, offering her a quick high five and a mouthed “hello,” before her gaze shifts back to you.

"You came," she says, almost in disbelief, eyes scanning your face like she still can’t believe it’s real. Then, softer, "You okay? You look… tired."

You swallow the lump in your throat, not from her concern but from how seen it makes you feel. Even with the chaos of the final, even with her ankle not at a hundred percent she still noticed. You force a small smile and shake your head, brushing it off. “I’m fine. It’s just the drive.”

Alexia studies you a second longer, not totally convinced, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she leans a little closer across the barrier, grinning.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she says again, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Don’t leave at halftime, yeah? I need to show off in front of you.”

You scoff gently, crossing your arms. “Focus on the final, not showing off.”

She gives you a wink, backing up. “Same thing.” Then she turns, jogs backward a few steps, and just before disappearing down the tunnel, shouts, “Save me a drink at the after party!”

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The stadium is electric drums pounding, cheers echoing from the stands, a wave of blue and red cascading over the crowd like a tide of pride. You watch from the family section as the final whistle blows, and Barça players collapse into one another, elated, exhausted, victorious.

Alba nudges you hard in the side. “They did it,” she says, grinning wide, almost like a kid.

You nod, eyes already on Alexia she’s somewhere in the middle of the huddle, half-laughing, half-crying as her teammates drape themselves over her, shouting, singing, celebrating. Her hair is stuck to her forehead with sweat, her ankle still lightly taped under her sock, but she doesn’t care.

You feel your breath catch as she steps forward. She takes the Copa de la Reina trophy in both hands, shares a moment with her teammates getting them fired up, and lifts it high into the air.

The lights hit it just right gold gleaming, confetti beginning to fall and she throws her head back and roars, primal and full of joy. You feel it deep in your chest, that pride, that strange, soft ache that says you’re part of this somehow, even from the sidelines.

Eli claps loudly beside you, tears in her eyes, and Alba is on her feet cheering, but your eyes never leave Alexia and hers even through all the noise, the lights, the photographers manage to find you.

Just for a moment it’s brief, but you see it that soft flicker of recognition, a smile not just for the crowd or the cameras, but for you.

You smile back, eyes stinging a little, your voice too full to shout but your heart is louder than any noise in that stadium.

You step down onto the field beside Eli and Alba, your pass still hanging around your neck, the noise somehow both deafening and muted as your eyes scan the sea of jubilant players and there she is, Patri.

Laughing, arms flung around a teammate’s shoulders, bouncing on the balls of her feet like the win has filled her up with helium. Her hair is wild from the match, cheeks flushed, and she looks alive. Radiant, in that unfiltered way joy makes people beautiful, she doesn’t even know she’s glowing she never does.

You freeze for a second, because your heart traitorous, familiar, honest flutters the moment you see her. She’s still in her kit, socks rolled low, mud spattered on her thighs, and she hasn’t seen you yet, but Eli nudges you forward gently.

You step forward slowly, the sounds around you going a little soft again as Patri turns, she sees you, stops mid-spin and for a second the world seems to slow. Her eyes widen just a little, like maybe she wasn’t expecting you, or maybe she didn’t let herself hope to. Her grin falters not because she’s not happy, but because she’s surprised in a way that hits deep.

Then it returns full force, bright and unguarded. You don’t even realise you’re walking toward her until your feet are already carrying you forward and she’s doing the same steps hesitant at first, then more certain with each stride until you're meeting halfway, just like muscle memory, like it’s always been this simple.

Neither of you says anything, you just fall into each other, arms wrapping tight like this is the only place either of you has exhaled in weeks. Your face tucks into the crook of her neck, and her cheek presses against yours, both of you clinging a little too hard but neither pulling away.

You feel her breathing and for a second, the noise of the stadium falls away completely. She smells like grass and sweat and whatever bubblegum she’s been chewing during the match. Her fingers grip at your back like she’s afraid if she lets go, she’ll wake up and it’ll all have been imagined.

“Watch those hands, Guijarro!” Alexia’s voice cuts through the moment, teasing, smug and loud from behind you.

Patri groans without lifting her head. “For once, Ale, can you not?”

You turn your face enough to glance back over your shoulder, where Alexia is grinning from ear to ear, leaning against the barrier with her arms crossed, ankle clearly wrapped up still, smug as hell. Eli is beside her, pretending to scold her but very obviously holding back a laugh.

“I will not be silenced,” Alexia declares, mock-offended. “My little sister is out here getting felt up by one of my oldest friends. I’m just protecting the families honour!”

You bury your face in Patri’s shoulder, muffling a laugh as she mutters, “She’s the worst.”

“She really is,” you whisper back.

Patri eases back just enough to look at you, her hands still resting on your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles through your jacket. “you doing okay?” she says, eyes searching your face,

You nod and because she’s Patri, you manage a real smile. “Yeah. Better than when you found me cowering because of a spider.”

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “I will never forget the sound you made.”

“It was a very aggressive spider,” you insist.

“So aggressive it needed a panic call and a professional footballer on emergency duty?” she teases.

“Exactly,” you say, and you both dissolve into quiet laughter.

The movement makes the medal on her chest clink softly. You reach out and straighten the ribbon, letting your fingers brush the cool metal.

“It looks good on you,” you murmur.

She raises a brow. “The medal or the sweat and grass stains?”

“Both,” you admit, cheeks warming. “But mostly the medal.”

Patri’s grin softens. “Stay proud of me for at least twenty‑four hours, okay? I’m going to be milking this.”

You tap the gold circle once, then glance toward the family section where Alexia is still lobbing snarky comments your way. “I should go over before she tries to moon‑walk on that ankle just to get attention.”

Patri nods, but catches your hand before you step away. “One condition,” she says, tone mock‑stern. “You promise we have a drink together at the after‑party.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Water counts?”

“Nope.”

You roll your eyes with exaggerated exasperation, but your fingers squeeze hers. “Fine. One drink. Maybe two if no spiders are involved.”

“Deal.” She lifts your joined hands briefly, sealing it with a gentle squeeze before letting go.

You start toward your little family, feeling her eyes follow you, and for the first time in what feels like forever the buzz in your chest isn’t panic it’s something bright, brand‑new, and almost dizzyingly hopeful.

Alba watches you approach from where she’s leaning against the barrier, her arms crossed and her eyebrows practically reaching her hairline. As soon as you’re close enough, she nudges you with her elbow, her grin slowly spreading. “Well?” she asks, eyes wide and unmistakably smug.

You glance back toward Patri, who’s still being tackled with hugs and cheers from teammates, medal swinging around her neck, then back at your sister. You raise a brow. “Well, what?”

Alba practically bounces on the balls of her feet. “Don’t do that. You just hugged her like the final scene in a romance movie. What did she say? Did you say something?”

You scoff and shove her gently with your shoulder. “Shut up.”

Alba bursts into laughter, hands raised in mock surrender. “I’m just asking! You have that weird happy face you only get when something good happens.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm despite yourself. “You’re worse than her.” you jerk your thumb to Alexia oblivious talking to Eli.

“Yeah, but I’m the one you’re stuck with for the drive home,” she says, winking. “And I want every detail.” You groan.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The music thumps low and warm through the venue, the kind of bass that vibrates gently through your chest without demanding too much attention. You’re leaned casually against a high-top table, half-laughing as Cata Coll animatedly mimics her reaction to a goal-line clearance, and Claudia Pina is mid-eye roll, clearly not buying the dramatics.

You’ve found yourself oddly comfortable here, chatting with them they’d made it easy. You’d spent time with them before, back when things with Patri were simpler, lighter. They hadn’t treated you like an outsider then, and they weren’t now either, despite everything.

Cata’s halfway through a joke when your eyes lift and you see Patri weaving through the crowd toward you, a drink in each hand. She's changed out of her kit now, dressed down but still radiant with that post-win energy that clings to her like sunlight. Her eyes are already on you, there’s something unmistakable in the way she looks at you warm, focused, a touch nervous, like you’re the only person in the room that matters.

Cata notices, so does Pina, you see it happen the flash of recognition between them. Pina glances at Cata, one brow raised. Cata, with the subtle awareness that only close friends have, clears her throat softly and shifts her weight. “Well,” Cata says lightly, brushing her fingers against your arm with a grin, “We’ll go harass the DJ or something.”

“Yeah,” Pina smirks, already stepping back. “Don’t let her spill that drink on you. She’s got a history of that.”

Before you can respond, they’re already slipping into the crowd, leaving you with a quiet exhale and Patri, now standing just in front of you, holding out one of the drinks.

You take it, your fingers brushing hers. She smiles, a little crooked and uncertain around the edges. “You didn’t say what you wanted, so I guessed.”

You raise the glass. “Good guess.”

There’s a beat, the space between you hums with something unspoken but thick and alive like static before a storm. “Hey,” she says softly.

“Hey.”

Patri studies you, her expression tightening with quiet concern as her eyes trace over your features. “You okay?” she asks, voice low, nearly drowned out by the music. “You look kind of pale.”

You let out a breath, deflecting with a soft scoff as you tilt your drink. “It’s the lighting,” you murmur, glancing up at the ceiling like it’s personally responsible. “They’re trying to set a mood, I guess, dramatic shadows and poor complexions.”

Patri doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it go, smiling softly instead. “You look good, but I already knew that.”

You raise a brow, your lips twitching into a smirk despite yourself. “You flirting with me now, Guijarro?”

She shrugs, stepping just a little closer. “Maybe. Is it working?”

You pretend to consider, gaze lingering on her lips for just a second too long. “Might be.”

The smile she gives you is real, warmer now, more confident. The noise of the party fades to a dull throb around you both, like the rest of the world has respectfully stepped back.

You don’t realise how close you’ve gotten until your forehead is pressing gently against hers, your eyes slipping shut as your breath slows. The contact is soft, familiar, intimate. “I miss you,” you whisper, the words tumbling out without warning, fragile and honest. “I miss you so much.”

Patri’s breath hitches and then before you can say anything else, before your doubts can crawl back in she leans in and kisses you.

It’s not rushed or desperate. It’s steady, sure, her hand finding the side of your face like she’s afraid you might drift away again. The kiss deepens just slightly enough to taste the longing behind it, the weeks of silence, the ache of missing something that once felt like home.

When she pulls away, barely, her forehead rests against yours again. You swallow, nerves catching in your throat as you glance at her lips, then you hear Alba's voice, the first chance you get, just fuck her. You shift, your voice low and hesitant.

“Do you, uh…” You clear your throat, flicking your eyes up to meet hers. “Do you have a room of your own or…?”

Patri blinks, startled, her breath catches audibly not in a way that’s uncomfortable, but like someone hearing something they’ve been hoping for but didn’t expect to come. “I—” she starts, her voice a little higher than usual. She stops, bites her lip, recalibrates. “Yeah. I do.”

She watches you carefully now, her confidence from earlier dimmed by the sudden gravity of what you’re asking. There’s a flicker of nervousness in her eyes, but it’s softened by warmth, by care. She steps closer, almost hesitantly, like she doesn’t want to spook you.

“Are you sure?” she asks, quietly. “You don’t have to, just because of tonight, or the moment. I want you to want it… not feel like you have to give anything to restart us.”

You nod slowly, gaze steady on hers despite the pounding of your heart. “I know. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to. I’m… nervous, yeah, but it's you, you're all I want.”

Patri exhales slowly, visibly moved. She brushes a hand along your arm, fingers barely grazing your skin. “Okay,” she says, her voice almost a whisper. “Then let’s go, but only if you hold my hand the whole way, I'm nervous to.”

You offer a small, nervous laugh, and she smiles wide, taking your hand in hers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Neither of you says anything more as you walk out hearts racing, hands locked, the moment finally, tenderly, unfolding.

The hallway to the lift feels longer than it probably is. You and Patri walk side by side, hands clasped tight but swinging gently between you, as if neither of you wants to draw attention but neither of you can let go. Your footsteps echo softly against the sleek floors of the hotel corridor.

Neither of you speaks, it’s not awkward just weighted. Like the space between words when something big is about to happen.

When you reach the elevator, Patri presses the button with her free hand. The chrome doors reflect a version of you both that somehow looks braver than you feel.

The silence in the lift is thick you feel the warmth of her hand pulsing in yours and dare a glance her way. She’s looking straight ahead, but there’s a tiny smile on her lips like she knows what you're thinking, like she’s thinking it too.

The numbers above the doors light up one by one too slow, then too fast.

She leads you gently down another corridor, her room’s near the end, a quiet corner. Her hand finally slips from yours just so she can get her key card out. The little green light flashes, and the lock clicks open.

She glances at you, just once, checking in, you nod it’s subtle, but it’s everything. Patri pushes the door open and you both step inside.

The room is warm, soft lighting. A faint trace of perfume in the air hers. It’s not overly fancy, but it’s quiet, calm. She places her key card on the dresser and turns back to you.

Patri doesn’t move quickly. She just looks at you for a long moment, her eyes flickering between yours, like she’s trying to memorise the shape of your face, the emotion behind your eyes. Then she steps closer, close enough for her hands to find your waist gently.

She hugs you first, slow, firm, grounding, her arms around you aren’t possessive, they’re comforting. Her cheek rests against your temple for a second, and you feel her exhale softly. She smells like her shampoo, something faintly citrus and clean, and you close your eyes without meaning to.

Her hands start to move, not rushed, just exploring the curve of your back, the dip of your waist. She traces careful lines like she’s learning you with her fingertips. She pulls back a little not away, just enough to see your face.

“You’re sure?” she murmurs, eyes asking more than her words ever could.

You nod once, her lips brush yours feather-light, a question.

When you don’t pull away, she kisses you again, a little deeper now, but still gentle, still measured. Her hands pause every few moments, as if to say 'This is your moment. You can stop it anytime.' She gives you all the space in the world to step back, but you don’t.

You move with her, into her and in every quiet pause she leaves, you choose to stay.

Your hands find her shoulders and you guide her gently, steadily, until she sits at the edge of the bed. Patri looks up at you with a mix of awe and curiosity, her breath catching slightly. You don’t give her much time you step between her knees, hands sliding along her jaw as you lean down and kiss her slow, purposeful, with more pressure now, more intent.

Her hands rest at your waist, hesitant at first, then holding you tighter as the kiss deepens. You move your hips, just slightly, not rushed a slow, instinctive motion that draws a soft sound from her throat.

The heat builds in the spaces between kisses, in the way her fingers spread across your back as you move to straddle her. In the way your body presses closer, seeking more of her, more of this.

You pause for a second, foreheads resting together, both breathing a little harder now. Her thumbs brush under your shirt, tracing the bare skin at your sides, a silent ask for permission, and you don't stop her.

You kiss her again this time, with no hesitation.

Patri’s arm wraps around your waist with purpose, steady and sure, and in one smooth motion, she stands, effortlessly lifting and turning you. You barely have time to react before you’re laid back on the bed, your head hitting the soft pillow as she settles gently between your legs, her body fitting perfectly against yours.

She pauses, her weight balanced carefully so as not to press too hard, her eyes searching yours in the quiet dimness. Her hand brushes your cheek, her voice soft but steady as she asks, “Lights on or off?”

There’s a flicker of hesitation in your chest not because you don’t want her, but because it’s vulnerable still, you manage a quiet, “Off.”

She nods instantly, no questions asked, no judgment in her gaze just understanding. She reaches over and turns off the lamp. The room is bathed in darkness, except for the faint light spilling in through the hotel door from the corridor.

Then she leans back down, her lips brushing yours again, softer now, slower patient. Like she knows this moment matters. Like she’s ready to show you, without a word, just how much she cares.

In the hush of the darkened room, your breaths start to sync, slow and uneven, charged with anticipation. Patri doesn’t rush, her hands move with respect, fingertips ghosting over the hem of your shirt before she gently pulls it up, pausing only when it’s lifted over your head. Her eyes adjust to the low light, and even in shadow, you feel her taking in every inch of you like you’re something sacred.

You reach for her next, fingers fumbling slightly as you tug at the edge of her top. She smiles faintly at the nerves in your touch and lifts her arms to help you, letting the fabric slip away. She looks so calm, but you catch the subtle shift in her breathing the flutter in her throat that matches your own heartbeat.

Her hands are back on you, slower now, trailing over your sides, memorising the lines of your body with soft, steady pressure. Her thumbs brush just under your ribs, pausing for the slightest moment when they pass over the faint ridges of a scar the first she found of many, but she doesn’t stop. If anything, her hands linger, almost like she’s grounding herself to you. Proving she's not repulsed by your history etched on your skin with your scars.

When she unclasps your bra, it’s with a softness that tells you she’s waited for this not just the intimacy, but the trust. You shiver as it falls away and she presses a kiss to your shoulder, then to the center of your chest, right where your heart beats, like she knows how hard it’s worked to bring you here.

You help her with the rest of her clothes, your hands firmer now, more certain, guided by want and the need to feel her fully overtaking your nerves to a distant memory. Every layer removed between you is like shedding hesitation until there's nothing left but warmth, skin, and closeness.

She leans in, her forehead resting against yours again, your bare bodies brushing in quiet tension. “Still okay?” she whispers.

You nod, breath catching. “Yeah,” you manage, voice thin but sure. “I want you.” And with that, the space between you disappears Patri’s hand moves with care, exploring your body. There’s no rush only a quiet, deep patience in the way she touches you, like she’s listening to every breath you take, every shift in your body’s rhythm.

Her fingers trail slowly down your torso following your biggest scar like a road map down to your centre, a soft path of heat following her motion. When she reaches the curve of your hip, your breath hitches, a tremble running through you that you can’t hide. She pauses, her eyes lifting to meet yours in the dim light.

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

You nod, lips parting on a shaky breath. “Yeah. Don’t stop.”

When her hand finds the most sensitive part of you and runs through your folds, the feeling is overwhelming not just the sensation, but the intimacy of it, the way she touches you with both confidence and care. It’s like every nerve in your body lights up at once. You curl closer, your hand gripping her wrist lightly, not to stop her, but to feel anchored.

You kiss her in another silent 'I'm ok', Patri watches not just your body, but your face, the way your lashes flutter and your jaw tightens as you react to her. Her expression is full of focus, awe, and something deeper, affection, even love.

She kisses your neck gently, letting her lips trail up to your ear. “You’re beautiful like this,” she murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

Patri’s touch is slow, reverent more about connection than urgency. She watches your face, learning every reaction like it’s a language only she wants to speak fluently. Her fingers move with gentle precision, exploring with a tenderness that sends waves of sensation through you.

You tense slightly at first not from discomfort, but from the vulnerability of it, but she’s patient, her other hand stroking your side in calming circles, her mouth close enough to whisper affirmations only meant for you.

“You’re incredible,” she murmurs. “I'm so hot for you right now”

When her fingers ease inside, your breath catches, and her gaze never leaves you. She moves with intention, every movement measured, listening to the subtle cues of your body. There’s nothing hurried, nothing careless only the deep, growing rhythm.

You cling to her, your body finding its own rhythm against her hand. The way she touches you firm, slow, knowing makes you feel understood in a way words could never capture. You can feel the pressure building, pleasure winding tighter inside you with every stroke and the whole time, she’s there present, grounded, entirely focused on you. You cup her face forcing her lips to yours, you kiss her with the passion you could never voice, your tongues brushing, you pull your lips back as your forced to gasp her name with the sensation she was creating deep in your stomach,

You breathe in through your mouth "Patri" you say on the exhale and Patri’s hand moves with more purpose, fingers pressing deeper, tracing firmer paths that ignite sparks along your skin. Her grip tightens just enough to make you shiver, sending heat pulsing through every nerve ending.

She’s no longer gentle as she learns you can take it, but still deliberate, her touch demanding and fierce, matching the fire building inside you. You arch off the bed slightly, each movement sending a new wave of pleasure crashing through you. As your breathing grows heavier, she shifts, lowering herself until her lips graze across your chest.

Her mouth closes around your nipple gently at first, her tongue teasing, her lips warm. Then she deepens it, the suction on your nipple sending a jolt straight through your core as her fingers don't let up. The combination of her touch and the heat of her mouth pulls a your first moan from your lips.

You're wrapped up in her the way she moves, the way she focuses on every part of you like you're something to be treasured and devoured at the same time. It's overwhelming in the best way, and you feel your body start to tremble as everything she gives builds toward the edge.

Her other hand grips your waist firmly, holding you steady as her fingers explore with raw, urgent rhythm. The tension coils tighter, pleasure and desire crashing through you like waves, relentless and fierce.

She leans in, her breath hot against your ear, voice low and rough. “You like this, don’t you?”

You can’t hold back the answer, your body craving every stronger, rougher stroke she offers, your trust in her fuelling the wildness between you. "Harder, please" you beg, "Harder, faster, 'm gonna cum"

Her fingers move with a steady, commanding rhythm, each stroke driving deeper into you, making your pulse race and your breath hitch. Patri’s eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense, as she watches every reaction, every shiver she pulls from your body.

Her touch is fierce but careful, a balance of strength and tenderness that sends you spiraling higher. The heat between you is electric, raw desire mixing with a deep trust that wraps around you both.

You reach out, tangling your fingers in her hair, pulling her closer, craving every moment, every sensation. Patri responds with a kiss, her movements gaining urgency, never letting you forget just how much she wants you how much she needs you to feel this too.

The world narrows to just the two of you, the quiet hum of the room fading away beneath the storm of sensation you’re both creating, into the late hours of the evening.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The early morning light spills gently through the thin curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. It’s quiet, still except for the sound of Patri’s soft, steady breathing beside you, but your body feels wrong.

You blink slowly, your head heavy, skin hot and clammy. Sweat clings to your chest, dampening the sheets. Something tightens in your gut as a wave of panic rolls through you.

Carefully, you peel the covers back, not wanting to wake her. You spot one of Patri’s t-shirts tossed over a nearby chair and pull it over your head, the familiar scent of her comforting for just a second. Your legs feel unsteady, but you manage to stand, one hand gripping the edge of the bed for balance.

You take a step then another but the world tilts sideways, you stumble, bumping hard into the wall with a dull thud.

The noise jolts Patri awake. “Y/N?” she calls out, voice hoarse with sleep but laced with worry. She sits up quickly, blinking in confusion as she sees you slumped against the wall, pale and drenched in sweat, your chest rising in quick, shallow breaths.

She’s out of bed and in an instant beside you, her hands on your arms. “Hey, hey what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You shake your head weakly, throat tight. “I don’t… I don't feel ok. Patri I'm scared.”

Patri's eyes scan you, alarm settling on her face. Your body sags against her, drained, Patri’s grip on you tightens just as your knees buckle and then you go completely limp in her arms.

“No, no, no Y/N!” she cries out, trying to hold you up, but your body slips from her grasp and crumples to the floor.

The sound of your body hitting the ground sends Patri into full panic.

“¡Ayuda! ¡Por favor! Help! Someone!” she yells, her voice cracking as she drops to her knees beside you, cradling your face. “Wake up please wake up,” she whispers, checking your breathing with shaking fingers.

Your skin is hot to the touch, your breaths shallow, moments later, the door bursts open Cata and Pina are the first to arrive, both in sweats and half-awake but alert the second they see your body on the floor and the fear on Patri’s face.

“What happened?” Cata rushes forward, already pulling out her phone. “I’m calling emergency services.”

“She just collapsed,” Patri breathes, barely holding it together. “She was hot clammy and then just… she fainted. I don't think she's breathing!"

“I'm calling for help,” Cata says firmly, stepping back into the hallway to make the call.

Pina looks between Patri and your unconscious form, then bolts. “I’ll get Alexia.”

She sprints down the corridor, "Pina?" Mapi asks coming out her hotel room door, "What's going on?"

"Get the doctor, Patris girl has stopped breathing!" Pina gets in front of Alexia's door and bangs on it, not waiting before pushing it open. Alba is inside, sitting up already, hair a mess, clearly startled. Alexia’s rubbing sleep from her eyes, confused by the sudden intrusion.

“What’s going on?” Alexia asks, half-standing.

Pina’s tone is urgent, short of breath. “You need to come. Now. It’s Y/N.”

The look on Alexia’s face changes instantly sleep disappears. “What happened?”

“She collapsed, she's not breathing.”

Alba is already throwing on a hoodie. Alexia doesn’t even pause to grab her shoes. “Where is she?”

“Patri’s room,” Pina says, already leading them out. Alba and Alexia follow without a word, hearts hammering, fear overtaking everything.

Patri barely hears the footsteps pounding down the hall she doesn’t lift her head from where she’s knelt beside you, one hand gripping yours tightly, the other stroking damp strands of hair off your burning forehead.

Then Alexia drops to the floor beside her. “Come on you, wake up for me, Y/N,” Alexia murmurs, her voice cracking, her hand gently touching your cheek. “Hey COME ON, please.” There’s real fear in her eyes now, seeing you like this, so still, takes the air from her lungs.

Alba stands just behind them, wide-eyed, her arms crossed over her chest like she’s physically trying to hold herself together. She sees the way Patri’s face is streaked with panic and guilt, and the tension she’s been carrying all trip suddenly breaks, sharp and loud.

“What did you do?” Alba snaps, stepping closer. “What did you do to her? I trusted you with her!”

Patri’s head lifts sharply, her eyes glassy. “I didn’t, Alba, I didn’t do anything! I swear—”

“She was fine when I left her yesterday,” Alba shoots back, voice rising. “She was fine! And now I’m being woken up because she’s on the floor not breathing?”

“I didn’t know she wasn’t feeling well,” Patri pleads, barely keeping it together. “She didn’t say anything, not really. She just got up and then-”

“Don’t yell,” Alexia says firmly, turning to Alba without looking away from you. Her voice is strained but steady. “Not now. Not while she’s like this.”

Alba’s mouth opens again but then closes when she sees Alexia’s face, her jaw clenched, her hand still resting on your cheek, fingers trembling.

The room falls silent, only the distant voice of Cata on the phone in the hall filling the space.

Alexia leans closer. “Come on, hermanita,” she whispers to you, voice cracking. “Don’t scare us like this. Wake up. Mami just got you back you can't go now, not like this"

The hallway erupts in noise as the Barcelona medical team rushes in, led by the team doctor. The moment they see you on the floor pale, motionless they drop their bags and spring into action.

“Move back.. now!” one of them orders, already kneeling beside your body. Alexia and Patri are both frozen until someone physically pulls them back. Alba stumbles a few steps away, hand clamped over her mouth.

“She’s not breathing,” one doctor says quickly, pressing two fingers against your neck. “No pulse.”

“Starting compressions!”

The room explodes into urgency. "Has someone called an ambulance?"

Pina answered the only semi composed in the room, "Cata is onto them"

Patri gasps audibly, a sharp sound of shock as tears fill her eyes. Her hands tremble uncontrollably at her sides. Alexia grips the edge of the table beside her so tightly her knuckles turn white, her chest heaving with the weight of watching.

One medic is performing chest compressions, counting under his breath, while the other breathes for you.

Alba can’t look away, her knees buckle, and she grips the doorframe for balance. “Please,” she whispers. “Please no…”

They pause only briefly, two fingers coming to your neck “Still no pulse. Resume compressions!”

Patri turns away, burying her face in her hands. “No, no, no…” she whispers like a prayer.

Alexia watches, her eyes rimmed red, face pale, and her voice finally breaks through the rising panic in the room. “Y/N, please…” she chokes. “Don’t do this. Don’t go.”

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

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escyn · 11 months ago

Text

Actually have another thought about this (mostly bc typing out the above spiralled into me writing a companion fic...for the unfinished art...so here is a snip-it):

"Don't you have your two bed-warmers to pester? Surely only one round wasn't enough to tire them out for the night?" Maybe she wants him gone, wants to stand here and seethe in peace. Maybe she wants to set fire to the table supporting the painting, watch the flames lick their way up the canvas, the painted red consumed by her blue. Maybe then she would stop feeling this way: trapped between the gaze of the woman who abandoned her and the brother who is trying.

(She still can’t tell which one is worse. Or maybe that is a lie too.)

It’s too much, standing in this room, mother's—Ursa's face demure, staring right through her like always. Zuko's eyes could be an anchor if she let them. She has before, too many times to count never mind admit to herself.

Five years ago those words would have set him on the defensive, he would have snarled and snapped. Five years ago, she had been a master at twisting him to her whim, prompting him though all his emotions until he reached not quite rage, on the verge of sparking. Then he would draw back, mouth twisted in a scowl to hold back words he would regret, mindful of the sage's calls for patience, for time (like she was broken, like she was fragile). Five years ago he would have left in a huff, her own serene smirk following him out.

She still knows her brother (he knew her five years ago too—mirrors of each other’s open wounds—just as he knows her now). So, it is not disappointing when, in the face of her snark, he makes no move to snap back. Instead, he gives her a considering look before he sighs and slouches further into the door-frame, readying himself of a siege, holding her gaze softly all the while.

"Azula, you know you burned too, right? You burned Azula. You burned bright blue all the way to smoking cinder," a pause as he works to get the next words out, choked with an emotion that she doesn’t want to name—"Zu, you were nearly ashes—"

But tonight, they see too much.

Zuko has found the infection and is doing what they know how to do best: expose the rot, dig out the festering flesh, and cauterize.

Got tagged by @erisenyo

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).

Portrait of the Lady Burning (found in the back rooms of the Summer house on Ember Island after the coronation of Fire Lord Zuko, believed to be the only solo official portrait of Fire Lady Ursa) id in alt

No pressure tagging @seasideoranges and @bearsandbeansart if y’all want to

#ursa #azula #fire hazard sibling dynamics #technically some backgrounds zukki if you squint

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sillymommy6969 · 6 months ago

Text

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝕰YES ON THEM

Manon Bannerman x fem!reader

summary: a compilation of bannern/n moments eyekons have turned into a video, katseye’s two visuals as a power couple? who can keep their eyes off them?

warnings: none, just fluffy moments

pt.2, pt.3

HYBE PLEASE NEVER PR TRAIN MANON (KATZ CRACK)

*Loud technical difficulty transition* On Manon and Daniela’s Weverse livestream in their bedroom, Daniela was doing dance moves in the background of the video while Manon read the comments and chatted with fans in the front

Manon was the worst at PR training. The woman had lips looser than an unbuckled belt. She was much more tame when they were surrounded by crew members, but when it’s just her and her phone on Weverse, you can expect a lot of slips.

Especially when she’s paired alone with Daniela.

“‘Where are the others?’” Manon read aloud, looking back at Daniela, who was finally settling to sit behind her roommate. “What, you sick of us already?”

Daniela swatted her arm at the tone she used, as if a silent warning as to be careful what people could take out of context. She toyed with her hood, listing what the girls were occupied with. “Well, Sophia’s on a zoom call downstairs with her family. I think Yoonchae went to bed… Lara and Megan went out to get something at the convenience store and Y/N is probably online shopping or something in her room.”

“Yeah, she better be getting me my Christmas gift.”

“Didn’t she already give you like three ‘pre-game’ gifts?” Daniela turned to the camera, “Oh my God, Y/N does this thing where she gets Manon a million things for the week leading up to Christmas. She only does it for Manon and I always feel like choking her out ‘cuz she’s spoiling her rotten.”

Manon rolled her eyes, “They’re gonna know we’re—!”

Daniela widened her eyes, shooting Manon a knowing glare before the older pursed her lips together. The both of them went silent for a moment, scared to look at the influx of questions and comments they were getting for the sudden cutoff, curious to know what the end of Manon’s sentence was.

user01 WE WHAT MANON WE WHAT

user02 Manon almost exposed their relationship

user03 is this what getting edged feels like

user04 WE BEEN KNEW GIRL COME ON OUT

user05 Y/N knows how to spoil her girl

“Anyway,” Daniela said, ignoring the nosh comments. “Yeah, we have the weekend off, so everybody’s just chilling, y’know.”

Manon, with a cheeky smile on her face, tried retieing her hair in attempts to distract the fans from what she had just nearly revealed. But for the next couple minutes, despite Daniela’s efforts to pull everybody’s attention away from that topic, the audience always seemed to circle back to it.

“No, I have to say my favourite hoodie has to be the black Ferrari one.” Manon argued, staring at a suspicious Daniela. “It used to be the one you just said but it’s not anymore.”

“You’re just making stuff up, I swear. You still wear the other one so much more than the Ferrari one.” Daniela scoffed, “You wore the blue one like five times this week, like you literally wore it to dinner yesterday.”

user06 the blue hoodie Y/N just posted on insta in??

user07 They wear each other’s clothes I’m dead

user08 Dani have you seen Y/N’s new bracelet???

Daniela squinted to read the comment when she saw her name was mentioned, “‘Dani, have you seen Y/N’s new bracelet?’ No, I can’t say I have. What is it?”

“Oh, is it this one?” Manon flashed her wrist to the camera, where a couple cuffs and bracelets hung. Her other hand picked out a thin silver chain with a “K” strung at the end of it. “This is the one Megan got us for Katseye’s first birthday.”

She flaunted her hand, fingers waving around as she showed off her accessories.

user09 Y/N’s new necklace looks nice Manon!

user10 oh yeah that would look really good around her neck

Daniela skimmed the comments, suddenly bursting into a fit of high-pitched giggles. Manon, her arm still up, in the middle of her accessory tour, leant back. Surprised by the Latina’s sudden change in attitude, she glanced between the camera and her roommate as if she was an insane person.

“Oh my God, they’re saying your hands would make a really good necklace for Y/N.” Daniela explained, still laughing.

Manon’s eyes widened, heat immediately flushing to her cheeks. She thanked all the Gods her smooth skin tone hid any hint of fluster, or she would have been beer red at the comment. She placed a hand over her eyes, her lips quirking into a small smile as she groaned.

“That’s good, that’s a good one. I like that.” Daniela sighed.

Next door, you could hear the two of them screaming and squabbling on live. You opened a new tab, sick of scrolling through the same catalogues on different websites. You were feeling lazy, didn’t really feel like getting up to join the two nextdoor, so you pulled up Weverse, clicking onto Manon’s live. Right off the bat, you were met with the Ghanaian woman showing off her bracelets and such, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the comments that followed.

Sometimes, this was your favourite part about having fans.

When Daniela’s laugh on the live had synced with the one next door, you couldn’t help but also giggle at Manon’s reaction when she was told what eyekons thought of her tour.

It was enough of a motivator to go nextdoor; to tease her.

“—Anyway! Can we please talk about anything else.”

A knock sounded through the room, both their heads turned to the door, watching Y/N’s head pop through the doorway. Daniela pounced to her feet, jogging over to jump into the older’s arms as Y/N carried her back in front of the camera.

Manon rolled her eyes, her tongue sticking against her inner cheek as she stared at the two goofing around in the back.

user11 Oh someone’s jealous…

used12 if looks could kill they’d be dead by now

“Dani’s so light, I can probably squat heavier than you.” Y/N teased, her arms still wrapped around the Latina’s waist as Daniela clung onto her with her legs. “Anyways, you guys were being so loud, I wanted to see what was up.”

Y/N finally sets Daniela down, who found her spot behind Manon again.

Y/N slung an arm over Manon, poking her head between the roommates. “Heard you have a new necklace for me, Meret. You feeling like letting me try it out?”

user13 the way i’d just moan in response

user14 NOBODY TALK TO ME

user15 Manon I’ll take Y/N if you don’t want her

user16 SHE CALLS HER MERET???

The Ghanaian woman didn’t turn to greet the younger member, instead, with her lips pursed in envy, she deliberately made sure her efforts to ignore Y/N were evident.

Y/N smiled, biting her lip. “Manon, are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” Manon huffed, her eyes still trained on the phone. “I’m just tryna talk to eyekons.”

Daniela hissed, making an “Oh, shit” expression and backing away so the other member could slide into where she sat. She eyed the phone from over Y/N’s shoulder, as if telling them she was unaware of what was about to unfold as well.

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head at the eldest’s sulking.

She slid an arm under Manon’s legs, the other securely held over her back. Kneeling, Y/N sprung to her feet, lifting Manon from the ground. The Ghanaian woman let out a bloodcurdling shriek, hands clutching onto Y/N’s hoodie for dear life.

“Did you feel left out, Manon? I was just joking around.”

Daniela watched in terror at the younger member flung Manon around the room in her arms. She slid forward to mouth “help me” into the camera, scared Manon’s feet might hit her head by accident.

“Oh my God, you ass—you bully, put me down.”

*Loud technical difficulty transition* Cut to being interviewed as promotion for the release of Touch, Y/N seemed to be the interviewer’s main foci.

“—Yes, thank you. My next question is for Y/N, uh, so we heard you like a tall, dark and handsome type.” The interviewer read off his card, a mic held up to his lips. The question immediately raised some red flags for the group, Sophia and Manon—as the eldest and the leader—shared a knowing look. They were ready for whatever the man had to throw at them. “You’ve posted a couple of instagram photos and been seen out with a certain singer that’s been on Euphoria, is this a new potential partner, or what’s going on there?”

Y/N was slightly taken aback by how blunt the question came out. Usually management did a good job keeping questions about their personal lives out of interviews when they approve them for the video, but this one must’ve snuck past them.

The woman raised her mic, flashing the cameras her signature smile. The other members could only sit and admire how well her composure was, despite being asked such an intrusive query. She chuckled, eyeing Manon, who didn’t bother hiding what she was feeling. Her eyebrows were furrowed and she looked to be ready to pounce out of her chair whenever. Y/N gave her a subtle nod, as if telling her to stand down.

“Well, he and I met through mutual friends in the industry and we all get together to hang out on my day offs.” Y/N explained, “We’re just good buddies, nothing more.”

The interviewer chuckled, naive to the searing glares he was receiving from all the girls.

“Shame, a lot of people think you’d look like a power couple, the both of you being very talented singers and all,” he scanned his card, the only one laughing in the room full of dozens of people. “Is there anybody special in your life then? Or is this a chance for me to shoot my shot.”

Oh, six pairs of eyes glared daggers at him.

[ Love that they all stand up for their girl ]

None of them were smiling anymore, not even out of courtesy. Daniela and Lara in the front had their arms crossed, their legs spread as they sneered at the man. Megan and Yoonchae were the better ones at concealing just how aghast they were at the unprofessionalism, their expressions stoic, but the aura around them growing cold. Sophia sat upright, ready to jump in when the man stopped talking, but Manon—Manon was sitting beside Y/N, and it took one look at the woman’s uncomfortable expression for her to want to break the man’s neck.

“—Actually, we’re all really focused on our journey as Katseye right now, so we don’t really have time for other kinds of commitment just yet. Even then, we try and keep our personal and professional lives separated because a healthy work-life balance is very important.” Manon answered passively, her smile immediately fading when she finished talking.

But by the way the man gulped and stopped chuckling, it was obvious he finally noticed the elephant in the room.

“I understand how people are very intrigued by that aspect of our lives though, it can be hard to know where to draw the line sometimes.” Y/N added in a smoother tone, hoping to soften the blow of loathing this man was hit with. “But, respectfully, we love talking about and sharing our experience with making music more than we do discussing our lives.”

The interviewer nodded, “Of course. We can move on.”

Throughout the rest of the interview, Manon had a hand on the younger member’s thighs. Their fingers laced together as they answered the rest of the questions. Later, Y/N would tease the Ghanaian woman with edits people have made of the moment Manon stood up for her.

A screenshot of a very popular one of those edits would be the wallpaper for the girls’ group chat the next few weeks,

*Loud technical difficulty transition* In Y/N’s Weverse live with Megan for a dance session, the older between the two was obviously distracted by constant chimes coming from her phone. Fans get a nice surprise all on live.

Megan and Y/N swayed their hips to the beat, thrusting in and pulling away as the song played. The comments would flood with praises for their undeniably talented skills, and by the end of their choreography, they were both panting and sweating.

user01 omg omg omg omg my dinner menu

user02 The difference in outfits is taking me out

user03 BOOM SHAKALAKA YES GAWD

Y/N ran a hand through her hair, dapping Megan up before the two of them approached Megan’s phone. It was resting on a chair against the wall, so it would stream everything they did.

In a sports bra and baggy jeans, Y/N had her hair down. She was sporting thick glasses, ones fans pointed out Daniela liked wearing in the series of tiktok’s they filmed last month. Megan on the other hand, had a more Adam Sandler type fit going on. The two of them devoured their individual styles.

[ Oh my god, it’s all over the screen ]

“That’s the choreo Megan and I have done so far.”

Y/N’s phone buzzed. She reached into her pocket, pulling it out to see a text from Manon asking if she was in her room.

Megan’s infectious cackle interrupted before she could reply.

“Someone said we’re not pregnant but we always deliver,” she managed to read out in between gasping for air amidst her fit of amusement. “Oh my God, that’s so iconic.”

Opening her mouth to retaliate, another buzz sounds.

Y/N pulled her phone back out from her pocket, seeing another text from Manon, urging for an answer. She chuckled, shaking her head at the woman’s impatience.

Megan skimmed the comments, before turning back.

“Somebody said, ‘Only one thing could have Y/N smiling at her phone like that’.” The Chinese dancer read out, “Another person added, ‘Manon’s probably missing her boo thang’.”

Y/N shook her head, deciding keeping up appearances with their fans was more important than replying right away.

“It was just our manager, guys. A reminder for what we need to do tomorrow.” Y/N lied, “Anyway, if anybody was wondering, we are working really hard for MAMA. Especially Meggers here.” She grabbed the redhead, yanking her close to knock their heads together. “She’s carrying the dancing with Dani right now.”

peanutbutterlover02 Bad girl

peanutbutterlover02 Y/N’s ignoring my texts :(

peanutbutterlover02 Guysss stop hogging Y/N

Y/N and Megan both silenced at the sudden pop of a verified user commenting, but after reading the handle, both of them shared a moment of faux annoyance.

“Manon, get out of our comment section!” Megan yelled, “Go do something, man!”

The meme reference squeezed a laugh from Y/N, who shook her head. But, still, it’s Katseye. Of course she couldn’t resist joining in on the teasing herself. Her voice dropped low, “News flash, Dwayne’s forehead isn’t real. It’s a prosthetic.”

Both of them giggle at their own joke.

user04 Oop- Manon’s coming to collect fr

user05 can’t even defend them anymore

user06 so we were right Y/N was giggling cuz of manon

user07 BAD GIRL IS CRAZY

“Sorry, Meret, we’re just about to wrap this session up and I’ll text you back immediately after, okay?”

Manon could only suck it up, leaving a couple more disappointed comments on their livestream as Megan and Y/N show eyekons another part of choreography.

peanutbutterlover02 I’m so boreddddddd

peanutbutterlover02 I’m still waiting >:(

peanutbutterlover02 Guys I need my best friend back

[ BEST FRIEND—sure ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* A KATSEYE HOLIDAY STORY | KATSEYE; Secret Santa Portion

Y/N’s wrapping a gift set, a Fenty beauty make-up kit she specially assembled for Manon. She knew the woman had been complaining about her makeup supply running low, so what better chance than to get her what she needed?

“I know, I know, I went a little over budget,” Y/N chuckled, taping the edges of the wrapping paper together. “But Manon’s been really needing new stuff, and I wanted it.”

[ Ofc Y/N would go above and beyond for Manon ]

“Also, let me tell you guys a secret.” Y/N walked offscreen, coming back with a tiny box.

She motioned for the camera to zoom into the box, before popping it open. Inside, there was a gold necklace, a crown charm at the end of it. Y/N tucked it back into the box, holding a finger up to her lips.

“I got Manon an extra gift, but that’s for after work.”

[ That’s so cute I need me a Y/N ]

“Anyway, I’m glad I got Manon. I think either Daniela or Yoonchae might be my secret santa, ‘cuz I’m sure Megan got Lara and Lara got Sophia.” Y/N shrugged, standing in her cream coloured silky pj set. “Guess we’re about to find out.”

Sat around a table on a very festive set, Y/N was instructed to slot in between Megan and Manon.

One by one, the girls presented their gifts to their designated person. When Yoonchae presented Daniela her gift, a neatly wrapped book, it was the Latina’s turn to pull out her gift bag.

“And my secret santa is…” Drumrolls against the table followed, “Y/N!”

Cheers erupted amongst the girls as Daniela slid the bag across the table to Y/N.

“Hope you like it, babe.”

The wrapping paper was still being pulled off as Y/N let out a surprised gasp. Underneath the vibrant wrapping was a vinyl—Rumours, by Fleetwood Mac. Y/N’s eyes lit up instantly. It was one of their favorite albums, something she had been looking for on vinyl forever.

“No way…! Dani, how’d you find this?” Y/N exclaimed, holding it up to the group, her voice practically sparkling.

Dan smiled proudly, her hands still resting on her own wrapped gift. “Well, I know you’re all about that rock life,” she said with a wink, knowing how much this record meant to Y/N. “I had my ways. As long as you’re happy, it was worth it.”

As everyone cheered and clapped, Manon side-eyed the gift.

She had noticed the way Y/N's eyes practically glowed when Daniela handed her the vinyl. It wasn’t just about the gift itself—it was the way Y/N was so genuinely excited. She loved seeing her happy, but Manon herself would have been happier if she had been the reason for such a smile. The way Y/N laughed and praised Daniela, even going as to get out of her chair to tackle the Latina in a hug. The little things that made Manon feel... well, a little left out. She quickly shifted her attention to the other girls, pretending to focus on the conversation, but her mind lingered on the discomfort.

Y/N notices Manon's mood; she smirked.

“Okay, so, it’s my turn.” Y/N turned, grabbing her bag from the floor. The bag had been topped with a cute silver ribbon, the gift itself wrapped with the same paper as the others’ gifts. “And, there’s two people left who hasn’t gotten their secret santa gift yet, so, drumroll, please!”

The table once again rocked as they drummed their hands.

“I have… my favourite drama queen, Manon.”

The Ghanaian woman widened her eyes, hands taking in the present Y/N shimmied over to her. The younger slung her arm over Manon’s shoulders, rubbing it as she watched her open and unwrap the present. A loud yelp rung through the studio, startling the others before Manon fully unwrapped it.

Her face softened when she saw what was inside: a Fenty beauty set—lip glosses, a highlighter, and a few items she had been eyeing for weeks but hadn’t splurged on herself.

“Okay, now I know for a fact this is out of budget.” Lara crossed her arms, her eyebrow raised in question.

“Bro, can we do secret santa without Y/N next year?” Sophia chimed, earning a couple teasing agreements. “You’re making all of us look bad now, N/N.”

“Y/N...” Manon whispered, her heart fluttering. “You really did this for me? This was probably so expensive.”

Y/N waved a hand dismissively. “Best way to spend my money. The holidays are all about love, right? This is how I show you guys I love you.” She pulled Megan and Manon into her arms, squeezing them both as the others joined in for a big hug. “I got you all things you want, don’t worry.”

Manon’s smile returned, brighter than before. She leaned in to hug Y/N individually after, her voice quiet but sincere. “You didn’t have to, but I’m so glad you did.”

Their hug lasted a little long, even their editing team seemed to tease them a bit with the excessive exaggeration of how long it was with a time ticking effect over the other girls’ reactions.

The rest of the group watched, their smiles growing as they witnessed the little moment between the two. It was clear, despite the playful teasing and occasional misunderstandings, that Y/N and Manon were closer than anyone could imagine.

Manon held the box up to her chest, beaming.

“Okay, so, Manon, you’re doing yours—!”

[ Y/N really loves spoiling her bandmates, especially Manon… ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* Cut to Lara and Yoonchae’s live. The two were sat on the floor of their hotel room, singing and joking around as Sophia occasionally shushed them to be a bit quieter.

“No, Yoonchae, if we were in the Hunger Games, the order we’d go from dying to surviving would be Manon, Sophia, Me, You, Megan, Dani and then Y/N. I feel like Dani’s like so wild and freaky she’d be able to survive better than you.” Lara argued, earning a loud whine of protest from Sophia across the room. “And Megan would be the type to like survive off the stupidest reason, like she’ll accidentally kill someone.”

Yoonchae pouted, “No, no! It’s you, Dani, me, then Y/N.”

“Yoonchae, I swear to God, I’m telling you.” Lara held a hand up, “It’s me, you, Megan, Dani and then Y/N.”

The youngest huffed, unwilling to argue.

user01 Lara any advice on how to flirt w a girl

Yoonchae pointed at the phone. Lara leant forward to read the comment she was pointing out, her lips curving into a smile immediately. “Oh, wow. That’s a question you should ask Y/N. Or Manon… Only ‘cuz the two of them are such flirty people.”

Lara looked offscreen, a guilty smile on her face as she glanced at Sophia for help.

[ Nice save Lara, definitely super slick ]

“Yes, Manon is very…” Yoonchae does a winky face into the camera, “And Y/N gets flirted with a lot when we go to dinner.”

Lara hummed, drawing attention away from what she almost exposed. “Yes. Y/N has a very fluid appearance, she gets a lot of guys and girls coming up to her in public.”

Sophia, voice faint, chimed, “Yeah, it’s a real problem.”

“So, I feel like that’s a good question to ask Y/N. She has the most aura, most unspoken rizz among all of us.”

user02 does manon get jealous when Y/N’s hit on?

[ Took me a while to find this comment! ]

Lara laughed aloud at a comment, momentarily confusing Yoonchae before the younger caught the statement as well. They shared a knowing look, and when their laughter died down, they just remained silent and moved on.

user03 Who’s the most jealous/possessive as a gf?

“Oh, I’ve been waiting for somebody to ask this.” Lara rubbed her hands together, “Yoonchae and I actually talked about this at some point. Okay, it goes, from least to most, Yoonchae, Y/N, Megan, Sophia, Me, Dani and then Manon.”

user04 match made in heaven

user05 They’re so jealous x comforting duo my heart

“Because Yoonchae, Y/N and Megan are much more relaxed and I feel like Sophia’s jealous, but she can hide it well. Me, Dani and Manon are definitely more fighters, because ain’t nobody coming near my bae if we dating.” Lara squared up to the camera, eyeing it up and down. “Manon is just lowkey a psycho, so she was at the top of the list.”

Yoonchae nodded, “I’m scared of Manon when she’s angry.”

“I’ve seen Manon mad over something, guys. It’s not pretty and I do not recommend.” Sophia yelled.

[ Since Y/N gets flirted with a lot and Sophia’s seen Manon angry… it’s so obvious ya’ll ]

#katseye x reader #katseye #manon bannerman x reader #manon bannerman #daniela avanzini #daniela avanzini x reader #lara raj #lara raj x reader #megan skiendiel #megan skiendiel x reader #sophia laforteza x reader #sophia laforteza #yoonchae

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jezebelblues · 8 months ago

Text

dress to impress | h.s

summary: in which you're a famous streamer n you finally let harry join one of your streams. (though the evening ends a bit differently than you expected)

cw: smut18+ oral (m receiving), daddy kink if u squint, spitting, fem!reader, unedited

word count: approx 3k

| yes yes i know that dti didn’t come out till last year just pretend 😔 also btw if this is cringe random then pretend i don’t exist fr i got this idea cause caseoh randomly posted a dti update while i was at the gym so thank u caseoh

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

December 2021 | London

Snow dusted the window softly, frosting the glass and sending melting droplets downward against the pane, dancing in the direction of the wind. The world was still in the throes of the pandemic, which allowed the lines between professional and personal to blur a bit.

YN had been a popular streamer for a few years now, but her numbers only grew once her relationship went public with the award winning, globe-trotting man that was Harry Styles.

She had been avoiding this moment for months. Not because she didn’t want it to happen—oh no, she had definitely wanted Harry to join her on a stream, like a thousand times—but Harry had this way of throwing himself into new situations with such confidence that it was bound to lead to some seriously chaotic results.

But her fans, their fans, had been relentless. Every single time she went live on Twitch, no matter what game she was playing—among us, fortnite, mario world—the chat exploded with one resounding request: Get Harry on the stream!

At first, she’d brush it off with a smile and a laugh, always saying something like, he’s busy in the studio, or, he’s still getting in the hang of gaming, you don’t want to see him struggling on stream, trust me. But by the time December rolled around and the UK was stuck in another lockdown, YN realized she ran out of excuses to give. It was time to bring Harry on camera.

And so, on a cold December evening, she caved.

Harry was sitting in the same room. It was originally supposed to be an office, but since YN’s online career began to take off, it slowly transformed into a streaming room. Three monitors sat on a white desk in front of a large window. The one that sat in the middle showed the view of the stream and chat, while the other two were to be used for whatever.

Harry sat on a small couch in the center of the room, his head against the arm as he lazily scrolled through his phone, completely unaware of the chaos he was about to unleash on the internet. He looked effortlessly perfect, as per usual, in his gray sweats and oversized lavender hoodie, His growing curls were clipped into a tiny bun that sat on top of his head, a pair of brown glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

The glow of the computers illuminated the room as she finished up last minute technical checks, string lights twinkling around the edge of the room for a warmer glow. YN adjusted the camera, smiling brightly as the viewers started to pile in, the chat exploding from the sight of Harry in the background. “So,” she began with a giggle, averting her eyes from the screen to her boyfriend that sat comfortably behind her. “y’ready to join us, lovey?”

He looked up from his phone, his features softening as he shut it off. His eyebrows quirked in that familiar way as he chuckled. “Oh, honey.” He sighed playfully as he stood up, ambling over to the spot behind her chair. “I was born ready.”

“Uh-huh.” She laughed, tilting her head backward to catch a glance from underneath him. “Sure you were.”

He placed a quick kiss against her forehead before he sat in the chair beside her, settling in and staring at the center monitor which revealed the chat that moved in an insane quickness. He leaned over toward YN, shoulders barely touching as he waved at her camera with a wide smile.

She snorted, pushing against her boyfriend as she leaned over to point to the other monitor with a smile. “Look, baby.” She said softly, adjusting the camera that belonged to that computer before pulling up the game roblox. She gently explained to him the set up of the stream, informing him that all he had to do was sit in his space and the chat would see him just fine.

And they would, it took YN over twenty minutes to set the stream up in a split screen sort of way, which would allow the viewers to see both YN and Harry, and their respective screens for gameplay.

“Oh.” Harry giggled, as he scrolled throughout the roblox website randomly. His gaze shifted between his screen and the center monitor, reading out whatever messages he could since the chat moved so quickly. He scoffed, shaking his head. “How hard can this be? Look at this!” He laughed, nodding toward his screen.

His girlfriend snorted, shaking her head as she pulled up the game dress to impress. “This isn’t grand theft auto or fifa, I don't think you'll magically be good at this.” She grinned as she leaned over again toward Harry, pulling up the same game on his monitor.

“Oh ye of little faith.” He chuckled as he watched the game load in, wiggling his eyebrows at the camera. “I’ve got this.”

harryfan1: OMG ur kidding i literally knew it

ynfan2: no WAY LMFAO

harryfan2: HES ON

YN couldn’t help but laugh as she read the chat aloud. “You guys are way too excited for this,” she teased. “Harry’s not that big of a deal.”

He feigned offense as he looked into the camera with his jaw slack, a huff escaping his lips. “Absolutely bonkers.” He laughed breathily, referring to his girlfriend that sat beside him. He let his shoulders falter as he settled in a bit more, a grin spreading across his lips as the neon lobby of dress to impress loaded in.

YN’s eyes flickered between both the camera and Harry as she explained the premise of the game, smiling at his cocky eye rolls and the flood of heart emojis and keysmashes from the chat that seemed to express a collective internet scream.

“Would you like my help?” YN asked, humor lacing her words as she stared at the theme that flashed over the screen, winter wonderland.

Harry cracked his knuckles, tongue in cheek as he shook his head, darting around the game’s lobby in search for the exact outfit he envisioned.

She laughed at him, quickly putting on a cute outfit with hair and makeup that went along perfectly. Something elegant, a cream colored warmth. Her smile grew as she glanced at the chat, then to Harry’s screen.

user3: whos gonna tell bro

user4: oh honey…

His avatar was dressed in white, baggy jeans with a puffy winter jacket that had a hawaiian pattern on it. Harry could feel her eyes on him as he placed a santa hat on his avatar for the finishing look. The skin tone of the character was still a default gray, completely bald with no face. His smile began to falter as he looked over toward his girlfriend’s screen. “How’d you do that?” He pleaded, his mouth falling into a frown as he watched the timer go down. “I’ve got no face!”

She laughed again as she showed him how to put hair and makeup on, as well as put an actual skin tone on his little avatar. She couldn’t help but ask what the hell he was envisioning for his outfit.

He grinned as he spun his avatar around the lobby. “She’s wishing for Florida.” He said, pointing toward the screen. “She’s dressed in warm clothes but the patterns show she wishes to be elsewhere.”

user5: this guy has got to stick to writing songs

When the voting started, YN’s outfit was praised by the chat and those in the server—many of whom were fans who were able to join the same lobby.

And then came Harry’s turn.

The second his avatar strut down the runway, there was a moment of lag in the chat before it quickly exploded once more.

“Oi!” Harry exclaimed, pointing at the camera with a snap. “Five stars or m’not releasing the third album.”

YN’s mouth fell agape as she watched Harry place first, watching her boyfriend fold his hands together and shake them in victory as he hummed the tune to as it was. (a tune his fans were completely oblivious to) which only let his smirk grow wider.

The next theme was royalty, and YN figured this one would be easier for Harry. After all, the man was basically British royalty in his own right. Surely he could nail this one.

But once again, Harry’s choices were questionable, but of course it made complete sense to him in his own mind.

While YN opted for a pretty gown and tiara, Harry—ever the wildcard—dressed his avatar in what could only be described as a pirate. For royalty.

She stared at his screen, dumbfounded. “H..that’s a pirate.”

“Royalty of the seas, love.” He winked, “captain Styles at your service.”

The chat went ballistic again, loving every second of Harry’s presence on screen.

user6: h pulled out the arrgh 5000s

user7: HARRY PLEASE

They played a few more rounds, with Harry’s outfits growing increasingly outlandish each time, much to the delight of the viewers. The banter between them never let up, and the stream quickly became one of YN’s most popular broadcasts ever.

As the night wore on and the final round came to an end, YN leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms over her head. “You guys are so spoiled.” She grinned in the direction of the camera. “I hope you enjoyed.”

Harry nodded, his smile unwavering. “And what did we learn tonight?”

“That this is why you have stylists?”

He scoffed before he muttered out a no, raising a finger like he was about to make a profound statement. “We learned that I am a roblox fashion icon in the making.”

She burst out laughing again, and this time, she didn’t stop. Her laughter was infectious, and soon Harry was laughing alongside her, neither of them able to take the game—or themselves—too seriously.

“Well baby, fashion icon or not.” She said, poking her boyfriend’s cheek gently. “I think we all learned this might not be your true calling.”

He gasped in mock offense, swatting her hand away and clutching his chest dramatically. “Rude. Just y’wait—next time I’ll come prepared. I’ll have a roblox fashion strategy ready t’go.”

She smirked, titling her head in his direction. “Next time, huh?”

He paused with a smile, considering. “It was a bit of fun, but next time it needs to be guitar hero or something. I’ll wipe the floor with you on that one, gorgeous.”

The chat immediately lit up again, the fans going wild at the thought of Harry in the streams more often than not, especially if he got to show off his musical side. Some were already throwing out more ideas for the future:

Play minecraft!

Get this man on the sims!

Releasing an album simulator (but irl)

YN smiled again, clearly amused by the flood of suggestions. As the stream began to wind down, she and Harry took a few moments to read some of the comments and thank the viewers for tuning in. They said their goodbyes, waving at the camera and promised to do something like this again soon—though YN wasn’t sure if Harry had fully processed just how much the fans would hold him to that.

As she logged off, Harry stood from the chair and stretched his hand above his head with an exaggerated groan, revealing his belly button and the ferns peeking out from the hem of his sweatpants. She rolled the chair in his direction, resting her head against his waist with a content sigh. “Everyone loves you.”

He smiled, letting his hands fall onto her shoulders and rub them gently. “What can I say?” He hummed, a cocky sarcasm laced in his words.

“You’re impossible.” She whispered against the wrinkled fabric of his hoodie, though the words held no bite.

“Oh, please.” He laughed, “You enjoyed it, watching me flounder around.”

She shrugged innocently, tilting her head upward so her chin rested against his abdomen, their gaze fixed onto each other. Her smile was lazy as she parted her lips, “It was funny watching you struggle.”

His breaths caused her head to jut softly back and forth as she continued to lean against him, his fingers running through her hair as he hummed. “Funny huh?” His tone was gentle, delicate, as his fingers ran down from her hair to caress her cheeks, making her shiver. “Y’think its a game to tease me, hm?”

She felt her pulse quicken, a tension settling around them that replaced the previous banter. “I wasn’t teasing.” She said, her voice softer than before, but the hint of a smile still played on her lips.

Harry took the teeniest step back as his hand fell from her cheek to her chin, gripping it ever so slightly. His thumb brushed against her bottom lip, beckoning her mouth open. “No? Cause you’ve been doing it all night.” His voice was low, authoritative, and sent a rush of heat through her. He tutted toward her as he gazed down at her through his eyelashes, wanting her to part her lips a bit wider. His thumb slips into her mouth, the pad of it pressing down against her tongue.

“I think y’like pushing me.” He murmured, his breaths even and slow as he continued to hold her mouth open–which only allowed it to salivate even more. His eyes flickered from her lips to hers, a smile beginning to play upon his lips.

“What should we do about that, hm?” He cooed as he dragged his thumb away from her tongue, wetting her chin as his hand dropped to the side of her neck. Her own salvia glistened in the warm glow of the fairy lights around the room.

Her breath hitched as he bent at the waist, pressing a kiss onto her lips with his hand still cupping her neck. She melted into it, a heat pooling between her thighs as she felt his tongue against hers. His breath was cool with peppermint, his hair the scent of lavender and vanilla.

They part slowly, strings of saliva snapping from the mutual disconnect. His bottom lip tucks between his teeth as he reaches him, gripping the back of his hoodie’s collar and pulling it off overhead. His chest rises and falls quicker than before as YN’s fingers lightly trace over the ink of the moth of his abdomen, the wings fluttering with every breath. His hands find hers as he pulls it toward the hem of his sweats. “Now,” He sighs heavily, watching her through half-lidded eyes, “be good f’me.”

She nodded as looped her fingers underneath both his sweats and his boxers, tugging them down in one continuing, slow motion until his cock slaps against the skin underneath his belly button.

Her eyes find his, to which he grabs her chin once again, jerking it to face upward toward him. He leaned down as her lips parted, kissing her hungrily before pulling her bottom lip down gently. “Open.” He muttered, watching as she held her tongue out for him. She watched as his lips curled before spitting onto her tongue, saliva drooling from his lips to pool onto her tongue.

She could feel her heartbeat in her core as he straightened back up, especially when he combed his digits through her hair and gripped as he reached the crown of her scalp. With her tongue still out, she neared the head of his cock—slick with precum already and the prettiest shade of pink. She swirled around the slit, watching through her eyelashes as his jaw clenched shut, a heavy exhale falling from his nose.

Her lips formed an ‘o’ as she enveloped the tip completely, closing her eyes as she savored the taste of him. She started off slow as she bobbed up and down his length, closing her inner cheeks around his cock with a hum. “Fuck.” He grunted, tightening his grip on her locks as he bucked his hips slightly. YN wrapped her hand around his length as her lips fell from his tip with a wet pop. She spat onto his cock, stroking him as she dipped her head down toward his balls, lapping and gently sucking the skin there, which had him tilt his head back in pleasure. Veins were more prominent in his neck as he groaned, the coil in his belly tightening. “Such a good girl.” He moaned softly as she wrapped her lips around his cock again, taking him deeper, her throat convulsing around the head that swelled with the threat of release. “Taking daddy’s cock so good.”

She hummed again, the reverberation causing his toes to curl against the carpet. He gathered her hair into a makeshift ponytail in his fist, guiding her movements as moans continued to fall from his lips. She could feel him begin to twitch in her throat as she gagged on his length, his movements sloppy. She could feel his quickened breaths from the way his lower abdomen fluttered against her forehead. “M’close baby–” He grunted, loosening his grip on her hair only slightly. “W-where.?” He choked out in pleasure, his abs rippling and tensing under the glow of the fairy lights, glistening from sweat.

She only trailed her hands up his bare thighs, gripping his hips as if to keep him in place. She wanted to taste him, to suck him of every drop entirely.

His cock pulsed against her tongue as he thrusted once more into her throat, shooting white ropes of come into her mouth with a moan. Her head continued to bob as she swirled her tongue around him, licking every drop of his release to the sound of his whimpers–the prettiest sound she’s ever heard.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as she parts from his cock, placing a few lazy kisses along his navel with a smile. He swallows hard, brushing strands of hair from her face with a lopsided smile. “I could get use to this.” He teases breathlessly, watching as his girlfriend shrugged his pants back up his long legs with a grin.

She stood from her chair, pulling Harry into a kiss. His tongue brushes past her lips, his knees weak at the taste of himself mingled with her saliva. She hums against him, cupping his cheek as she parts. “Don’t get use to it, pretty boy. You still sucked.”

He laughed, his cheeks flushing a shade of pink as he shot a haphazard wink toward her. “Actually baby, that was all you.”

#harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles au #harry styles streamer #harry styles gamer #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles headcanon #harry styles x yn #harry styles fanfic #harry styles drabble

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demie90s · 29 days ago

Text

“Camera Off. Feelings On.”

꒰ 🍒 ꒱ JUJU WATKINS X Fem!READER ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

⭑ Reader Plays for LSU

MASTERLIST MORE

—————————————————————

⭑ Summary: It was supposed to be a chill live in your girlfriend’s apartment—until juju decided to start trouble from off camera. secret relationship chaos ensues.

⭑ Genre: fluff, lowkey chaos, teasing, domestic sweetness, secret dating

⭑ warnings: language, suggestive moments, juju being a menace, reader getting flustered, mutual pining (but you already dating), off-cam kisses

⭑ word count: ~0.6k

—————————————————————

The air in Juju’s LA apartment was thick with late afternoon heat, the kind that stuck to your skin and made everything feel just a little too still. The blinds were cracked, letting strips of golden sun pool across the hardwood floor. Her speaker hummed in the background, playing something chill—Brent Faiyaz, you think, or maybe SZA on shuffle. You were curled up on one side of her couch, legs tucked under you, her hoodie swallowing you whole. It still smelled like her—vanilla lotion, a little sweat, and something that was just Juju.

Summer break was finally in full swing, and after a long season at LSU, you needed this. The quiet. The space. The way her apartment felt like a pause button on everything. You hadn’t even told half your teammates where you were—just said “visiting family in California,” which wasn’t technically a lie.

You’d gone live on Instagram mostly out of boredom, answering fan questions, sipping from her Lakers cup, trying to ignore the weight of her presence across the room. She was stretched out on her stomach near the coffee table, scribbling something in a notebook. Practice drills? Lyrics? A grocery list? You didn’t ask. She had her earbuds in, braids pushed back in a loose bun, oversized tee barely covering the curve of her back.

“Y’all are nosey today,” you muttered, squinting at the comments rolling in. “Yes, I’m in California. No, I’m not transferring. No, I’m not with anyone—damn.”

Juju didn’t even glance up at first, but you saw the twitch in her smile. She was listening.

You licked your lips and scrolled again. “What’s my type? Why y’all askin’ like that? I like tall… athletic… confident… plays for USC… I mean—nah, I’m just kidding.” You coughed quickly, eyes wide.

From behind the camera, Juju’s voice slipped through the silence, low and amused: “Oh, you funny now?”

Your head snapped toward her. She still wasn’t looking at you. Just writing. But her smirk? Dangerous.

“Girl, hush,” you mumbled, cheeks heating. “You’re not even in this live.”

“But I am in this apartment,” she drawled. “Which is wild, ‘cause suddenly all that shy lil’ off-camera energy is gone. Weren’t you hiding your face in my neck two nights ago?”

Your followers were blowing up the chat now.

@ynbewilin: “WHO’S THAT??”

@paigehasnorizz: “she said what now??”

@wbblover637: “somebody screen record!!!”

“Juju,” you warned softly, heart pounding.

That finally got her attention.

She looked up at you with that slow, lazy grin—the one that always unraveled you. “What?” she said innocently. “Just helping the people get the real you. That ‘I’m shy’ act ain’t foolin’ nobody no more.”

You muted the live in a panic, screen still facing you as you narrowed your eyes at her. “You tryna ruin my life?”

She got up, all slow and smug, and sauntered over like she had nowhere to be—like she didn’t just try to out you to thousands of people. She climbed onto the couch next to you, legs over your lap, lips at your ear.

“Not ruin,” she whispered. “Just remind you whose you are.”

You felt the words in your spine.

“You’re evil,” you muttered.

She kissed your jaw. “You love it.”

Your screen was still going wild with muted comments. You let out a long sigh and ended the live, tossing your phone onto the floor.

Juju laughed and pulled you closer, wrapping her arms around your waist. “You gon’ tell ’em one day.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, eyes soft. “But not today. Today you’re mine.”

And just like that, the whole world faded away.

⸻

MASTERLIST

⭑ I love a soft but smug juju who is in her “mine and i know it” era. this was just supposed to be a little trial but it turned into a whole moment. soft launches, messy lives, and reader getting absolutely cooked. enjoy 🤍

#juju watkins #uconn wbb #usc wbb #wbb #wnba x reader #juju x reader #juju watkins x reader #gxg imagine #juju imagine #wbb imagine #x reader #usc imagine #you are gay

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itneverendshere · 18 days ago

Text

little miss perfect - r.c (+18) - how do i look?

pairing: siren!reader x rafe warnings: sugestive.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

He doesn't remember saying yes.

One second, you were across the couch, legs unwelcomingly thrown over his lap, phone in hand, some vague mention of "a summer closet refresh is not optional," and the next, he was following you into a boutique that smelled like floral candles.

Technically, it wasn’t your idea—it was your dad’s. He had an important meeting and asked Rafe to take you in his place.

For some reason, to everyone else in that house, Rafe was your chauffeur and not already sick of your shit.

He's holding three dresses, two pairs of shoes, and what might be a hat or a weaponized sun visor, waiting outside the changing room while you hum some god-awful pop remix and ask if pink is “too last season.”

“The fuck should I know?”

God forbid he said no to Mother Theresa reincarnated with a credit card and a penchant for emotional warfare. Because in that house, you’re sacred while Rafe is the sacrificial lamb, which means one wrong move and Ward Cameron would cut his monthly allowance in half and make him work in landscaping in July.

In the Outer Banks.

“She likes you. Don’t ruin that, son.”

Translation: If Rafe so much as breathed wrong in your direction and you cried wolf, he’d be sent to mow lawns.

He's been here for ten minutes and already wants to die.

“This is hell,” he mutters, arms crossed as he slouches on the little velvet couch outside the dressing room. “This is actual hell.”

From behind the curtain, your voice floats out, amused.

“You snorted coke off a yacht bathroom counter last year. You can survive.”

He rolls his eyes in contempt.

“You owe me gas for this shit, by the way. Hope you know that.”

“Gas?” you repeat from the other side, stunned. “You’re charging me for gas?”

He lifts an eyebrow, vaguely homicidal. “I drove. I want my $6.38.”

“You don’t want me to pay you back another way?”

His soul leaves his body for a full two seconds. Rafe blinks, trying to reboot like a laptop in crisis.

“I want you to pay me back in Venmo, like a normal person.”

“Boo, boring.”

He recalls the summer you were fourteen, you got him grounded for a month after sweet-talking your way out of responsibility for breaking into the country club pool after hours. Your wet hair, your smug grin, your “Rafe dared me, Mr. Cameron!” while he stood there speechless, soaking wet.

Half of the crazy things you two did were your idea, like convincing him to "borrow" his father's golf cart and race it through Figure Eight at night the next summer. You crashed it into a heron-shaped garden statue. When the lights came on in every house on the block, you grabbed his hand and dashed away, giggling as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

Rafe was grounded for two weeks and had to clean up bird statue debris from someone's tulip bed.

You always made him believe it was his idea in the first place, by "accidentally" leaving the liquor cabinet unlocked and daring him to shotgun a bottle of whiskey before calling his father when he started projectile vomiting in the driveway.

You are, by far, the most self-centered and dangerously alluring girl he has ever had the displeasure of dealing with.

He resents you dragging him here, forcing him to carry bags and try on dresses that are even sluttier than the last.

The curtain flutters, and he looks up as you step out in a new tiny sundress, straps falling off your shoulders and hem riding up your thighs.

"Thoughts?" you inquire, twirling.

Yeah, he has thoughts, none of which are appropriate. None of them, he should say in a store with jazz playing in the background and middle-aged moms browsing overpriced headbands five feet away.

"You are not buying that," he says, staring at your chest.

You smirk with satisfaction. “Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

You squint. “Since when do you get to choose what I wear?”

He leans back, his legs spread apart.

“Since I have to walk beside you while every other guy in here forgets their fucking name.”

He notices that wherever you go, heads turn. Guys stare like they’re hypnotized.

You reenter the dressing room. “Oh my god—are you jealous?”

“In your fucking dreams.”

Your expression is visible, all teeth and self-satisfaction.

“You totally are.”

Rafe throws his head back, irritated.

A few minutes pass.

He scrolls on his phone, ignoring the sounds of you moving around in there. Tries not to think about the way your panties look bunched around your ankles, tries to ignore the fact that you are half-naked two feet away from him.

She’s doing this on purpose, he thinks.

When you come out again, you’re wearing the shortest little skirt he’s ever seen. Tank top cropped and clinging to your chest. Your hair is messed up from all of the outfit changes, and your lip gloss is smudged.

He does remember how your lip gloss tasted from two summers ago, when you kissed him on a dare and said it “didn’t count if it was a joke.”

You walk toward him, coming to a halt directly between his legs, and bend to adjust the strap around your heel. He sees everything.

You tilt your chin to glance up, eyelashes brushing your cheeks, biting your lip.

“Well?”

Rafe groans as he pulls your skirt down.

“You’re not buying that either.”

“It’s not like you’re gonna stop me.”

He glares, trying to concentrate on the crappy jazz playing over the store speakers, but it’s pointless. Every head in here is on you—and so is his. He hates that he’s still watching how the skirt rides up when you move.

“Your dad would kill me if he saw you in half these things.”

It goes in one ear and out the other because ten minutes later, you’re dragging him out the door as if he is a prize to be paraded throughout town.

“Victoria’s Secret?” He barely manages the words. “You’re fuckin’ kidding me.”

You give him that look, knowing you’re breaking him down piece by piece.

Inside, the store is all pink and lace, with impossibly small underwear that he doesn’t want to think about. You eye a display, fingers grazing the satin cups, plotting something.

“You’re gonna help me pick something out,” you announce.

"Yeah, right," he snorts, even though you are already pulling him towards the fitting rooms. “You're insane if you think I'm going into a fitting room with you.”

Your grin widens as you glance at him, sweet as sugar with a burn underneath. “Please?”

“No.”

Your eyes spark coy and knowing, already three steps ahead of whatever he thought he was doing, making his stomach drop.

"Pleaseee," you coo, your cleavage practically smacking him in the face, impossible to miss.

Your eyes become large, doe-like, making it impossible not to want to throttle you and bury himself in you at once.

Rafe clenches his teeth.

"No."

You puff out your cheeks like you have been wronged, so exaggerated it’s almost cartoonish, and it makes him want to punch a wall.

“Rafe, don’t be like that.” You drag the last syllable, your voice breathy, as if you are the nice girl next door. "I just want your opinion. That’s all.”

Your hand snakes up his arm, causing a burn that he’s always unprepared for and refuses to acknowledge.

Rafe’s eyes are narrowed. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

You flick your hair over one shoulder and walk toward the fitting rooms, your hips swinging enough to make the entire room—and him—forget what the fuck he is doing here. He watches, torn between chasing you and telling himself to grow up.

"Get your head outta your ass," you demand over your shoulder, without looking back. “I’m here to shop.”

He grits his teeth, muscles tightening, already moving after you. He enters the cramped fitting room area, only a thin curtain separating you both from the rest of the world. You turn to face him, your eyes full of wicked delight.

Your hands flutter to the front of your shirt, pulling it down, not enough to be scandalous, but enough skin to make his pulse speed up.

“You’re such a grump,” You click your tongue, voice dripping with mock pity. “Lighten up. Always so serious.”

“I wonder why.”

You laugh— that high, clear laugh that gets under his skin like nothing else. Then you hold up a black lace bra and give him a slow drag of your gaze that feels like fingertips down his spine.

“Thoughts?”

You would look divine in this. Better than that bikini.

Rafe’s mouth is dry.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding me, right?” He spits, his gaze fixed on yours, daring you to continue playing these mind games.

You've spent the entire day trying to push every button in his chest until he explodes.

“Nope,” Your fingers tracing the delicate lace. “You’re helping me pick. Deal with it.”

He turns his head, fighting the need to slam his forehead against the wall and forget about the entire day.

“Just pick the damn thing and let’s get outta here.”

You hold the bra up again, daring him to say no. He’s already imagining you in his bed with the matching panties—a little undone. Rafe clears his throat, attempting to shove the image down before it completely takes over.

He gives you an unimpressed look. “Fine.”

The goddamn thought is poison, and it’s all your fault.

“You want me to pick out your trashy little lingerie?” He spits, eyes burning holes into yours.“You’re not seriously thinking you’d look good in that, are you?”

Your smile twists, making him want to back away.

“My ex loved it.”

Rafe hardens like stone. "What, ex?"

“The guy I was with last summer.”

Rafe blinks, stunned. “You… you had a boyfriend?”

"Don’t worry," Your voice is overflowing with phony sweetness. “I never let him fuck me at Tannyhill.”

“Wait—what?”

You dated a local? Rafe is gawking at you as if you have grown two heads. Or as if he wants to strangle you.

"I mean, he wanted to," you say, eyes dancing. “But I told him no. That place is special.”

"Special?" he repeats.

You nod, the lace still dangling between your fingers like bait.

“Mhm. Not just anyone gets to fuck me in the Cameron estate. Gotta earn that, right?”

There’s a halo of sunlight through the boutique window; the universe dares to light you up like you’re holy when you're standing there talking about sex and sanctity like they belong in the same sentence.

His fists clench at his sides, leaving his knuckles white.

You sigh theatrically with that fake little pout that no one in their right mind should fall for.

“I just… I want my first time to be special.”

You say it with the straight face of a girl who’s been lying since birth. Voice trembling like a porcelain doll. A wolf in a halo.

“First time?” he echoes. Then laughs, “You’re about as virginal as the bar top at The Wreck the night you climbed onto it in a miniskirt and dared a guy to lick tequila off your collarbone.”

Your mouth opens, scandalized. “That was—”

“Spring Break, yeah, I fuckin’ know. Half of Figure Eight was there.”

You put a hand to your chest like he just slapped you,

“You’re being so rude right now.”

“You’re so full of shit,” he grumbles.

“Am I?”

“It’s pathetic.”

“Oooh,” You echo, mock-scandalized. “So you are mad.”

“I’m not mad.” His voice is too quick and defensive.

That infuriating smirk tugs at your lip. “You’re sweating.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

You’re getting closer, crowding his space, and Rafe is not moving or speaking, instead staring at you with his usual restrained fury. You’re a foot away now, and all he can think about is how this stupid boutique is suddenly ten degrees hotter.

You take the opportunity to lean in, your voice going deadly.

“I want my first time in Tannyhill to be with you.”

Rafe half-laughs, half-chokes on disbelief, throwing his head back.

“You’re unbelievable.”

You hum, twirling the hanger between your fingers.

“Thinking about it?”

“You wish.”

You jutt out your bottom lip, giving a tiny huff .

“You don’t like that idea?”

“I’d rather die.”

Your eyes sparkle. “Dramatic.”

“No. Dying would be merciful compared to this shit.”

“Fine, I’ll end your misery. Tell me which one to try on.”

His gaze moves from the bra in your hands to your chest, and then back to your face.

“Or should I just try them all and show you?”

“Knock that shit off.”

Then, without giving you an answer, he storms out of the dressing room as if it were on fire, which it very well could be. He’s breathing too fast, pacing in short lines outside the fitting rooms.

He can’t believe you said that. “My ex loved it.”

Rafe hadn’t even known there was a guy. He never saw it, never fucking knew. You were with someone else while batting your lashes, tossing your hair, and saying shit just to get a rise out of him? Letting some loser touch you while you were still pushing up against Rafe every goddamn day?

He scrubs a hand down his face, furious. He had been too stupid to realize you were already being ruined by someone else while chasing him like a dog. He was your favorite little chew toy, yet a random guy had you behind closed doors.

He nearly chokes on the thought, and that pisses him off more. It shouldn’t bother him like this, crawl under his skin. You're nothing but a thorn in his side, a brat wearing too much perfume.

What the hell were you doing with some asshole when you were trying to grind up on him at that bonfire last year? He leans back against the wall, closing his eyes.

You allowed someone else to have you. You let someone else make you moan — or maybe you faked it, just like everything else you do — while still waltzing around Rafe, tossing him those little innuendos, brushing his thigh with yours in crowded rooms.

A manipulative fucking bitch.

The curtain moves, and his head rises despite himself.

You peek out, your head first, waves of hair falling over your shoulder.

“Missed me?” As if you hadn’t annihilated his patience five minutes ago.

He scoffs and avoids looking directly at you.

“Took you long enough.”

He follows you even when his body screams to turn the other way, to get the fuck out before he does something regrettable, like drag you back into that fitting room and remind you whose name you should have screamed last summer.

You spin once, allowing the lace to flutter from your fingers to the shopping basket.

“I think I’ll take this one.”

Rafe glares at the display in front of him.

“Bet your ex would approve.”

You blink again, pretending to be innocent and ignoring the venom in his tone.

“Rafe, tone down the jealousy.”

“Of some loser you let finger you behind a 7-Eleven?”

You arch a perfect brow.

“Is that what you did to your ex? Fingered her behind a gas station? I never saw her around Tannyhill...”

You can get under his skin like it is your fucking hobby, digging your manicured claws into his insides. You weren’t supposed to see that part of him.

If looks could kill, you would be dead and giggling in your coffin. The muscle in his cheek ticks as if it is counting down to something violent.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“What? Kinda weird, right? For a girlfriend to never show her face at your house?”

You take a leisurely step closer, relishing every moment of this.

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

"Mm, I believe I do. You parade around like you are better than me while shoving your hand up a girl's skirt in a parking lot?

Rafe’s trying not to strangle you.

“I never saw her in your pool. Never caught her sneaking into your room.” Your voice drops, “But I was there.”

He grabs your wrist so hard that your breath freezes, and his pupils dilate.

“You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?”

You stare up at him, unfazed.

“I think you’re full of shit; you never looked at her the way you look at me.”

His pupils are blown wide.

"Say another word," he hisses, "and I swear to God—”

“You’ll what? Prove me right? Can't wait."

His eyes, crazed and furious, search your face for a single thread of remorse but come up empty.

“I’m done playing whatever sick little game gets you off. We're going home."

You twist your wrist out of his grip like he’s nothing.

Then, in the same breathless voice you’d use to ask someone to pass the salt, you say, “Okay, whatever. Can we get ice cream first?”

Ice cream.

After all that—lingerie and low blows and jealousy wrapped around him—you want a scoop of fucking ice cream. His eye twitches visibly. He can feel it spasm. He’s going to have a stroke. A middle-aged, burnt-out, emotionally suppressed dad stroke.

You’re aging him into oblivion one comment at a time.

“Are you—” he starts, then stops. Rubs a hand over his jaw.

You look up at him, the devil in a sundress.

“What? You look like you could use sugar. Or therapy.”

You start walking, happy as a fucking clam, humming to yourself and swinging the little pink bag with lace tucked inside.

He trails behind like a broken man.

“You’re paying.”

God help him—he does.

#itneverendshere works✨#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe imagine #rafe obx

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linoxpudding · 1 month ago

Text

Routine Chaos- Yang Jeongin

summary: a glimpse into the daily life of the yang household

pairing: yang jeongin x fem!reader

genre: fluff, humor, married with kids

word count: 661 words

a/n: back again with more dad!skz content, enjoyy ♡

Dad!SKZ Masterlist

The Kids: Eldest Son (Sungheon - 7 years old), Youngest Son (Jaeheon - 5 years old)

~°~

You were enjoying a peaceful morning sitting on the couch in the living room with coffee in hand, scrolling through your phone when a loud crash from the kitchen shattered the silence.

Raising two energetic boys meant living in a constant state of chaos. Noise was the background music of your life, ranging from stomping feet, sudden screams, suspicious giggles, and the occasional crash that made your soul momentarily leave your body. At some point, you stopped wondering if something would go wrong and instead started timing how long the quiet would last before the next disaster. So when you heard the crash from the kitchen, you didn’t panic.

You just sighed, because of course something had exploded again.

From the laundry room, Jeongin called out, "I’m not dealing with it!"

You groaned, setting your coffee down. "You’re their father!"

"You’re their mother!"

Before you could argue, tiny footsteps thundered down the hallway.

"YOU IDIOT!" You heard your eldest son, Sungheon, groan.

"NOT MY FAULT." Jaeheon, your youngest son, said defensively.

Both the boys skidded into the living room, and their faces showed pure panic.

You stood up from the couch and crossed your arms. "What did you do?"

Sungheon immediately pointed at his brother. "Jaeheon did it!"

Jaehoon gasped, deeply betrayed. "YOU TOLD ME TO DO IT!"

"Because I thought you wouldn’t actually do it!"

Jeongin finally appeared, looking completely done with life. His usual soft, sweet demeanour was gone—his eye was twitching, and he was rubbing his temples like he had a migraine.

"Who—" He took a deep breath. "Who put my shoe in the microwave?"

You blinked. "I’m sorry, what?"

You bolted into the kitchen and were met with the scent of burnt rubber and destruction. Jeongin turned the microwave door toward you. Inside, one of his sneakers sat tragically melted.

Sungheon and Jaehoon stepped into the kitchen behind you, their faces painted with guilt. When you turned to face them, they froze, exchanging a nervous glance before instinctively taking a step back.

"You microwaved Appa's shoe?" you asked, completely bewildered.

Sungheon bit his lip. "Technically… it was Jaeheon."

"I WAS MAKING IT WARM!" Jaehoon blurted out. "SO APPA’S FEET WOULDN’T GET COLD!"

Jeongin stared at them, his soul leaving his body. "Why… would you think microwaving a shoe was the solution?"

Jaehoon hesitated. "...The logic made sense in my head."

Jeongin dragged a hand down his face. "I can’t with you two."

Sungheon snorted. "Told you it was a bad idea."

Jaeheon immediately turned on him. "YOU TOLD ME TO DO IT!"

"Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it!"

"YOU DOUBLE-DOG DARED ME! I HAD TO!"

Jeongin turned to you, pleading. "You gave birth to these demons. Fix it."

You barely held in your laughter. "I gave birth to them, but they definitely inherited your stupidity."

"HEY!"

"It’s true."

He sighed and turned towards the boys then pointed toward the hallway. "Go to your rooms. Now."

The boys scampered away, still bickering under their breath.

Jeongin groaned. "I need a refund on these kids."

You chuckled. “Too late.”

You stepped behind Jeongin and wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his back.

Jeongin sighed dramatically, looking at his melted shoe. "This is why I want daughters."

You gasped and turned him gently by the waist so you could see his face. You squinted at him. “No, Yang. I’m not getting pregnant again.”

He tilted his head, pouting in that ridiculous way he knew might sway you. “Please? Just one? A quiet one?”

“Shut up.”

“But—”

You silenced him with a kiss, gentle and lingering, until he melted just a little more into your arms. He sighed into your lips, finally letting go of the last bit of his microwave induced trauma.

“I still want a daughter,” he mumbled against your mouth.

You pulled back and raised an eyebrow. “I’ll buy you a goldfish and give it a pretty name.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

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mishkiq · 1 month ago

Text

you wanted it to be me. (b.blake x reader)

☾✩˚₊‧ Summary: "Bellamy said what during sex??" —You, moments before pinning him down in your tent and proving exactly why your name's on his lips.

☾✩˚₊‧ Tags: smut, gender-neutral, 2nd person pov, tongue kissing, spit, mostly a lot of teasing, and you manhandle bellamy a little ;3

☾✩˚₊‧ WC: 4.4k

Listen.

You tried not to associate with people who dragged drama behind them like a ball and chain. On the Ark, survival was more technical. Numbers, calculations, food and oxygen rations. Keep your head down, and you wouldn't deal with bullshit. Simple. Down here?

A soap opera with grime under its nails.

You got along fine with Harper; better with Monroe. Miller and Monty were funny in their own dry way.

Octavia? Oh, you two got along like kindling and fire. Volatile, intense, rebellious in an exhilarating way. She was a wild card you genuinely liked. You didn't have to pretend, didn't have to mask your distaste for others around her. No expectations except for a good time and backup when things got rough. It was her brother that was the problem.

Bellamy Blake.

Irritating. Constantly shouting at someone about the 'new life on the ground' or whatever excuse he came up with. Always in charge. Always acting like the entire camp would collapse if he didn't micromanage every goddamn thing from food storage to people’s bowel movements.

And sure, fine—he was hot. Whatever. The dark, curly hair, the broad shoulders that carried the responsibility of every delinquent's actions, the way he stalked around camp like a wet dream come to life?

Yeah. You had functioning eyes.

But everything even remotely attractive about him got obliterated the second he opened his mouth.

God forbid something happened to Octavia, with the way he hovered over her like she would break if someone breathed wrong in her direction. You had no patience for that kind of overprotective bullshit. And if you were being honest?

You and Bellamy clashed because whenever his 'no rules' rule blew up in someone's face, you were usually the one cleaning the mess. The one patching up wounds, calming down panicked delinquents, reassuring the young ones, making sure nobody died.

So, yeah. He had a tendency of pissing you off every other day. In that same breath—even if Bellamy would never admit it himself—he was constantly around the other drama-attracted ones. Clarke and Wells were your least favorite offenders, of course. Self-righteous, kids of the privileged, blah blah. You get the gist.

The rest of the delinquents? Fine. Tolerable, even. Which was why you had no idea why the hell Roma and Bree suddenly iced you out.

You weren't exactly close with the two, but you got along well enough. One night chilling around the fire, trading jokes and half-burnt meat. The next? Roma wouldn't look at you without a sneer wrinkling her face. Bree stopped showing up to hangouts if she even thought you might be there.

Again, you weren't friends exactly. But you never had beef either. Not until suddenly, apparently, you did.

You let it go for a while. Bigger problems to handle, like not getting killed by a Grounder, or starving to death, or some fucked-up mutated animal mauling you. But then the two moved out of Bellamy's tent and into their own, and the weird vibes had turned sour. Suspicious, even.

You were never one to believe in superstition, but your left ear had been itching at you like a mosquito made a home there. Didn't take much to figure out who was talking shit about you.

…but what the hell happened?

You wouldn't get an official answer until wall duty one night—Harper on your left, Monroe on your right, all of you squinting into the dark as the crickets chirped loudly in the background.

(You also had never imagined how loud Earth would be. But it just replaced the constant mechanical whirring of the Ark.)

"Alright y'all," you began, looking between the two women. "I gotta ask. Please tell me you've noticed Roma and Bree acting weird lately."

A snort left Harper. "You mean how they act like you took a shit in their bed?"

Lightly, you smacked her arm with the back of your hand, comforted by the fact that she had noticed too. "Exactly! I didn't even do anything—we were fine one night, next day they starting ignoring me completely."

Monroe was suspiciously quiet, her gaze fixed on the treeline.

But you saw the shift.

The way her back straightened, the way her lips pressed into a thin line.

Harper raised an eyebrow at her. "You know anything?"

She didn't answer at first.

"C'mon, Zoe. Spill." You nudged her with your boot. "I'm in the dark here."

Even Harper leaned in, eyes glinting with interest.

A sigh. But Monroe admitted, "I overheard them talking…with a few of the other girls."

Oh god. What did that mean? Your stomach dropped. "About what?"

Harper already looked wary. "Zoe, if it's—"

"Bellamy said your name during a threesome with them."

Silence.

Not even the crickets could save that one.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

You brain stalled. Hit a wall; tried to reboot.

Laughter erupted out of you, forcing you to slap a hand over your mouth. You glanced around like your giggling might attract Grounders. Though more uncertain than amused, Harper joined with her own.

Then the two of you saw Monroe's expression. How her blink lengthened as she turned away.

Oh.

She wasn't joking.

The laughter died in your throat.

"Huh?!"

Later, when your shift ended and Miller took over, you thought about going back to the bonfire for a last snack before heading to bed.

No, you weren't stewing in the knowledge that Bellamy fucking Blake had apparently moaned your name while having a threesome with Roma and Bree.

Of course not.

…what the fuck.

You had barely stepped past the tents when you spotted them by the fire.

Roma. Bree. Laughing at something some other girl said, their body language light and free in a way that made your skin crawl.

Listen. You weren't a coward.

But drama was only fun when it wasn't yours. You liked to spectate, to listen in. Not be part of it.

So you turned around—

—and smacked straight into a wall of warmth and woodsmoke.

Bellamy's hand was midair, like he was going to tap your shoulder. Now it just hovered between you.

"My bad," he said. "I was looking for you earlier."

Stepping back quickly, your spine stiffened. "…why?"

"I..."

Oh, hesitation from him was not a good sign.

"Can we talk?”

You swallowed thickly. "I'm busy."

"Doing what?"

"Watch duty tonight."

Fuck.

You dumbass.

He raised an eyebrow.

Yeah, of course he knew you were bullshitting—he made the goddamn schedule.

You turned away before he could call you out on it, but of course—of course—he followed as you marched past him, past the tents, further into the quieter part of camp where you had set up your new home.

"I just want to talk," he said once the sounds of laughter were a dull hum behind you.

"You? Talk, and not yell at someone?" You didn't look at him. A low blow, you knew.

"Yeah, well. Maybe we should."

You rolled your eyes and kept it pushing. "Look, if this is about the wall or someone messing with your food system again—"

"It’s not, and you know it."

The two of you reached your tent. The plastic flap rippled slightly in the breeze. You turned, reaching for the tie of the entrance—

A hand closed gently around your wrist.

You froze.

Not a hard grip—but firm enough to keep you from leaving.

Ooh, you wanted to yank yourself free so bad. Instead, patiently, you exhaled slow through your nose and said flatly, "Let go."

"I will. Just listen for a second."

The silence stretched.

Finally, you met his eyes.

"I… I'm guessing you heard," he said quietly.

You scoffed. "What, that you were just having such an incredible time that you accidentally said my name?”

He winced, grip loosening. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

"Bullshit." You yanked your wrist back. "Whatever you did, it was bad enough that Roma and Bree won't even talk to me. I had to find out from Monroe!"

"I know. I know it was shitty." He sounded frustrated now—with himself, not you. "It wasn't about them."

"No shit."

He ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't want to do this like...this."

…oh.

Strangely, that sparked something in your chest.

"Do what, Bellamy?" You crossed your arms. "Make things even weirder between us?"

He stepped closer.

You did not move.

Refused to.

Not even as tension spiked between you two, sparks flaring.

"Listen, I'm not…" A sharp exhale left him. "I'm not good at this, alright? Talking. Feelings. Whatever."

"Apparently not good at fucking without pissing people off, either."

The words slipped out of you.

That earned a faint smirk, like he couldn't help it.

You hated how much you wanted to kiss that smirk off his dumb, pretty face.

"That's exactly why I keep thinking about you." He murmured.

Your eyes narrowed.

"Not just… like that," he added quickly. "I mean, yeah. Obviously that too. But you're the only one who ever calls me out on my shit."

…and for once, he left you speechless.

"I said your name because I wanted it to be you," he admitted, and this time, he met your eyes. "That's the truth. I wanted it to be you."

Your throat bobbed with a thick swallow, brain stalling. No sarcastic comeback, no quip or barb or a laugh to deflect the suddenly honest confession from him.

You just stood there, wide-eyed.

Shit.

You didn't know what his game was. Didn't know if there even was a game or if this was just another fucked-up Bellamy Blake moment—half-formed, emotionally-charged, and dropped at your feet like a live grenade.

…but honestly?

Yeah, no. You weren't going to pass this up.

Because something in the way he said it—"I wanted it to be you"—lodged itself under your flushed skin. A splinter you couldn't ignore.

Dammit.

Slowly, you pulled back the flap of your tent and jutted your head toward the entrance.

A blink in response. Surprise. Bell's mouth parted slightly, then closed like he thought better than to speak. Glancing behind him, he checked around, then ducked his head and slipped inside.

And as he passed?

You smacked his ass.

Hard.

He jolted. Practically jumped out of his boots.

You snickered and followed him in, not even pretending to be subtle about the way you pulled the flap down and tied it shut.

Bellamy turned toward you slowly, brow furrowed, lips twitching like he didn't know whether to be annoyed or intrigued.

Good.

You liked keeping him on his toes.

"Seriously?" he asked, but his voice was already looser, warmer.

"You're the one who said you wanted it to be me," you shrugged, taking a slow step forward. "Don't act surprised now."

His jaw tightened, a scoff turning his lips into an incredulous smile, as if he thought you would just tease him just to mess with him.

An irritating expression.

Your fingers twitched.

Oh, he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Hooking your thumbs into the collar of his jacket, you shoved it down his arms without ceremony.

No protest. He barely blinked.

The jacket barely had a chance to touch the ground before your hand gripped the collar of his shirt.

Before you kissed him.

Mouth open, teeth catching on his lower lip before you sucked it between yours and bit—just enough to make him grunt and clutch at your hips like he was trying to steady both of you.

Big, calloused hands.

Restless.

Sliding from your waist to your jaw, back down to your sides like he couldn't decide where he wanted you most.

You didn't give him time to choose.

Grabbing the belt loops of his pants, you yanked him forward until you were chest-to-chest, swallowing the curse he let slip into your mouth.

Not even a little bit of resistance.

His mouth moved against yours like he had spent nights thinking about it. Matched your pace. Matched the desperation behind each slid of your lips.

Sure, he had height on you. And you could feel how he tried to trip you into falling on your cot.

Amateur move.

You saw it coming the second his stance shifted, the subtle step of his boots like he thought he was still in charge. Like you would just let him manhandle you into the bed like every other person he had ever hooked up with.

Hah.

Instead, you hooked your leg behind his, twisted your weight, and slammed him onto your sleeping bag in a controlled fall.

A startled grunt left him as he hit the cot.

Before he could think twice, think of retaliating, you straddled him—thighs on either side of his hips, hands braced on his chest.

Wide eyes met yours. Breathless.

"You—" he started, but you shut him up with another kiss, slower this time.

…maybe a tad bit meaner. A nip here and there.

When you pulled back, you smirked down at him. "You're sexier when you shut the fuck up."

Anything he had planned to say died in his throat, but my words seemed to flick a switch in him.

Because of course Bellamy wasn't the kind of guy who just gave up control. Even lying on his back, even with your hips rolling forward to make him groan, you could feel him trying to keep some illusion of power: His fingers digging into your sides, guiding your rhythm; mouth chasing yours as if he were the one the one setting the pace.

Cute.

You let him pretend. Just for a minute.

Then you leaned down, grabbed both of his wrists, and pinned them above his head.

The little sound he made?

Downright devastating.

His chest rose and fell under you, and for once, Bell didn't argue.

Moving back, your hands skirted down his arms, over his chest, unbuttoning his shirt one snap at a time.

His eyes never left yours.

"You do this often?" he asked, his voice rough around the edges.

"What, dominate emotionally constipated revolutionaries in tents?" you deadpanned, tugging his shirt open. "Only the hot ones."

A huff of a laugh left him, but it died quick when you leaned down and licked a slow stripe from his collarbone, up his neck, stopping just below his earlobe. His hands twitched like he wanted to grab you again. He didn't.

Good boy.

You rewarded his obedience by rocking your hips forward, slow, sending sparks up through your lower abdomen. He cursed and bucked up instinctively, but you ground him back down with a firm roll of your own body.

God, you liked him like this. Breathless, quiet.

Almost new, not seeing him bark orders or argue about ration counts or overreact over his sister.

Just you, him, and heat pooling where you two were connected.

And this time, when he couldn't resist touching you again? You couldn't bring yourself to punish him.

Starving, desperate, his hands slid under your shirt, over the bare skin of your back, up your spine like he wanted to memorize every inch. A sigh left you as you leaned forward, pressing your chest against his.

"Didn't expect this," he muttered against your throat.

"Which part?" you breathed, goosebumps running up your spine. "The part where you said my name during sex with two other girls, or the part where I'm grinding you into my cot?"

His groan rumble through his chest, through yours. "Both."

Fuck.

Your lips found his again, his fingers tangling in your hands as you shifted, bodies sliding together. He tasted like some sort of meaty food and the ache of something long-denied.

"You're gonna ruin me," he whispered when you two parted.

Mmn. He was right about that.

You hummed your agreement.

Hands tight around your waist, his fingers dug in as if he thought he could control the pace from down there—like he could pull you down and make you move the way he wanted.

Cute.

You smiled sweetly at him, and his eyes widened as he noticed a glint in your eyes.

He tried grinding up against the slick heat between your thighs, but your thighs were stronger. You held steady. Just enough resistance to make him groan, to make his eyes flutter half-shut like he was losing his damn mind under you.

You would not be his peace.

Not yet.

One hand slid up his chest, over the rough stubble of his jaw, cupping his face. Not sweetly, but to keep him still. To control where he looked.

To keep his eyes only on you.

And then you licked him.

One long, unbroken stripe from his collarbone to the shell of his ear.

You felt the tremble in his chest, in his thighs, in the twitch of his cock still trapped in his pants. A violent shudder. He tried to keep still, tried not to buck again, but he failed. His hips jerked up into yours, seeking friction like a starved man.

You smiled against his jaw, smug and sharp.

"Easy," you murmured. "You'll get what you want. Just not yet."

Your hands went to your belt, unbuckling with a slow flourish.

Bellamy's breath caught.

You let him undo the buttons of your pants. Let him slide his hands under the waistband like he was going to peel them open—

Until you grabbed both wrists and slammed them back down against the bedroll.

Swallowing thickly, his eyes widened.

You grinned. "You didn't think I'd let you off that easy, right?"

Before he could protest, you wrapped your belt around them. Tight, but not painful. Snug enough that he wasn’t going anywhere.

You vaguely heard him breathe out a curse, but you were too busy adjusting, sitting back on his thighs, shifting deliberately over the bulge straining in his cargo pants. Another mutter left him, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched like he was doing math in his head just to stay calm.

You stood.

His brows drew together. "Wait—"

Then your pants were at your knees.

And your underwear?

You peeled them off, nice and slow. Made a show of it. Then dropped the whole bundle right on his face.

Bellamy sputtered.

You laughed.

He turned his head, sputtering out fabric like he couldn't decide if he was humiliated or into it.

(He was into it. Very, very into it.)

By the time your garments slipped off his face, you were already crouched between his legs, unbuttoning his cargo pants. Your fingers dragged the zipper down, slow, deliberate. You didn't bother pulling them off completely. Just down enough to get access.

To see.

To feel.

Because the tent in his briefs was obscene. Thick. Desperate. Pulsing. A wet blemish at the very tip.

You slid forward and ground down against him again, your bare heat pressed around him through thin fabric.

His hips bucked, involuntary.

A pleased sigh left you, audible enough to watch his reaction.

His head fell back, chest arching.

Cupping his face again, you loomed over him, lips brushing against his, chaste.

Not for long.

You swiped your tongue against his bottom lip, coaxing—no, commanding—his mouth open. When he did, you took full advantage.

Shameless, you slid your tongue into his mouth, half-lidded eyes watching his reaction as you gathered his tongue in your mouth, wrapping your lips around it before sucking hard.

Completely wrecked.

You could tell by the way his hands strained against the belt, trying to grab you. The way his hips kept pushing up, chasing friction, craving your weight like a drug.

And when you pulled back?

A dazed look met yours.

You weren't done. Not even close.

"Did you think about all this?" You couldn't help but ask as you grabbed his jaw again, tipping his head back.

He didn't have a chance to answer.

Not when you let a string of spit slip from your mouth into his.

You watched it land.

Watched his throat bob as he swallowed it down without thinking.

And you felt it—how he hardened even more underneath you, cock straining against the fabric, painful to remain untouched.

"God," he groaned. "Please—"

You didn't let him finish.

You kissed him again, tongue filthy, claiming his mouth like you owned it. Like you owned him. Your nails scraped down his sides, fingers sliding beneath the waistband of his briefs.

No more games.

You dragged his briefs down, slow enough to savor the sight of his cock springing free—hard, flushed, already leaking at the tip. The head tapped against your dripping heat as you moved to straddle him again.

No hesitation.

Didn't need to. Already wet, aching.

You sank down onto him in one smooth motion, tight heat stretching around him, swallowing him whole.

Eyes rolling back, he let out a ragged, shaky moan.

You paused with him fully inside you, walls fluttering around his length, clenching without mercy.

Sweat plastering his curls to his forehead, a flush rising in his cheeks, he was completely wrecked.

And you?

You looked down at him like a feast. Chest heaving. Smirk curling your lips. Fingers splayed across his pecs, groping, grinding down slow.

"You wanted this," you whispered, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan. "Could've had anyone, but you said my name, right?"

He nodded desperately, the belt around his wrists creaking.

"Good," you murmured. "Then you better take what I give you."

You leaned in and dragged your tongue across his jaw again, whispering filth into his skin as you rode him—slow at first, then faster. Deeper. Making sure every thrust, every squeeze knocked a sound out of him.

He had no control now.

Not with his hands tied, not with your pace, not with your mouth licking and biting at every inch of skin you could reach. Not when you kissed him like you wanted his tongue down your throat.

Bellamy Blake had no idea what he was in for.

But he would learn tonight.

Thighs trembling, you pushed past the ache and slammed your hips down over and over again, the sound of wet skin on skin making you flush.

Or maybe it was the way his cock buried inside you, thick, pulsing, stretching you full until your head spun.

Ugh. Of course he'd have a nice dick.

It drove you crazy, the way the fat head of his cock teased against that sweet, devastating spot deep inside. Your hole instinctively clenched around him, greedy and slick and wanting more. And from the way Bellamy groaned beneath you—shameless, teeth gritted, brow furrowed as he concentrated on not finishing early though his eyes never left the place where your bodies met—you knew it was driving him feral too.

"Holy shit," he hissed out a whisper.

You leaned forward, angling your hips, chasing that perfect spot. The insides of your thighs strained, a delicious burn. Your forehead brushed his—

A shift.

Body pitching forward, you blinked in surprise as a pressure at your back pressed your chest against his, arms trapped between the two of you.

A pressure at your back.

Still bound at the wrist with your belt, Bellamy had moved his arms down and around you. Tight. Using the strength of his forearms, the position, to trap you.

Exactly where he wanted you.

"Bell," you breathed shakily, half warning, half want.

He just turned his head until his lips brushed your ear, voice dropping like gravel as he said,

"Got you now."

Oh, fuck.

Before you could even try to regain your footing—

Your body bounced with his thrust. Not fast. Not jack-rabbit wild.

Deep.

He rocked up into you with precision, each thrust pushing every inch of his cock inside. The belt strained at your back, his forearms wrapped tight around your waist as leverage.

And when he shifted his hips just slightly, hitting that spot head-on?

"Fuuuck," tore from your throat, raw, raspy as you clung to him, breath coming in stutters with every roll of his hips, nails digging into the muscle of his pecs. Almost instinctively, your body rocked with his, matching his mind-numbing rhythm.

Truthfully?

You didn't mind.

Your thighs had begun to burn, your knees aching, your stamina shot from the earlier pace. This? This was good. This let you feel everything. Every inch. Every drag. Every pulse of heat and stretch and need.

Bellamy moaned under his breath, words slurred with lust. "God, your so fucking tight."

You clenched around him just to hear the broken sound he made.

Slow and deep and punishing, his cock mercilessly hit that devastating angle, your bodies locked together so close there wasn’t even space for air—skin sliding and suctioning with a noise that would've made you cringe if you weren't focused on that low, growing pressure deep in your belly.

His thrusts stuttered, and you could tell he was getting close.

Moving your hand out between your bodies, you found his cheek. Cupped it.

His eyes snapped to yours instantly, wide and dark, pupils blown.

You dragged his face to yours, kissed him deep, greedy, sucking on his tongue like you had earlier.

Kissed him like he was the last good thing left on Earth.

Unconsciously, your hole squeezed with pleasure, and he groaned into your mouth, loud, desperate.

Full-body tremble.

His warmth spilled into you as he came, your own orgasm slicking him up further as the two of you shuddered. You swallowed his sounds down your throat like it was yours to keep, and he kissed you back, wild and messy like he wasn't ready to let go of the high just yet.

You were drunk on it. On him.

His arms stayed wrapped around you, belt still tight, bodies still tangled. And for the first time since hitting the ground, you didn't push him away.

Not when he panted beneath you like that, hearts pounding in sync.

Not when you felt full in every sense of the word.

You stayed there, pressed to his chest, still joined.

And Bellamy—silent, for once—just held you.

You had no idea what camp would see that next morning, but you got the full play-by-play from your friends at breakfast.

Bellamy, shirt inside-out, belt coiled in one hand, and most notably: walking just a little funny, rubbing at his lower back with a pleased smirk.

#my writing #bellamy blake #bellamy lovers come get yalls juice #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake/reader #bellamy blake x you #bellamy blake x oc #bellamy blake/oc #the 100 #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake fanfiction

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prettyboykatsuki-moved · 4 months ago

Text

calendula | gaku (sakamoto days)

✮ tags ; afab + gn!reader, no dialogue, gakus perspective, established relationship, technically pre-canon but not relevant, tit worship, riding, unprotected sex / no prep, 18+

✮ wc ; 3.4k (???????????)

✮ a/n ; girl idk. guy i characterized off of vibes and a brief reread. this is kind of a character study. if you squint. if this characterization is completely wack im sorry i think i was overcome by lust

more importantly this fic is me attempting to practice my prose so there's no dialogue rip. i dont think it succeeded but that's why there's only one line of dialogue sdkjfhkjsd.

✮ synopsis ; gaku gives you whatever you want.

Gaku knows it’s you before he answers the door.

From the weight and sound of footfall to the way you knock on the door—always twice in rapid succession. All of these details about you linger in his mind all day. He knows you’re going to knock on the door and waits for it. His attention is away from the screen. His avatar takes a hit and the weighted controller vibrates in his hand. He let it happen. It’d have been easy enough to dodge, since he’s got good reflexes and all. But if he takes a hit, there’s a brief second that makes it easier for him to pause his game.

He clicks a few buttons to hit pause. Neon lights paint his bedroom walls, casting shadow on the wall behind him and dimmed by the pause menu. A simpler techno beat replaces the flashy, high energy background music of an intense boss battle. Gaku gropes his bed for the remote to turn the sound lower.

You knock at the door just when Gaku expects you. He tosses his controller and remote onto the bed , landing with a barely audible thud.

He opens his door to find you right where he thought you’d be. Leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest and eyes lidded—he stares at you, observing your expression. It’s not like he’s going to interrogate you, not really.

He can just tell. You’re thinking about something. Could be anything. He knows a lot about you. All of things you say to him when you impolitely assume he’s not listening are kept in the same part of his mind all the other details about you are. He doesn’t think you’re upset about anything. He’s developed a sixth sense for that.

You’re here for something else. Gaku has a guess, though he doesn’t voice it to you. Just looks on with lidded eyes and waits. Something else is on your mind, too he’s sure. He can tell you don’t want to talk about it. Or that it’s not worth talking about to you.

You’ve got your hoodie barely zipped up, he notices. Gaku’s hoodie, actually. It’s too big on him, and falls even bigger on you, the shoulder slipping off of your frame revealing the skin underneath. Gaku lets his eyes run over the vision. Tugging at the front of your top and pulling it down, covering your shorts and making it look like you’re wearing nothing at all—you fidget conspicuously. Shifting your weight from one side to another. He gets a clear view of the set you’re wearing. Work-out clothes, he thinks.

He feels his lips twitch at the sight of you. You pick your head up to look at him, expectant. You don’t want to say what you’re thinking, but you look like you figure he might pry anyway. Sometimes he does. In matters concern you, he often finds himself sticking his nose in places it doesn’t belong in general. He does want to know, but decides it’s fine for now.

It’s not mercy. He just doesn’t think he needs to ask. Whatever it is, he can do it for you if needs to. He does a lazy glance in the hallway for sight of anyone.

When he finds no one, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into the room all in one go.

You let out a squeal as he grabs you. It’s easy to do it. All the strength he’s been building has its uses other than killing. He’s learned that lesson because of you. Your hands are fisted against his chest, arms folded at the elbow--as he shuts the door behind you and backs you into it. He uses his other arm to cage you—resting his weight on his forearm as his hand clenched into a first.

He should give you a second to breathe. Should play nice when you’re already looking for a way to wash your hands of your thoughts.

But, he doesn’t want to let go of you right away. This close proximity—the slight tension in the air. Feels good because it’s you. Impossibly close with unspoken understanding.

Already close, he wonders if it’d be fine just to linger there for a minute longer than he would otherwise.

With an arm still around your spine, Gaku presses into your space. His nose is milimeters away from yours. The only light faint from the TV screen, the atmosphere around you shifts in the darkness. Your face is shrouded, but up this close he can see you with perfect clarity. Like you’re the only two people in the world. Your wide eyes, glimmering with expectancy. Mouth pressed into a flat line like you’re unamused—in a way that’s completely contrary to how you’re staring at him.

He can see every detail. A part of him thinks he could trace them out with his eyes closed.

Both things make him wanna kiss you. Both your stubborn desire to hold onto a petty grudge (that is, him pulling you in and surprising you) and the obvious, bone-deep devoted look in your eye.

Before you can ask him anything, Gaku lets you go. With your back now pressed up against the door, he uses his free hand to to tip your chin up and kiss you.

You relent easy. He knew you would. Always quick to forgive him when he gets on your nerves. Your arms loop around his neck and his hands finds your hips and you kiss. Your lips are soft and warm. They taste like cheap vanilla, the artificial taste that comes with whatever chapstick you use.

(Gaku knows the brand. As in, he could get it for you if he saw it but he doesn’t know the name. Another unimportant detail he keeps tucked away for himself.)

He’s fond of the way you melt into his touch. Your body slumped against the door, the lazy draw of your limbs and your arms around his neck - sleeves pulled your hands. The tension bleeds from you as kiss him back eagerly.

You always kiss too fast. The first few times he had to tell you to take it easy. You never learned. He kind of hopes you never do

Gaku prefers to draw it out. Pull away for a while with nothing but the threads of spit and bitten lips as proof before kissing you again. But you’re eager, excitable. Your tongue laps at his lips hurriedly, brows furrowed -desperate and whimpering. Greedy. Wanting for more because Gaku can give it to you just fine if you want it.

You never have to tell Gaku what you want. For the most part, he doesn’t how else to operate other than give you whatever. Never asks you for any favors, just gives it because it makes sense to him. Gaku likes kissing slow, but for you—it’s fine to kiss a little faster.

His tongue slips against your mouth. The pace changes. The air in the room becomes thick around you and Gaku can’t breathe around it it. Seemingly, neither can you, but it doesn’t deter you.

Doesn’t deter your eagerness. He’s fond of it. Lets you suck on his tongue and kiss him sloppy just because.

It amuses him. He lets you do what you want. Gets him hard to see you act that way, despite knowing each time you come to him for something—its already yours. Puppyish to your own demise, Gaku squeezes your hips. His hands slip under the fabric of your hoodie until he can feel the waistband of your shorts.

Your skin is bare underneath. Just a bra and shorts then. Good to know.

You pull away panting. Face flush, mouth spit slick. Still so adoring in a way that makes his stomach flip. Excites him in a way so few things in the world do. It makes him laugh. If he had a shirt for you to tug on, you would.

You’re not gonna ask for it directly. Gaku doesn’t exactly feel like making you, either.

He nudges his nose against your jawline before he bites gently into the space below your chin. A breath of laughter passes through his nose as he slips his hand into your, fingers locked and tugs you further into his room. A silent confirmation.

Yeah, he thinks. If you want it.

Falling into bed with you is always easy.

You crawl into his bed like you belong there. Get comfortable in his unfolded clothes, his blankets, his pillows. You’re never in the same place very long but Gaku likes the sight of you in his temporary bed, with his things.

The lines between you and him blur when you’re tucked in with his other belongings and Gaku sort of likes it that way. He tries not to reflect on it.

You sit on your knees, expectant. Reaching out to grab Gaku’s hand but holding his finger, you pull him into bed along side you. He looks at you amused, head tilted to one side. You put a hand on his thigh and Gaku gets the message - scooting himself to sit up against a wall.

Your eyes light up, just a little. You crawl into his lap like a spoiled thing. Your knees on either side of his thighs as he’s spread out, straddling his waist with his hoodie still on. He can feel himself get hard right away. It feels pathetic every time, but it’s the way it goes. Your ass is soft as you sit on his dick like its yours. He can feel the heat radiating off you. You grind back against him tentatively.

He lets out a deep sigh.

He can see you a little better this way. It’s the way you’re both sitting. Gaku with his back a side wall and you just over. The light from the TV is close enough to cast on your face. Your features are clearer this way. The subtle nuances of your expression especially visible.

It’s so easy to tell when you want him to fuck you. Of all of things he likes about fucking you (and that list is long)—it’s this face that drives him most up the wall. Makes him want for it even when he thinks less of himself for being so easy.

You’re vicious. And talented. You’ve got a knack for assassination like no one else, not motivated by blood lust but some strange desire to be the very best at it, if you’re going to do it all.

But you’re so debauched like this. Eyes clouded in visible arousal. Wearing an athleisure fit that’s perfectly, seamlessly tight and so see-through in all of the right places. Wearing his hoodie.

That look on your face like you want his dick so fucking bad, so desperately—that you’d go as far as begging him. He knows you would. You practically are. A sloppy, ultimately transparent attempt to get him to pound your pussy the way you like. The way you need.

(The way he’s made you need)

You don’t really have to do any of it. It’d be just as easy if you barged in and pulled his pants down. He wouldn’t say no to you. Might laugh, but wouldn’t turn you away.

But you work for things you want. Like a compulsion. If Gaku’s gonna fuck you, it can’t just be because he’s whipped beyond words (he has enough self-awareness to know, but tries not to dwell.)

You would want him to lust after you just as bad, get him hard and excited since it’s not easy to accomplish. There’s nothing for you to earn but you’ll earn it anyway.

Gaku ruts his dick against your ass, feeling the outline of his cock stretch the seam of your shorts. Like he’s trying to fuck you through it. He’s hard. It’s making him dizzy, just how much. All you’ve done is kiss, he remembers.

It doesn’t make his hard-on any less severe.

You urge him to do it again. Rub yourself against him as best you can, grinding at his lap for friction on your clit. Your body wracks with a shiver, mouth fallen open as you use your hands on his legs to keep yourself up and rut against him for pleasure—moving back so you’re pussy is sliding against him properly. Riding his hard-on. The sheer material of your shorts gives him a preview of how you’ve got nothing on underneath, your pussy visible in the thin stretchy material. So wet it’s dampening them. They seep through the fabric. Nylon and spandex and polyester. Too thin.

It turns him on so much it makes his head throb.

Gaku’s hands slide up underneath your hoodie again. Your skin is warm underneath the tips of his fingers. Even through bandaged hand he can feel you just slightly. They travel upwards, until he’s at the end of your sports bra. He gets underneath the stretchy band, pulling it up until it sits bunched up over your breasts— just underneath your neck and chin.

Your nipples are hard from arousal, pert and begging for his attention. Gaku likes the way you feel in grasp. Soft and warm and supple, sweet and pliable under his touch. His palms squeezes the fat of your tits, playing with them as you grind yourself on his cock unabashedly. Head thrown back and not entirely paying attention—something he’ll tese you for later. He squishes your tits together, testing their gravity. His fingers brushing across your nipples, flicking lightly. Teasing and rolling them with the pads of his thumb.

Above him you shiver. Moan out his name, still humping yourself on him. He figures you’ll tucker out soon. Beg him to put in it. He decides to wait it out more.

He leans in close, placing a kiss under your sternum before his mouth travels upwards. Gaku is meticulous as his tongue laves over the soft patches of skin. He kisses and licks first, but always finishes with a bite or bruise. He can’t help himself. He loves the way his teeth sink in. Loves the mark it leaves in your skin when he bites hard enough, the indents of his incisors and canines that linger for a long while after him.

(Loves kissing the yellowing bruises when you have sex in the mornings. On the rare slow and lazy days where the sex more sweet than anything. He tries to save it for when you’re sleepy. For his sake and yours)

You moan loudly when his tongue flicks against hardened buds. Impatience flickers through him listening to you. His hands grip your ass hard enough to keep you in place - no longer content with just sitting. His mouth sucks and licks at your nipples while his hands change the pace from a shallow grind to a long, deep one.

He moves you with intention against the outline of his cock. Slowly, steadily - at the kind of pace that lets him worship your chest with his tongue and teeth without risking a bite that’s too hard. Your hands fall around his neck, as you curl into him.

Once Gaku gets control of you like this, you’re eager to let him have it. You give into the forcefulness of his touch, the demand of it. Your words are more whimpers and please against his neck. Your nails are digging into the muscles of his back—no doubt leaving red marks for him to admire later. He’s sure he’ll get a look from Kei when he sees them.

Your shoulders are trembling. The first word to leave your lips is one Gaku likes hearing you say. Whined against the column of his throat, muffled but loud enough for him to catch.

“Please,”

It’s like a gut-punch. Makes the lust in him so urgent, so heavy, so daunting—he can feel it in the way moves. His breathing is labored. He presses his head against your chest and inhales deeply. Tries to mellow and keep composure.

It just feels like he can’t get his dick into you fast enough. Feels like there’s no amount of time he’s willing to be patient for it. He needs his dick in you now, needs to take you by your hips and bounce you on his lap.

You did say please. He’s being fair, is all.

Gaku grabs the thin material of your shorts and rips it right along the seam. You gasp, but you’re too worked up to protest it. Soaked all the way through, your clit is hard and demanding attention. Gaku slips his his dick out from under his sweats quickly.

He taps the head of his cock right against your clit, rubbing it with his tip - a mess of pre-cum making it sticky. Gaku moans low in the back of his throat, eyes rolling back.

Fuck. Fuck. You feel so wet. So fucking good. Just thinking about putting it in makes him ache.

It’s your hand that guides the head of his cock into your pussy.

Without prep, you’re dripping wet but still so tight. You’ve taken him enough to know your limits, but you’re eager. Just as much as he is, for him to split you in half the way he’s good at. Your pussy stretches easily to the shape of him. Accommodates what it knows so well. Your body makes home for him.

Gaku can hear how fucking wet you are, each inch stretching you out further and further. He holds your hips and waits for you to sink down all the way.

When you bottom out, Gaku’s jaw grits ever so slightly. He waits for you to get used to. You slide yourself slowly, up and down until the stretch of his cock isn’t achy. He can tell when it starts to feel good for you.

Your pussy opens up for him so well, gets slippery and soft and so perfect for him to fuck into, he isn’t sure what he was doing before that. You feel so fucking good to him every time.

You stop, your arms wrapping around his shoulder blades and hugging him tight. You say his name that time to substitute for please, synonyms of each other. A testament to how easy he is when it involves you.

Gaku gives you what you want. Of course he does. He takes both of his hands and holds onto your waist and fucks you exactly the way you deserve. You cry aloud, sobbing into his neck from pleasure. Your pussy squeezes around him in that familiar way and he groans. He knows you came without telling him. He knows that feel better than anything.

It spurs him into action. Gaku builds it up but it takes practically no time for him to piston you. Half-way between holding you up so he can fuck into you and slamming you onto his cock with endless stamina and relentless desire. Whatever inbetween he finds is a good one, makes sure he knocks into your sweet spot in exactly the right way.

The sound it makes each time he pounds into you echoes in the room. It’s filthy—the wet sound of skin to skin and his cock stretching you over and over and over. It’s good. It’s always so good with you.

You sneak a shaky hand between your bodies. Gaku can tell you’re getting close, your fingers clumsy and twitching. You’re trying your best to match up to his brutal pace, but the thought only endears him more. Makes him harder, growing bigger inside you.

It’s easy enough to hold off until you cum first. Until he feels your pussy clamp down on him tight again, feels you tremble and shake in his grip as you bite into his bare shoulder and cum hard. Your whole body curling into him, crying as Gaku fucks you through it.

When you’ve fallen limp and come down from your high— that’s when Gaku finally lets himself go. His thrusts grow sloppy - fucking into your went cunt shallowly until he feels the muscles in your stomach tense. He cums inside, unable to pull out from the way you have him gripped. Thick ropes of cum paint your insides and slowly drip back out onto his cock.

Gaku stays inside of you even as he goes soft. He can feel you in his arms, your breathing growing steady again as you both catch your breath.

He uses a hand to pull hair away from your face, kissing whatever he can reach. A rare, quiet intimacy that makes sense to him in the moment. You let out a giggle, a sweet sound from your lips and Gaku finds himself smiling just barely.

Whatever you want, Gaku thinks. It’ll be yours if he can get it for you.

#gaku x reader #gaku smut #sakamoto days x reader #sakamoto days smut #writing tag #this was so humbling. guy ive characterized with nothing but delusion and vibes. sorry

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yesimwriting · 1 year ago

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Understanding

Part 2: Untethered

A/n the reader in this is not the same reader as the one from my aemond fic, they just have a similar background for plot (and bc i love rhaenyra's child x alicent's child trope, it's so montagues and capulets)

Summary: After speaking to his mother and small council, Aegon begins to doubt the unspoken understanding between himself and Rhaenyra's intended heir, who agreed to be taken by the greens in exchange for her brother's life.

Warnings: there are some plot deviations (mainly the implication that aegon and helaena are not married), the whole ethical 'dating someone you're technically holding hostage' dilemma, and canon compliant incest

----

The groan of the floorboards takes its time floating through your apartments, the sound so soft you don't even stir.

Aegon sighs. You've been a ridiculously heavy sleeper since childhood. He can still recall the way you'd leave these very apartments for breakfast, hair unbrushed and eyes drowsy. He dismisses the thought as he takes another step forward. You're no longer a princess with the luxury of leisure. You're staying in what you consider 'enemy territory'. One would think you'd have the decency to struggle to find sleep. If nothing else, the decency to miss him.

He swallows. Thoughts of the corner of your mouth tugging itself into a smile you didn't mean to share, of your gentle whispers felt more than heard in the darkness, of the warmth of your fingertips dragging against his skin have plagued him since he left you this morning. Aegon has not been able to release you from his mind, and here you are, perfectly content without him in a room you are only allowed access to because of his favor.

If you continue to indulge her, she'll never feel like a prisoner. The echo of his mother's words feel sharper than they should, a needle piercing his chest. Aegon had originally dismissed the sentiment. Despite the complicated nature of your presence here, the two of you have found a sort of rhythm. An inconvenient understanding.

So what if he offers you privileges that none of his half-sister's children should be allotted? You dismiss your instincts in favor of being there for him in a way no one else is. You talk; and you listen; and you lay next to him in the dark, your fingers tracing patterns against his arm until you fall asleep.

Aegon had never felt affronted by the casualness of your unspoken arrangement until his mother brought him back to reality. As long as you allow her to exist in this in between without asking for anything in return, she will remain loyal to her mother. A mother who is desperate enough to marry her off to secure alliances.

The floor creeks as he takes another step forward, this time the sound less dismissible. You shift, body twisting as you move from your stomach onto your side.

A pinprick of something akin to guilt dulls the beginning of his spiral. You mumble a sound that feels like a question. Aegon studies your movements as you wipe at your eyes. You lift your head slightly, eyes squinting in the darkness.

"Aegon?" Your features seem to ease, a hint of a smile pulling at your lips as you lift your head. "I didn't think you had time for me tonight."

There's a gentleness to your voice that leaves his stomach in knots. He's lapped at your affection like a wounded dog finally stumbling onto water. Has it all been a ploy?

If his silence affects your disposition, you give no indication of it. Instead, you beam at him before allowing yourself to slump onto your back. You pull at the blankets in an attempt to create space for him.

Aegon keeps his back to you as he sits. He takes his time laying down, one of his arms resting in the space between the two of you. Still half asleep, you reach for him. The back of your palm brushes against his wrist. You turn your hand over, fingers beginning their familiar path up his arm.

His eyes remain open, his attention set on the ceiling. You've yet to finish outlining his forearm before Aegon's turning his arm. The shift is subtle, more of an implication than an actual attempt at dismissing you. The subtlety of the movement is not enough to prevent your reaction. Despite his jokes and teasing comments, Aegon knows better than to do anything that offers you an opportunity to overthink about your your time alone together. There's a moment of stillness, and then your hand leaves him.

You turn onto your side, the weight of your stare making it nearly impossible for Aegon to remain still. "Are you--are you alright?" The question is cautious, tinged by an uncertainty that makes you sound smaller than you ever have before.

Have you ever experienced any type of rejection before? You're Rhaenyra's first born, her intended heir. The beloved princess, doted on by your mother, cared for by your supposed father, spoiled by your grandsire. His father's illness was never enough to keep him from you, the only child he had the strength to get out of bed for. You don't know what it's like to long for anything.

"We had an arrangement--an agreement." Aegon pushes himself away from you as he sits. You prop your head up, staring at him. Aegon cannot bring himself to look into your eyes. "That I'd be honest with you, and you'd be honest with me."

You sit up. "What?" You bend your knees, the sheets slipping down your legs. Aegon presses his nails into the skin of his palm. "I've--I've been honest. I've never lied to you."

The defense comes out so quick and innocent it nearly strips the accusation of any weight. It's a response that'd better suit a child caught stealing extra sweets or rough housing with a younger sibling.

He finally turns his head. The room's lack of light is not enough to diminish your wide eyes. You're radiating such innocence Aegon could choke on it. He's reminded of why he kept you at arm's length throughout your childhood. The good, perfect daughter. The future heir.

"You said your mother had no intentions of marrying you off. That you were not betrothed--"

"I'm not."

Aegon lets out a breath. "Then why did I have to spend most of my evening listening to my small council discuss your mother's latest potential alliances and addressing rumors about your mother's plan to marry you to some lord as a way of securing their support?"

You're quiet for a moment, hands clasped tightly around your knees. "I cannot help rumors." Some odd feeling gnaws at Aegon's stomach. "And you know that I haven't been home in some time. I can't control my mother anymore than you can control yours."

What a politically appropriate answer. He scoffs. "I find it difficult to believe that your mother would ever use you as a bargaining chip without--at the very least--mentioning it to you first."

If there's one thing that doesn't come naturally to you, it's deception. You tilt your chin downwards, your attention falling onto anything that isn't him.

Aegon reaches for your hand. You let him untangle your fingers. He pulls your hand forward, his thumb dragging against your knuckles. His hold on you tightens as he brings the back of your palm to his lips. A part of him is repulsed by how much he means the gesture.

He doesn't let go of you as he brings his hand back to the mattress. Aegon allows himself a moment to embrace the stillness, and then he's shifting forward. His available hand finds your shoulder. His weight presses against you, forcing you back until you're pinned against the headboard.

He holds his breath, waiting for some kind of protest, some insult or attempt to push him away. All you do is watch him, the slightest crease between your eyebrows. "Aegon."

"Tell me." Aegon's fingers press into your shoulder. "Tell me it isn't true and I will believe you. I want to believe you."

Your lips part, but you do not speak. An uncomfortable heat burns its way up his neck. "I--I did not lie." You hold his gaze. "I am not betrothed, but before I was brought here, my mother did mention that she was beginning to consider it."

All of the time he's spent indulging in your presence, living out some ridiculous fantasy of having your attention, believing everything you've told him--he's been nothing more than a fool.

"I wanted to mention it when you asked, but I was..." Your voice wavers. "Honestly, I was afraid."

His gaze falls downwards, his eyes unintentionally landing on your lips. "Because you needed me."

"No." You shake your head slightly, the motion rigid. "Our understanding," you pause, lips briefly pressing together, "Our friendship, was so new and uncertain--and I was afraid of ruining it, of being alone here, of--of the potential engagement. All of it." Your eyes are shinier than they were a moment ago. "I wanted to pretend it didn't exist."

This is the first time you've ever given any indication of not naturally taking to your responsibilities. You agreed to be taken hostage in exchange for your brother's life with little complaint or theatrical martyrism, but the thought of marrying a stranger to aid your mother's war effort shakes you to your core.

Sympathy and petulant satisfaction blend together uneasily, a continuation in the cycle of wanting you while also desiring to take everything from you.

His thumb drags down your shoulder, the warmth of your skin nearly dizzying. "Would you do it if she asked?"

You swallow. "It wouldn't matter. I'm here." He continues to trace a pattern against your shoulder. You squeeze his hand. "You can't have a wedding without the bride."

You're holding onto him with an intensity that's easing. "And if you weren't?"

As silence falls over the two of you, Aegon studies your expression. You're giving him very little to work with. "I wouldn't have a choice." Anything you've had with him has been out of the sake of convenience. It doesn't matter to you. "Aegon, you--you understand that." His lips part, but he has no response worth giving. "You have to understand that."

Aegon's hold on your hand tightens, fingers digging into into the skin of your palm. "Why?" The desperation in the question turns his stomach. He shifts his weight away from you, his hand trailing down your arm. "Do you care for me?"

Your straighten, back pulling away from the headboard. Aegon cannot will himself to read your features. "Do I care for you?" There's a barely there lilt to your voice that only makes it impossible for him to just sit there.

He forces himself to focus on the crumpled sheets in front of him. Something warm finds its way to his cheek--your hand. Your thumb drags itself across the side of his face. Aegon allows his eyes to fall shut. Gently, you guide his head forward.

"Aegon." He opens his eyes. "How many times have I been alone with you, have I--have I slept in the same bed as you?" You stumble, eyes briefly leaving his. Aegon can't help his slight smile. While you've always known about the impropriety of sleeping next to him, he doubts you know why it's viewed that way. You let out a breath in an attempt to recover. "I have risked my reputation, risked betraying my own mother--and you have to ask."

Aegon's vision blurs. He presses his lips together, forcing himself to not look away. "Of course I care for you."

He places a hand over the one you placed on his cheek. There's a lot of responses that Aegon should offer you, some declaration, some assurance of his fondness for you, but he's never been particularly talented at expressing the sentimental.

His fingers bend around your own, carefully pulling your hand away from his cheek. He sets your hand down on the mattress gently. You blink at him curiously, but before you can overthink the action, Aegon's shifting forward.

He presses his lips against yours. You're rigid, body still until he pulls your bottom lip between both of his. Aegon moves closer, one hand finding the back of your head. You lean forward, arms wrapping around his neck. You move your weight onto your knees, Aegon's available hand coming to your waist to keep you stable.

Aegon's head tilts back, creating space that you're more than ready to fill. His teeth tug at your bottom lip. You hands slide away from his neck, down his shoulders, settling on his chest. Aegon's hand moves away from your hip, coming to rest on your thigh.

The need for air brings him back to reality. Aegon breaks the kiss slowly, pulling away without letting you go. For a moment, all he can do is grin at you as you both catch your breath. "If I had known you had it in you, Princess..."

The use of your title seems to make you realize that you're still practically on his lap. You move back, making a point of sitting up straight. You roll your eyes, but between your ragged breaths and inability to lift your gaze, the look falls flat.

You keep your legs between the two of you, a barrier that bends at your knees. Aegon's smile broadens. He's not sure he's ever seen you so unsure of yourself. "I--that wasn't..."

"You can relax." You finally look up again, eyebrows drawn together in what he assumes is a display of skepticism. "I won't tell anyone." His hand find your lower leg, fingers tracing a delicate pattern against your skin. "And if anyone accuses you of anything, I'll have their tongue."

He sets his hand against your knee, his touch growing in security. You stare at your leg incredulously. "Aegon."

"What?" His thumb trails across your skin. "Would you prefer their head?"

You tilt your head, expression unamused. Aegon smiles, leaning forward to place a quick kiss against your knee before moving towards his original spot. You turn your head, watching him carefully.

Aegon lets out a sigh as he sinks into a pillow. "I'm tired."

You lay down next to him. "I didn't realize I wore you out."

The grin in your voice is audible. Aegon uses his forearm for support as he lifts himself to lean over you. "Do not start something you can't finish."

The corner of your mouth pulls itself upwards, the look similar but not quite the same as the accidental smiles Aegon has grown accustomed to. He smiles as he lies down, his head resting against your upper stomach.

You're quick to accept the proximity, your hand moving to smooth through his hair. Aegon's arm settles against your waist. This newfound closeness is nearly overwhelming in the relief it offers him. The feeling grabs at him, forcing out words he is not ready to say, "We could always get married." He tries to swallow, but the dryness of his mouth makes it impossible. "Then your mother wouldn't be able to marry you off to anyone."

Your fingers stall against his scalp. "Aegon--"

"I'd be a good husband to you."

At your silence, his fingers press into your side as if you might slip away if given the chance. After a beat, your nails begin to brush through his hair again. "You are thinking of the war, of your claim, of--of your small cou--"

"I am thinking of you."

You let out a sigh Aegon feels more than hears. "We need to be realistic. Would my mother's retaliation not concern you?"

He forces himself to focus on your tangibility. "The only thing concerning me is figuring out how to keep you here as long as possible." He drags his knuckles against your hip. "You once told me that you'd never get married, and that instead you'd spend your life riding dragons and eating cake."

You let out a soft laugh. "I can't believe you remember that."

"You sounded very serious." Aegon releases your side in favor of finding your hand. His fingers trace patterns against your palm. "We could get married and spend our days riding dragons and eating cake."

Your drag your hand away from his head, palm settling against his back. You begin to smooth circles against the fabric of his shirt. "Now you be serious."

Aegon intertwines your fingers, squeezing your palm to his. "I know better than to jest about cake."

You're so quiet he'd assume you fell asleep if it wasn't for the patterns still being traced against his spine. "Can we just...can we give it some time?"

He's not sure what you expect to get from time. The realm will still be divided, his half-sister will only grow more desperate and willing to marry you off for support, and his mother will continue to question why he's keeping you in this limbo. But the request is far from a rejection.

You've always been practical, the kind of person to think through prospects instead of trusting your instinct. Aegon is your best option, the closest thing you have to a lifeline. The way you feel about him has already encouraged you to cross lines you would have never considered approaching. Perhaps time and his attention will be what it takes to put it all into perspective for you.

Aegon lifts your hand to his mouth, his lips brushing against your knuckles. "We can give it all the time you need, Princess."

You mumble something he can't quite make out. Before Aegon can ask about it, your hand stills against him. Without looking up, he knows that you've fallen asleep.

----

A/n i had to throw in a little alicent and rhaenyra parallel <3 i could see myself writing a part 2 to this so if you like that idea lmk!! or if u want more hotd in general :)

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon #aegon x reader #x targaryen!reader #hotd aegon #aegon the second #aegon the second x reader

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27spoons · 5 months ago

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Dizzy on the Comedown | Natalie Scatorccio

summary: Denial is a river in Egypt.

pairing: natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

based on: pretty girls - reneé rapp

warnings: smut (afab!reader), internalized homophobia (nat), period typical homophobia (if you squint), ambiguously queer!reader, angst in my pants, I know nothing about soccer

a/n: technically you can read this part without reading part one but you should read part one anyway <3

wc: 5540

part one / ao3

The chair next to you is empty.

Again.

It's been empty all week, and despite your best efforts at convincing yourself that it's fine, you can't stop the void from weighing on your conscience. Sure, missing one day was fine. Normal, even. It isn't Natalie if she doesn't miss at least one class a week.

But there's something about how she's been dodging your calls, the fact that this is the second day in a row she's conveniently missed the one class you two share, and the nagging pit in your stomach that says this absence feels different.

You try to focus on the lecture—something about the economic structures of ancient civilizations—but the professor’s voice fades into the background.

You knew this would happen. You knew it would end up hurting one or both of you. For once, you're grateful your seat is in the back of the lecture hall because it lets you close your eyes and press your head into your palms in frustration.

The remainder of the lecture is spent in thought, wondering how the hell you're supposed to repair a relationship when the other person doesn't even talk to you.

Ugh.

By the time the lecture ends, your head is far too busy, wondering why the hell she's avoiding you instead of just talking about whatever—

Nope. Actually, that's perfectly in character, now that you think about it. Why talk about things when you could just wall yourself off and refuse to converse over what you deem problematic?

With a roll of your eyes, you stand up from your seat and throw on your backpack, making record time back to your dorm.

Your first order of business? The soccer schedule Nat gave you at the start of the season.

She has a game tonight.

Perfect.

If she won't talk like adults, you'll ambush her after her soccer game ends. Either way, you two will talk about this, whether she likes it or not.

You glance down at your watch as you arrive at the soccer field.

4:50, the analog clock flashes back at you—ten minutes to match start.

Truthfully, you've never been that big of a soccer fan. Despite attending most of Nat's soccer games since high school, you don't understand the game. You just know she kicks a ball around a field over the course of an hour and a half. Should you have learned a thing or two by now? Probably. Oh, well. That's a thought for another night. You don't need to understand the game's dynamics to understand that more goals equals win, and winning is good.

Rather than sitting in your usual spot, right behind Nat's bench, you sit in the middle of the bleachers, right in a mess of people, out of view unless you're actively searching the stands for someone.

When the teams come out onto the field, your eyes find Nat immediately jogging out behind some girl with black hair and tan skin. Instinctively, you shrink further into the crowd as if she would even end up looking your way—because why would she? You know the areas that her friends usually sit in—and you're far from any of them. Regardless, you tug your hood up all the same and hunch over slightly in your seat.

Right after halftime passes, you make the mistake of stretching your arms above your head in an attempt to relieve the tension that's started building in your back since you began hunching your back. And, of course, that just so happens to be the exact point of time Natalie looks up into the stands as she sets her water bottle down.

Good going. Your one goal was to be stealthy.

You tense slightly, and you honestly don't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't her just… glancing away and heading back out to the field. Or… maybe you should have expected it. She has a game to win, after all. What was she supposed to do? Ditch the game and start talking to you?

Either way, you notice she doesn't play nearly as well as she did in the first half. A part of you wonders if you're partially at fault for that.

By the time the game ends, the team manages to come out on top, one to nothing. You're not that big of an asshole that you'd interrupt a post-game celebration, but the second you see the team part and head to the changing rooms, you try and make a beeline for the familiar mop of bleach blonde hair mingling in the mess of soccer players. Yet, she's gone before you can grab her shoulder and talk.

Goddammit.

You suppose she doesn't play soccer because she's slow.

But you'll be damned if she manages to slip past you again tonight.

You spend a good thirty minutes pacing outside one of the entrances to the locker rooms, already knowing that you could have very well missed her by now if she slipped out the opposite exit, but that's a chance you're willing to take.

She usually takes a shower after a game, anyway. It's not odd for her to spend a little longer in the showers, but thirty minutes is a little excessive.

Still, in all your wisdom, you decide you'll wait an hour at the most. Not like you have anything better to do tonight, anyway.

By the forty-five-minute mark, you start debating your sanity.

By the fifty-minute mark, you start debating leaving—

The door opens. "Natalie!" You say immediately, pushing off the wall and walking in quick strides towards her, "Nat! Hold on!"

The girl scoffs and keeps walking away, shaking her head in annoyance. "Oh my God. I knew you were gonna try something when I saw you in the stands today."

"You've been avoiding me!" You yell back, "What the fuck was I supposed to do? You haven't been showing up to class, you've been avoiding my calls… I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know!" She calls back, not bothering to stop and look at you, "I think that maybe you should have waited until I came to you!"

"We both know you wouldn't have, Natalie! You would—" You quicken your stride again, "Fuck! Would you slow down for two seconds?! Or at least look at me when I'm talking to you?"

"If you can't say what you need to say while I'm walking, then it probably isn't even worth saying!" She responds with a humourless chuckle, "Not like I'm running away! Just walking!"

You huff at that, forcing out air through your nose. "Natalie." She keeps walking, "Natalie!" You finally snap, reaching out to grab at her wrist, "Stop fucking walking for a minute!" A beat, "Please." The last comment comes out slightly more desperate than you intend it to, but you don't know what you'll do if she doesn't talk about this with you, "Please, Nat." You breathe out, fully leaning into the desperation at this point, "Fuck, I… I can't lose you over something like this."

That makes her pause despite her initial struggle when you grabbed her wrist. She still doesn't face you, but she does stop walking.

"You…" You can see the way her face contorts in an expression similar to pain, "You aren't gonna lose me over this."

"Then just…" A shaky sigh, "God, Nat. Just talk to me. Please. Stop… running—literally—just… just talk to me." You release her wrist after a moment longer, drawing your hand back to your side.

"I can't." She whispers, "God… I just… I can't, okay?"

"Why not, Natalie?!" You can't help how your voice breaks on her name, "Why not?? We used to tell each other everything! When did that change?"

"It hasn't, okay?!" Nat snaps, turning around to look at you. "It hasn't changed! I'm just not ready to talk about this right now! Why can't you accept that?!"

"Because I know you! And I know that you'll just keep fucking avoiding this until it kills us!"

"Oh, wow." She scoffs, immediately throwing up those barriers you've become so accustomed to. "Y'sure think real highly of yourself, huh? That us not talking would kill me? Wow."

"You know that's not what I meant!" You hiss out as you take a step forward, "You know damn well I meant "killing our relationship," not… literally killing us!" You throw your hands up in equal parts frustration and confusion as to why she's acting like this, "Natalie, you have to know I'm not about to force you into a role or something—"

She slaps a hand over your mouth, "Would you lower your voice?!" She hisses at you, glancing around the area to see if anyone overheard, "Fuck! And, no, you aren't forcing me into a "role" because I'm straight!"

You yank her hand off of your mouth, "Natalie, you—!" You two enter a whisper-yelling competition, "Natalie. In case you fucking forgot, you were—" You glance around the area briefly, still focusing on watching your voice, "—tongue-fucking-deep in my fucking vagina the other night!"

Nat blushes furiously at the comment, jaw-dropping, and her entire body freezes.

But, hey, you're already on a roll. "And, as far as I'm fucking concerned, straight chicks don't spend hours fucking her "best friend"—who is a woman—and fucking enjoy it!"

Her jaw remains on the floor as you finish speaking, and you really don't know what to do from here, but you really don't want her to walk off yet, so you do the reasonable thing.

You grab her face and draw her in for a kiss.

The kiss lasts about five seconds, in which she doesn't kiss you back at all, so you release her face and take a step back, swallowing down the lump in your throat. "I—"

Her hand connects with your face with a loud THWACK, causing your head to flick to the side in shock, despite it not being that hard or hurtful.

Your hand moves to the cheek she hit, and it's your turn to drop your jaw. "Did you just… hit me?" You ask in equal parts, shock and reluctant arousal.

Nat's mouth opens and closes a few times—as if she can't believe what she did either. "I… yes?"

A beat, an exasperated huff, "You don't even know if you hit me??"

"No! I mean… I know I hit you! I just…" She presses a hand to her head, just as confused as you are, apparently. "I didn't expect to hit you!"

"Well… you did??" You blink a few times as you try to recollect yourself, "Why??"

"I don't know?!" She yells back, "I don't know, okay?! I just—!" She groans in frustration, throwing her hands in the air. "Fuck, you piss me off!" And you think that she's about to storm off or hit you again, but she does something very unexpected and very appreciated—

She grabs your face and kisses you. Properly this time. You hesitate only a moment before you return the kiss, hands immediately wrapping around her waist to draw her closer to your body.

The kiss is short-lived but intense, tongues pressing against each other in a flurry of want, Nat pressing up onto her toes to deepen it further, body pressing flush to yours as her arms wrap themself around your neck in a tight hold.

When the kiss breaks, her face remains close to yours. "Take me back to your dorm." She murmurs against your lips, warm breath fanning over your face.

You hesitate for a moment, shaking your head minutely. "Nat, we… we need to talk about this—"

"Later." She cuts you off, "Please, later. I promise I'll talk about it with you." A beat, and she looks up at you with wide eyes, "You know I'm good on my word."

And, for all Nat is, she is good on her word. If she says she'll do something, she'll do it.

Another moment of hesitation, a quiet breath leaving your lips, "Y-yeah. Yes. Rachel is always at her boyfriend's place, anyway. We'll have the place to ourselves."

A small grin quirks on Natalie's lips, "Oh, boy. A twin-sized bed in a dorm with walls thinner than paper, all to ourselves. I can't wait."

You scoff and roll your eyes, detaching yourself from her hold, "You're the one that suggested my dorm room, asshole. We could have gone to yours."

She gives an exasperated pout, "But my dormmate is always home. And she snores."

You nudge your head in the general direction of your dorm, "Whatever. C'mon, before I change my mind."

"We both know you won't do that, though." She hums alongside you.

The second you two are in your dorm room, your backpacks are on the floor, and clothes are being quickly discarded.

"For the record," Nat murmurs as she throws her shirt off over her head, "I'm not—"

"Nope!" You cut her off as your hands move to your belt, "Don't wanna hear you say some shit like "I'm not gay" again after the conversation we just had."

The blonde scoffs and rolls her eyes, "I wasn't gonna say that." She falls back onto your bed and wiggles out of her pants, "I was gonna say "I'm not sure how much fun doing this in a twin-size is gonna be" if you would have let me finish."

A grin crosses your face, "Oh, trust me. I fully plan on having you finish multiple times tonight." You shoot her an overexaggerated wink, which earns you a (barely restrained) giggle and eye roll, with her pants being thrown at you. "Hey!" You catch her pants as they hit your chest, "You walked into that one. Only person you can blame is yourself."

"You talk so much, you know that?" She props herself up on her elbows and looks over you, "And you still have far too many clothes on. That needs to change."

"Yeah, I would have been more naked if someone hadn't thrown her pants at me." To tease her a little more, you spend your time folding her pants and delicately placing them on a chair, then do the same with her shirt that was discarded on the floor.

"Dude." Nat groans, "Seriously?" You see her kick her leg out at you through the corner of your eye, and a smirk twitches its way onto your lips as you continue the methodical process of folding clothes. And, much to the dismay of the half-naked girl on your bed, when you start stripping, you give your clothes the same treatment.

"You're fucking with me." She deadpans, eyes narrowed. "You have to be."

You hum, "I'm just ensuring our clothes don't get wrinkled."

Nat looks at the unfolded, clean laundry sitting in a heap at the foot of your bed, then back to you. "You have to be fucking with me."

"What can I say? I've decided I should start changing my habits. Starting now."

You get the sense she wants to give you a smart comment but then decides that if she did that, it would likely result in more of your teasing, so she opts for a frustrated huff instead. "Asshole." She grumbles under her breath, crossing her arms petulantly as she collapses back onto the mattress.

You grin as you pad back over to the bed, now in nothing but your underwear, "Yeah. But you knew that before you came back with me." You clamber onto the bed so that you're hovering over her, caging her to the bed. "So, once again, only yourself to blame."

"Yeah, I know." She murmurs, reaching up to wrap her arms loosely around your shoulders, "I seem to be making a lot of interesting choices lately."

"Interesting, but not bad?" You begin to press kisses to the side of her neck, slow and exploratory.

"Mmm…" She moves her hands, one tangling in your hair, the other coming to rest on your shoulder, "No. Not bad. I make a lot of bad choices, but…" She hesitates, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she bares her neck for you. "No. I don't think this is one of them."

The grin that crosses your face is inevitable, and you pause your actions briefly as you reflect on the comment. "Good." After a long moment, you whisper against her skin, "That's…" You smile wider, pressing your forehead to her shoulder. "Good. That's good. I'm happy you think that."

"You're so cheesy." She pushes your shoulder back slightly so she can see your face, and a smirk appears when she sees your soft, warm smile. "And you're grinning like a dork."

"Can I be happy for thirty seconds? Is that allowed?" You run your hands up and down her sides, which immediately turns into her giggling and trying to get away from you, swatting at your hands. "Oh? Ticklish, Scatorccio?"

"Asshole!" She laughs, trying to grab your hands. "S-stop! You know I'm ticklish!"

You shake your head, the grin now becoming more unhinged, "Nope! This is what you get for not letting me have a moment! I was trying to be cute!"

"N-no!" She laughs louder, eyes squeezing shut as her attempts remain futile. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I t-take it back!"

You laugh at that, enjoying the way she's squirming under you. And… it's nice. It's really nice, actually. Because this feels more like how a situation with your best friend should be, not… whatever happened at that party.

In your slight haze of thought, you pause long enough for Nat to shove you off of her, pinning you down instead. "Yes!" She laughs triumphantly, grabbing your wrists and holding them to the bed as she straddles your waist, "My turn!"

"Not ticklish, Scatorccio!" You laugh, shifting your hips up under her, both trying to get her off of you and trying to grind yourself against her. "But you're welcome to try!"

"Everyone is ticklish!" She lets go of one of your wrists, moving her hand to your waist and beginning her assault, "I'll prove it!" She laughs, warm and happy.

Admittedly, it's a sound you've missed. You've missed hearing her laugh.

But you still aren't ticklish.

You lay there and let her try, to no avail. "You're so fucking boring." Nat murmurs once she realises she won't be getting you to crack, and she collapses back onto the bed beside you.

You turn to face her, propping yourself up on an elbow, your free hand trailing to rest on her stomach, "No, I'm just not ticklish. Hell, I touch you the wrong way right now, and you're gonna be giggling." You almost prove your point, but Nat glares at you and grabs the hand you have on her stomach, her expression telling you No.

"Mmmmm… but I'm feeling nice right now. So I won't. Because I'm nice." You grin down at her, and she rolls her eyes and releases her hold.

"Good. Because I'll kick your ass, I still have my cleats in my bag, don't make me use them." A quick glance at her soccer bag, and you briefly consider how long it would take Nat to push you off of her and grab her cleats, holding up her end of the promise.

Until she grabs your face with one of her hands, making you face her. "I'm joking." She murmurs, thumb brushing against your cheekbones. "Didn't I say you think too much?" And she pulls you in for a kiss, far more tender than you would have imagined it to be.

"Also said I talk too much—" You mumble against her lips, which earns you a harsh pinch on your hip, a clear sign to shut up and kiss me, if you've ever seen one.

So, you do. What can you say? You're a people pleaser at heart.

Her lips part to make way for your tongue, and the kiss quickly escalates from there.

Natalie’s hands slide from your shoulders to your back, pulling you closer to her as her lips move against yours with increasing urgency. Her nails dig lightly into your shoulder blades, seeking a path downwards to the clasp of your bra. The second she gets it off, her hands shift to your front, squeezing your breasts greedily.

You smirk into her lips as your tongue presses against hers, saliva mixing together as your right hand flattens against the smooth expanse of her stomach, index gently tracing a small scar just below her rib cage.

She tenses slightly when you brush against the scar and immediately grabs your wrist and guides it lower, down to the waistband of her panties. You hesitate somewhat, but when she squeezes your wrist, you take that as encouragement and dip your fingers below the waistband, fingers quickly beginning to circle the area around her clit, but not quite touching it.

Blunt nails dig into your wrist, but she never breaks the kiss, despite the apparent frustration with your teasing in the way she grabs at you. A smirk makes its way onto your face as you detach your lips from her mouth, attaching them to her jaw, then slowly trailing them down her neck, savouring how she tilts her head to give you better access.

The second you bite down on her neck, attempting to suck a mark into the pale skin, you feel her tug your head back, "N-no. No marks." Nat mutters breathlessly, "Please. Just… nowhere visible."

"Nowhere visible?" You parrot, considering that for a moment, "I can work with that." Continuing to press kisses to her neck, you agree to her terms and don't leave any marks, but you can't find it in yourself to remove your lips from the smooth expanse.

She seems pleased with the fact you're being so agreeable about that and lets out a quiet sigh, "Good. Now stop teasing."

A laugh is pulled from your throat, "Remember what I said last time? Gotta build that tension. Makes the release ten times as good." But, once again, you are a people pleaser. Specifically, a Natalie pleaser, and you let your fingers brush against her clit once, twice, then you start properly playing with the bundle of nerves.

Nat lets out a hum of appreciation as her fingers come to tangle in your hair, encouraging the way you press your face into the side of her neck as your fingers move, attempting to find a suitable rhythm. Once you do, you let out an appreciative groan at the way her hips grind down into your hand, trying to chase whatever you can give her.

"Fuck," You murmur against the side of her neck, "God, you're so fucking wet." A shiver makes its way down your spine at the wet sounds you're pulling from the region, coupled with the short, sharp breaths Nat is taking.

The breathless moan that parts from Nat's lips has you closing your eyes and focusing on your movements, brows furrowing in concentration. Your fingers leave her clit, sliding down through her wetness, then you're sliding two fingers into the warm opening, "Oh, God." You breathe out as your fingers sink down to the knuckle, "You feel so good."

"Not so bad yourself." Nat tries to quip back, but it comes out far too breathless to land the way she intends it to. "You're, ah, good at this." She murmurs out, almost like an afterthought, and you scoff and roll your eyes at the comment.

"Thanks." You mumble back, "I aim to please."

And, well, you sure as hell aim for that goal.

Two fingers turn into three, Nat's breathless gasps and small whimpers pull from her throat at an increased rate, and it's not long until her nails are digging into your wrist hard enough to sting.

You get the message pretty quickly.

"Yeah—" You exhale, mouth trailing back up to her lips, "Wanna feel you come on my fingers." A kiss to the corner of her lips, "Wanna fucking feel you come on my fingers."

A small whimper leaves her lips, and her back arches, "F-fuck, keep doing that, and I will—"

You press your lips against hers, all teeth and tongue and oh god she's whimpering against your lips and—

You feel the way she clenches around your fingers in pulsations, the way her entire body tenses, then slowly relaxes as the pulses subside.

Before you can stop yourself, you retract your fingers from her and immediately press them into your own mouth, making a show of cleaning off the digits, pulling them back with a thin string of saliva connecting them to your lips.

Natalie, for the record, seems to find this very attractive. If the way her jaw goes slack and her eyes darken in hunger is any indication, "Jesus Christ." She stares at you, chest heaving with exertion (despite not doing anything other than lying there), and she's dragging your head back down to lock your lips together, desperate and eager.

One of her hands curls around the nape of your neck, fingers tugging gently on the strands of hair at the base of your head. Her tongue presses itself past your lips, seeking yours, tasting the remnants of her release on your tongue. A gentle groan parts from her, and after a moment, she draws your tongue into her mouth, sucking on it, and whether she's chasing the taste on your tongue or just doing it because she can, you really don't care. It's hot.

She moves to turn onto her side, facing you, and one of her hands moves to rest on your hip, the other remaining at the base of your skull. Nat slowly rocks her hips into yours, "My turn." She breathes out against your lips, the hand on your hip beginning to trace itself lower with clear intent.

The blonde hesitates slightly when she pulls back, eyes wide and pale cheeks flushed a shade of red. Her tongue peaks out to lick at her lower lip before she speaks, "I… I want you so bad…"

That comment makes you hesitate momentarily; even Natalie senses it wasn't entirely her to drop something like that. You give her a slight look of confusion at her attempt at being sultry but choose not to comment on the out-of-character line.

"Yeah," You breathe out after a moment, deciding just to move on, "Yeah." And you're kissing her again.

Nat moves her fingers under the waistband of your underwear, moving with purpose to find your warm heat, only slowing for half a second when she feels the wetness at the tips of her fingers. She hums into your mouth, seemingly in approval of her findings.

Unlike you, Natalie doesn't tease. Maybe it's because she already knows you're worked up from getting her off, or perhaps she just prefers getting right into the action, but either way? You're not complaining.

No, it's hard to complain when her fingers play with your clit like it's the most fascinating thing in the world to her, flicking the bud and rolling it between her pointer and middle finger with a satisfied grin on her face.

You push at her shoulder when you feel the grin against your lips, "Stop acting all smug." Comes out in a petulant huff, earning you a small giggle and a few quick circles of your clit.

"What? Am I not allowed to be happy I'm making you feel good?" She teases, voice laced with faux sadness.

"You just started, ass." Your hand moves from her shoulder to the back of her neck, "Don't get ahead of yourself."

"Hardly ahead of myself," she muses, fingers starting to move in smaller, controlled circles. "Just remembering what you did last time we did this. You seemed…" She hums to herself, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, "pretty into it."

A scoff, followed by a squeeze of her nape, "Yeah, hard not to be into it when you have a hot chick's hand between your thighs."

That earns you another giggle, and Nat lets her fingers leave your clit in favour of seeking your entrance. "And, for the record?" She moves her lips to your ear, "It's gonna be a long night."

"That a promise?" You gasp as one of her fingers begins to tease, slowly sliding down, "Or just… a thinly veiled threat?" "Oh, baby." Nat purrs, finger sinking into its destination, "It's a guarantee."

And it sure as hell was.

It's well past noon when you wake up if the light streaming through your curtains is proof enough.

Most notably, there's a warm weight on your chest, and that weight you quickly realise belongs to none other than Natalie Scatorccio.

One hand draped over your waist, head resting on right above your heart. Bleach blonde hair is splayed out across your chest, and a soft smile makes its way onto your face at the sight.

She stayed the night.

The sense of relief that immediately crashes over you is palpable, and you let out a breath that you feel like you've been holding since that night at the party.

You aren't quite sure how long you lay there before you realise she's wearing your shirt like it's the most casual thing in the world, and, specifically, it's the shirt you wore last night. Usually, you're not one for cheesy romantic moments, but that? Oh, that makes you feel real good about yourself. Sure, it could have just been a "this is available" type of thing, but you like to imagine it's something a little deeper than that, even if you are being a little delusional.

Like all good things, the moment of peace and reflection in the afternoon light comes to an end when Natalie begins to stir on your chest, slowly opening her eyes and coming alive to the world.

"Hey." You murmur out, one of your hands coming up to start playing with her hair, "Good sleep?"

She grunts at that, closing her eyes again and pressing her face back into your chest, "'m still sleepy."

A warm laugh leaves your chest, and you can see Nat's small smile at your reaction to her mumbled comment, and it makes that fuzzy feeling in your chest return at full force. "Doesn't answer my question, though. Was it a good sleep?"

"Mm." She hums, the hand around your waist tightening slightly. "Yeah, actually. It was." The words come out in a sleepy mumble, and you can't help but feel… content, at least for right now.

And, honestly? You'd be comfortable letting the silence fester. This is a good silence, not the type of silence that has you begging for an out.

Natalie, however, stirs after a few minutes in silence, giving your waist a soft squeeze. "I…" She sighs, opening her eyes and looking up at you from where her head is perched on your chest, "Look. I'm gonna be honest with you. I don't…" She removes her hand from your hip and gestures to nothing, "I don't know what I am, alright? I mean…" A humourless chuckle, "I get that I'm not straight. Yeah, I've put the pieces together, but I don't, like, know what I am."

You shake your head, shifting slightly to look at her better, "Hey," you shake your head a few times, "that's okay. You don't need to know right now. It's not like I'm about to make you take a pop quiz on what your assumed sexuality is." The words are light, attempting to convey a joke, but there's also this underlying concern buried underneath. "I'm not about to… force you to label yourself, or anything." A sigh, "I mean… it's… complicated. I dunno. Figuring out who you are." Your fingers continue to run through her hair in a soothing motion, "I'm hardly someone who can, like, guide you down a path of self-discovery, but I'll be here if you need someone to talk to, Nat."

Some of the tension leaves Nat's shoulders at your words, but it's obviously still weighing heavily on her mind. Regardless, she gives you a slight nod and rests her head back on your chest, "Can we just… figure it out later?"

"Yeah." You reply softly, "We can figure it out later, Nat. No rush."

"No rush." She parrots, curling into your side again.

a/n: crush act 2 chapter 1 next trust

You snore when you sleep, by the way." Nat comments after a long few moments in silence.

"What??" You sit up, glancing down at her, "No, I do not."

She gives you an exasperated huff when you sit up, therefore moving her from her (very comfortable) position on your chest. "Yeah, you do. Now lay back down, asshole. I was enjoying that."

"Not a single person has ever complained about my snoring before."

Nat shrugs, "Then they must not have been paying attention. Because you do." A beat, "And it's loud."

Your jaw drops in shock, and you can hardly believe what she's saying, "I genuinely cannot tell if you're fucking with me or not."

The blonde just shrugs as you lay back down, "Guess you'll have to wait and see, huh?"

"You're an asshole, Natalie Scatorccio."

"And here we are, anyways." She hums, "Here we are."

#i cant believe i gave the gays a (mostly) happy ending #im a pushover #and a woman of the people #what can i say #platter (requested)#nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #natalie scatorccio smut #nat scatorccio smut #nat scatorccio x you #nat scatorccio x reader #ladles (fics/blurbs)#steak knives (nsfw)

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