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kyber-crystal · 5 months ago

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10 things i hate about you || f.w.

summary: rumor has it that you and fred weasley are going out. being the instigators you two are, you decide to play into said rumors. but just how far could you go before you lose sight of the line between fiction and reality?

words: ~7.9k LMFAO I REALLY WENT OVERBOARD HERE

warnings: cheesiness, cliche 10 things i hate about you vibes, both y/n and fred being oblivious idiots. what’s more to love

a/n: you thought i’d avoid writing another fake dating fic? with fred? NEVER. ik there r some fake dating fred fics out there but i swear we need MORE bc this is the best trope ever idc. also made up a name for the school paper cs i forgot if it was a thing in the books/movies lol. reader is an implied gryffindor/ravenclaw but can technically be in whatever house you’d like : )

add yourself to my hp taglist here!

The problem with Hogwarts was that rumors spread through its halls like fiendfyre.

It all started during the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Harry had narrowly caught the Snitch after a Dementor false alarm and carried the team to victory, causing the stadium to explode into ground-shaking cheers. Waves of deep crimson and gold were pouring onto the field and you almost got trampled in the midst of it until someone pulled you into the center.

“There you are—I was looking all over for you,” Fred beamed. “You were watching, right?”

“I was sitting front row…you literally saw me, Fred,” you stated plainly.

“I know, but I wanted to make sure,” he winked at you, sidelining you into a hug. “You look very pretty, by the way. I think my hat looks better on you than me.”

“Anddd there’s the woman of the hour! He couldn’t stop staring at you—almost crashed into the teachers’ section ‘cause of that,” Lee came over and clasped your shoulder.

“That’s what that was all about? Freddie, you need to get it together!”

“Can’t help when you’re as alluring as a Veela,” the compliment rolled effortlessly off his tongue. He then tilted his chin down to kiss your forehead, and you didn’t bother pushing him away despite the fact that he was all sweaty after being up in the air.

A bright flash of light pulled you out of Fred’s embrace, and you blinked to see Colin standing there with a wide grin on his face, camera in hand.

“Just capturing the moment,” the younger Gryffindor said excitedly. “This is gonna be a good one!”

You thought nothing of it until you went down to the Great Hall for breakfast the following morning. You went over to find your Ravenclaw friends, who seemed to be huddled around something, staring at it intensely.

“Oh, hey Y/N!” Cho beamed brightly at you, moving over to make room for you to sit next to her. “Have you seen the latest school newsletter?”

You filled your plate and took a copy of the Hogwarts Daily Digest that Padma gave you. “No…what’s it all about?”

“Check page 3,” she told you. You took a bite of your toast first, pausing as you scanned over the page. At the front and center was a moving picture of you and Fred embracing, him pressing a kiss to your temple, smiles of pure bliss on both your faces. You had to admit that Colin had a way with pictures; so much so that you almost would’ve believed you and Fred were a true couple just by looking at the article.

“So we’re going out, apparently,” you said, taking another bite of your food, “...Interesting.”

“Several students were interviewed about it, and they’re wondering if you guys are,” Cho explained. “With the way he kept looking over at you during the game, and how he was searching for you after it ended.”

“I—I’ve ought to talk to Fred himself, see what he thinks about this—” you spluttered, feeling hot all of a sudden. “I just—we’re not even—”

“But you would be very cute together,” your best friend added. “I mean, you have known each other for how long now? It wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone if you were.”

At the end of the day, you went to the library to squeeze in some quiet alone time for reading, curling up on one of the plushy sofas near the bookshelves. You were deep into a mythical book that Hermione recommended, fully zoned in for what felt like forever until the cushion sank a bit, indicating that someone had sat down next to you.

“What do you want, Fred,” you sighed without even looking up from your book. “Come to bother me again?”

He took the book from your hands in response and closed it.

“Hey, I was reading that—” you began.

“I wanted to ask you about the article,” he stated, “don’t you think Creevey’s quite the photographer?”

You scoffed. “If this is about us being a couple, you know we’re not.”

“I was going to suggest something else.”

“And what is that?”

“Given that half the school is talking about us already,” he referred to the whispers in the halls that followed you from class to class, “why not play into the rumors a bit?”

“So you’re suggesting that, what?”

“That we say we’re a couple.”

“...you want to pretend that we’re going out?”

“Why not?”

“That’s insane,” you shot him a glare. “What do either of us get out of it?”

“Practice, of course,” Fred had a proud look on, “but also, why not have some fun with it?”

You stopped and thought about it for a second. He was right—who were you to not want to have a bit of fun? After all, it was just Fred; it couldn’t be that hard to fake-date someone, especially when you had no real feelings for them.

“Fine, but only on one condition.”

“What’s that, love?”

“Promise not to fall in love with me?” You stuck your hand out towards him.

Fred took it and gave it a firm shake, his signature mischievous grin making its appearance. “As long as you don’t fall for me either.”

“Dream on.”

He leans forward, voice dropping to a low whisper. “10 galleons says you’ll fall in love with me first.”

“Oh, please. 20 says you won’t even last half as long.”

“You’re on.”

So it began—settling into the whole routine was surprisingly easy. But of course, it was probably easier since you had money on the line; asides from George, you and Fred were the most competitive people in the entire school. You’d do anything for extra money, glory, and infinite bragging rights.

Making it a point to one-up each other, you began to brainstorm ways to really play up the whole “fake girlfriend” thing.

i. the pda competition, part 1

Monday afternoon’s Potions lesson proceeded as always, with Snape’s annoying, drawling voice instructing you on what to do.

Today’s class was boring but ended early, the only downside being that you were assigned a hefty load of homework.

“By the beginning of Wednesday’s class, you shall turn in to me two feet of parchment on the history of Strengthening Solution and its’ properties…” Snape ordered, “...for now, follow the instructions on the board. Ingredients are in the back. I expect the utmost perfection and accuracy…those who fail shall not be tolerated.”

Groaning internally, you headed to the back of the classroom towards the supply cabinets, Fred following close behind. Either Snape was out to get you both or it was sheer luck that had you paired together for this assignment.

“Wait, you forgot something,” Fred called out as you were about to walk away.

You turned around, a snarky reply ready. “What is—”

You didn’t even have the chance to finish your sentence when he grabbed you by the wrist and tugged you into his chest, kissing you square on the lips. You were completely taken by surprise and had no time to react whatsoever.

Low wolf-whistles and “ooohs” reverbrated throughout the entire classroom as you broke apart.

“What was that for?” you hissed.

There was a devilish grin on his face, and you so desperately wanted to wipe it right off him. “Just trying to be a good fake boyfriend, of course,” he whispered into your ear.

“Touch me again without warning and I’ll break your nose,” you said in a low tone, ignoring the heat rising up your cheeks.

“Miss Y/L/N…Mr. Weasley…” Snape said lowly, “...back to your seats, both of you. This is a classroom, not a bedroom. Get to work.”

Several students giggled at this and you huffed, heading back to your seat. You didn’t speak more than a few sentences to Fred for the remainder of the lesson, face still flushed from the sudden incident. He kept stealing glances at you as you worked in silence, adding the ingredients into your bubbling cauldron with careful, precise movements.

“That’s 1-0 to me,” he reminded you. “Better hurry and catch up, or I’m winning those Galleons.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you muttered, uncapping the bottle in front of you and pouring some of the liquid in.

ii. the pda competition, part 2

After Fred had kissed you in the middle of a packed classroom, you were determined to get back at him, racking your brain for ideas.

You sat under a sprawling tree by the Great Lake with Cedric, Cho, Padma, Ernie, and several other Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students. Somehow, you got lucky and all had matching free periods today, taking the opportunity to have a picnic by the water together.

“A little birdie told me that you and a special someone were going out,” Cedric pointed a finger at you, the other arm slung around Cho’s shoulders. “Now what’s going on?”

“They’ve always been mad about each other, only took them a million years to see it,” Ernie butted in. “Isn’t it obvious? One would think they’re already married at this point, though.”

“Who’s married to who?” you heard someone ask from behind you.

“Speak of the devil,” Ernie said, “there he is!”

“Was going to check on you—see you at supper?” Fred lightly touched your cheek. You nodded blindly, the skin of his hand hot on your face.

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

You turned back around to see everyone smirking at you knowingly.

“What?” you questioned, adjusting the collar of your shirt as if nothing had happened.

“Aren’t you two the cutest,” Cho laughed breathily, “Ernie was right. It’s like you’re married.”

“Oh shut up, we’re still much too young for that.”

“Not for long!”

Of course the only empty seat at the Gryffindor table that evening was next to Fred, and he made sure that you were sitting as close to him as humanly possible. All it would take was an extra few inches and you’d fully be sitting on his lap. You shook off the embarrassment and snapped back into it, determined to win the bet.

“I missed you all day, you know,” he admitted, placing a dinner roll onto your plate for you. “Where have you been?”

“By the lakes,” you said matter-of-factly. “Where else would I be?”

“With me, obviously.”

“I’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Well that hurt,” he pretended to look hurt. “I thought I was your favorite.”

“Second to last,” you joked. “Hey, wait—there’s something on your mouth.”

“Where?” he tried motioning around with his fingers but to no avail.

“Right…here…” you murmured, gently grasping his chin and pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his lip, tasting a hint of the sweet cranberry sauce he’d been eating on the tip of your tongue. Loud gasps erupted through the Great Hall at the sudden private but public display.

Fred inhaled sharply—he knew you were bold, but like this? For once, the jokester had nothing sarcastic to counter you with and was at a loss for words.

When you pulled away, both yours and his faces were a shade of deep scarlet.

“Cat got your tongue?” you smirked, discreetly slipping a sheet of paper into his back pocket. “That’s 1-1 now, Fred.”

Again, Fred was left speechless.

“I feel like I’m interrupting something very…” Ron coughed, damn near choking on his chicken leg. “Intimate. Scandalous. Very—”

“Shut it, Ronald,” you cut him off. “Can’t a girl snog her boyfriend when she wants?”

More jaws dropped at your reply, and you simply continued eating, a victorious grin on your face. Fred looked down and fished the note out of his pocket, unfolding the smooth parchment to reveal your tidy penmanship.

Now who’s the flustered one? you know where to find me if you need me xx

You were so going to win.

iii. the serenade

You found yourself sitting on the bench watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice—it was Fred’s idea to show up to as many of them as possible to really sell the whole “fake dating” thing. You didn’t mind all that much, as you got bored easily and liked to have a change of scenery every so often while you were studying.

A loud, abrupt screech caused you to look up from your textbook and you winced, covering your ears.

“You’re just too good to be true…can’t take my eyes off of you…” a melodic voice began flowing across the stadium. Confused, you set your book down and stood up, looking around for the source of the noise.

“You’d be like Heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much…at long last love has arrived…”

Fred suddenly appeared from the commentator’s box, holding a microphone. He casually leaned against the pole before sliding down and hitting the bleachers, gracefully making his way down the steps.

“...And I thank God I’m alive…” his eyes remained focused on you, blazing gold and green. “You’re just too good to be true…”

“What the—”

He spun around and pointed at you, the corners of his lips quirking up in a childish grin, “...Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

“HIT IT, WOOD!” you heard someone (was that Lee?) yell, and music began blasting from the speakers.

Your friends were eyeing you with delight, fully entertained by the fact that you had absolutely no clue what was happening. Fred continued singing while he sauntered down the bleachers with a grace that you had never seen.

“I love you, baby, and if it's quite alright

I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night

I love you, baby, trust in me when I say

Oh, pretty baby, don't bring me down, I pray

Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay

And let me love you, baby, let me love you”

A blush coated your cheeks as he finally approached you, taking one of your hands in his and twirling you around. He held your gaze the entire time, eyes alight with what looked like genuine joy and passion. The rest of your classmates joined in as they crowded around you, joining together in one voice.

It was impossible to hold back the smile creeping up your face as Fred continued to sing—he was undeniably charming, and you had to admit, this was well worth suffering a brief loss for.

“Oh pretty baby, trust in me when I say…” the final lyrics left his mouth and everyone burst into applause. He made a show of bowing dramatically and kissing your hand in an exaggerated motion.

You rolled your eyes at the overly extravagant gesture. But deep down, you had enjoyed every second of the impromptu serenade.

Within minutes after it ended, Fred’s musical spectacle was the talk of the school. Students nudged each other in the corridors as you passed by, whispering words of encouragement, saying how they wished for a relationship like yours, and wondering where they could possibly find someone like Fred.

You felt him slip something into your robe’s pocket. Fred had sidled up next to you as you headed up the stairs to the common room, still grinning widely.

“2-1,” he reminded you, kissing your cheek before turning to the Fat Lady and uttering the password. He stepped through the portrait hole and turned back to wait for you, then walked all the way inside. “Better continue that game of catch up, I might just steal the title of ‘best fake partner ever’ from you.”

There’s that beautiful smile, the note read. Keep it on for me, will you?

iv. the nightmare

Your body seemed to have a mind of its own, because it was 3:27 a.m. and you were wide awake after barely squeezing in a few hours of sleep.

Nothing you did worked; even the Potion for Dreamless Sleep had failed to keep the nightmares at bay. You didn’t last long before jolting awake, beads of sweat forming at your forehead and chest heaving with raggedy, jagged breaths.

After several minutes of tossing and turning you gave up, quietly tiptoeing down the stairs to the common room. The fireplace was on, indicating that someone was already there—

“Y/N?” Fred turned around from his spot on the couch to look at you. “What’re you doing up at this hour?”

You yawned, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Finishing an assignment,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. Sheets of parchment, a vial of ink, and several books were spread out on the coffee table. “You?”

“Nothing,” you lied, sitting down next to him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He didn’t miss the hoarse tone in your voice nor your tear-stained face, stopping what he was doing to fully focus on you. “Now I know that’s not true. What’s bothering you, really?”

“I said I’m fine, just can’t sleep.” You let out a shuddering sigh and attempted to will the tears away, but your vision began to blur. “Go finish your work—”

“Hey.” Fred’s voice was soft. “Come here.”

His arms gingerly wrapped around your trembling frame to envelop you into a tight hug. He reached one hand up to smooth out your hair as you shook with silent sobs, your hands curling into the fabric of his robes as if holding onto him would keep you from slipping away and losing yourself again.

Fred was never one to be patient, but he knew that you just needed this moment free of chaos. So he waited, laying there with you as he continued murmuring soothing words into your ear, gently rubbing your back; he’d wait for as long as he’d need to.

You didn’t know how much time passed until the tears ran themselves dry and your throat felt like it had been scraped raw.

“Want to tell me what happened?” he suggested. “But only if you’re comfortable, that is.”

You hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to tell him. Maybe he’d think you were strange…but seeing how he looked so genuine in that moment changed your mind.

“I lost you…I lost everyone. I watched you die, Fred.” Your voice was cracked and raw, which sent a pang through his chest. The image of Fred’s lifeless body trapped between the rubble flashed across your vision, feeling as if it was wrapping its cold fingers around your throat. “I watched you all die and I couldn’t save you.”

“But I’m alive and well right now, aren’t I?” he assured you calmly, “I’ll be here for as long as you want me around. You’ll have to fight to the death to get rid of me.”

Managing a broken laugh, you looked up at him. “Really?”

“Really. What are fake boyfriends for, anyway?” His hand found its place against your cheek, fingers gently skimming across your skin. You leaned into his touch and let out a sigh, lips just barely brushing over his palm.

“No one’s here, Fred…you don’t need to pretend.”

“I know I don’t.” Any and all traces of half-witted sarcasm were gone; wiped clean off his face. Instead, his eyes were glossed over with concern as they raked over yours. “Figured I could keep you company? Since I didn’t want you to be alone in your head like this.”

“I’d like that.”

He then passed a familiar folded square to you, and you opened it with a smile.

I’m here, whenever you need - F.W

v. the hospital wing run-in

“For Godric’s sake, how many more times will I have to see you in here?” Madam Pomfrey demanded as she hurried around, setting a metal tray by your bedside. “This is the third time this month.”

“Sorry,” you winced as you shifted your injured leg onto the pillow she’d set out.

“What is it this time?”

“I broke my ankle.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

Pursing your lips, you elected to tell her the modified version of the story, which was the one where you had tripped while going down the stairs, not the one that included running down the Astronomy Tower after sneaking up there for a dare (the twins’ doing).

She shook her head in disbelief, glancing over the cuts on your face and fixing the bandages around your foot. “You’ll be in here for a few days. We’ll have to regrow the bones in your foot and ankle…my, how someone can break this many bones just from missing a step, I can’t seem to understand…what are all of you doing here?”

You followed her gaze to where Hermione, Ginny, Cho, and Fred were standing by the hospital wing’s entrance, alight with excitement upon seeing that you were awake.

“Guys—”

“Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, and Mr. Weasley, need I remind you that no visitors are allowed at this time! I advise that you all head back,” Madam Pomfrey ordered sharply.

“But we haven’t seen her all last night and this morning! Can we just stay for a minute,” Hermione begged. “Please?”

The older woman sighed as she scanned your friends (and fake? boyfriend’s) desperate, pleading faces. “...Alright, then. Don’t stay too long and for Godric’s sake, let her breathe.”

They immediately crowded around your bed and Fred walked over to your side, crouching down so that you were eye level with him.

“There’s my princess,” his charming persona was back in full force, and he smoothly brushed a few stray hairs out of your face. For what felt like the eleventh time, he was swooping in to kiss your cheek. Not that you were counting. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better now that you’re here,” you winked as you attempted to prop yourself into an upright position, but failed, giving up and flopping back down. “Ow. My foot.”

Ginny pretended to throw up on Hermione, who then elbowed her in the stomach. “Ow!” she yelped. “What was that for?”

“Let’s leave the happy couple alone,” she hissed, and they slowly backed away to give you some space.

Fred pulled up a chair next to your bedside, propping his chin in his hand to stare at you. “I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean for you to end up with five broken bones.”

“And a concussion, a killer headache, and not to mention dozens of sore muscles,” you grimaced, but felt a slight ache in your chest when you realized he looked genuinely guilty. “I don’t blame you, really. I mean, I was just as stupid and reckless. I definitely could’ve been more careful but I wasn’t.”

“I’m supposed to mess up your lipstick,” he groaned, “not your bones.”

“Someone took ‘public displays of affection’ the wrong way,” you said sarcastically, and then there was a brief moment of silence before you both burst into laughter.

“Damn right he di—OW, Hermione!”

“Gin, let’s go!” With that, the two girls left the hospital wing, leaving the two of you alone.

“Why are you here, anyway? Hermione and Ginny are because they’re my friends, and you’re my—”

“—lovely, charming, undeniably handsome boyfriend, of course. Why wouldn’t I be here?” Fred finished your sentence for you.

“Right,” your voice was dripping with sarcasm, “I just can’t seem to get rid of you, can I? It seems like you’re always around.”

“And yet, you don’t push me away,” a smile tugged at his lips. “Which clearly means that I’m just that irresistible. I don’t need a charm or some silly love potion to reel you in.”

“Don’t think that because I’m incapacitated, this game is over,” you warned him. “I will beat your arse to a pulp, and you’ll be twenty Galleons lighter. I bet you’re madly in love with me already.”

“Believe what you want, my darling,” he sing-songed, twirling his wand between his fingers. “But we all know I’ve already won this game.”

“Yeah, right. We’re tied now, by the way. That’s for getting me injured.”

“Oi! You can’t just—”

“Shh…don’t come crying to me ‘till you lose.”

He ended up staying overnight.

You didn’t protest at all.

Neither did Madam Pomfrey later that evening after seeing him slumped over on your bed, fast asleep, one hand clutching yours like you were the only thing he had left to lose.

vi. the howler

For once you managed to get to the Great Hall before Fred did. The bloke was always criminally late or ridiculously early to everything; it was almost laughable how there was no in between for him.

He finally showed up just ten minutes before breakfast was supposed to end, breathing hard with his hair all messed up.

“What’d I miss?” he asked you.

“Nothing,” you responded. “Just another ordinary day…”

A gust of wind suddenly swept through the hallway causing the napkins to flutter in the air. A giant grey owl came swooping down onto the table and landed straight in front of Fred, clutching an envelope in its curved talons.

“What’s Errol doing here? We’re not supposed to get our daily mail til’ tomorrow,” Ron gawked, “surprised that he’s here given the number of times he’s collapsed mid-delivery—oh blimey Fred, you must be in trouble! You’ve got a Howler!”

Several Gryffindors around you giggled at this.

With a slight look of confusion and fear, Fred carefully removed the seal on the bright red envelope. Molly Weasley’s booming voice immediately came bursting from the pages.

“FRED WEASLEY, HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME THAT YOU WERE DATING MY FUTURE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW! I AM DISAPPOINTED IN YOU—Y/N dear, if you’re hearing this, I’m very happy for you and hope to see you at the Burrow soon, I’ll make sure to whip up some homemade custard for you—YOU OUGHT TO TREAT HER RIGHT, BOY, OR ELSE! I BROUGHT YOU INTO THIS WORLD AND I SURE AS MERLIN CAN TAKE YOU RIGHT OUT!”

A silence fell over the entire Great Hall and Fred sat there, in shock. The red envelope folded itself up and then burst into flames, its ashes crumbling to the floor.

“I’ve never seen him turn that red,” George sniggered. “You’re bloody brilliant, Y/N.”

“Y-you did this?” Fred spluttered.

“Can’t say I didn’t,” you hummed, patting his head affectionately. “Your mum was bound to find out, one way or another.”

“And you thought this was the best idea?”

“Aww, is little Freddie all embarrassed?” you teased. “Never thought I’d live to see that day.”

“Quit gloating,” the redhead grumbled. “You haven’t won yet. Better sleep with one eye open tonight.”

vii. the pda competition, part ∞

As it turned out, continuing to slip into your fake relationship only became more fun as the days and weeks dragged on. And being competitive only added to the fun, as you were scrambling to one-up each other.

You often opted to hold his hand when walking from place to place, which wasn’t difficult given that you were almost always with him now and had to sell the idea that you really were together. His hands were rough and calloused from all those hours working on joke shop prototypes, but they were still surprisingly comforting. A way to keep you grounded when your head got stuck in the clouds.

Fred’s signature move was, of course, dropping random kisses on your cheek when you didn’t expect it. Sometimes, when he was feeling bolder than usual, that would change to the tender spot between your ear and jaw, your shoulder, or your nose. And each of those times he made sure they were extra drawn-out and that you were in a crowded area so others would see it. The courtyard. The Quidditch pitch. The classroom (two of those incidents were in Potions, much to Snape’s dismay. He didn’t even bother taking points off due to being too disgusted).

“I have a massive exam today,” he declared loudly to you as you stood in front of his upcoming class together. “I think I’m going to need a kiss.”

“Why?” you scoffed. “What do you need that for?”

“For good luck,” Fred said, “it’s kind of a tradition, isn’t it?”

“You…want a kiss for good luck?” you started.

“I’m waiting…” he sang, face turned slightly in an invitation. You sighed and went up on your tiptoes, doing as he asked. “Thank you. But you have terrible aim…you missed.”

“I fear you’re having way too much fun with this,” you muttered. “Don’t make excuses. My lips are not going near yours unless they absolutely need to now.”

“Oh come on, you know you’re having loads of fun too,” he called out as he walked into the classroom. “Catch you later, sweetheart!”

viii. the butterbeer (alt: the pda competition, part ∞)

It was the day of another Hogsmeade outing and you were hand-in-hand with Fred as you walked down the cobblestone streets together. You had planned to spend the day alone for the most part and join Cho for a meal, but Fred had cornered you at breakfast and insisted you go on a date with him.

“To keep up the façade,” he insisted. “Wouldn’t people find it odd if the castle’s favorite couple wasn’t together?”

You nodded and didn’t protest further; you had no energy to do so anyway. It was far too cold for your taste; you had been dragged out without having time to grab your gloves, blowing hot hair into your hands that were steadily growing numb.

“Love,” he called for you as he took your hands in his, “oh, your fingers feel like ice.”

“No…shit…” your teeth chattered as you attempted to respond steadily. “Might lose ‘em if we don’t hurry up and get inside—”

“Wait one second,” Fred said as you two stopped right outside the Three Broomsticks, wasting no more time in taking his gloves off and handing them to you to put on, while he wrapped his house scarf around your neck. “There. Let’s head in.”

“But—”

“Boyfriend duties, remember?” he winked at you as he pushed the door open, holding it for you to step inside first. “Come on. I think a butterbeer or two’ll warm you up.”

Fred’s hand remained on the small of your back, pressing in gently to lead you to a cozy booth in the back. The added warmth felt quite nice, you thought, but you also wondered how he managed to stay like a human furnace when it the weather outside was so dreadfully cold.

It was hard not to stare at him; catching his gaze every so often while sipping your drink. His hair was all tousled from the frigid winds; you took notice of the way it slightly curled out at the ends, glowing under the hazy yellow bar lights. It was annoyingly endearing how he could look so flawless without any effort and even more so that you didn’t have anything snarky to say.

“Fred, I think we’re being followed…” you whispered as you scanned the near vicinity, fingers brushing against the rim of your mug. There in the far opposite corner sat Padma, Ernie, Cedric, and Cho, attempting to look nonchalant as if they weren’t half-stalking you but they were doing a rather terrible job at it. You quickly looked away.

“So? Isn’t that what we want—for people to see us?” he countered with a tone of confidence. His voice dropped low as he continued to speak to you. “Why don’t we give them a show? No need to be so private.”

Your face burned. “What do you—”

“Not like that,” he chuckled lowly, “what did you think I meant?”

“I…”

Fred paused, then raised his hand and brushed something off your cheek with his thumb. “You’ve got something on your face.”

“Oh, so we’re playing that game now, are we?”

“Indeed, my lady.”

You scoffed quietly and imitated his motion, reaching up to smooth out the crease that had formed between his brows. “Put a smile on your face, why don’t you? You look better that way.”

“I always look good, though.”

“I look better than your greasy arse.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenged. “I’d like to see you tr—”

Before you could say anything else and before he could stop himself from what he was doing, Fred placed a hand on the nape of you neck and pulled you in, kissing you without another word. All protests left behind flew right out the window (along with your morals, too, you thought) and for a split second, it almost didn’t feel like you were pretending at all.

When you broke apart eventually, breaths a little heavy, neither of you needed to look over to see that your friends were gaping in shock, mouths dropped wide open. Sure, Fred was confident and cocky and you were equally so, but both of you would be lying if you said this didn’t take you by surprise.

“You still keeping track?” His voice still had that low, almost husky tone to it. He was cupping your cheek now, and you let him keep doing so. “There can only be one victor, right?”

“Wouldn’t forget it,” you exhaled. “You think we look convincing enough right now?”

“Without a shadow of a doubt.”

ix. the thunderstorm

The day’s exciting Care of Magical Creatures lesson was cut thirty minutes short due to the heavy downpour that had suddenly came crashing down, bringing with it a booming thunderstorm and soaking all your clothes within minutes.

“Well, that’s it fer today, everyone,” Hagrid announced, “now let’s head back inside, don’ want yeh to catch a cold, we’ll continue when the weather lets up…”

You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and flipped the hood on over your head, eyes narrowing as you stared up at the suddenly stormy grey sky. It just had to be on the one day you got to go outside and do something exciting, damn it….

It was freezing, nearly as horrible as that one day in Hogsmeade, and you wanted nothing more in that moment than to simply curl up by the fireplace with Hermione, the Patil twins, and Cho, and talk all evening long. If you could even make it back to the castle in one, unfrozen piece, maybe you’d at least get your hands on some hot chocolate from the kitchens…

A warm hand found yours amidst the strong winds, and all of a sudden you didn’t feel so cold anymore.

As if he had read your mind, Fred said, “how about we sneak into the kitchens and grab something to drink? Hot chocolate, perhaps?”

“Sounds perfect,” you smiled and he draped an arm over your shoulders, bringing you into his side. It felt so natural now, like this wasn’t part of some long-standing bet to fool the whole school; as if you were just two best friends trying to keep warm in subpar temperatures. And it was almost too easy to get used to it.

“Oblivious idiots. I told them for years that they’d be perfect together and it’s only this year that they start going out,” George exclaimed from several yards behind, walking side-by-side with Lee Jordan. “Dunno why it took them so long.”

“Love takes time, obviously,” said Lee as he watched Fred lean into your ear and say something, and you giggled lightly in response, “and now, what matters is that I finally have an excuse to make fun of them during Quidditch matches.”

“Oh—good point.”

“And you’ve noticed that he stopped pranking her? Unlike him, isn’t it?”

“Wait…” George paused as he took in Lee’s questions. His mouth formed an ‘o’ in realization. “He’s utterly whipped, that git.”

“What happens when boyfriend duties overcome prankster duties…this is perfect. Professor Flitwick owes me 2 galleons. I called it that he’d fall first!”

“You bet on them?” George squawked. “With Flitwick?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t either,” Lee laughed, “I know you did too.”

The expression on George’s face shifted into one of defeat. “I lost,” he muttered, “I owe McGonagall 3 galleons.”

x. verum exeat (let the truth come out)

The Gryffindor common room was alight with chatter once again. After a long, grueling week of exam revisions, Quidditch practice, and a brutal match to be remembered, Lee and the twins decided that a small celebration was in order. They had originally planned on inviting half the damn school but after arguing with Hermione, had to shrink the party down to just their smaller, usual friend group (they swore up and down that they’d clean up and not get detention like last time, but she wouldn’t buy it).

But you knew that if things had the Weasley twins’ names pasted next to them, they’d be far from peaceful; as far as you could possibly get—no matter how big or small.

“Oh, there you are,” you heard someone say from behind, and turned around to see that it was Hermione.

“Not drinking?”

“Someone’s got to take care of the boys after they go wild, right?” she explained. “Besides…I can’t stand the taste of firewhisky. It burns.”

You offered a tired half-smile and agreed. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Hermione seemed to be deep in thought for a moment until she told you, “You’re very lucky, you know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“To have Fred, that is. To find someone who’s that in love with you, it’s quite rare.”

“Oh, please,” you tried to suppress a laugh, “I told you why we’re doing what we’re doing.”

“And?” Hermione raised an eyebrow at you, “feelings change. Bet or no bet, he cares about you and anyone would be crazy not to see that. Ronald is half-blind and he can tell, too. You can’t possibly tell me that everything you’ve done up to this point has been a lie.”

“It’s meant nothing to me,” you said bitterly. “I hate him.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. And it doesn’t help that he’s everywhere,” you stopped to take a swig of firewhisky, “and I can’t stand it!”

“Do you not, really?”

“I do, but I—”

“You what?”

“I just hate him!”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think? I hate everything about him!” you exclaimed, exasperated. “I hate the way he always tries to compete with me, I hate the way he doesn’t take things seriously, I hate that stupid, annoying little smirk he has on his face half the time I see him—”

You inhaled quickly; it felt like you’d just drank an entire vital of Veritaserum with the way that words were tumbling out of your mouth. Hermione gave you a look that seemed to say ‘Go on,’ so you did, “—I hate the way he walks down to the Great Hall every morning with his annoyingly perfect messy hair, I hate the way he risks freezing his arse off to give me his favorite gloves so that I don’t get hypothermia, I hate the way it’s so easy for him to kiss—borderline snog me like it’s nothing, I hate how this is all just supposed to be a game of pretend, and—and most of all, I hate the way he made me fall in love with him without even trying. I hate the way I don't actually hate him. Not even close, not even a little bit…not even at all…”

“You…really mean that?”

You whirled around to see that Fred was standing right behind you with his hands behind his back, eyes hopeful, and you felt your heart drop down to your stomach. “Fred—”

“Y/N, I—”

Suddenly it seemed like the walls were closing in on you from all sides, the room spinning; and then, everything around you jumbled into one chaotic mess of noise and color. Without looking to see either his or Hermione’s reactions, without caring that half the room had stopped to see what was going on, you pushed past your friends and quickly clambered out of the portrait hole.

“What was that about?” Ron’s nose crinkled in confusion. “So much for being a cute couple. Now this is just sad.”

“Will you shut it, Ronald,” Hermione whacked him on the shoulder.

“OW—”

“Stop being so dramatic! Don’t let me catch you drinking even one more shot or I will drag your arse back to bed,” she snapped.

“Pleeeease do, I would lov—ow, ow, OW! OKAY!” Ron exclaimed as she pinched his ear and began dragging him away. “Okay! I’ll leave them alone, I’ll stop…”

Chest heaving and vision blurring with tears, you rushed outside, desperate for a breath of fresh air. It was quiet in the courtyard asides from the faint trickling of water but that did little to calm you down; it was still too loud, too chaotic, too much. Sitting down at the marbled edge of one of the fountains, you tried to catch your breath and balance, but the world still kept spinning…it felt like it wouldn’t stop spinning; for Merlin’s sake. All you wanted to do was crawl into a hole and disappear forever, or jump off the Astronomy tower and fly off to a distant land. You didn’t want to have to worry about how you poured your entire damn heart out in the middle of the common room about your fake boyfriend.

Your fake boyfriend that you realized, with horror, you had begun to develop not-fake feelings for.

A chill ran through you at that moment and you shivered.

Then the feeling of something warm—a thick coat—being draped over your shoulders shook you out of your trance. You instinctively slid it tighter around yourself.

“Thought I might find you out here,” said Fred. You opened your mouth, ready to ask how in Godric’s name he knew where you were at all times when he didn’t even have the Maurader’s Map anymore, but stopped. This was Fred Weasley, and you had spent an unhealthy amount of time around each other over the past several months that he had to have picked up on your little habits. He was more observant than he let on.

“What are you doing out here?” You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him.

“I couldn’t leave you alone outside to freeze, could I?” he asked, sitting down next to you. “What kind of boyfriend would that make me?”

“Please, just…” you inhaled sharply, “I can’t do this. You won. I lost. The game’s over, Weasley.”

“On a last-name basis now, are we? Ouch,” he said jokingly, but dropped the teasing lilt in his voice when he noticed your eyes starting to water. “Talk to me, Y/N.”

“It just isn’t fair,” you whispered, looking down at your feet.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not fair,’” your voice faltered, “you’re not supposed to do that. To do this.”

“Do what?”

“To sabotage the bet. To make me lose track of the scores.”

“Well, I stopped counting, you know,” Fred admitted, tucking a hair behind your hair. “There’s no need to keep track anymore, I think we’ve done enough convincing, don’t you think?”

“But that’s the problem!” your voice cracked as you finally turned to look at him. “It isn’t that I’m probably going to be dozens of Galleons poorer after this. It’s that I’m feeling something I shouldn’t, that…that you made me fall in love with you—”

“Y/N—”

“—I hate the way I care about you far more than I should,” you continued on, “and I hate myself even more for even wishing what we had was real. Because it was all fake, Fred, and you know it. We were faking it, and—”

“Y/N,” he repeated more sternly this time, causing you to stop mid sentence. “Look, I already told you I stopped keeping track. After that night in the common room….that’s when I realized I couldn’t. Lee damn near had to hit me over the head and force-feed me Veritaserum to admit that I was in deep. Galleons and glory be damned, I didn’t care about any of that anymore; it was easy for me to pretend when I was already in love with you.”

“But we weren’t supposed to fall in love, that was the rule,” you sniffed, wiping a tear from your cheek, “I thought we were supposed to follow the rules.”

Fred’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Well, I think some rules are made to be broken.”

And then, he was closing the gap and connecting your lips in a deep kiss. The gentle motion cut through the chilly evening air, washing over you in a blazing heat that had you melting into a haze of firewhisky, adrenaline, and something that smelled distinctly like a crackling log fire and cinnamon.

You had kissed him multiple times before this, but this one felt different than all the rest. It didn’t feel like you were doing it for show in the slightest; it felt genuine and warm and so real.

And the biggest difference was that you never wanted it to come to an end.

“So?” The grin on his face was palpable; contagious, as you broke apart, “What do you say, we stop faking it?”

“Are you fake breaking up with me?” you gasped and pretended to look surprised. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“I’m asking to real-date you, darling,” he said.

“There’s no money on the line this time?”

“No,” he hummed as he leaned forward to kiss you a second time and pretended to think for a second, “but there might be something else on the line instead.”

“And what is that ‘something else?’”

“You’ll have to wait a few years and see.”

xi. the promise

—FOUR YEARS LATER—

Fred was a great planner, of course. “Brilliant,” Harry would say, “absolutely brilliant.” He might’ve been a jokester, but he was a very organized jokester. He always knew what he was going to do and when.

So when it came to you, he thought he had a plan. He thought he had it planned for years; he was thinking fireworks, extravagant displays in the sky, taking you on a sunset ride across Romania on one of Charlie’s dragons. Something to match your free and daring spirit.

But, the moment ended up presenting itself on its own.

It was an ordinary night with yours and Hermione’s families joining the Weasleys for a quiet weekend at the Burrow. Mr. Weasley was listening intently as Mr. Granger and Harry explained the function of rubber ducks and the Internet in great detail, and the rest of you chatted with your parents, Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Granger by the kitchen counter about post-graduation plans.

Mrs. Granger had made an off-hand, passing comment about how lovely your silver bracelet—the one with charms of yours’ and Fred’s initials and Patronuses dangling from it—looked on your wrist. And then Fred was saying, “I know something else that would look great on her,” and taking a small box out of his pocket and flipping it open, revealing a blinding bright, silvery diamond ring.

Even as shouts of realization and cheers of joy rose up from around the kitchen, the world seemed to fade away into complete silence when he put the ring on your finger and encircled his arms around your torso, kissing your cheek and whispering into your ear,

“I told you there was something else, didn’t I?”

tags: @xhanthexzoria @arkofblake @fictionalsimp449 @polar-myst @katelikeslaughs @lmllsl @schlattandcompany

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fluff #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #hp fanfic #hp imagine #fred weasley fic #hogwarts

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wileys-russo · 5 months ago

Note

I love all your fics!!! From Alexia’s foundation can we get an Alexia x reader fic where you guys have a kid and Alexia won’t even take it easy on her own child while playing soccer

take it easy II a.putellas

"alexia." the blondes face softened at the call of her name, perking up as you smiled apologetically at the few other parents you scooted past to drop down into the empty seat beside your wife.

"hola mi amor." she pressed a kiss to your cheek as you scooted a little closer. "que?" she frowned seeing the obviously amused smile on your face as you looked at her.

"i have something..." she wiped at her mouth, having had a coffee not that long ago as you let out a chuckle and shook your head. "no, but you were making that face again." her frown only deepened at your answer.

"what face?" "the face." "what face?"

"this face." you mocked her stern scowl, sitting back in your chair and crossing your arms, practically glaring at the pitch where your son was running around, his training almost finished and the sun starting to dip lower behind the trees.

clicking her tongue at you the footballer just waved you off with a shake of her hand, though by the way she continued to fidget and adjust her position you knew she was now too aware of the way her face looked.

"what is wrong with my face?" your wife eventually huffed as the final whistle blew, all the boys huddling up with their coach as some of the parents began to stand and make their way over to the gate.

"nothing baby, i like your face. i married it." you pinched her cheek as she puffed air out of her nose and rolled her eyes simultaneously.

"why you make fun of it!" she scowled again, the accented english adorable as always, both of you speaking a blend of spanish, catalan and english around your son so he learned both your native languages equally.

"amor i am not making fun of it. but it makes him nervous when you sit and scowl like that!" you laughed as her frown shifted into something more curious. "who is nervous? leo?" alexia questioned.

"no amor, his coach!" you snickered, knocking your knee into hers and nodding down to where sure enough your sons five a side coach was sparing the pair of you, mainly your wife, nervous glances every now and then.

"see? this is why i said i would drop him off and pick him up today. have you been here the whole time?" you raised an eyebrow as your wife shrugged. "parents are allowed to stay."

"parents maybe, not professional footballers." you smiled, waving at leo as he spotted you with the same bright eyed grin that perfectly mirrored your wife.

"you make him nervous because of instead of watching leo you watch him and how he trains the boys. but they are five alexia! this isn't la masia." you teased as the blonde pulled a face, standing to her feet and offering you a hand up as the team dispersed, all running toward their parents.

"no if this was la masia, they would be winning games." alexia mumbled as you shot her a look and pinched her in warning, your sons team on quite the losing streak much to your over achieving high expectations having wifes displeasure.

"again amor, they are five." you reminded quietly as she hummed, leo sprinting over with his little cleats clacking against the pavement. alexia crouched down and braced right as he crash tackled into her, easily picking him up and spinning him around with a kiss to his cheek which was wiped off in seconds.

"you did so good today! i saw your goal." you praised as your son hugged your leg tightly, ruffling his sweaty hair as he beamed up at you, grabbing your hand and chattering away faster than you could even process the words.

"mami can we go kick the ball? i'm not tired yet!" your son begged, eyes looking pleadingly up at the blonde who smiled. "sí, cariño. i just want to go and speak to your coach about something-" you clicked your tongue at her but before you could even utter a word she was gone.

"vamos niño, mami can meet us at the car."

you watched on with a soft smile as your wife and son chased and raced around after one another in the park not far from your house, makeshift goals set up using sticks.

"mama! foul!" leo yelled to you from the ground as alexia tripped him, stealing the ball and booting it right into her goal, raising her hands to the sky victoriously. "amor." you cautioned her with a warning glare.

"que? that was clean!" she waved you off, leo already back up and on his feet with a scowl. "foul!" he parroted pointing accusingly at alexia. "foul. penalty kick awarded!" you did your best attempt at a whistle, will cheering and sprinting off to get the ball.

"let him score." you warned your wife once he was out of earshot. "en serio?" the midfielder scoffed in disbelief at the request. "sí alexia, he is five!" you hissed as leo returned, eagerly lining up for the kick.

"vamos mami!" he whined impatiently as you gave your wife a look and she walked off to the goal, standing in as keeper as leo took a few steps back and readied himself, hand shooting up in the air making you grin and alexia hide her smile.

"go!" you clapped, leo lurching forwards and booting the ball which sailed through the air...and right into alexias hands. "no goal!" your wife announced as leo slumped over, scowl returning and kicking at the grass.

"mama i wanna go home." he near levitated to your side, frown still etched into his features. "what! leo-" alexia called out but he was already off, stomping toward the car as you stood.

"see? you could not just let him score? idiota." you smacked her arm and snatched the ball, following after your son as alexia sighed deeply, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"leo we have to learn to lose cariño!" "i lose every week mami!" alexia winced a little at that as you all got into the car, maybe you had a point.

"lo siento hijo. how about when we get home i teach you a bicycle kick?" "sí sí sí!" "no alexia! he will break his neck!"

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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v6quewrlds · 8 months ago

Text

❝ darling, j. bellingham. ❞ ‎ ‎ ┉

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: your boyfriend jude has been nothing but sweet the entire time you've been together. who knew a number 10 jersey with his name on the back would affect him so much?

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: first lil fic for jude <3. partially inspired by the 3-0 win over greece, but if it happened at wembley instead. really tried with the brit slang, someone pls confirm if it's shirt instead of jersey lol. day seven of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, trent being trent, oral fixation (kinda), oral sex (69), american writing english people.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: jude bellingham x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.2k.

"You look stunning babes!" Tolami practically shrieked as your approached the cluster of WAGs, her eyes sparkling with excitement. The group of stylish women, all dressed to the nines in various shades of red and white to support the team, were huddled together, greeting each other after several months away at their partners' respective clubs. You had gone all out for today's match, your nails painted in the team's colors and your hair styled in perfectly poised waves that highlighted your cheekbones and the delicate gold hoops that danced against your neck.

"Thanks, love," you replied with a warm smile, giving your friend a quick hug. "I couldn't be caught looking anything less than leng next to you."

You glanced around the exclusive VIP area, your eyes scanning the pitch where the players were beginning their warm-ups. The electric atmosphere of the stadium was palpable, the throb of excitement pulsing through the air. The scent of freshly cut grass and the distant murmur of the crowd grew louder as you and Tolami took their seats.

During the match, your eyes never left Jude. His agility and precision on the pitch were mesmerizing, and you couldn't help but feel a swell of pride watching him command the midfield. Each time he looked up at your section, his gaze searching for yours, you felt a flutter in your stomach. When he scored the game's second goal with a powerful strike from just outside the box, the women erupted in cheers, and you were on your feet, your hands covering your mouth in shock and delight.

After the final whistle, the team huddled together, their faces a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. The crowd's roar was deafening as the players began to make their way towards the tunnel, and your heart raced in anticipation. He raised his hand up, gesturing for you to wait, and you nodded, your cheeks heating up under the ooh's of the other girls.

Once the team had disappeared into the depths of the stadium, you made your way down to the VIP lounge. The thrill of victory still hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of sweat and the tang of energy drinks. You chatted idly with Tolami and Megan as you waited for the players to emerge from the locker room, your laughter echoing off the walls. When Jude finally appeared, Trent Alexander-Arnold by his side, your shoulder relaxed in relief.

"Y/N," the Liverpool man called out to you, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "How's Jude holding up with that No Nut November bet? You keeping him honest, yeah?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a sigh at the juvenile banter that was a staple of the footballers' friendship. "Unfortunately, he's been a saint."

"It's only a matter of time before Trent gives up," Jude said, his own grin spreading as he approached the group of you. "Don't jinx it."

You playfully swiped at him, your eyes lighting up. "You know I believe in you."

Jude leaned down to kiss your cheek. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

As the two of you walked out of the stadium, the cool evening air a welcome contrast to the heat of the game, Jude's hand found yours, his grip firm and possessive. The short drive to your flat seemed to take forever, the silence between you charged with unspoken thoughts. The streets of London were alive with fans, their cheers and chants a distant backdrop to your own private world.

Once inside, you slipped out of your shoes with a sigh of relief, and Jude's eyes followed your every move. He couldn't take his gaze off the England crest and his name emblazoned on the back of your shirt.

"You know, it's weird," he began, his voice a little rough. "Seeing you with my name on your back... it's like you're mine. Like, really mine."

You turned to face him, a smirk playing on your lips. "Is that all it takes to make me yours?"

Jude took a step closer, his eyes darkening. "You know it's more than that, babe." He reached out, his fingers tracing the letters of his surname on the fabric of your shirt. "But seeing you wear this, supporting me with my name on your back, it just makes me want to show you off."

You felt a thrill run through you at his words. You stepped closer, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "What's stopping you, Bellingham?"

Jude didn't need any further encouragement. He pulled you into his arms, kissing you with a hunger that surprised you. His hands roamed over your body, his fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. You could feel his heart racing against your chest, the warmth of his skin melting through the cool material of the shirt. You stumbled into the bedroom, your kisses growing more urgent as you went.

You broke away, your breathing heavy, and looked at him with a glint of challenge in your eyes. "You know, if you want to keep that bet with Trent..."

Jude's smoldering gaze stuck to your face as he peeled the shirt over your head, revealing the lacy lingerie you had chosen just in case. "We don't have to tell him," he murmured against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin lightly as his voice rumbled deliciously down your spine.

With a laugh that was half moan, you stepped away from him, slipping out of your jeans. "You're so full of it," you said, your voice breathless with excitement. "You can't just cheat your way out of a bet. What's the point?"

Jude's eyes never left yours as he shed his own clothes, his eyes dark with desire. "Who said anything about cheating?" he murmured, advancing on you with a predatory grace. "I'm just saying, a man's got needs, and you're looking too good. Who am I to resist what's mine?"

You felt a shiver of excitement run down your spine as Jude reached out, his fingertips tracing the edge of your bra. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, the air between the two of you crackling with sexual tension. "You're insatiable," you whispered, your voice a little shaky.

"Just for you," Jude said, his voice a gruff promise. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as he kissed you again, deep and demanding. His touch was possessive, leaving no doubt in your mind that he meant every word. Your own hands roamed over his muscular chest, nails scraping lightly against his skin.

With a growl, he picked you up, carrying you to the bed as if you weighed nothing at all. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your body fitting against his like they were two pieces of a puzzle. The bedroom was a blur of movement as you tumbled onto the bed, the soft sheets contrasting with the hardness of his body. Jude's kisses grew more insistent, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth as his hands moved to the clasp of your bra.

The sound of the fabric giving way was lost in your muffled moans. His thumbs grazed your nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. You arched into his touch, your skin flushing with desire. "Jude," you gasped, your voice a whimper of need. He broke the kiss, his eyes raking over your exposed chest with a look that seemed to blister your skin.

Without wasting a moment, Jude's mouth found your breasts, his teeth grazing the sensitive peaks before his tongue swirled around them. Your breath hitched, your fingernails digging into his back as the sensation washed over you. "Jude, more, please," you begged, your voice a throaty whisper. Jude's mouth continued its movements as he complied, his teeth tugging gently before his mouth closed around your nipple, suckling with a fervor that had your back arching off the bed.

Jude's hands roamed your body, his thumbs dipping into your waistband to tease the sensitive flesh just above your hips. Your hands weren't idle either, exploring the planes of his back, your nails scraping against the firm muscles as you pulled him closer.

With a sudden jolt of energy, you rolled the two of you over so you were on top, straddling him. "My turn," you whispered, your eyes sparkling with arousal. Your fingers traced the line of his jaw before you leaned down to kiss him, your teeth grazing his bottom lip before your tongue darted out to taste him. His hands moved to your hips, his grip tightening as you began to rock against him, feeling his length grow beneath you.

Jude's breath hitched as you kissed along his neck, your teeth scraping the sensitive skin just enough to make him shiver. He could feel the heat building between you two, the need growing more intense with every passing moment. "Serena," he groaned, his voice thick with want.

With a wicked smile, you slid off him, your eyes studying his face as you reached for his boxers. You took your time, enjoying the way his body reacted to your every touch. Finally, you pulled them down, revealing his hard length. You took him in your hand, stroking him gently, watching his reaction with a sense of power that thrilled you to the core.

Jude's eyes rolled back, his hips bucking upward as you touched him. "Fuck," he muttered, his hand coming up to cover yours, guiding your movements. "You're killing me, babe."

Your smile grew wider as you leaned into him, your breath hot against his skin. "Good things come to those who wait," you sang under your breath, your teeth grazing his earlobe. You kissed a trail down his chest, your tongue tracing the lines of his abs before finally reaching his cock. You took him into your mouth, the velvet heat of your lips wrapping around him, your tongue swirling in a way that made him groan.

His hands tangled in your hair as you took him deeper, your movements deliberate and teasing. He could feel the tension in his body winding tighter and tighter, the urge to push you down and fuck you senseless growing stronger with every passing second. "Babe, hold on," he ground out, his voice tight with restraint. "Sit on my face, 69. Wanna taste you."

With a light giggle, you complied, straddling his head. The scent of your arousal filled the room, making his mouth water as his tongue found your clit. You gasped, your movements faltering as you focused on the delicious sensation of his mouth on you. Your hand stroked him in time with his tongue, the sound of your moans mixing with the wetness of your desire.

Your body began to tense, your movements growing more frantic as you felt the orgasm building within you. Jude's hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he continued to devour you, his tongue flicking and swirling in a pattern that had you seeing stars. "Oh god," you whispered, your voice a hoarse plea.

Jude felt your thighs tighten around his head, your body shaking with the beginnings of climax. With a triumphant groan, he pushed his tongue deeper, feeling your muscles spasm as you came. Your hips rocked against his face, your tongue still working his cock. The sensation was overwhelming, and with a final, desperate stroke, he too reached the edge, his body tensing as he released into your mouth.

You sat up, swiping your tongue across your lips, a smug smile playing on your face as you turned to face your boyfriend. Jude all but whimpered as your mouth fell open to reveal you had swallowed him completely. With a giggle, you watched as Jude lay there, his chest heaving, his eyes closed in bliss.

"All this over a shirt?" you teased, your voice filled with a mix of satisfaction and amusement.

"It's not just the shirt," he murmured, his eyes finally opening to meet yours. "It's knowing that you're mine, that you're supporting me in every way possible." He reached up, his fingers tracing the outline of your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "That I'm the one who gets to take you home after games like this."

The words sent a thrill through you, and you leaned down to kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on his lips. Jude's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, his hands roaming over your body in a silent show of strength and possession.

Your bodies were slick with sweat, your hearts pounding in unison as you broke away, panting for air. Jude rolled you over again, his muscles flexing as he positioned himself above you, his cock still hard and demanding. "Round two?" he asked, his voice a seductive purr.

Your eyes widened, your chest heaving with the aftershocks of pleasure. "You're unbelievable," you whispered, but you didn't protest as he nudged your thighs apart. Jude's gaze was intense, his eyes dark with lust as he settled between your legs, his cock pressing against your entrance. You felt the heat of him, the promise of more pleasure, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him closer.

#&. cassie writes.#&. nnn masterlist.#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x black reader #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x you #black!fem!reader #x black fem reader #black!reader #black!oc #x black reader

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yasministration · 7 days ago

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crossover episode - marauders, criminal minds

summary: after a long case, you're happy to find your husband and two best friends have taken a short trip to come pick you up from work. but your coworkers are more than shocked to discover you're not only married, but have a child too. wc: 1.4k+ this fic came to me in a dream. you can read it as a marauders fan or as a criminal minds fan, or both

The parking lot was cold this late at night, despite the coat you wore over your outfit. The conversation between your coworkers was almost non-existent, having spent the past four days together on a case, and the last three hours on a jet, talking until there was nothing to converse about anymore, instead all lulling into a dreamless sleep.

You readjusted the duffel bag hanging onto your shoulder, scanning the entrance to the parking lot, where you silently stood with your coworkers. Aaron’s expression was nearly identical to his usual one, but his eyes were weighed downwards, as though they would shut at any moment. You didn’t bother taking a look at anyone else, already predicting what they each looked like.

Then, as you fished for your car keys in your pocket, you heard a call of “Oi, Potter!” Your head snapped towards the sound of your last name, a smile immediately making its way onto your face at the sight of three familiar figures. You heard Emily echo the name, testing it on her tongue. She, and all your coworkers, only knew you by your maiden name. Which was, to say the least, not Potter.

As though your body had taken control, your legs carried you towards the three men: James sat in the front seat of the car, door open, but his back faced the steering will, his eyes glancing towards something in the back seat ever so often whilst Remus and Sirius stood outside the car, huddled around your husband. As you got closer, you broke out into an excited run, watching as your husband slipped out of the car, arms opening wide just in time to catch you, who had thrown yourself into him.

From the parking’s entrance, Emily glanced back towards the rest of the team, mouth agape with shock. Derek, still staring at you, put a hand on Emily’s shoulder, silently pointing towards you. She gasped at the sight of you shared a passionate kiss with James before slipping out of his arms and greeting your two friends with quick hugs.

“Is, where’s-?” But your question was cut off by a quiet “’s that mama?” Your eyes went wide, features softening as you dropped your bag on the floor, moving to open the car’s back door. “Hi Harry.” You said to your son softly, leaning forward to press a kiss onto his forehead. Harry extended his arms towards you, repeatedly calling out different variations of ‘mama’.

You unbuckled the seatbelt of his car seat, pulling him out of the car and into your arms. “I missed you.” You whispered to him, brushing his hair out of his face.

Now, Spencer was definitely surprised seeing you kiss a man across the parking lot, but watching as you pulled out an entire toddler into your arms? One who immediately began animatedly telling you a story about his day, wildly gesturing with his arms? Well, that was an entirely different story.

“Is that?” He spluttered, eyes glued to you. “She has an entire child?” Continued Emily, head bobbing forward in shock. Rossi shrugged from behind them, lighting up his car from where he stood, pushing past them. “I don’t now why you’re surprised. She’s a very motherly person.”

“She’s, she’s like 20!” Argued Derek, placing a hand on his bald head in shock. Hotch chuckled at the statement, also making his way to his own car, leaving your three closest friends staring at you in disbelief.

“He’s got to be at least three years old.” Said Emily, crossing her arms over her chest. "That would make sense," Began Spencer, "She joined the team only two years ago." The three of them watched silently as James shut the car door, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, a hand placed over the one you had on your son’s back.

“It’s really late, you guys. You didn’t have to come.”

“We wanted to. Got bored sitting around doing nothing.” Explained Remus with a shrug of his shoulders.

“And Harry couldn’t sleep. He missed his mum.” You furrowed your eyebrows, pouting softly. You hated being away from Harry, away from James too. You glanced down to look at Harry, still in your arms, his head now resting on your shoulder as he slept, having spent the last of his energy telling you about how he chose his own outfit this morning.

“He felt better knowing that we were coming to pick you up. And you know how he immediately sleeps when we drive around for a bit.” You took a step forward, prying yourself out of James’s arms so you could around, pressing your lips against his in a soft kiss.

“And we got takeout on the way!” Added Sirius, causing your eyes to light up. “Of course, we got you your favourite.” You threw your head back with a groan, mumbling “I love you guys so much.”

“Not more than me, right?” James asked, and you giggled, kissing him softly once more. “No, not more than you.”

"I think your friends are a little surprised.” Remus added suddenly, and you slowly turned towards the parking lot entrance, surprised to see Spencer, Derek and Emily still stood there. For a moment, you forgot that they didn’t know the fine details of your private life.

You smiled, balancing Harry on one arm so you could wave at them with the other. It was comedic, the way they all raised a hand unanimously in a wave. “I don’t believe it.” Emily whispered under her breath. “I have to tell Penelope.”

“She’s really not gonna like this.”

“Or she’ll take one look at the kid and forget she never knew about this.”

They nodded in agreement, watching as you nodded your head over for them to come meet your friends. “Don’t be mad.” Was the first thing you said when they were close enough, but you were smiling. “That’s my husband James, and that’s Remus and Sirius.”

They greeted each other with little words, causing your teammates to blink slowly. Emily was the one to ask, her brain short-circuiting “You guys are British?”

“Not by choice.” Derek chuckled at Sirius’s comment, but his eyes were glued to Harry still. “Oh, this is Harry. He’s asleep, but…”

“He’s yours.” You glanced up at Spencer, nodding “He’s mine.”

“Wow, Rossi really was right.” You laughed, confused expression prompting her to continue. “Said we shouldn’t be surprised because you’re so motherly.” James seemed to like those words, his hand on your waist silently claiming you as his. The mother of his child.

“No, I really am offended, you know?” Derek said, placing his hands on his hips. “I thought we were your closest friends.”

“You guys are my closest friends.” Derek raised his eyebrows, pointedly glancing at Sirius and Remus, who were both very much away of the fact that you were a mother.

“They’re my family, Derek. You guys are my closest friends.” Emily huffed, not knowing what to do with her hands. “I really want to give you a hug but I don’t want to wake the baby up.”

“Em, he’s hardly a baby anymore.” But still, James slid his hands around Harry’s waist, lifting him from your arms to take him from you, giving your shoulders a rest. Instantly, Emily launched herself into you, whispering to you “I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks, Em.” When you separated from the hug, Spencer and Derek were immediately lining up for their own hugs, Spencer mumbling under his breath “This one’s for Penelope.”

It was silent for a long moment, your eyes trailing away from your mini audience so you could take a glance at Harry, so effortlessly being carried by James, who swayed from side to side in an attempt to keep him asleep. “Um, I think we’re gonna go.” Your coworkers nodded, standing still whilst staring at you, Harry and James. “It was nice meeting you guys.” James said opening the door to the backseat and placing Harry back into the carseat.

You handed Remus your car keys, and he and Sirius began making their way over to your vehicle so you could drive home with your husband. They said their goodbyes, and just as you were about to climb into the middle seat to sit next to Harry, Emily grasped your hand, tugging you back to tell you “Very attractive husband, by the way.” You laughed, and she winked, closing the car door behind you.

“Did you just call her husband hot?” Derek asked as you drove away.

“He is hot.”

“Emily.” Spencer scolded, a smile on his face nonetheless.

“What? I’m a lesbian. If anything, he should be the worried one.”

“This is a new low, hitting on a married woman with a child.”

Emily rolled her eyes, dialling Penelope’s number to tell her the news. Of course, the technical analyst did not pick up. She was fast asleep, and you were driving away into the distance with the family no one new you had.

Apart from Rossi, apparently.

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applecaviar · 5 months ago

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How do the LADS men fu¢k the jealousy out of you.

Xavier/Rafayel

Already working on Caleb/Zayne/Sylus

TW: SMUT SMUT AND MORE SMUT.

Xavier 🌟🌟

The training session had been grueling, as all of all of your sessions tended to be. You pushed the new recruits hard, demanding perfection in every drill and exercise. They needed to be in peak form to face the horrors that awaited them out there in the No-Hunt Zones, battling the vicious creatures known as Wanderers.

The training session had wrapped up, and Xavier was wiping sweat from his brow with a towel, his chest heaving slightly from exertion. That's when you noticed the gaggle of giggling girls from his team hovering nearby, all batting their eyelashes at him and whispering to each other.

Typical. You could practically see the hearts floating above their heads as they fawned over their fearless leader. It was always the same - his reputation as the most successful Hunter in Linkon City tended to have that effect on people. Especially the young, impressionable rookie girls fresh out of training.

As you watched the scene unfold, a flicker of annoyance flashed across your face. The way they kept asking question after question, giggling at every word that fell from Xavier's lips, was starting to get on your nerves.

Don't they have anything better to do than hang around him like a pack of lovestruck puppies? you thought to yourself, feeling a twinge of possessiveness. This was hardly the first time you'd witnessed such a display, but it was no less grating.

Shaking your head, you decided to head to the locker room and get cleaned up after the long day of training. As you walked away, you couldn't help but overhear snippets of their conversation:

"...did you really kill 70,000 Wanderers all by yourself?" a blonde girl gushed.

"And with a sword, no less! I can't believe you wield it with such skill and precision," another chimed in.

You turned on the shower, letting the hot water cascade over your body as you tried to wash away the irritation. But even as you stood there, the image of them hanging off Xavier kept flashing through your mind.

Little did you know, the seeds of jealousy planted by their behavior would only grow more tangled and thorny as the day went on.

As you stepped out of the shower and started dressing you overheard two of the girls from Xavier's team. They were huddled together, whispering and giggling, clearly gossiping about their beloved leader. You froze, not wanting them to know you were within earshot, as they continued their hushed conversation.

"I swear, I've seen him around the headquarters a bunch of times, but he's never mentioned anyone special," the first girl said, her voice dripping with a mix of curiosity and envy. "Maybe he's just too focused on hunting to settle down with anyone."

"I don't know, Sarah. A guy like that? I bet he has girls throwing themselves at him all the time," the second girl, whose name you didn't catch, speculated. "Did you see the way some of the new recruits were fawning over him today? I'm surprised he can even walk with all that ego inflating!"

Just then, the second girl's eyes widened. "Oh my god, what if... what if he's actually gay? That would explain why he's never been spotted with anyone."

Sarah scoffed. "No way. I've seen the way he looks at y/n. Trust me, he's into girls... and I don't think he's the type to hide it if he was seeing someone."

"Well, if he's not taken, then maybe one of us should make a move. I mean, he's just so... captivating. Those piercing blue eyes, that chiseled jaw, that amazing body..." She sighed dreamily.

Her friend nodded eagerly, a similar starstruck look on her face. "I know, right? And he's so brave and skilled too. He's like, the total package."

Sarah giggled conspiratorially. "So what do you say, Lisa? Should we have a little competition to see who can get his attention first? Loser buys the winner dinner at that fancy new restaurant downtown?"

Lisa licked her lips, a determined glint in her eye. "You're on, Sarah. But I warn you - I play to win. That hottie is mine!"

You slam the door of your locker hard enough to make the metal clang and rattle. The room fell silent for a moment before the whispers restarted, more subdued this time.

As you exited the locker room, you couldn't shake the feeling that their stupid gossip had only added to the growing uneasiness you felt about Xavier's apparent single status.

Why hasn't he mentioned me? Does he not want people to know about us? Or is he just so used to women throwing themselves at him that he doesn't think he needs to bother? you wondered, your mind racing with increasingly paranoid thoughts

As you stepped out of the locker room, you were greeted by the sight of Xavier leaning casually against the wall across the hall, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked up as you approached, a warm smile spreading across his handsome face.

"Hey there," he greeted you, pushing off from the wall and falling into step beside you as you made your way out of the Hunters Association headquarters. "I was starting to think you might have snuck out the back way to avoid me." He chuckled, playfully nudging your shoulder with his own.

As you walked together, you couldn't shake the lingering irritation from overhearing the other girls' conversation in the locker room. You knew it was silly to be jealous, but you couldn't help feeling a flare of possessiveness at the thought of anyone else trying to stake a claim on Xavier.

As the two of you walked hand in hand towards your apartment building, you decided to bring up the elephant in the room. Glancing up at Xavier, you asked him about his thoughts on the day's training session with his team.

"How was the training with your team today? How did it go?" you inquired, genuinely interested in his take on the day's events.

Xavier was quiet for a moment, considering his response. "It went well, actually. There were a couple of new girls who really stood out, to be honest. They were strong, quick learners, and seemed to have a real knack for the techniques I was teaching."

"Do you think they have a real shot at making it as Hunters?" you asked, genuinely curious what Xavier thought of their potential.

He was silent for a long moment, considering his next words carefully. "Hard to say. They have the physical capability, but being a successful Hunter takes so much more than just brawn. It requires heart, determination, and a deep commitment to protecting others. We'll see how they hold up under pressure in the long run."

Without really thinking about it, you let go of his hand, feeling the need to put some distance between the two of you.

"I think I'm going to sleep early tonight," you announced abruptly, hoping to cut the conversation short before your jealousy got the better of you. "I'm feeling really tired after today."

Xavier looked down at you, a flicker of concern in his blue eyes as he sensed the sudden shift in your mood. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, reaching out to gently squeeze your shoulder. "You've been quiet since we left the headquarters. Did something happen that I should know about?"

He paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. "Look, I know today was a long day, but I was thinking... what if we stopped by that little hotpot place on our way home? We could share a meal and unwind a bit before calling it a night. My treat, of course."

Xavier smiled at you, hoping to coax a similar smile out of you in return. "Unless you'd rather just head home and collapse into bed. I completely understand if you're too tired to go out tonight." He kept his tone light and casual, not wanting to pressure you into anything, but secretly hoping you would agree to spend a little more time with him before the night was over.

As the jealous thoughts swirled in your mind, you felt your grip on your temper slipping away. Without really considering the harshness of your words, you blurted out your next sentence, your voice dripping with an unintended bitterness.

"No, but I think Sarah or Lisa would be more than happy to go with you instead," you snapped, immediately regretting the sharpness of your tone. As soon as the words left your lips, you wanted to take them back, but it was too late.

Xavier's eyes widened in surprise at your sudden outburst, and he stopped walking abruptly, forcing you to halt alongside him. He looked down at you, a mix of confusion and hurt flashing across his handsome face as he tried to process your jealous accusation.

"What are you talking about, y/n?" he asked slowly, his brow furrowing with concern. "Sarah and Lisa are on my team, yes, but that doesn't mean I have any intention of asking them out. Why would you even say something like that?"

Xavier stared at you, taken aback by your sudden outburst of jealousy. He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off abruptly.

"Forget it, okay? Just... just forget I said anything," you muttered, feeling your cheeks flush with anger and embarrassment. You couldn't believe you had let your jealousy get the best of you like that.

Without waiting for his response, you spun on your heel and stormed off down the sidewalk, leaving Xavier standing there looking bewildered. You knew you were being irrational, but you couldn't seem to control the green-eyed monster raging inside you.

As you neared your apartment building, you hesitated, part of you wanting to go back and apologize to Xavier, and another part of you stubbornly insisting that he should be the one to come after you, to reassure you that you were the only one he wanted.

Maybe I should just go inside and cool off, you thought to yourself, knowing that you were still too worked up to have a rational conversation at the moment. I'll apologize properly later, when I'm not so angry and jealous anymore.

As you fumbled with the key, your hands still shaking slightly from the lingering anger and emotion, you finally managed to unlock the door to your apartment. Stepping inside, you quickly turned to lock the door behind you, wanting nothing more than the solitude and safety of your private sanctuary.

But as your hand reached for the lock, you suddenly felt a presence behind you. Your heart leapt into your throat as you spun around, a gasp escaping your lips.

There, standing just a few feet inside the darkened apartment, was none other than Xavier. For a moment, you simply stared at him in shock, your eyes wide and your heart pounding in your chest. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, not the least of which was a fierce mix of relief and guilt.

Before you could even formulate an apology, Xavier began walking towards you with a determined stride. His blue eyes flashed with a mix of emotions - hurt, confusion, and something else you couldn't quite place. He stopped just a breath away from you, his tall frame looming over your own.

"Is that what you're going to do, y/n?" he asked, his voice low and intense. "You're going to act like a brat and accuse me of being interested in other girls, only to run off and try to slam the door in my face?"

Xavier shook his head slowly, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. "I thought we were past this kind of jealousy and insecurity. I've never given you any reason to doubt me or question where my loyalties lie."

Xavier's grip tightened in your hair as he pulled you flush against his firm chest, his other hand coming up to grip your hip possessively. He tilted your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to meet his intense, smoldering gaze.

"Do you need a reminder of what you mean to me?" he growled, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire.

His lips crashed against yours in a searing, dominating kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. He kissed you deeply, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you thoroughly, leaving no doubt as to his intentions.

When he finally pulled back, you were both left panting and flushed, your bodies pressed so tightly together that you could feel the rapid thumping of his heartbeat against your own.

"Only a fool would ever look at anyone else when they have you," Xavier rasped, his thumb brushing over your swollen lower lip. "You're all I see, y/n. You're all I want."

He stepped even closer, if that was possible, until you were pinned helplessly between his hard, muscular body and the wall behind you.

"I had other plans for tonight," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke. "Like holding you close, feeding you a nice dinner, and then slowly, gently making love to you all night long until we both collapsed from exhaustion."

Xavier's hand slid from your hip to grip your ass, squeezing the supple flesh possessively as he ground his hardening cock against your belly. "But it seems like you need a different kind of reminder first."

His other hand released your hair to grip your jaw, tilting your head to the side to expose the column of your throat. "So I'm going to fuck the jealousy out of you," he growled, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "I'm going to fuck you so hard and so thoroughly that the only thought in your pretty little head will be my name."

Xavier's lips latched onto your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin as his hands roamed greedily over your curves. "And then, once I've erased every trace of doubt from your mind, I'm going to fuck you all over again, until you're drowning in pleasure and completely overwhelmed by the knowledge that I belong to you."

He nipped sharply at your earlobe before soothing the sting with his tongue. "Does that sound good, baby? Or do you need more convincing?" Xavier purred, his voice a sinful promise of all the deliciously wicked things he intended to do to your willing body.

Xavier silenced your attempted apology with another searing kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth and leaving you breathless. When he finally pulled back, his eyes flashed with a dark, hungry intensity.

"Apology not accepted," he growled, his voice rough with desire and a hint of anger. "You wanted to be a brat, so now you're going to be treated like one."

His hands made quick work of your clothes, practically tearing them from your body in his haste to bare your flesh to his greedy gaze. Buttons popped and fabric ripped, the sound of destruction filling the air as Xavier laid waste to your wardrobe.

In a matter of moments, you stood before him, naked and vulnerable, your skin flushed and tingling from his rough touches. Xavier drank in the sight of you, his eyes burning with a fierce, possessive hunger.

"Look at you," he rasped, his large hands skimming over your curves. "Feel how hard you make me, baby?" Xavier panted against your lips, his hips rolling in a slow, filthy grind. "You're going to take care of that later, with your cunt. But first..."

His fingers plunged deep inside your fluttering channel, pumping in and out of your tight heat with a punishing rhythm.

Xavier paused, his fingers still buried deep inside your clenching heat as he gazed at you with an intense, searching look. His brow furrowed as he studied your flushed and panting face, his thumb circling your clit with maddeningly light touches.

"Tell me what got you so jealous baby," he demanded, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. "I want to hear you say it out loud. I want to know exactly what made you doubt me, doubt us, like this."

His other hand slid up your side, cupping the soft swell of your breast, his fingers sinking into the pliant flesh. He rolled your nipple between his fingers, pinching and tugging at the sensitive peak until it stiffened into a hard, aching point.

“Ngh-Xav—” The whimpers just won’t stop spilling from your lips, his gaze drilling into your eyes and falling straight to your drenching cunt. “I- fuck-”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, his voice a dark, commanding rumble.

"Talk to me like a big girl, y/n," he growled, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "Use your words, baby.

His fingers pumped faster inside your dripping cunt, his palm grinding against your clit with each thrust. The obscene sound of your arousal filled the room as Xavier fingered you hard and fast, determined to wring an answer from your lips.

"Sarah and Lisa they were saying.....ah fuckkk!" You try to tell him about what you heard but his fingers are still deep inside you hitting the perfect spot.

"Sarah and Lisa?" he repeated, a sharp edge to his voice. "You're jealous because of them? Because of my teammates?"

He withdrew his fingers from your clenching heat abruptly, leaving you empty and aching. Before you could protest, he spun you around and bent you over the arm of the couch, your bare ass and dripping pussy on full display.

Xavier delivered a sharp smack to your ass, the sound echoing through the room. "Let me make one thing crystal fucking clear," he snarled, rubbing the reddening flesh. "I. Am. Not. Interested. In. Them."

Another smack landed on your other cheek, harder than the first. "The only reason they were even talking to me was because we were discussing strategy and team dynamics. Nothing more, nothing less."

He gripped your hips punishingly, yanking you back against the thick ridge of his cock. "You're the only one I want, y/n. The only one I crave. The only one I fucking love." To punctuate his words, Xavier thrust his hips forward, grinding his clothed erection against your soaked folds.

Xavier knelt down behind you, his strong hands gripping your thighs and pushing your legs apart. He forced your knees to bend, opening you wide and exposing your glistening, needy sex to his hungry gaze.

"Keep these legs spread for me, baby," he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire."I want to see this pretty pussy as I eat it."

With that, he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your slit, savoring your tangy essence with a low moan. He licked and suckled at your folds, his skilled mouth reducing you to a writhing, mewling mess in record time.

He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his tongue flicking over the swollen bud with expert precision. Two fingers plunged deep into your clenching channel, pumping in and out of your soaked heat.

"Mmm, sweet girl making such a mess" Xavier purred, his voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh.

He spat directly onto your dripping, glistening folds, watching as fresh waves of your arousal gushed out to coat his chin and drip down onto the couch below. Without hesitation, he leaned in and began to lap at the slickness, sucking and slurping up every drop of your essence.

"Your taste is intoxicating," he groaned, his tongue delving deeper to plunder your fluttering channel. "I could spend hours feasting on this pretty pussy and never get enough."

Xavier's hands slid higher, gripping the globes of your ass and kneading the pliant flesh. He spread you wider, opening you fully to his relentless onslaught as he ate you like a man possessed.

"Please, don't stop," you whimper, your hips bucking needily against his face as you desperately seek more of that blissful friction.

Xavier pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal as he fixed you with a stern, disapproving glare. He released your thighs, allowing them to close with a soft, intimate sound, then you feel him gripping your hips and pulling you to straddle his lap.

"No," he said firmly, his voice a low, commanding growl. "Good girls get everything they want. Brats like you don't get to cum when they need it."

He punctuated his words with a sharp smack to your ass, the stinging pain sending a jolt through your body. Xavier rubbed the reddening flesh soothingly.

"Since you seem determined to act like a spoiled brat, I think it's only fitting that you be treated as one," he said, a wicked glint in his eye. "You can sit here and squirm on my lap, feeling my hard cock through my pants, until I decide you've learned your lesson."

Xavier's other hand slid up your spine, wrapping around the nape of your neck. He tilted your head to the side, exposing the slender column of your throat to his hungry mouth. He licked and nipped at the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point.

He rocked his hips upwards, grinding his rigid length against your aching, empty sex. The thin fabric of his pants created a maddening barrier between you, allowing you to feel the shape and size of him but denying you the sweet friction you craved.

"Be a good brat and sit still," Xavier ordered, his voice a low, dominant rumble. "We have all night long for me to teach you the consequences of jealousy and insecurity."

Xavier's fingers made quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing his thick, hard cock from his pants. The moment his length sprang out, he gripped your hips and lifted you slightly, allowing his shaft to slap against your dripping, swollen clit a couple times in quick succession.

"Feel that, baby?" he whispered, his voice rough and heavy with desire. "Feel how hard you make me? How much I want you?"

He pinched your nipple hard, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers as he continued his torturous teasing. Each pass of his cockhead over your aching clit sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, stoking the fire in your core.

His cockhead pushing against your entrance before sliding back up to bump against your clit. He set a maddeningly slow, teasing rhythm, denying you the deep penetration you desperately craved.

"Please..." you whimpered, your body writhing in his lap as you tried to chase more of that glorious friction. "Please, Xavier...I need...I need..."

"Need what, sweetgirl?" he purred, a wicked glint in his eye as he watched you squirm. "Tell me what you need. Use your words, brat."

His hand slid from your breast to your thigh, gripping it tightly as he spread your leg further to the side. This new position allowed him to grind the thick ridge of his cock directly against your dripping slit, the head catching on your entrance with each torturous thrust.

"Tell me how badly you want it," Xavier growled, his voice a dark, sinful rumble. "Tell me what it would feel like to have my big, hard cock stretching out your tight little cunt. Filling you up so deep and so fucking full..."

He punctuated his words with a sharp, sudden thrust, his cockhead popping inside your entrance before quickly pulling back out. The brief, fleeting sensation of fullness only served to heighten your desperate arousal and frustration.

Xavier's eyes darkened with lust as he watched your eyes flutter shut, your head lolling back in ecstasy with each maddeningly slow thrust. The needy, desperate sounds spilling from your lips only fueled his own desire, his cock throbbing and leaking against your soaked folds.

"That's it, baby," he purred, his voice a low, wicked rumble. "Let me hear how much you want it. Let me hear how badly you need my cock."

He gripped your thighs tighter, spreading your legs wider as he ground his hips against yours with ruthless precision. Each pass of his cockhead over your aching clit sent electric shocks of pleasure zipping up your spine, your back arching as you chased the sensation.

"Please, Xavier..." you whimpered, your voice breaking on a desperate moan. "Please fuck me. I need your cock so badly. I need you to fill me up and fuck me hard and don't stop until I'm screaming your name..."

"Since you asked so nicely, baby..." he growled against your lips, his voice rough and heavy with desire. "I suppose I can give you what you need."

Xavier gripped your hips tightly, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he lifted you up with a grunt of effort. He positioned your dripping, aching sex directly over his throbbing, engorged cock, the swollen head nudging against your entrance with a teasing promise of the pleasure to come.

With that, he surged upwards, driving his thick, pulsing shaft deep into your tight, clenching heat. Your body stretched deliciously around his girth as he hilts inside you, his heavy balls coming to rest against your ass with a lewd slap.

"FUCK!" you both screamed in unison as your bodies joined, your voices echoing off the walls.

Xavier gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he guided your movements. "That's it, baby. Ride me just like that," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Use these sexy legs and fuck yourself on my cock until you make yourself cum."

He leaned forward, capturing your nipple between his teeth. He bit down just hard enough to make you gasp, sending a jolt of pained pleasure straight to your core. At the same time, one of his hands slid around to grip your ass, spreading your cheeks and tilting your hips to take him even deeper.

"That's it. Fuck...I can feel you getting closer," he groaned, his hot breath washing over your breast. "Your cunt is squeezing me so fucking tight."

Xavier's grip tightened on your hips as he watched your core slide up and down his shaft, your velvet walls clenching and fluttering around him with each upward glide. The exquisite sensation of your silken heat gripping his cock so tightly sent a surge of primal lust crashing through his veins, his balls drawing up tight against his body as his own release approached.

"That's it, baby. Fuck...keep squeezing my cock just like that," he growled, his voice a low, guttural rumble.

The words “C-cumming-” are barely starting words out of your mouth before it crashes into you headfirst. You arch your spine into the perfect semi-circle as your orgasm crashed over you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your fingers clawing at his skin as you clung to him for dear life, your cries of ecstasy filling the room.

"Fuck....fuck..fu...!" Xavier roared, his voice echoing off the walls as your velvet walls clamped down on his cock like a vice. The sensation of your cunt spasming and fluttering around his shaft pushed him over the edge, his own release slamming into him.

He slammed his hips upwards one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside your quivering heat as his cock jerked and pulsed. Thick, hot ropes of cum painted your insides, coating your walls with his seed as he emptied himself inside you with a guttural groan.

Xavier's body shuddered and jerked as he rode out the aftershocks of his intense climax, holding your trembling form tightly against his chest. He peppered your neck and shoulder with soft kisses, his hands roaming over your curves possessively as he slowly came down from the high of his release.

Xavier tangled his fingers in your hair, gripping the silky strands gently as he tilted your head back to look up at him. His blue eyes searched yours intensely, the emotion and sincerity in their depths making your heart flutter in your chest.

He brushed a tender kiss against your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin for a long moment. "I meant what I said before. I love you more than anything in this world or any other. You're my everything, my reason for living."

"Believe me, my love," he murmured, his voice a low, fervent whisper. "No one can ever take your place in my heart. It belongs to you, completely and utterly, now and forever."

Rafayel 🐡

Rafayel was already awake, his mind too restless to sleep any longer. He sat on the balcony of the resort hotel, watching the sun begin to peek over the horizon. The desert landscape seemed to glow in the early morning light, the sand dunes casting long shadows across the barren expanse.

He heard the sound of your footsteps approaching and turned to see you emerge from the bedroom, your hair still tousled with sleep. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he took in your appearance, remembering the feel of your body pressed against his as you slept.

Rising from the balcony chair, he crossed the distance between you and took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. His eyes met yours, a flicker of mischief dancing in their purple-pink depths.

"Good morning, my love," he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep. "I have to run some errands at the art gallery today. Would you come with me? I promise it won't take long."

He knew he was being selfish, asking you to accompany him. But the thought of spending even a moment away from you was unbearable, especially in a place like this that felt so foreign and oppressive to him. He needed your presence, your calming influence, to ground him.

"Fine, but you have to invite me some dinner after" you say rubbing the sleep off your eyes.

Rafayel leaned back and laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief and gratitude. "Dinner it is," he agreed, his voice warm with a newfound lightness. "I know a little place not far from here, a local gem hidden away in the back alleys of the city. They serve the most divine seafood, as fresh as if it was caught that very day."

An hour later, you emerged from the bedroom dressed for the day ahead. Rafayel had already finished getting ready, looking devastatingly handsome in a crisp linen shirt the color of a summer sky and tailored trousers that hugged his lean frame. He leaned against the wall opposite the bedroom door, his arms crossed over his chest and a playful smirk on his lips as he watched you approach.

"Well, don't you look good enough to eat," he purred, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you in a few quick strides. His hands came up to rest on your hips, pulling you flush against him as he dipped his head down to steal a heated kiss. He lingered for a long moment, savoring the taste of your lips and the feeling of your body pressed against his.

As you ate breakfast, Rafayel couldn't keep his eyes off of you. He watched as you bit into a piece of fruit, your lips parting and your tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of juice. He felt a surge of desire rush through him, his body responding to the simple, intimate gesture with a fervor that surprised even him.

He reached across the table and took your hand in his own, squeezing your fingers gently as he leaned in closer to you. "I'm so glad you agreed to come with me today," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "I don't think I could have faced that place alone."

As you guys arrived at the gallery, a sense of unease began to creep over Rafayel. He had been looking forward to seeing Thomas and discuss some important business matters they had to attend to. However, as you stepped inside the cool, air-conditioned space, Rafayel's brow furrowed in confusion.

As you turned a corner, Rafayel spotted a note taped to the wall, the paper fluttering slightly in the breeze from the AC vent. He released your hand and stepped forward, plucking the note from the wall and unfolding it with a sense of growing trepidation.

The note was from Thomas, the handwriting hurried and slightly illegible.

Thomas wrote that something urgent had come up, a family emergency that required his immediate attention. He apologized for not being there and promised to make it up to Rafayel soon. However, he also mentioned that there was a package waiting for Rafayel in his office, something important that he needed to deal with right away.

"Well, I suppose you'll just have to play the role of my assistant for the day," he murmured " And i can't leave without my important...package"

" I wouldn't call myself a package"

Rafayel's head snapped towards the source of the voice, his body tensing up as he recognized the redhead girl emerging from the office. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something like irritation and unease flashing across his face before it settled into a blank, guarded expression.

Releasing you from his embrace, Rafayel took a step back, putting a bit of distance between your bodies. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw tightening as he regarded the girl warily.

It was clear he knew her, though from the look on his face, not particularly well or fondly. There was a history there, something unspoken that hung heavy in the air between them. Rafayel's posture was defensive, his body language radiating a subtle warning.

The girl smirked, her green eyes glinting with a smug satisfaction as she took in the scene before her - Rafayel's guarded stance, your confusion, the charged atmosphere. She was enjoying the clear discomfort radiating off of Rafayel, reveling in catching him off guard.

"Rafayel," she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I've been waiting for you. I do hope I won't be kept waiting much longer"

Rafayel's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he met her gaze head on. "Celine," he acknowledged coolly, his voice tight. "I apologize for the delay. I had some...unexpected business to attend to first."

He glanced back at you, a silent apology and promise in his eyes before turning his attention back to Celine. "What brings you here? I thought we had an arrangement..."

Celine's lips curled into a sharp, wicked smile at Rafayel's words, a glint of triumph in her green eyes. She took a step closer to him, invading his personal space as she gazed up at him with a challenging smirk.

"Oh, I remember our arrangement perfectly, darling, but I'm afraid things have...changed. I need to discuss some new terms with you. In private"

She jerked her head towards the office, a clear gesture for him to follow her. There was a commanding edge to her voice, a tone that brooked no argument or refusal.

Rafayel's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he glared down at Celine. It was clear he was not pleased with this development, the interruption to his plans and the demand for a private audience. He glanced back at you, a flicker of apology and frustration in his eyes.

"I apologize, cutie," he said softly, his voice tight. "I won't be long. Wait for me here? "

He didn't wait for your response before turning on his heel and striding towards the office, Celine falling into step beside him. As they disappeared through the door, Rafayel cast one last lingering look your way, a silent promise that he would explain everything once he was free of this unexpected obligation.

Left alone in the gallery, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over you like a shroud. Who was this woman, and what hold did she have over Rafayel? And more importantly, what secrets were they hiding from you?

An hour had passed since Rafayel had disappeared into the office with Celine, each minute feeling like an eternity as you waited anxiously in the gallery. The once vibrant space now felt cold and sterile, the art on the walls losing their luster as worry gnawed at you.

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, you made your way towards the office, your heart pounding in your chest as you approached the closed door. You raised your hand, knuckles poised to rap against the wood, when you heard the muffled sound of raised voices from within.

Rafayel's voice, low and angry, cut through the silence. "I can't believe you're doing this, Celine. I thought we had an understanding."

Celine's voice, sharp and mocking, followed. "Circumstances change, darling. And you're hardly in a position to refuse me anything."

You froze, your hand hovering inches from the door as you strained to hear more. But the voices fell silent, a tense, heavy quiet descending upon the office.

With a deep breath, you knocked firmly on the door, your nerves on edge. "Rafayel? It's me. I'm going to step out for a bit, maybe do some shopping. I'll call you when I'm done, alright?"

As you approached the office door, ready to knock once more, Celine emerged from within. She stepped out, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she paused, looking you up and down with a critical, almost disdainful eye.

Celine's gaze lingered on you for a long moment, a smirk playing at the corners of her painted lips. She lifted a hand, pretending to wipe at the corner of her mouth with a dainty finger, a mocking gesture that sent a chill down your spine.

She tsked softly, shaking her head as she stepped closer to you. There was a wicked glint in her green eyes, a cruel amusement that made your skin crawl.

"Look who it is. Rafayel's little pet, come to check on her master?"

Celine circled you like a shark, her heels clicking an ominous rhythm on the floor. She leaned in closer, her perfume washing over you, the scent cloying and overwhelming.

"I must say, darling, she purred, her breath hot against your ear. You don't look like you have what it takes to keep a man like Rafayel satisfied. I do hope you're not feeling...inadequate?"

She threw her head back and laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed through the gallery. The cruelty in her eyes was unmistakable, the malice behind her words impossible to ignore.

Celine smirked at your stunned silence, your obvious discomfort clearly amusing her. She took a step back, smoothing down her tailored suit jacket with a self-satisfied air.

"Well, this has been...enlightening," she commented, a mocking lilt to her voice. She glanced down at her manicured nails, picking at a nonexistent speck of lint.

"But I must go and clean myself up. All this...business can be so messy, don't you think?"

With a final, cruel smile thrown your way, Celine turned on her heel and sauntered off, disappearing down the hallway towards the restrooms, leaving you standing there, your mind reeling.

With a sense of trepidation and growing unease, you pushed open the office door, the hinges creaking softly as it swung inward. As you stepped inside, your gaze fell upon Rafayel, seated behind the large mahogany desk that dominated the room.

He looked up as you entered, his purple-pink eyes meeting yours. There was a weariness in his expression, a tension in his shoulders that spoke of the difficult conversation he had just endured. The room was filled with a heavy, charged silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words and secrets.

"Don't let her get to you. Celine is...a complicated part of my past. But you don't need to worry about her.

"Is she now?" You ask, " well since she thinks I'm not good enough to keep you satisfied I think I know what kind of relationship you had"

Rafayel's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and hurt at your accusation. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the desk as he fixed you with an intense, almost accusing stare. The air between you crackled with tension, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the space.

He was silent for a long moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he seemed to struggle with how to respond. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and tight, tinged with a bitterness you had never heard before.

"You think you know, but you have no idea," he bit out, his words sharp and cutting. "Celine and I...we had a business arrangement. Nothing more.

He paused, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge your reaction. There was a vulnerability in his gaze, a raw honesty that made your heart ache.

Rafayel leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he studied your jealous expression. His eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and something else, something darker and more intense.

"You're jealous, aren't you?" he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice even as his gaze remained serious. "you think I can't see it written all over your face, my love?"

He stood slowly, rising to his feet and rounding the desk until he stood before you. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your lower lip as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

As you turned to leave, unable to bear the tension and uncertainty any longer, Rafayel's hand shot out and caught your wrist in a firm grip. He pulled you back towards him, his eyes flashing with a sudden intensity.

"Where do you think you're going, cutie?" he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. Before you could respond, he had already crossed the room and closed the office door with a sharp click.

"I don't think I'm done with you just yet. We need to talk about this little...outburst of jealousy"

He stepped closer, backing you up until your back hit the door. His hands came up to grip your hips, pulling your body flush against his as he gazed down at you with a mix of amusement and something else, something darker and more primal.

"Tell me, y/n", he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Do you really think so little of me? Of us? I thought you knew me better than that... But it seems I was wrong."

Rafayel's hands slid down to grip the backs of your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he lifted you effortlessly. He carried you towards the desk, sweeping aside the clutter of papers and art supplies before setting you down on the polished wood surface.

He stepped between your parted legs, his hands coming to rest on your knees as he leaned in close, his face mere inches from yours. The desk creaked softly beneath your combined weight, the sound echoing in the tense silence of the office.

His hands slid slowly up your thighs, his thumbs tracing teasing circles on the sensitive skin just below the hem of your skirt. He was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, could see the pulse jumping in his throat as he stared you down.

"I won't have you doubting me, doubting us", he said softly, but there was a steely undercurrent to his words. "Now, pretty...what makes you think you know the true nature of my relationship with Celine? What makes you think you know anything at all about the man you claim to love?"

As you began to stammer out an explanation, Rafayel silenced you by suddenly reaching between your thighs. His fingers deftly pushed your skirt up and out of the way, and in one sharp, aggressive motion, he ripped your panties clean off, the flimsy fabric tearing like tissue paper in his grasp.

You gasped, your body jolting at the sudden, intimate contact and the brutal destruction of your undergarment. Rafayel's eyes flashed with a wild, almost feral light as he watched your reaction, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Shhhhh", he hushed you, his fingers already delving beneath the tattered remains of your panties to stroke along your most sensitive flesh. "No more words out of your pretty mouth, my love. No more words at all."

He pushed your thighs further apart, making room for himself as he stepped even closer, the hard, muscular length of his body pressing against yours. His hand cupped your sex possessively, his thumb finding your clit and circling the tender bud with a maddening, teasing pressure.

Rafayel's hands gripped your ankles, pushing your feet up and outwards until your knees bent and your legs fell open, fully exposing you to his hungry gaze. Your skirt, now bunched up around your waist, left you bare and vulnerable, the tattered remnants of your ruined panties dangling off one ankle.

He drank in the sight of your naked, glistening sex, his eyes darkening with lust and a possessive intensity that made your heart race. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned down, his breath hot and heavy against your most intimate flesh.

He leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your slit, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. He licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive bud before sucking it into his mouth with a low, approving groan.

"You taste like heaven" he murmured against your flesh, his words muffled and distorted by his greedy mouthing at your sex.

" Raf.....the door isn't locked" you warn him.

Rafayel paused briefly in his ministrations, glancing up at you with a wicked, almost defiant grin. He seemed not at all concerned by the possibility of being caught in such a compromising position.

"Let them come," he challenged, a reckless edge to his voice. "Let the whole fucking world see me claiming what's mine. I don't care anymore."

With that, he dove back in, his mouth latching onto your sex with a hunger that bordered on feral. His tongue pushed inside you, thrusting deep and hard, fucking you with a intensity that stole your breath.

One hand released your hip to slide up your body, pushing your shirt out of the way to expose your breasts. He palmed the soft mounds, his fingers sinking into the supple flesh as he rolled and plucked at your nipples.

Rafayel lifted his head, his lips glistening with your essence as he stared up at you with a wicked, challenging grin. He seemed to relish the idea of being caught in such a compromising position, of giving the world a peek into the dark, passionate side of his nature.

"The walls are thin here", he murmured, his voice low and rough with lust. "So it's up to you cutie, Do we keep your sweet cries of pleasure to ourselves...or do we let everyone outside hear just how much you love being fucked by me?"

As Rafayel's fingers pinched and rolled your nipple almost painfully, and his teeth clamped down hard on your sensitive clit, you could no longer hold back the tide of pleasure that crashed over you. A loud, wanton scream tore from your throat, echoing off the thin walls of the office and no doubt carrying out into the hallway beyond.

"Fuck, yes!" Rafayel growled in approval as he felt your body convulse beneath him, your juices flooding his mouth and chin. He lapped at you greedily, his tongue delving deep to catch every drop of your essence as he pushed you ruthlessly through your intense climax.

In a sudden, aggressive motion, Rafayel flipped you over onto your stomach on the desk. He pressed your chest down against the cool, smooth wood, the air forcing out of your lungs in a rush. Before you could catch your breath, he had already gripped your hips and tugged them back, bending you at the waist and exposing your bare, dripping sex to his hungry gaze.

"Fuck, look at this ass", he growled, his hands kneading and squeezing the round globes roughly. "Such a perfect, fuckable ass. It's a crime to keep it hidden away"

He punctuated his words by delivering a sharp smack to one cheek, the sound of the impact echoing through the room. The sting quickly gave way to a warm, tingling pleasure that spread through your nerves, making you clench and tighten around nothing.

With that, he gripped the base of his thick, hard cock and rubbed the leaking tip teasingly along your slit. He coated himself in your juices, mixing them with the bead of precum that oozed from his slit. Then, with one hard, ruthless thrust, he buried himself inside your tight, clutching heat.

"Fuck, so fucking tight," he grunted, his hips flush against your ass as he savored the feel of your walls gripping him like a vice. "Such a perfect fucking fit for my cock. Like you were made just for me..."

Rafayel began to move, his hips pulling back until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before slamming forward and burying himself to the hilt once more. He set a hard, fast pace, the desk creaking and shaking beneath you with each powerful thrust of his hips.

Your face was pressed into the smooth wood, drool already beginning to pool and drip from the corner of your slack mouth. The sensation of being so thoroughly taken, so completely at the mercy of Rafayel's lust and desire, was overwhelming. It was almost too much, too intense.

Rafayel grabbed your arms, pulling them up and bending them at the elbows to either side of your head. He placed your palms flat against the desk, giving you something to hold onto as he continued his relentless, pounding assault on your pussy.

"Hold on tight, cutie", he growled, his voice strained with exertion and lust. "You're going to need to brace yourself for what comes next. I'm not going to hold back, not anymore."

Rafayel kept up his relentless pace, pounding into you with a single-minded determination. But despite the intensity of his thrusts and the building pleasure, he somehow avoided hitting that one special spot inside you that always sent you hurtling over the edge. It was as if he could read your mind, could sense your impending release, and was deliberately denying you that final push.

"Punishing you," he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble in your ear. "Teasing you, making you beg so sweetly for something I can give you...but won't. Not yet."

"Don't you dare come until I say you can," he ordered, his voice a harsh, dominating bark. "You don't get to come until I've had my fill...until I've pumped this greedy cunt full of my seed and marked you as mine"

You found yourself begging, unable to hold back the desperate pleas that spilled from your lips. Your voice was high and thin, strained with the effort of holding back your rapidly approaching climax, of keeping your body from seizing control.

"Please, Rafayel, please!" you cried out, your fingers scrabbling against the smooth wood of the desk as you tried to find purchase, to anchor yourself against the overwhelming sensation. "Please, I need...I need to come. I can't...please, Rafayel!"

Tears of frustration and desperation pricked at the corners of your eyes, your body shaking and trembling beneath Rafayel's ruthless onslaught. You were completely at his mercy, completely under his control. And in that moment, you knew you would do anything, say anything, to earn the release you so desperately craved.

He leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, his lips finding your ear. When he spoke, his voice was a low, dark rasp, each word deliberately enunciated.

"Don't. Ever. Doubt. Me."

He punctuated each word with a sharp, precise thrust of his hips, driving his cock deep inside you, grinding against that maddeningly elusive spot just out of reach. Your body shook and trembled, tears leaking from your clenched eyes as you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to stifle your increasingly desperate moans.

"Im. Yours."

Thrust.

"Completely. And. Totally."

Thrust.

"Yours"

Thrust

"So you'll wait. You'll wait until I give you permission. Until I grant you the release you so desperately crave. Until then...you'll take what I give you. Understand?"

He emphasized his demand with a particularly brutal thrust, his pelvis slamming against your ass, his cock buried to the hilt inside your clutching heat. He remained still for a long moment, his breath hot and heavy against your neck, his heart pounding against your back.

"Tell me you understand y/n"

As soon as the words "I do" left your lips, Rafayel let out a low growl of satisfaction. He angled your hips just so, tilting them up and back to align your body perfectly with his. And then, with a ferocity that stole your breath, he began to pound into that sweet spot deep inside you.

"Yes, just like that", he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release.

"That's it, baby", he encouraged, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. "I can feel you getting close. I can feel your pussy clenching around me, trying to suck me in deeper. You're so fucking close, aren't you? Ready to explode like a fucking firework?"

He angled your hips again, changing the angle slightly, and suddenly you could feel the tension in your body pulling tighter, the coil wound to its breaking point. Your breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, your fingers scrabbling against the desk as you tried to find purchase, to anchor yourself against the tidal wave of sensation threatening to sweep you away.

"Come for me, pretty girl", Rafayel demanded, his voice a low, dark command. "Come screaming my name, so everyone knows who makes you feel this fucking good. Now, fucking do it!"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself balls-deep inside you, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he finally allowed his own release to overtake him. Thick, scalding ropes of his seed painted your insides, marking you, claiming you as his own as he filled you with his essence.

The sensation of his hot cum flooding your core pushed you over the edge, your body seizing and convulsing beneath his as you came harder than you ever had before. Your scream of ecstasy echoed off the thin walls, no doubt alerting everyone in the vicinity to your shared climax.

As the intense waves of your shared climax began to ebb, Rafayel collapsed against your back, his weight pressing you down into the desk. You both panted and gasped for air, bodies slick with sweat, hearts racing in tandem as you struggled to regain your composure.

After a long moment, Rafayel rolled off of you, his softening cock slipping from your dripping cunt. He gathered you into his arms, holding you close as he pulled you up to sit on the edge of the desk. Your legs were shaky, and you leaned against him for support, not trusting your own balance just yet.

"Look at the mess we made," he murmurs, his voice still rough and strained. He gestures to the desk, streaked with your combined fluids, and the floor, splattered with the evidence of your passionate coupling.

"But it was worth it. Fuck, was it ever worth it. I love you, y/n," he whispers against your lips, his breath mingling with yours. "And I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never forget it."

As you both stepped out of the office, still flushed and disheveled from your passionate encounter, you find Celine waiting. The young woman's eyes were round as saucers, her face a deep shade of red as she no doubt processed the sounds she had just witnessed emanating from the closed door.

Rafayel barely spared her a glance as he strode past, his arm around your waist to keep you steady. He paused just before exiting the building and turned to face Celine, a wicked smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Keep the paintings, Celine", he instructed, his voice still rough and low from their recent activities. "Our agreement is null and void, effective immediately. Consider this a parting gift, for your trouble."

Celine's mouth opened and closed a few times, as if trying to formulate a response, but no words came out. She looked stunned, her gaze flickering between you and Rafayel.

"And say hi to the family for me, dear cousin", Rafayel added with a mocking, almost cruel edge to his voice.

With that parting shot, he ushered you out into the brilliant sunlight, the warm air a stark contrast to the cool interior of the gallery.

1K notes · View notes

keirareidss · 27 days ago

Text

make you squirm - s.r

♡ summary: you decide to do a little teasing on your boyfriend in one of the most untimely setting pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, bathroom quickie, penelope is a nosy little shit wc: 1.3k request here

The BAU was, once again, out to celebrate their latest win. The case had been successful, clearly, and you were all grabbing a drink at the local bar. You were grazing on the bowl of pretzels in the middle of the table when someone said your name.

"So when are you going to tell us about your secret boyfriend?" Penelope sing-songed as JJ and Emily grinned at you from beside her. Spencer's gaze snapped to you from across the table at the mention of, well, him.

"I don't know." You said coyly, hedging around the subject you knew you'd have to address at some point tonight. The eager look in your friends' eyes told you they weren't going to let this go.

"Come onnn! Tell us about him! Is he tall? Does he make a lot of money? Does he have a big di-"

"Penelope!" You balked at her inappropriate prying.

"What? You gotta give us something."

"Okay... yes, he's tall." You said and she scoffed.

"That's nothing."

"You asked." You raised your hands in defense, grinning.

"Well I wanted something more exciting like... is he packing?" Spencer choked on his drink, his face bright red. You glanced at him with a grin before looking back at Penelope inconspicuously.

"Biggest I've seen." You said before sipping your drink nonchalantly, as if you'd just made a comment on the weather while Penelope squealed like a schoolgirl.

"Do you have a picture of him?"

"Gross, Pen, I don't want to see that!" Emily said.

"Not that kind of picture! I wanna see his face."

"Sorry, girls. That's private." You winked, popping another pretzel into your mouth.

"Oh come on. Tell us more about him!" JJ urged.

"What do you want to know?"

"How's the sex?" Emily asked bluntly and Spencer nearly choked again.

"Derek- I need to- excuse me." He pawed at Morgan's arm until the man got up and he rushed off to the bathroom.

"Poor kid. Can't even hear the word 'sex' without freaking out." Morgan chuckled as he sat back in his seat.

"It's good." You said simply.

"You gotta give us more than that."

"Alright, fine." You leaned in, turning your back on the other men at the table and forming a small huddle with your girls. "Last night, we went three times and I literally couldn't walk this morning." You said in a hushed voice.

"Oh my god! I'm obsessed, tell me more." Penelope squeaked.

"I'll just say... he definitely knows how to use his tongue." You grin and the girls break into giggles. You catch a glimpse of Spencer hovering by the bathroom, checking to see if the 'sex talk' at the table has stopped. "I'll be right back." You said, getting up and heading to the bathroom. You walked right up to Spencer, grabbed him by the time and tugged him into the nearest single occupancy restroom.

"Hey, are you- what-" He nearly tripped over his feet, following you inside. "What are we doing?"

"We're getting some alone time." You said, pushing him up against the door, pressing your body against his.

"Alone time?"

"Yeah. I've been cooped up in a hotel room with two other people for the last week while my boyfriend's been in a completely different bed. I need some time with just you." You said, your seductive rant taking an unintended sweet turn at the end. His hands found your hips, gripping tightly.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Penelope's interrogation has got me thinking about something."

"About what?" He asks, blushing at the mentions of his bubbly friend's need to learn about your sex life. You slide your hand down from his chest, between his legs, cupping him through his trousers.

"About this." You grinned as he gasped.

"We- we shouldn't... the team-"

"Are all back at the table, drunk off their asses." You said, lifting your other hand to card through his hair. You fist your hand in the strands, tugging his head back so you could kiss and bite at his neck. He bites his lip to stifle a moan as his hips involuntarily jerk into your hand. "You can be quick, can't you?" You teased, unbuttoning his pants and sinking down to your knees.

"Don't, you- you'll get your pants dirty." Spencer protested weakly. You looked up at him through your lashes as you leaned forward, taking the zipper of his pants between your teeth and pulling it down. He shudders as he stares down at you.

You pull down his pants and underwear to mid thigh, his cock springing out. You immediately take it into your mouth, licking it like a lollipop. You swirl your tongue around the head before taking as much of him into your mouth as you can. Spencer whimpers as you start slowly bobbing your head. He threads a hand into your hair, his head falling back against the door with a thump.

"Shit, oh god." He moans and you pull off of him, a string of spit connecting your lips to him.

"You're gonna have to be quiet, Spence." He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I will. I will." He breathed, biting his lip as you take him into your mouth again, paying more attention to the head this time, using your hand to stroke the base, your other hand cupping his balls. He whimpers at the stimulation. "I'm close, I'm so close." He whines and you speed up your movements, wanting to bring him over the edge. He grips your hair tighter, trying to pull you off to release but you stay put, hollowing out your cheeks as you sucked him. He lets out a loud whine as he cums, letting you swallow it all down.

You pull off of him, your makeup smudged, your hair tousled, but Spencer thought you were the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. He reaches down, wiping the spit from your chin. You grin, standing up as he pulled up his pants, making himself look presentable. You make your way to the mirror, using the water and paper towels to fix your complexion.

"We should head back." Spencer said, doing up his pants. His face held a deep red hue as he avoided looking at you.

"Alright, well..." You strode over to him, putting a hand on his chest and leaning up to kiss his blushy cheek before slipping out the door. He let himself lean against the door for a minute before heading back to the table.

"Finally. Where were you?" Derek asks as Spencer approaches the table. He slides into his seat, trying to act casual but the second he makes eye contact with you across the table and feels your foot toying with his ankle, he breaks, the faint blush coming back and spreading further up his cheeks.

"Nowhere. Nothing. I was- bathroom." He stammers and Derek chuckled.

"Alright, man. Whatever you say." Spencer looked at you again, finding you chewing on your straw and looking at him through seductive eyes.

"Are you gonna tell us more about mystery man?" Emily asks and you spare another glance at Spencer who is deliberately looking away.

"I don't know, I think I gave you all enough information tonight already." You said, pulling your phone into your lap. You shoot off a text to Spencer and glance at him for his reaction. He takes his phone out, squinting at the small screen. What a little old man.

He looked up at you with a small smile before looking back at his phone and texting you back.

You: round two at my place after this?

♡ Pretty boy: Definitely :-)

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre

#criminal minds #♡ keira's fics #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid smut

989 notes · View notes

stargrillzz · 1 month ago

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summary: He wasn't the flirtatious type, or the jealous type, or in any way thought he would want to get involved with anyone more than necessary, but of course you came along and had to turn things around for him.

note: Im on my meds again so I have plentyb of time to write. ALSO this is just pure hot talking and filthy, theres brealy a plot, just bucky having the hots. xoxo

Wings in the Sky

The comms in the Quinjet buzzed with Tony’s voice, sharp and laced with sarcasm.

“So, fun little update, team — we've got a shirtless, winged fairy-girl from hell flying over Brooklyn, throwing green lightning at terrified civilians like it’s Mardi Gras.”

Steve looked up from the tactical display, brow furrowed.

“She’s attacking people?”

“Technically? No. Just terrifying them,” Tony replied. “But I don’t like people with glowing hands and no pants, okay? Sue me.”

Bucky sat in the corner, arms crossed, metal fingers flexing and releasing like the ticking of a clock. He hadn’t said much since boarding. He rarely did unless it was to Steve.

But as the Quinjet descended through low-hanging storm clouds, he looked out the side window — and saw you.

You floated above the rooftop like some myth ripped from forgotten pages: barefoot, wings stretched wide, their span massive, leathery and powerful like something between angel and dragon. Feathers shifted down your spine, catching the wind. The ends of your fingers glowed with a radiant green light that pulsed in rhythm with your breathing, matching the eerie glow in your eyes.

Below you, six teenagers laughed and screamed — not in fear, but joy — because you had them hovering, spinning in midair as if gravity had taken the day off. One girl did cartwheels ten feet above the rooftop, her eyes wide in wonder.

You were smiling — that was the first thing Steve noticed as he stepped onto the roof. A real smile. Until Tony opened his mouth.

“Alright, Tinker Bell,” he called, blaster raised but not firing. “Why don’t you let the kiddies down and we talk about you possibly joining the no-fly list?”

You turned slowly toward him, the green glow of your magic flaring like a heartbeat. Your smile dropped.

Without a word, you flicked your hand, and a blast of green energy surged from your palm, faster than any of them expected. It slammed into Tony’s chest with a sonic thud, launching him back against the rooftop wall. His armor cracked the brick as he groaned through the speaker.

“Okay, ow. Definitely not a talker.”

Steve stepped forward, hands raised in a defensive gesture.

“Wait—hey! We don’t want to hurt you.”

But by then, Bucky had already moved. Silent, fast, precise — he sprinted across the rooftop, aiming to flank you from behind. His metal arm gleamed under the dark clouds as he lunged — but you twisted midair, wings folding in, and kicked him hard across the face. He tumbled back with a grunt, boots skidding across broken gravel.

“Don’t touch me” you snarled, your voice layered, as though something ancient was speaking just beneath your human tone.

You hovered just inches above the ground now, breath shaking, hands trembling with built-up power. Your skirt fluttered with the wind, and your chest rose and fell in uneven waves. There was blood on your side — a long, burned mark trailing across your ribs.

Steve paused, noticing it.

“You’re hurt.”

You blinked, breath catching. The green in your eyes flickered.

“They did it,” you hissed, eyes darting to the teenagers now huddling behind a crate. “I didn’t do anything. I was flying, lost, and they threw iron chains at me. It burned.”

Steve took a slow step closer, lowering his shield.

“We’re not here to hurt you. But you attacked someone—” he glanced briefly toward Tony, who was still groaning in the corner “—so we have to know what’s going on.”

You looked down at your hands. They were shaking now. The magic dimmed.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, almost childlike. “I woke up in a cage. Strapped down. I didn’t remember anything — not even my name. Just… flying.”

Your voice cracked on that last word, and suddenly the weight behind your posture changed. You weren’t a threat anymore. You were wounded, confused, and powerful enough to be dangerous.

Bucky stood slowly from where he’d fallen. He didn’t approach, but he watched you carefully, jaw tight. His voice was low, barely audible.

“You don’t remember who you are?”

You shook your head.

“No. I just know I’m not from here. Or... maybe I was. Once. I don’t know why iron burns me. Or why I can fly. Or why I cant remember anything.”

Something about that last sentence hit Steve hard. He glanced at Bucky — who was still watching you like someone trying to read a dream that wouldn’t hold still — maybe another HYDRA experiment.

“Come with us,” Steve said gently. “We have a place where you can rest. We can help figure out who you are. What happened to you.”

“I don’t trust you,” you replied instantly, even as your voice trembled.

“I wouldn’t either,” Bucky muttered under his breath, but you heard it — and your glowing eyes flicked to him for the first time.

He met your gaze — cold, tired, but not angry. Just... distant. Like someone who understood what it meant to be hunted and lost.

After a long pause, you nodded.

“Okay. But if you put me in a cage again—”

“We won’t,” Steve said, before you could finish.

“I’ll burn the whole damn tower down.”

“Fair,” Tony groaned. “Love her already.”

Your wings folded slowly against your back as your feet touched the rooftop. You stumbled a little, still weak, and instinctively reached for something — anything — to steady yourself.

And Bucky, silent and brooding, was the one who stepped forward.

You caught his metal arm.

For a second, neither of you moved.

And that was how it began.

jelousl- what? no. definitely not jelously

The mat smelled like sweat and rubber. Sunlight spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting harsh lines across the Avengers’ training room. The rhythmic thud of gloves hitting a punching bag echoed from the corner — Bucky, shirtless, fists moving with mechanical precision, though if you looked closely, his punches weren’t landing quite as hard as they usually did.

Because his eyes kept flicking sideways.

You were in the center of the mat, barefoot, wearing tight black workout shorts and a sports bra, arms lazily raised as Steve circled you. You were grinning — that grin that made everyone nervous or intrigued — and Steve looked half-exasperated, half-amused.

“I thought this was a sparring session, not a flirtation marathon,” he chuckled, dodging your lazy jab.

“Don’t act like you’re not enjoying the view, Cap,” you purred, twisting into a sharp kick that he blocked at the last second, catching your leg and holding it there, high in the air.

You tilted your head, eyes gleaming.

“Want me to stay like this a little longer? It’s kind of hot.”

Steve’s laugh was loud and easy. “You’re impossible.”

“Admit it. You love me"

From the corner, Bucky’s jaw ticked. His metal hand curled into a fist

“She doesn’t take anything seriously,” he muttered under his breath, punching the bag once — a quick, sharp jab.

“Again,” Steve said, gently dropping your leg and stepping back. “You’re improving. Your center of balance is better.”

“That’s because I was imagining straddling you.”

He coughed. “Well. That explains your footwork.”

From the edge of the room, Bucky’s eyes narrowed. You caught the look — because you always caught his looks — and winked at him mid-fight, then whispered something to Steve that made him laugh again.

You weren’t sure why it felt good to get under Bucky’s skin. Maybe it was because he acted like you weren’t even worth his breath — like you were noise, static, an irritation. But that reaction in his eyes? The way he always looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching? That was attention.

And you knew how to work with attention.

The kitchen was dim, most of the team scattered off to showers or personal downtime. You were barefoot again, still in your training gear, chugging a bottle of water at the sink when you heard a low grunt.

You turned.

Bucky was leaning against the far counter, towel around his neck, hair damp, a fresh bruise blooming on his cheekbone. His metal arm caught the overhead light as he grabbed an apple from the bowl and took a bite like it offended him.

You walked over, casual, leaning your hip against the counter beside him.

“You always this friendly, or is today special?”

He didn’t answer.

“How’s the punching bag?” you tried again, eyeing the bruises across his knuckles. “Did it talk back this time?”

Still no answer. You let the silence linger.

“Hey.” Your voice softened. “How are you, really?”

That made him pause. He stared at the apple, then let out a breath — not quite a sigh.

“Tired,” he muttered finally.

You nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

Another long pause. You leaned your elbows on the counter now, closer, voice lower.

“You still have the nightmares?”

His eyes flicked to yours. Suspicious. Guarded. Then something softened, just a little.

“Yeah,” he said, almost inaudibly. “Some nights it’s like I’m still there. Tied down. Strapped in. Can’t scream. Can’t move.”

You didn’t smile. You didn’t joke. You looked at him, and for once, your voice held none of that edge you usually wore like armor.

“I get that,” you whispered. “I don’t have memories of what was done to me. But I have dreams. Screaming. Fire. Cold. Chains. Pain. Waking up with blood in my mouth and I don’t know if it’s mine or not.”

His breath caught. His grip tightened around the apple, veins straining in his human hand.

“I don’t know who I am, Bucky,” you said, quietly. “You hate me for being flippant. For teasing. For acting like everything’s a joke. But that’s all I have. I either laugh, or I fall apart. And I can’t fall apart. Because if I do... what’s left?”

He looked at you then — really looked. His usual cold stare was gone. Replaced by something softer, sadder. Familiar.

“You’re not alone,” he said finally. “If you ever feel like you’re gonna break... I’ll be there.”

You blinked, taken off-guard by the sudden sincerity.

“Wow,” you breathed, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Is that an offer, Barnes? Because I’ve been waiting for you to throw me against a wall, but I didn’t expect it to come with emotional support.”

He groaned softly, turning his face away.

“And there she is again,” he muttered.

You leaned closer, lips brushing near his ear.

“You like it.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re jealous,” you said, voice lilting, playful again. “Every time I flirt with Steve, you get that little twitch in your jaw like you’re about to break something.”

He looked at you, unreadable for a long moment.

“You think too much of yourself,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” you grinned, stepping back with a shrug. “But I don’t think I’m wrong.”

He didn’t respond. But the way his eyes lingered on your mouth before you turned away told you everything.

And you felt it in your chest — a shift. A tiny thread pulled tight between you and the Winter Soldier.

For the first time... he wasn’t pushing you away.

Heat Between the Lines

Movie night at the Tower was supposed to be relaxing. A rare moment of peace. Blankets. Popcorn. Dumb commentary.

But for Bucky Barnes, it felt like hell.

You were curled on the oversized couch, nestled between Steve and Bucky — technically — but you leaned entirely toward Steve, your thigh pressed to his, your body angled in a way that clearly favored one side.

And Bucky saw everything.

Your bare leg had somehow found its way into Steve’s lap, foot playfully nudging his thigh, and Steve... well, Steve didn’t seem to mind. His hand rested just above your knee, fingers splayed comfortably as he whispered something that made you laugh — that low, wicked, sultry kind of laugh that always did something to Bucky’s chest he didn’t like.

The light from the TV flickered over your face — all sharp cheekbones, smug lips, and bright, glinting eyes. You were wearing that damned oversized hoodie again, sleeves pushed up to your elbows, the hem barely covering the shorts underneath. Casual. Effortless. Dangerous.

Bucky sat stiff beside you, body angled slightly away like you had a contagious disease — or like if he got one inch closer, he might actually say something he couldn’t take back.

Your leg shifted slightly, brushing his jeans.

He didn’t move.

But his jaw? Locked.

Sam, on the floor with a pillow under his chest, snorted at something on screen. Tony made some quip about the movie’s plot holes. Natasha leaned back with her wine and gave you a look, clearly clocking the hand still resting on your thigh.

But Steve?

Steve turned his head toward you, grinning. His voice dropped just enough for Bucky to hear it.

“Y’know,” Steve murmured, face inching closer to yours, “if you keep touching me like that, I’m gonna start thinking this movie wasn’t the reason you sat here.”

You laughed. Low. A little breathy. Like he’d hit the exact mark he was aiming for.

“Captain,” you whispered back, lifting your chin just a bit, your lips barely an inch from his. “You have no idea what I came for.”

The room howled.

Sam: “Someone get a fire extinguisher.” Natasha: “Please get a room.” Tony: “Wait, no — do it here, I need material for blackmail.”

Steve just chuckled, clearly playing into the joke. He leaned even closer, his nose nearly brushing yours. You didn’t pull away.

Bucky stood up.

Hard.

The couch shifted under the force. Everyone went silent for half a second.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t look at Steve. Just muttered something under his breath and stormed out, footsteps echoing down the hall like gunshots.

The door shut behind him.

“What the hell?” Sam blinked.

“Touchy,” Tony muttered.

You sat there, leg still draped over Steve’s lap, but your smile faltered.

Because for the first time that night, it wasn’t Steve’s hand or words that had your skin hot.

It was the heat in Bucky’s silence, the frustration vibrating off him like a second heartbeat.

And suddenly… teasing Steve didn’t feel as satisfying as it usually did.

Because the one who mattered wasn’t laughing.

The hallway was empty and dim, your bare feet silent against the cool metal floor as you walked past midnight shadows. The echoes of laughter from movie night still rang faintly in your ears, but all you could focus on was the echo of Bucky’s footsteps, heavy and sharp as he’d left.

You found him near the observation deck, facing the city skyline. Towering windows framed him in moonlight, silver bleeding into the sharp lines of his shoulders and metal arm. His back was to you, but his body was rigid — tense like a live wire. Waiting to snap.

You crossed the room slowly, cautiously, until there were only a few feet between you.

“You stormed out like you were about to kill someone,” you said, voice soft but steady.

He didn’t turn.

“That someone is Steve?”

Still nothing. You sighed.

“If you’re that worried about him, me hurting him, don’t be. We flirt as a joke. He knows that. I know that. He doesn’t care. So if that’s what this is—”

“It’s not,” Bucky said suddenly, voice low and sharp.

The words cut through the quiet like a knife.

You blinked, thrown for a second.

“Then what is it, Bucky?” you asked. “Because if I’ve done something to piss you off—”

He turned.

His expression wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even cold.

It was... unreadable. Something stormy behind those glacier eyes, but buried deep.

“You didn’t piss me off,” he said. “You just—”

He stopped. Shook his head. Backed away.

And before you could stop him, he was gone again. No explanation. No resolution.

Just the door whispering closed behind him.

Plot twist

Something was off.

For three days, Bucky hadn’t glared at you once. No brooding glances, no bitter muttering, no narrow-eyed judgment when you teased Steve.

Instead?

He flirted.

Blatantly.

When you walked into the training room on Monday morning, he was already there — sweaty, shirtless, arms folded behind his head, waiting.

“You’re late,” he said, smirking. “I was starting to think you didn’t wanna see me.”

You raised a brow. “Did you hit your head again, soldier?”

“Only on the thought of you.” A wink.

A literal wink.

You’d gaped.

By Wednesday, it had gotten worse.

He sat next to you at breakfast. Close. Way too close. Your thigh was nearly in his lap and he made no move to scoot away.

“You always smell this good in the morning?” he muttered near your ear, voice rough and low.

You’d choked on your coffee.

By Thursday night, you'd had enough.

You cornered him in the hallway outside the gym, hands on your hips, heart pounding with confusion and something hotter you didn’t want to name.

“What the hell is going on with you?” you asked.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Smug. Calm. Eyes dancing with amusement.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re being... weird,” you said. “You’re being nice. Flirty. You’re acting like you don’t hate me.”

“Maybe I never hated you,” he said simply. “Maybe I just didn’t know how to deal with someone who pushed every button I had.”

“So what, now you’re pushing back?”

“No,” he said, stepping forward until you had to tilt your head to meet his eyes. His breath was warm. His mouth too close. “I’m showing you how it’s done.”

Your mouth parted slightly. You meant to say something — some smartass line, some witty comeback — but nothing came out.

His gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“You like playing games, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let’s see how you do when I start playing too.”

And then?

He walked away.

Cool. Collected.

Leaving you breathless. And burning.

Cold war...or maybe...hot war?

The team was scattered in the common room, lazily regrouping after a debrief. It hadn’t been a full mission — just recon — but you'd returned exhausted and still dressed in your skin-tight combat gear. The kind that clung in all the right places, slick with sweat and danger.

Steve stood behind you, his large hands on your shoulders, absentmindedly rubbing the tension from your neck while you half-sat on the counter.

You smirked, head tilted back toward him.

“Careful, Captain. Touch me like that and I’ll start thinking this post-mission massage means something.”

He chuckled, slow and warm. “You say that like it doesn’t.”

That earned a few chuckles from the room.

But across the space, Bucky’s eyes locked on you. His stare was a silent storm. Burning. And when Steve’s fingers dug a little deeper into your traps, and your eyes fluttered closed with a soft sigh?

Bucky stood up.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked over — slow, deliberate — and stopped right in front of you, between your legs. You opened your eyes and blinked at him.

“Problem, Barnes?”

He leaned forward, one hand bracing beside your thigh, the other resting lightly on your bare knee — and sliding up. Slowly.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, voice low and dark. “You’re touching the wrong super soldier.”

You felt your breath catch. The room went completely still.

You were strapping knives to your thigh holsters, leaning over the prep table when you heard someone behind you.

You didn’t need to turn around. You could feel him.

“Careful,” Bucky’s voice drawled from behind you, low and slow. “You bend over like that and I’m gonna start thinking this mission’s a date.”

You smirked, not even looking back.

“Then I guess you’ll have to buy me dinner after.”

“Or breakfast. Depends how late we’re up.”

You turned then, raising a brow. “You’re not even trying to be subtle anymore.”

He stepped into your space, hands brushing the sides of your hips as if to adjust the holsters — but you both knew he was just touching you. His voice dropped, warm against your cheek.

“You want subtle?” he murmured. “Or do you want me to pull you into the weapons locker and make you beg?”

Your heart thudded — not from nerves. From how badly you wanted to call his bluff.

“Do it,” you whispered, eyes locked on his mouth.

He held your gaze for a heartbeat longer — then smirked, stepping back.

“Later. Gotta keep our cover, right?”

And just like that, he was gone again. Like a damn storm cloud that refused to rain.

You were mid-laugh, sitting way too close to Steve on the couch — knees touching, your hand lingering on his bicep as you talked about some embarrassing thing Sam had done on a mission.

Steve, being Steve, was smiling like a golden retriever — completely unbothered by how close you were. Or maybe he knew you were just being you.

Then the room went cold.

Bucky dropped down onto the couch on your other side. He didn’t even look at Steve — just pressed into you so closely his thigh pushed against yours, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, voice like velvet. “Miss me?”

You tilted your head. “You jealous again?”

“Nah. Just don’t want you wasting your time with the wrong soldier.”

Steve shot him a look, clearly irritated.

“She’s not wasting anything, Buck.”

“No,” Bucky said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “But I will be if I have to keep hearing you flirt like a Hallmark card.”

Your hand reached out and slapped Bucky lightly in the chest.

“Be nice.”

“Not when it comes to you,” he said, turning to you fully. His metal fingers trailed across your knee. “I don’t like to share.”

And he didn’t move. Didn’t pull back. He stayed right there, crowding your space, daring you to react.

Steve stood up.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” he muttered, walking off.

You turned to Bucky, incredulous.

“Seriously?”

“What?” he said innocently. “He had enough of the show.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Only when I’m right.”

You and Steve were on the mats, locked in fast-paced sparring. You ducked under his arm, swept his leg, and earned a low grunt of surprise as he stumbled back.

“Getting cocky?” he teased, adjusting his footing.

“Always,” you shot back, smirking. “But I’ve earned it.”

He lunged — you twisted. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a controlled hold. Your back hit his chest, and you let out a breathless laugh.

“Okay, okay, showoff,” you gasped. “You win this round.”

“Damn right I do,” Steve said, chuckling, still holding you a second longer than necessary.

Then — the training room door slammed open.

“Seriously?” Bucky’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

Steve let go of you immediately. You turned to see Bucky stalking into the room, eyes hard, jaw tight.

“Got a problem?” Steve asked calmly.

“Just looks like training’s gotten real hands-on.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped back. “Bucky—”

“What?” he snapped. “You can flirt with him in front of the whole damn tower, but the second I say something—”

“She’s not doing anything wrong,” Steve interrupted, voice firm now. “You are.”

Bucky turned, surprised. “Excuse me?”

Steve took a step forward, his arms crossed.

“Don’t act like she’s a problem just because you can’t keep your shit together.”

“I’m just saying—”

“No. You’re sulking. Watching her like a hawk, cutting in every time she talks to me, and acting like you’ve got some claim on her when you haven’t even told her how you feel.”

You blinked — surprised at how clearly Steve had just said it. No anger in his voice. Just tired honesty.

He turned to you then, expression softening.

“You’re great,” he said quietly. “This isn’t about you. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

Then back to Bucky — harder now.

“But you? You don’t get to take it out on her just because you’re too damn scared to be honest.”

The silence after that was brutal.

You found him in the gym, hitting the punching bag with so much precision it was almost arrogant.

“You’re gonna break that,” you muttered.

He didn’t turn.

“That why you came down here?” he said. “To watch me hit something hard?”

You exhaled, walking in slowly, letting your fingers trail along the rack of weapons.

“You’ve been acting insane lately.”

“You like it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is.”

You stepped up to him now, close. The scent of sweat and leather was thick on him, and the glow of his skin from training made your fingers twitch.

“You overstep every time I’m near Steve.”

“And?”

“Why?”

He stepped forward, almost chest to chest now, metal hand grazing your hip.

“Because I don’t like sharing.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You don’t have me.”

His voice dropped into something dark and devastating.

“Yet.”

You swallowed, throat tight.

He leaned in, his lips just brushing the shell of your ear.

“But you started this, baby. All those filthy things you said. All that teasing. The touching. You don’t get to be surprised now that I’m playing dirty back.”

You turned your face to him, lips barely apart.

“What if I want you to?”

He paused — just long enough for the silence to throb between your bodies.

Then he whispered, low and dangerous:

“Then stop running your mouth… and show me.”

You stared at him — his lips hovering near yours, breath hot against your skin, chest rising and falling like he was holding back a storm.

One more second passed. Then another. Then you moved.

Your hand slid up his chest, fingers curling around the collar of his black tank top. He didn’t resist — didn’t move — just watched you with those storm-grey eyes, waiting.

You tilted your head slightly.

And then — you kissed him.

Soft. Intentional. Not a war. Not a power play. Just your mouth, gently pressing to his. Choosing him.

He made a sound deep in his chest — surprised, almost pained — like the moment had knocked the breath out of him.

Then his hand rose to your waist, the flesh one, pulling you closer. The metal hand stayed loose at his side, like he didn’t trust himself to use it.

The kiss deepened, slow and trembling — his lips parting, yours following — your fingers threading lightly through the hair at the back of his neck.

He kissed you like he’d been holding it in for months. Like he’d mapped out a thousand versions of this moment and couldn’t believe it was real.

“You have no idea,” he breathed between kisses, voice shaking slightly, “what you’re doing to me.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were hooded, lips parted, and for once — silent.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you whispered. “I just wanted to see if you'd finally do something about it.”

Bucky’s fingers flexed against your waist. His forehead rested against yours, breath shallow, chest heaving.

“You’re dangerous,” he said softly.

“You like dangerous.”

His lips twitched into the faintest, crooked smile. Then he kissed you again — once, slow and firm — and pulled back.

But this time, when he stepped away, it wasn’t retreat. It was promise.

“This doesn’t stop here,” he murmured, eyes lingering on your lips.

“Good,” you said. “I didn’t want it to.”

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demie90s · 29 days ago

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Too Late to Love Me Right

Caitlin Clark x Paige Bueckers x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

MASTERLIST | MORE | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Caitlin Clark had a boyfriend. And she had you—at least, late at night when no one was looking. You asked for more, but she stayed where it was safe. Wrong Choice.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ:Angst, hurt/comfort, healing, second chances denied, slow-burn romance (Paige x Reader), ex-regret (Caitlin x Reader)

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:Emotional cheating, toxic dynamics, heartbreak, pining, past sexual tension, implied smut, strong language, protective Paige energy

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~ 1k

I should’ve known the second she didn’t pick up.

It was pouring—like the sky was sick of holding back. The kind of rain that soaks your socks through your sneakers. The kind where you don’t just need a ride, you need someone who gives a damn. And I called Caitlin.

Not Connor. Not my roommate. Not even my sister. I called her. And she sent me to voicemail.

The next day she texted, “Sorry. Connor was over. I didn’t wanna start something.”

That was the moment something snapped. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… final. A slow, quiet burn of realization that she was never gonna choose me. At least not fully. Not proudly. And not in the way I needed her to.

It didn’t start that way. We were best friends first. Teammates without a team. She’d FaceTime me at 1AM just to vent about film, about pressure, about how lonely it gets when the whole world thinks you’re untouchable. And I’d listen, every time. We had this rhythm—late night talks, shared playlists, inside jokes no one else would get. She called me her peace. I called her my maybe.

I tried to hold onto that.

Even when she introduced Connor. Even when she said it was “casual.” Even when he started showing up to practices. Sitting front row. Putting his arm around her waist like he had any right. I played cool. I joked. I smiled through gritted teeth when he called me her little bestie.

But I wasn’t little. And I wasn’t just her friend.

Not with the way she looked at me when she thought he wasn’t watching. Not with the way her voice dropped when she asked who I was talking to. Not when her hand brushed mine and lingered. She knew what it was. She just didn’t want to risk it.

I did.

I told her one night, soft and serious. “I’d do this for real. Just say the word.”

She blinked. Stared at the ground. Said nothing.

And a week later, I saw her post him with the caption “my favorite person.”

So I left. Transferred. Got the hell out of Iowa and decided to stop waiting for someone who only wanted me in private.

UConn wasn’t even on my radar until my best friend—a loudmouth, genius media manager—said, “You need a fresh start and a better roster to break hearts with.” She shared a dorm with me. Let me crash her team events. Gassed me up so hard the players started noticing before I even wore a jersey.

That’s how I met Paige. And she didn’t hesitate.

She saw me—really saw me. The first day we talked, I was sitting in the corner of the gym, headphones on, iced coffee sweating in my hand. She sat beside me like she’d been invited. Asked my name. Asked where I transferred from. Asked why I looked like I didn’t wanna be touched.

I told her the truth. I said, “Someone picked the easy choice over me.”

She said, “Damn. Their loss.”

Then she winked. Then she came back the next day. And the next. And the next.

It started slow, but not shy. Paige wasn’t afraid to like me out loud. She pulled me into team huddles. Sat next to me on the bus. Flirted in front of coaches. She never made me guess. And somewhere in the middle of that chaos, I realized I was healing.

Until one night, months later, I checked my phone and saw her name.

Caitlin. No Connor. Just her.

“Hey. I saw your game. You looked good. Can we talk?” I didn’t answer. But I showed the text to Paige.

She looked at it, then looked at me. “You good?” I smiled. “I’m better.”

I hated sitting still. Watching my team warm up without me made my jaw clench. My leg was fine—bruised, not broken—but protocol was protocol. One month off. No exceptions.

I wasn’t mad about resting. I was mad that this game, this one, had to be the one I missed.

UConn vs Iowa. Of course it was.

The second I saw that schedule, I knew it’d happen eventually. I just didn’t expect to be benched, iced up on the sidelines in team sweats and a hoodie, watching Caitlin Clark jog across my court like she hadn’t torn through me a year ago.

She looked the same. A little more tired maybe. Still sharp. Still dangerous with a ball in her hands. But when her eyes found mine from across the gym, she froze. Only for a second—but I caught it.

I didn’t wave. Didn’t nod. I just turned my attention to Paige, who was already leaning over my chair, rubbing my shoulder like I was the star of the show anyway.

“You sure you wanna sit on the floor?” she asked, voice low just for me.

“I need to see everything,” I muttered. “And I want her to see me seeing it.”

Paige smirked. “You’re evil.”

“Maybe.”

We laughed. And from the corner of my eye, I saw Caitlin watching.

It was like that all game. Her eyes kept drifting over. Even during timeouts. Even when the ball was live. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t engage.

At halftime, she finally got bold.

Came over during the shuffle to the tunnel, her warmup towel hanging around her neck, sweat still glistening down her temple. She looked at me like she had a hundred things to say.

“Hey,” she said.

I gave her a flat, polite smile. “Hi.”

Her eyes flicked to Paige, who was holding my water bottle and definitely not moving. Then back to me.

“You look good,” she said softly. “I didn’t know you were out this game.”

“Yup. Just this one.”

Awkward pause.

“Well… I hope it’s not serious,” she added, like that might get her somewhere.

I nodded once. “Thanks. Good luck.”

Then I turned right back to Paige, who leaned down and whispered, “You handled that real cute.”

I smiled up at her. “I’m past cute. I’m in my healed era.” The second half started, and I didn’t look at Caitlin again. But I could feel her.

She’d had her shot. Now she was stuck on the outside looking in—just like I used to be.

And this time? I wasn’t coming back.

Third quarter was tight. Bodies flying, fouls building, energy high. But I didn’t flinch from my seat, leg wrapped, hoodie on, completely at peace. Paige had dropped fifteen already, and every time she hit a three, she looked back at me like she wanted to hear me scream her name.

And I did. Loud.

I wasn’t just cheering—I was hers. Unapologetically. The whole team knew it. Our coaches probably suspected it. Hell, even the crowd caught on when she winked at me from the free throw line.

Caitlin did too.

She’d been glancing over since tipoff, but now it was different. She missed a shot, and I saw her head snap toward me after it bounced off the rim. Like maybe I’d say something. Like maybe she needed to see my reaction.

Instead, she saw Paige come to the sideline, sweat dripping, and lean right into me.

“You need anything?” she asked, holding her hands on the armrests of my chair like she was locking me in.

“Yeah,” I said, pretending to think. “A win. And a kiss.”

Paige grinned. Brushed her fingers under my chin. “Later.”

I laughed. Pulled her down just a little by the drawstring of her jersey and whispered something in her ear I knew would make her blush. And when she jogged off, I looked up and saw Caitlin still watching.

Like frozen. Like the pieces were finally clicking, too late.

The way Paige touched me. The way I leaned into her. The way I looked at her like she was the only person in the room. You couldn’t mistake it. You didn’t have to hear the words. It was in the body language, in the comfort, in the quiet claiming of something real.

That used to be her.

Caitlin blinked hard. Looked away. Missed her defensive assignment. And I didn’t feel bad.

I just reached down, grabbed my water, and leaned back in my seat—smiling as Paige drained another three and pointed right at me.

We won.

It wasn’t a blowout, but it was clean. UConn by nine. Paige dropped twenty-three and held Caitlin to her quietest fourth quarter all season. She just… couldn’t focus. Missed open looks. Turned the ball over twice in the final two minutes. She kept looking over. At me. At Paige. At us.

And we didn’t look back.

When the buzzer went off, the bench exploded. Coaches clapping, girls yelling, cameras flashing—and right in the middle of it, Paige sprinted toward me like she was the one coming off the bench. Like she’d been holding it in all game.

“Baby,” she breathed, already climbing into my space, one knee on the bench, one hand in my hair.

“Hi,” I grinned, teasing.

“You saw me out there?”

I nodded slow. “Girl be frl.” That was all she needed.

She kissed me. Hard and sweet and reckless, like she didn’t care who saw—and truth was, she didn’t. She kissed me like I was her prize. Her person. Her proof.

And the crowd ate it up. Phones out. Flashes popping. Teammates cheering louder. I even heard someone gasp from the other side of the court, but I didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Caitlin.

She was standing there still in uniform, hands on her hips, sweat curling at her temples, eyes locked on me like she was in a different game entirely. One she’d already lost.

And this time? I didn’t flinch. I didn’t smile. I didn’t even blink. I just kissed Paige back, deep and soft and full of everything Caitlin refused to claim.

Then I pulled away, rested my forehead against hers, and whispered, “Told you I’d get that kiss.”

Paige smiled against my lips. “Next time, make me work harder for it.”

She walked back to the team. And I sat there, still basking. Still warm. Still winning. Caitlin finally looked away. But the damage was done.

@draculara-vonvamp @non3ofurbusiness @toorealrai @kajspeaks

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hayffiebird · 3 months ago

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"Effie Trinket was a brainwashed Capitol villain who cared only about herself and Haymitch hated her."

Meanwhile, all throughout "Sunrise on the reaping":

🌸 Effie pats [Proserpina's] back. "Well, I'm not going to let my baby sister - or her friends! - fail because some slackard didn't do his job!"

🌸 At least the Trinkets aren't mean, just clueless, which makes for a big improvement over Drusilla and Magno.

🌸 "Well [Great-Aunt Messalina] owes us after all the disgrace she brought to the name of Trinket. We'll be recovering from that for years," Effie says, crinkling her brow. "If even half the stories are true ..."

🌸 "You deserve to look beautiful tonight," Effie replies. "And I think you're all being very brave."

🌸 I rise shakily to my feet as the door handle turns and Effie Trinket flies into the room. "Wait, not yet! I have to check on him!" She's white as a sheet.

🌸 The trembling of her hands allows me to ask a favor. "Will you make sure my token gets home to my girl?" Effie nods and lays a hand over it solemnly. "I will do my absolute best." She steps back and the door begins to slide shut. “Remember, Haymitch, don’t step off your plate for sixty seconds!”

🌸 I rise up, locking my eyes on hers until things go black, making me lose my bearings.

🌸 Her sister, Effie, told her a positive attitude's ninety-seven percent of the battle. And Maysilee ... Maysilee had said ...

🌸 I hope they've spared the prep team and Effie.

🌸 Behind them, my prep team huddles and would likely flee if Effie Trinket didn't have a firm grip on their grooming belts. "Well," she says with false cheeriness, "who's ready for a big, big, big night?"

🌸 Effie, to her credit, stands by me. When the Peacekeepers object, she says, "He's the second Quarter Quell victor. Drusilla and Magno are not available. Someone should be with him to honor his achievement." "Your funeral," a Peacekeeper says.

🌸 I feel grateful for Effie. "I won't hurt you," I mutter. "I know that," she says. "I've known who you are ever since you helped with my makeup box."

🌸 Effie Trinket, the only one I might ask.

🌸 The only person who keeps an eye on me is Effie Trinket. She mingles nearby, watchful, but careful not to take any credit for my success.

🌸 It’s Effie who finds me thus, the morning of the Victory Tour. I come to, startled, to discover she’s taken possession of my knife.

🌸 Effie does her best to keep me sober, but the train’s loaded with booze.

#hayffie #haymitch x effie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #sotr spoilers #sunrise on the reaping #sotr #I think I got them all #feel free to add quotes to it #we’re a team aren’t we?#and you all deserved so much better #I am truly sorry

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agneslovestheinternet-blog · 2 months ago

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stilinski's reputation

lacrosse star!stiles x fem!cheerleader!reader "whatever you do, avoid number twenty-four at all costs" 6.5K Words, 50% plot, 50% smut, reg high school au (no supernatural), scott's your friend not stiles', protected p-in-v, blowjob, slight mutual masturbation, nicknames "princess" and "daddy" but not the actual ddlg dynamic

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

“alright, huddle up ladies!” leslie, the cheer captain exclaims. the group of girls in ponytails and athletic shorts break from their formation on the mat to form a tight-knit group around her.

“first off; great practice. we just need to make sure we’re remembering our facials, ok, not getting too lost in the routine to actually perform and we will be fucking golden tomorrow night!” she praises, and a round of whoops and applause ripples through the cheer squad.

“now since tomorrow is the first game of the season, we need to go over some ground rules,” her tone becomes more serious but most of the girls around her roll their eyes.

“number one: if you choose to drink at any of the parties this season, do not post about it. i don’t want to have to ban y’all from games but coach does so please, just keep it off socials,” she pleads and the girls nod reluctantly.

“basically just don’t get sloshed around anyone that might film you. especially not the team,” the brunette co-captain to leslie’s right pipes up in a dry tone.

“yeah, exactly, thank you, megan,” leslie concurs and continues her list.

“number two: do not neglect your schoolwork,” the group lets out a groan, “i’m serious! we study as a team in the library every tuesday night for a reason. you don’t get to be a cheerleader if you’re not at least a decent student,” she scolds.

“and lastly and most importantly, number three: do not sleep with any of the players,” leslie states and an awkward silence falls over the team.

“seriously it’s not worth it. don’t believe the stereotype of the athlete/cheerleader golden couple. all high school guys are douchebags, even if they can shoot a ball into a net good,” megan continues, backing leslie up to a soundtrack of giggles from the squad.

“yes, yes. but there is one player in particular that’s been a…” she pauses, exchanging a knowing look with her co-captain, “problem in previous years. whatever you do, avoid number twenty-four at all costs,”

“who’s twenty-four?” an olive-skinned girl with matching jet-black pigtails inquires with a raise of her perfectly manicured hand.

megan smiles mischievously but leslie keeps a steely look on her poreless face.

“stiles stilinski,” leslie spits out, accenting the syllables of his name with sharp staccato pauses.

“he’s relentless,” megan remarks in an almost awestruck tone.

“yes, he is, and cheerleaders are like pokemon to him; he tries to collect them all,” the captain continues, bristling at the laughter her comment elicits from the girls.

“what’s so bad about him sleeping with cheerleaders?” a blonde girl with pink lips smothered in gloss asks rather mockingly.

“he just drives girls crazy. once he sleeps with him, they like, totally lose all focus and become obsessed with him,” you respond with contempt, having heard this warning many times. several girls around you nod in agreement, having witnessed this phenomenon firsthand.

“yes and i need my team focused, ok. so don’t go anywhere near him. if he offers you a ride in his jeep, call one of us to drive you instead. if he invites you to a party, bring a buddy and don’t let her out of your sight. and if he asks for your number, so help me god; give him a fake one,” she lists, her tone getting more desperate as she goes on.

“and remember; stilinski’s a whore, but he’s an ethical whore,” megan chimes in, matter-of-factly, wagging a finger, “he always has a condom, he’s very open about getting tested every couple of months, and he is surprisingly respectful. none of those are reasons to sleep with him,” she reiterates, letting her blue-eyed gaze pierce through each and every one of her teammates.

“yes, just because he’s not a teen dad and he’s not rapey doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. don’t let him pull you in with the bare fucking minimum. higher standards ladies, please!” leslie finishes and she takes in the expressions on the faces of her team.

some are shocked, some annoyed, and some are confused, which worries her the most. confusion leads to curiosity which leads to learning this lesson the hard way, something she’s expressly trying to avoid.

“alright, practice dismissed, cyclones on three,” leslie pivots, putting her hand in the center of the circle, the rest of the team’s soon following, “one, two, three,”

“cyclones!” the team shouts and disperses into lively conversing groups in a matter of seconds. megan hangs back, grabbing her water bottle from the ground and putting an arm over leslie’s shoulders as they walk back to the locker room to change.

“so how many victims do you think stilinski will claim this year?” she asks with a grin. megan takes a sick pleasure in the star player’s slutty antics and almost bet money on who he’d end up taking down last year, which leslie had scolded her severely for.

“optimistically, none. realistically, a few,” she sighs, and then remembers, “but he’s a senior. one more season of this madness and then beacon hills cheerleaders will be free of him,”

“we’re lucky he’s an only child. i bet he’d train his little brother if he had one,” megan jokes.

“no shit,” leslie agrees, horrified at the concept of another stilinski terrorizing the female population of beacon hills high school. the one they have is plenty chaotic already.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

your locker opens with a metallic clang and you deposit your heavy history textbook inside of it, since you won’t need it until the last period. your best friend scott slides into the peripheral vision on your left side, a cheery expression on his face.

“morning. got you a matcha,” he greets, handing you the warm paper cup with tendrils of steam escaping the plastic lid from his right hand, keeping his left clutching his own drink.

“oh my god, thank you so much,” you respond gratefully, turning to face him as you take a generous sip.

“game day makeup already?” he asks, his dark-brown eyes scanning your overlined maroon lips, heavily blushed cheeks and sparkly eyelids.

“yeah, we’ve got the assembly after fifth period,” you remind him, taking off in the direction of your shared homeroom.

“oh right. is this one gonna go better than last years?” scott asks, sidestepping a group of guys that rudely decided to walk directly down the middle of the hallway.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, accusatory.

“didn’t you give paige body dysmorphia or whatever last year?” your friend asks with an overexaggerated smile.

“oh my god, my hand slipped! i didn’t even know she’d gained weight, jesus,” you shoot back, referencing an unfortunate fall that paige the flier had experienced at last year’s assembly that may, (or may not), have been your fault. leave it to scott to always remember your worst moments better than you do.

“it was a whole three pounds, y/n,” he responds in a tone dripping with sarcasm, “everyone was saying you gave an eating disorder,”

“yeah, well, if i did she should thank me. i’m pretty sure eating disorders are a requirement to become a flier,” you respond, knowing scott won’t take your dark humor seriously. the hallway narrows into a smaller corridor and your friend squeezes closer to you as you walk.

“did leslie mention that in her big speech at practice yesterday?” he asks, taking a hearty swig from his coffee cup.

“ok you know way too much about how the cheer team operates,” you retort.

“you’re my friend, i know about your stuff,” he counters warmly.

“that’s not why you know so much. you’re hoping that all these years of friendship will lead to me hooking you up with one of my teammates,” you bite back. as if on cue, a gaggle of cheerleaders wearing the same gaudy makeup as you round the corner and walk past both of you. you smile and wave and scott’s eyes follow them eagerly.

“no i gave up on that being a possibility like, two years ago. but a guy can dream,” he sighs, shaking his head slightly to break his gaze from the girls.

“gross, don’t,” you say, being unfortunately reminded of your friend’s sexuality every time your squad comes around, “and for the record, all leslie really did was give the ol’ “stay away from stilinski” speech,”

“you better have listened,” scott retorts, holding the door to the classroom open for you, “if you text him again i will have zero sympathy left,”

“listen, issac dumped me right in the middle of last season so i tried to hop on some community dick. it happens, we all make mistakes and-

“pretty fucking massive mistake, y/n” scott responds, setting his backpack down next to his desk.

“-now i know better and it won’t happen this year, ok. you live and learn,” you list calmly, removing a notebook and pencil from your bag as you sit down.

“at least he didn’t fuck you,” scott responds, dryly finding the positive of your lapse in judgement.

“thank fucking god for that,” you respond through gritted teeth as the bell rings.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

the harsh led lights illuminate the lacrosse field for the crowd packed in the metal risers surrounding it. the material creaks and groans under the weight of their stamping and cheering.

you stand in formation, shivering slightly with the chilly breeze. the game has been going well, but the opposing team took a late lead in the third quarter, leaving the cyclones down by one. there’s a minute and ten seconds left in the game and all eyes are glued on the infamous number twenty-four. they wait with baited breath for stiles stilinski to keep the cyclone’s near perfect record intact.

you watch his movements from the sidelines, relying on muscle memory to guide you through the routines you’ve spent three years performing.

he seems like more than an athlete when he’s playing. there’s a certain grace about him that’s more comparable to a dancer than a lacrosse player. he shoots the ball with laser precision into the net, tying the game. thirty-five seconds left.

“ending on a tie isn’t bad for the first game,” a dark-skinned girl with a high ponytail of tight braids mutters to your left as she shakes her poms furiously.

“stilinski never ties. they’ll get one more goal,” a girl behind you responds, her voice raspy from cheering.

when play resumes, it is as if someone lit a fire beneath stiles’ feet. he races with vigor towards the opposing net, bodying several players on his way. the impact barely seems to phase him as he hauls the ball into the net for the upteenth time tonight to uproarious applause. the cyclones win, 8-9.

you watch him get smothered by the testosterone-fueled mob of his teammates. you can almost see the flash of his cocky grin from all the way across the field.

great, he’ll be in rare form tonight, you think, reminding yourself once again to avoid him at tonight’s party.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

stiles crosses the crowded living room, getting several pats on his back and encouraging cheers as he goes. red solo cups litter whoever’s house this is and the music seems to shake the very foundation. a nice buzz courses through his body, not enough to make him stumble but enough to bring a flush to his mole-littered cheeks.

“hey,” he says almost innocently as he reaches the couch you’re lounging on.

“nope,” you say abruptly, rising from your spot and walking away. stiles stands with his lips slightly parted and his eyebrows furrowed for several uninterrupted seconds.

“um, excuse me?” he calls after you, following somewhat clumsily behind.

“i’m not doing this tonight, stilinski. the season just started for god’s sake,” you respond firmly, weaving through the crowd to get to the kitchen.

“i’m not doing anything!” stiles defends.

“you’re talking to me and that means you’ve marked me and that’s a fucking problem,” you rant, pouring yourself a heavy-handed vodka redbull. it’s more the former than the latter.

“‘marked’ you? what am i, a fucking hunter?” he snorts, grabbing a bottle of smirnoff and refilling his own cup.

“yes, and i will not be your prey tonight. find some other girl, stilinski,” you smirk, intentionally bumping his shoulder on your way back out of the kitchen. stiles continues his pursuit, taking a swig of liquid courage as he does.

“hey, i just wanted to talk. i thought you liked talking to me,” he smirks, referencing last season’s indiscretion. he jogs slightly beside you as you make your way to the pool outside.

“i did,” you correct forcefully, “i had a severe and continuous lapse in judgement. it won’t happen again,” you reassure sarcastically, flopping down on an open pool chair. he stands over you, his toned form all-too-apparent under his tight white t-shirt.

“i don’t bite, y/n” he coos suggestively, “unless you want me too,” he adds, eliciting an eye roll from you that’s so forceful it threatens to detach your retinas.

“go take a bite out of lydia, i hear she’s your squeeze of the week,” you retort, recalling the image of him kissing the red-head on the cheek as he entered the party. stiles nudges your legs to the side, taking a seat on the edge of your pool chair. he deliberately ignores the deep sigh you exhale.

“nah she’s back with jackson,” he replies easily. you furrow your brow in confusion.

“dude you made out with her in your car in the school parking lot like, four days ago,” you reply bluntly, remembering your teammates scoffs of disgust when you’d discovered them after practice one night.

“yeah. she wasn’t with him then,” he responds cooly, not at all phased by your confusion.

“so what, she just flip flops between you two?” you ask sarcastically.

“yeah,” stiles responds earnestly, “we have a system. she breaks up with him on the last day of winter break, gets with me,” he smirks and your eye roll plagues you once more, “then if the first game goes well, she gets back together with him,”

“i-” you falter, mind reeling at that information, “-have so many questions,”

“ask away,” stiles invites, the smile not leaving his face even as he takes another swig from his cup.

“why the fuck would jackson be ok with you fucking lydia while they’re broken up?” you blurt out and stiles chuckles.

“it’s uh, like a motivation thing. he plays better when he’s jealous, i guess,” he shrugs his shoulders and places a hand on your shin. you shake your leg as if you’re trying to get a bug off and he quickly removes it.

“that’s psychotic,” you scold.

“maybe. but he has four d1 offers so it definitely works for him,” stiles responds. he’s eerily ok with this objectively insane arrangement.

“what if this first game doesn’t go well? would she just stay with you?” you continue your questioning, morbid curiosity replacing disgust with each answer stiles gives.

“i don’t know,” he responds with a far off gaze, “it’s never happened so i’ve never had to find out,”

“so what does lydia get out of this?” you ask, trying to resist the urge to call him a cocky asshole for the “it’s never happened” comment. as egotistical as stilinski is, he’s not unrealistic; the cyclones have only lost one game since he joined the varsity team his sophomore year.

“well, a girl’s got needs,” he smiles mischievously and your disgust returns ten-fold, “that and uh, she likes to be earned,” he finishes, looking down at the ground.

“earned?” you clarify.

“yeah, she wants jackson to put in effort to keep her. she also wants him to know that she’s got options,” he motions to himself with his free hand.

“does no one know how to maintain a normal fucking relationship around here?” you ask, your eyes searching wildly as if the answer will appear before you.

“guess not,” stiles laughs, maintaining eye contact for a little too long. his eyes are pitch-black in the low light of the porchlights and carry an oddly sincere gaze.

“so what do you get out of this arrangement?” you ask dryly and the boy hesitates, despite leaning in closer.

“i feel like if i tell you, you’re gonna hit me,” he whispers, his eyes glinting and his lips curling into yet another punchable smirk. you swing your legs out to the other side of the pool chair that he’s not blocking and slug him in the shoulder as you stand up, fulfilling his prophecy.

“where are you going?” he asks, a twinge of disappointment coloring his tone.

“away from here. i’ve had enough stilinski charm for one night, thank you,” you respond smartly, not turning to face him as you walk back towards the sliding glass doors. in a matter of seconds, stiles is standing in front of you, a strong hand gripping your left wrist. not hard enough to be threatening but just hard enough to keep you in place.

“hey, you can lie to your friends and your squad, but i saw you looking at me tonight,” he mutters gruffly and you blush crimson. he leans down to whisper in your ear, “when you’re ready to act on that, meet me upstairs,” he lets go of your wrist, turning his body to let you pass.

“you’re a fucking asshole, stilinski,” you snap, trying to clear the dry lump that’s formed in your throat as you walk past.

“i know, sweetheart,” he purrs, gratuitously observing the way your hips sway from side to side as you saunter back through the sliding glass doors.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

“so…” stiles whispers, letting both of his calloused hands slide up your torso to grip your tits, “does this count as the same lapse in judgement as last year…” he lets both hands travel to your nipples, where he pinches them gently, “...or is this a new one?”

“i don’t know…” your voice flutters back, your mind too preoccupied with the feeling of your core dampening in response to his gentle touch to be properly sarcastic, “...you should ask my friend scott, right after he-” you stop your sentence to moan slightly as stiles rolls both nipples between his nimble fingers. “-kills me for sleeping with you,”

“oh please…” stiles scoffs, smirking as you writhe beneath him. both sets of clothes have been lost to the floor of whoever’s bedroom this is and the door has been carefully locked behind you two. you lie on your back on the bed, your legs spread all-too-willing as stiles kneels between them, his knees low to the bed and his hard cock resting gently on your groan, agonizingly far from your pulsating opening.

“...scott probably wants to fuck you just as bad as i do,” stiles smirks, reveling in your pleasure as you buck your hips upwards. the blood throbs in his cock, as if begging him to insert himself into you, but this is the part he really gets off on; getting you wet with just his fingers on your hardened nipples.

“gross,” you moan, partly with pleasure, partly with disgust at the sudden image of your friend’s face while you’re in such a compromising position.

“i’m just saying…” he reaches his right hand down to stroke his cock gently, keeping himself as hard as possible for you, “...i don’t think any guy could be friends with someone as hot as you and not want to fuck you,” he states, almost matter-of-factly as he pulls a nipple upwards with his left hand and then releases his grip suddenly, eliciting an undignified whine from you.

“you like that, baby?” he coos and your stomach twists.

“don’t call me that,” you mutter tersely, not acknowledging the question. you don’t have to anyways; stiles can see by the way you puff your chest forwards into his hands that you need his touch more than you’d care to admit right now.

“sorry, what would you prefer? sweetheart?” he asks, pushing your tits together with both hands and using just his thumbs to swipe at them, “angel? princess?” he asks and watches intently as you snake your right hand down to your core, inserting several fingers and begin to pump them desperately. you are in dire need of some friction down there as stiles still refuses to put his dick to good use yet.

“oh, i think we have a winner,” he coos suggestively, sitting back slightly to watch your fingers slide in and out of your core with a hungry look in his eyes. “are you getting yourself ready for me, princess?” he asks in a sugary-sweet tone, placing his left hand on your hip and his right back on his member, where he begins to pleasure himself to the sounds of your moans.

“mhm,” you groan, adding another finger to stretch your walls further. stiles quickens the pace of his strokes, the soft slapping sound of skin on skin filling the warm room. after losing himself in the friction for a moment, he remembers his task, forcing himself to let go of his leaking cock. several drops of precum drip onto the grey duvet cover as he grabs your rapidly moving right hand.

“may i?” he asks in a husky voice. you nod vigorously, unsheathing your hand. he flips his palm upwards and inserts his two middle fingers to the hilt, using his free thumb to rub uniform circles over your clit. a jolt of pleasure seizes your stomach and you push your hips forwards. he keeps his fingers still, letting you fuck yourself on them in a steady rythm and admiring the desperation on your face, as its clear you need more stimulation.

he shifts slightly and lowers his mouth to one of your nipples, taking it in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it slowly. your whimpers are completely undignified now and you don’t have enough cognitive function to care.

“fuck that feels good,” you mewl, your eyes shut tight now.

“really?” stiles questions mockingly, removing his lips from your nipple. “what happened to “you’re a fucking asshole, stilinski”?”

“you are…” you whisper breathlessly, “...but you’re good for certain things,”. stiles insert a third finger as you continue thrusting yourself upon them.

“y/n, you’re so desperate for me that you’re fucking yourself on my fingers…” he teases darkly, straightening up and once again bringing his left hand to his cock, “...i think we can move past insults,”

“yeah, cause you’re not enjoying this at all, stiles,” you moan sarcastically, lifting your head to see him once again stroke himself with a needy look in his eyes.

“i’m just waiting,” he groans, trying and failing to keep the pleasure from warping his tone.

“for what?” you ask, dropping your head to the pillow again.

“for you to beg,” he whispers ominously and you let out a barking laugh.

“in your wet fucking dreams, stilinski,” you spit back, aware that the euphoric sensation you feel from his fingers stretching you out deliciously directly contradicts your mocking tone. he removes his hand abruptly and your breath hitches in your throat.

stiles disappears to the bedroom floor, rustling the belt of his jeans slightly as he searches for something and reappears between your thighs, ripping a small foil packet between his teeth. he removes the thin latex ring and slides it easily over his shaft without missing a beat.

“you are way too quick at that,” you remark, almost in awe at his swift contraception skills. the other guys you’ve slept with, (and to be fair, there’s only been two), had struggled greatly with condoms, clumsily opening the packages and never rolling it over themselves on the first try.

“lots of practice,” stiles mutters and you find yourself rolling your eyes but keeping the sarcastic comment to yourself. he grabs his cock and begins rubbing it exceptionally slowly up and down your folds.

“now, what was it you were saying about not begging?” he asks gently, watching your face contort with annoyance at his teasing. your inner walls are practically pulsing his name in morse code but you choose to keep up your aloof cover.

“i don’t fucking beg,” you spit out, mustering a great deal of mental power to be able to get that sentence out.

“come on, y/n,” stiles coos, rubbing your clit with his free hand, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your body, “you know you want this….i know you want this…” he pushes his tip forwards, expanding your opening for just a moment before pulling it back out to your disgruntled whimper, “...why lie to me?”

“you don’t…” you pause to bite your bottom lip, not wanting your moan to escape, “...deserve the…satisfaction,”

“but you do, princess,” he retorts back, once again inserting himself a few centimeters and then promptly pulling his cock back out and rubbing your glistening pleats.

“ugh,” you huff, every inch of your body craving his. you cannot stand another second of stiles taunting you with his agonizingly brief friction so you finally cave. you make a mental note to threaten him with bodily harm should he ever attempt to divulge the following words that fall from your lips.

“just fuck me, stiles; please?”

“deal,” he mutters under his breath, lining himself up eagerly, and thrusting his throbbing tip into your willing hole. he slides himself slowly inside, reveling at how tightly you remain wrapped around him. he lets out a moan of his own as he bottoms out, his pelvic bone meeting yours with a soft bump.

he stops moving for a moment, remaining fully sheathed inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust to his large size. white spots burst in the corners of your vision but dissipate as you get used to the feeling of him filling your cavity so nicely.

“wow,” he marvels, his voice hushed as if he didn’t actually mean to say that out loud, “you took me really well,”

you focus your blown pupils on his, taking in the thin layer of sweat on his brow and his quivering pink lips.

“are you surprised?” you ask in a daze.

“kinda,” he admits sheepishly, “i’ve been told i’m kind of big,”

he is. you thought you were being spoiled in your last relationship by your boyfriend’s five-incher but stiles has to be over seven, with girth to boot. a distant part of your mind finally connects the dots that this may be why girls go a little nuts after sleeping with him. you hope you won’t go too insane after tonight but the way he so easily spreads your walls further apart with practically no effort at all has you internally screaming for more.

as if stiles could hear your thoughts, he begins to deliver you some pleasant friction, rolling his hips forwards and backwards slowly, watching your face contort in ecstasy. his own pleasure swells in his groin as your pussy grips his cock with a great deal of suction.

“fuck, you’re really tight,” he murmurs, again more to himself than you. he’s enjoying the pressure of your enclosure wrapped around him, but he’s almost finding it hard to move. it’s as if your body refuses to release him.

he tentatively pulls most of his length out of you and rams it back harder, hitting your cervix with a soft thump that causes your hips to buck in response. almost immediately your pussy ensnares him once more, constricting around his manhood tighter than before. it’s stiles’ turn to see spots in his vision that briefly distract him from his mission.

“jesus, y/n, where have you been all my life?” he mewls in a low tone full of lust.

“i feel good, stiles?” you ask in a breathy tone that somehow increases his arousal even further. you’ve given up on fighting him. however cocky he is about his sexual prowess, he deserves it. you find every fiber of your resolve loosening with each jab of his shaft.

“good?” he asks, quickening his thrusts and gripping the plush of your thighs with his large hands, “you fucking…ungh,” he groans, only half aware that his jaw has gone slack and he looks completely entranced, “...fit me like a glove. i…” he stares down at where his cock disappears inside you, marveling at your wetness, “...could get used to this,”

“me too,” you mutter against your better judgement, reaching your hands out to grab his hips as his thrusts become sloppier, “stiles you’re huuuuuuge,” you moan out, extending the word into a high pitch squeal that falters with each thrust.

“you take me so well…most girls can’t handle all of me right away…but you…fuck…y/n,” his voice becomes needier with each passing syllable. stiles is slowly unraveling inside you. his body count is in the dozens and he’s done it in just about every imaginable position and location but missionary with you is topping nearly every sexual encounter he’s ever had.

“stiles, i wanna switch,” you breathlessly request, remembering your favorite position through your dick-induced brain fog. stiles forces himself to slow his hips, almost whimpering in pain at the loss of his beautiful momentum.

“what do you mean?” he asks, taking the moment of pause to caress your thighs. you pull yourself off of him and sit up.

“i want you from behind,” you order, pushing his sweaty chest out of the way and positioning yourself on your hands and knees. stiles nearly drools at the sight of your pretty cunt from this new angle and can’t help himself from kneeling down and running his tongue across your clit for a moment. your knees buckle slightly at the touch of his mouth, but he straightens up quickly, pumping his cock as he brings himself to your opening.

“you can have me wherever you want me, princess,” he coos, shoving his tip inside you and groaning at the renewed contact. “you’re fucking dripping for me, ugh you feel so good,”

this new position was exactly what you needed. stiles’ massive cock slamming you from behind slowly works your body into a writhing mess. you grip the sheets on either side of you, letting every moan that forms in your throat to fall, no longer feeling embarrassed at showing him that you’re enjoying yourself. stiles’ hands grab your hips, stopping the movement of his own in favor of slamming yours back and forth.

“stiles just like that,” you moan, feeling your pleasure build in your core. you force your knees even farther apart, desperate to get all of him as deep as he can possibly go. your arms buckle beneath you, sending you face down, ass up as you take all seven and a half inches of stiles’ throbbing cock.

“aw princess, are you gonna cum?” he asks, trying for an almost mocking tone but failing as a whimper escapes him.

“mhm daddy,” you whine and stiles’ thrust pause for a millisecond.

“did you-did you just call me “daddy”?” he clarifies in a stunned tone, resuming his rhythm.

“too much?” you ask through your pleasure-filled vocalizations.

“fuck no,” he exhales, gripping your hips harder, a deep flush coloring his sweaty face that he’s grateful you can��t see.

“then fuck me harder, daddy,” you whine. the pet name sends stiles into a frenzy all over again and his load threatens to spill itself into the condom buried in your heat. he musters every bit of stamina he possesses and rails you even harder, his soft tip sending shockwaves of pleasure through you every time it slams into your cervix.

the euphoria builds until your knees are shaking and you’ve gone lightheaded. you feel the brink of your orgasm teeter in your core, fresh white sparks exploding in your spotty vision.

“come on y/n, cum for daddy. cum on my cock, princess, i wanna feel it,” he grunts out, his short fingernails digging into your hips as his rhythm continues.

“stiles…i-” is all you can choke out before it finally comes. your orgasm wracks your body with spasms that threatens to collapse your position entirely. stiles holds your body in place as your walls constrict even further, leaking your white liquids all over his rock-hard dick.

“oh, good girl, y/n,” stiles praises, rubbing a hand over your stomach gently. “did you have fun?” he asks in a tone bordering between condescending and sincere.

“yes,” you whisper, utterly dick-matized.

“good, good, you felt fucking amazing, princess,” he pulls himself out of your pussy, watching your cum slowly leak out of your swollen hole as he removes the soiled condom, “fuck, you came hard,” he marvels, reaching his fingers forward to feel your wetness as you lay yourself flat on the bed. you twitch slightly at the contact of his fingers on your too-sensitive cunt.

“i-i kinda needed that,” you confess sheepishly, your cheek still flat on the mattress.

“oh, trust me; i know,” stiles reassures in a knowing tone, sitting at the head of the bed next to your prone form. he places a warm hand on your back, drawing small circles on your flesh with his thumb. many minutes of silence only punctuated by the background music of the party on the floor below you pass until you realize something.

“wait, did you cum?” you ask, lifting your head. stiles laughs gingerly.

“uh, no,” he admits quietly.

“wait, what??” you ask, more incredulous this time. you push yourself upwards and turn to face him, “how the fuck did you not cum?” you demand.

“what the fuck do you mean?” he responds, his tone slightly bewildered.

“you’re a teenage boy and you just railed me for like,” you check the alarm clock on the bedside table and realize you have no idea how long you’ve been laying face down so the time doesn’t help you. you decide to make a rough guesstimate of, “twenty minutes and you’re telling me you didn’t cum?”

“i have incredible stamina,” he smirks, amused at your shock.

“what are you, god? i mean i used to think i was lucky if i could get my ex to fuck me for five minutes without busting. i mean, your dopamine receptors must be fucking fried or something,” you mutter intensely, getting off the bed and kneeling beside it, using your hands to pull stiles knees towards you. he chuckles with a far-off look in his eyes and then realizes what you’re doing.

“wait, what’s happening?” he questions, his tone suddenly uneasy.

“i’m gonna suck your dick, lucky you,” you mutter sarcastically, moving your hand to grab stiles’ manhood.

“uhhh,” he mutters, his facial expression slightly panicked.

“you good? sorry i thought you’d want this,” you ask concerned, removing your hand swiftly.

“no i do! trust me, y/n, i really,” he leans forward, maintaining his burning eye contact, “really do. i just-um,” he falters again, his unflappable confidence failing him.

“stiles it’s fine, i’ll leave, i get it,” you respond, going to stand up.

“no no, wait, please, uh, please don’t leave,” he pleads, guilt coloring his tone as he scrunches up his face in discomfort, “i really want that, i just don’t think it’ll work,” you lower yourself back to your knees.

“‘don’t think it’ll work’? it’s not rocket science, stilinski,” you mutter incredulously and stiles rolls his eyes.

you keep yours fixed on his face as your hands find his shaft once more. you watch his face go from concerned to at ease as you stroke him slowly, feeling the blood rush back in as he once again becomes stiff from arousal. stiles slides his knees slightly further apart and when you lower your head you look up into his eyes. he meets yours with a lustful gaze and gives a small nod, which you take as your cue to take him in your mouth.

stiles’ breath hitches in his throat and his right hand easily threads its slightly shaking fingers through your hair. you meticulously swirl your tongue over his shaft, feeling the subtle twitches of his body as he reacts to you hitting the sweet spot of nerves right under the tip. you look up at his face to see he’s once again gone red in the face, his pink lips parted slightly.

once you feel he’s nice and warmed up, you begin slowly sucking on his shaft, taking him deeper and deeper down your throat.

“fucking hell, y/n,” stiles can’t help but mutter and you wink up at him with watery eyes. the knot in stiles stomach begins to unravel and arousal overtakes him. whimpers fall from his lips as you take his entire length, your lips brushing slightly against his well-groomed pubic hair. he feels his orgasm teetering precariously, growing closer with every slight jab to the back of your throat.

“jesus, princess, your mouth feels so fucking good,” he moans, bucking his hips forward slightly. but as soon as the wave of pleasure washes over him, it soon subsides, and stiles finds himself feeling slightly empty as you continue your task so earnestly it almost makes him feel guilty. he positions both his hands on your cheeks and gingerly pulls your mouth off his cock.

“what happened?” you ask, wiping your mouth quickly, disappointed at the sudden disconnect.

“nothing, y/n, nothing. i’m just kinda drunk and also exhausted and i just don’t think it’s gonna happen,” stiles explains carefully, almost as if he’s rehearsed this exact speech before. the words sound hollow as they leave his throat. he grabs his boxers from the ground and pulls them up himself hastily. “i’m sorry,” he mutters in a tone that’s much more genuine.

“you’re fine,” you say reflexively, kneeling on the ground to locate your own clothes. you then realize you should probably be more reassuring. “but like, i mean it. like it’s all good, that’s understandable,” you continue, your voice warmer as you pull your own underwear back on. “i’d say call me, but we both know you won’t,” you add and stiles smiles knowingly as he pulls his t-shirt on.

“i will,” he nods slightly as his head reappears.

“come the fuck on, stilinski. i’m cheerleader number-what number are you on now? like, thirty-five?” you ask incredulously and stiles remains completely unbothered by your comment.

“something like that,” he confesses easily, reaching down to pull his jeans up as you hook your bra behind your back.

“so i am not at all special and you don’t need to pretend you’re going to call,” you finish with bravado and stiles grin deepens.

“i will call you…” he starts earnestly. he buckles his belt easily, the muscles in his hands flexing rather devilishly as he takes several steps towards you. you straighten out the dress you just pulled over your head and meet his eyeline, “...the question is whether you’re going to pick up,” he finishes, pointing a finger lazily in your face.

“you take care of the first part and i’ll see what i can do about the second,” you retort quickly, your tone completely aloof now. stiles sticks out his right hand and you reluctantly give him yours, shaking it in one quick motion.

“deal, princess,” he coos and you fight the urge to roll your eyes as he unlocks and opens the bedroom door for you, once again watching your hips sway as you exit.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski smut #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski fanfiction #beacon hills #scott mccall #stiles smut #stiles x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf smut #teen wolf imagine

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erodasfishtacos · 2 months ago

Text

Is It Casual? || FWB!H ||

prompt: it's casual, right? but god, it really doesn't feel that way

word count: 6k

warnings: subspace, lack of aftercare, angst, lack of communication

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

There are other parts of this up and will be updated this month

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (2-5kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 375 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here

first TWENTY to click here can get a free $5 membership for a month!

The bar was clearing out, trivia night had come to a conclusion, and everything was winding down.

The big chalkboard in the corner still displayed the final scores, a lopsided tally where “Team Niall” had tragically lost by two points.

It was Tuesday night and everyone had work the next day which meant that there was a rush through the door and left them as the last ones to filter out because they always tended to lollygag even though most of them had early mornings.

The group of friends were all saying their goodbyes.

YN stood with Georgia near the AC vent, arm linked through hers for warmth because the cold blast from above made her huddle in closer.

Hailee and Jessa were a few feet away, still laughing about the last round of questions, and how the boys were such sore losers at every turn.

Someone always tended to leave Trivia night with their feelings hurt.

Niall, Harry, and Mitch were all arguing about the question that had them lose the game.

“Why the fuck would you say Delaware?” Harry scolds as he runs his hand through his hair, a scowl that was saved for Niall and Niall alone, “It's not even a fucking city. It's a state.”

“I got confused! Delaware is the smallest state!” Niall defends putting his hands up, pinks cheek from the beer he's had.

“No, it's really fucking not. It's Rhode Island!” Harry shouts back at him with exasperation, hands thrown up in annoyance, “Come on!”

“You're off the team,” Mitch adds in, monotone and bored as he tugged his keys out from his jean pocket - slowly but obviously trying to see himself out of the argument.

“That's bullshit! We're literally named Team Niall,” He argues with wide disbelieving eyes.

“It's not hard to change the name,” Harry adds in, agreeing with Mitch, and an annoyed roll of his eyes because even though the two have been friends since diapers - they fought more than middle school girls and made up just as quickly.

“Okay, well we work tomorrow morning and have seen enough of this cat fight,” Hailee announces as she wraps her hand around Mitch’s wrist, guiding her boyfriend towards the door.

Jessa trailed behind, waving goodnight to everyone with an amused smile tugging at her lips.

Niall is mumbling about unfair treatment as they all start heading towards the door.

“You did good,” Harry manages to slip next to YN, bumping her hip and then glancing over at Georgia, “You too. I didn't know about Montana's state flower.”

“Better do some studying before next Tuesday,” Georgia quips as she throws her arm around YN, who just laughs softly.

“You did a good job too, Harry,” YN compliments as she leads Georgia towards where they parked next to each other.

“Thanks,” He replies with a slight smile, he pauses as he realizes his car is next to Niall’s on the other side of the lot, “I'll see you guys next Tuesday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” YN said, both she and Georgia giving a small wave as he headed off.

“You two should totally date,” Georgia says as soon as Harry is out of earshot, glancing back quickly to double check, “You'd be so cute together.”

YN shakes her head with an annoyed scowl towards her friend, “We both just got out of long-term relationships. I don't think that would be a good idea.”

Georgia made a dismissive sound, clicking her tongue, “Harry’s been broken up with Lauren for, what, four months? You and Ben ended things at least three ago.”

YN bit the inside of her cheek, the familiar tightness crawling up her chest, “You literally just think we should date because we’re both single.”

“And you guys would look hot together,” Georgia doesn't disagree with her accusation, “I mean…look at him. He's insanely fit. He carried four drinks with one hand!”

YN had noticed.

She wasn’t blind.

She remembered the way his hand had dwarfed the copper mug as he slid the Moscow Mule in front of her before passing out three other beer bottles.

And the size of his hands… yeah, she noticed that too.

“No, I'm not looking for a relationship and I doubt he is either,” YN reiterates as they get to their cars, “He's nice but I'm not ready to commit again.”

Georgia scoffed, pressing the button on her key fob - her car chirped and blinked to life, “Who said anything about commitment? I said a date, not a full ass wedding.”

“Goodnight, George,” YN sighed, her tone exasperated but affectionate, she unlocked her own car with a quiet beep,“I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Georgia groaned, slumping dramatically with a frown coating her features, “I’ve got that god-awful presentation. You better pretend to care.”

“Always do,” YN said with a laugh as she slipped into the driver’s seat, glad the conversation had moved on.

Her head was already too full, her thoughts spiraling the moment Harry came up.

Ben.

Just the name made her temples throb, an implosion that she was trying to avoid because it made her head hurt at least once a day, sometimes more if she thought about him for too long.

It's been three months and it's been amazing to be out of a relationship with an immature man child who got insecure when she went to trivia night so he always tagged along, needed to be included when he hated trivia and rarely ever answered correctly.

So yeah, it had been a relief.

Being single was better than babysitting a grown man’s ego.

Georgia blew her a kiss before backing out of the parking spot with a little screech of tires.

YN gave her the middle finger with a smirk before starting her own engine.

It seems like every week now she was bringing it up, trying to play matchmaker for two people who were healing from heartbreaks.

YN only knows a little about the break-up.

Lauren rarely came to trivia.

When she did, she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.

YN knew that Harry had ended it, even though it was hard—he’d said once, in a rare vulnerable moment, that he wanted someone he could build a life with.

Lauren didn’t want that.

She hadn’t gone easily either.

She’d shown up at trivia twice post-breakup, trying to win him back.

Each time, the group acted like they weren’t watching as Harry gently pulled her aside, voice low and kind, guiding her to the other side of the bar before walking her out to her car.

Ben had shown up a few times too, clumsy and bitter, trying to stake some kind of claim.

That hadn’t ended as well as with Lauren.

It didn’t end quietly because Niall and Mitch had to guide him out of the bar while Harry stood between them to make sure that Ben didn’t approach her again - acting as her makeshift bodyguard.

So now Georgia was rooting for two broken people to get together—not necessarily out of romance, but maybe just because the group missed their spark.

Missed the way YN used to laugh, the way Harry used to be sharper, quicker.

+ few minutes later +

“Hips up, come on. You’ve been teasing all night,” Harry grunts, voice low and rough the moment the backseat door thuds closed behind them.

There’s no hesitation—he’s already on her.

His hands at the waist of her skirt, fumbling big hands trying to find the zipper as he bullies her further into the space until her back hits the opposite door.

YN has to remind herself that she's just romanticizing this whole situation because it's her first time having a sexual relationship with someone she's not dating.

She convinces herself the excitement is what makes their chemistry so magnetic and nothing else but she knows she never felt like this with Ben or any other partner.

“Wasn't teasing,” YN manages to get out but she was already breathless, eager in a way she's never been with sex, her thighs dampening was a new sensation.

“No?” His tone is almost mocking, but laced with something darker—something feral, his fingers finally land on the zipper at her side, tugging it slowly down with infuriating precision, “Then your cunt isn’t needy? Am I reading the signs wrong?”

Her breath hitches.

God, she should be annoyed.

She should be offended.

But the filth coming from his mouth only fuels the heat already pooling low in her belly.

The way he says it—so confident, so cocky lights her up in a way she didn’t know words could.

“What signs?” YN pushes back because their back and forth only build up her arousal even further, searching for more dirty words out of his mouth.

Harry leans in, his mouth a breath away from her ear.

His words send a full-body shiver down her spine.

“The way you watched my mouth all night,” Harry murmurs, voice thick and gravelly.

His fingers press insistently into the soft, plush flesh just above the waistband of her tight skirt, “Saw you clench your thighs when I took off my coat.”

“You’re full of yourself,” YN manages, but the protest comes out barely above a whisper.

Her fingers curl into the fabric of his jacketat his shoulder, grounding herself in him because it still doesn't feel real—being able to touch him like this, have him this close.

There’s something that happens when she’s with Harry—this overwhelming impatience, a hunger that feels heavier, more intense than lust.

Like if she doesn’t get his hands on her, in her, she might actually combust.

“So you didn't want this? Haven't been looking forward to Trivia night for this?” Harry has this cocky smile on his face, his fingers haven't move at all from her waist and it was making her tick.

“Didn’t cross my mind once,” YN bites out, teeth clenched, her toes curling inside her boots, heels digging into the expensive leather of the car seat.

Her body is aching to be touched—every inch of her buzzing with restless need but she’s trying to keep control of the dynamic.

Barely.

Harry narrows his eyes slightly, amusement and heat flickering behind them as he begins to pull back.

The shift is subtle, but she feels the loss instantly—his weight, his warmth.

And that just won’t do.

Before he can move another inch, her other hand snaps up to grab at his jacket, fisting the fabric roughly and yanking him back toward her.

Their lips collide in a kiss so heated it steals the breath from her lungs.

His hand flies up to cup the side of her face, fingers splayed against her cheek and jaw, holding her in place like he’s claiming her.

The way he kisses her—hungry and messy and unrelenting, it feels like he’s trying to devour her, like he earned her mouth, like he owns it.

“Admit it,” Harry’s mouth is still against hers, barely separating to speak before he's dipping his tongue back into her mouth like he can't help himself.

“No,” YN chases after his tongue as he pulls back, trying to follow his lips because they were addictive and she wanted more.

Harry doesn’t let her take.

He sits back just enough, his body still caging her in, but now his eyes are on fire.

That same molten look she’s only ever seen when he’s like this—turned on and completely focused.

“Why are you being difficult, honey?” Harry hums as he moves to cup her knees where they're bent around him, ghosting down her right, and dancing along the hem of her skirt, “I know what you want. Don't need to be ashamed of it.”

YN feels a swoop on her stomach, the way he spoke never managed to not get her even more turned on for him, and the whole dynamic of feeling this aroused and playful was new.

“Then give it to me,” YN huffs out as she hitches her hips impatiently, blinking down at him - she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

He reaches up and captures one of her wrists, the same one curled tight into his jacket.

Gently but deliberately, he pries it free and guides it downward.

With his other hand, he hikes her skirt up, bunching the fabric at her hips until she’s fully exposed, her thighs spread, her breath trembling in her throat.

Then he moves her hand between her legs.

It takes her breath away—literally.

Her gasp cuts sharply through the close air of the backseat, a startled, needy sound as her own fingertips brush the soaked heat of her thong.

Harry doesn’t look away from her, not for a second.

She can’t help the shudder that racks through her when her fingers press more firmly to her clit.

It’s not the same as when it’s his hands on her, his mouth.

But it still eases the throbbing, even if just a little.

“Feel nice, sweet girl?” Harry nearly croons, it sounds fonder than it should for what they're doing, what they are, and aren't to each other, “You're filthy, touching yourself like this in front of me.”

There’s something unbearably hot about the way he guides her, how he’s using her fingers to pleasure herself the way he wants.

She opens her mouth to throw the insult back at him, to call him filthy, but all that escapes is a whimper as he withdraws her hand suddenly.

He holds it between them, his grip gentle but commanding.

Her slick glistens on her fingertips under the dim lights filtering through the foggy windows.

“Not wet for me?” Harry asks, cocking a brow with mock innocence.

“No,” she replies with a bratty edge, her chin lifting in defiance.

She’s proud of the attitude—but it doesn’t last long.

Because without missing a beat, Harry brings her hand up to her face, rubbing her soaked fingertips across her lips until her own arousal glosses them.

He doesn’t stop there.

Harry leans in and presses his mouth to hers again, tongue sweeping over the same place he’d just marked with her slick.

It’s possessive, greedy.

He licks into her mouth like he’s starving, and the kiss nearly sends her reeling.

“Please, I was wet for you all night,” YN finally gives in, “Was thinking about this.”

There’s no point in pretending anymore.

She knows how patient he can be.

Harry doesn’t rush.

He waits, teases, stretches her thin until she’s begging—and she always breaks first.

“About what? Getting your needy cunt touched?” Harry laughs meanly , albeit pleased that she relented because then he can really start being a menace, “Do you think about it all week? Do you think about me all week?”

She should say no.

She should lie.

Because she does think about him, not just the sex.

His laugh, his stupid jokes, the way he looks when he’s concentrating on a trivia question.

But she doesn’t tell him that.

She can’t.

“I want to come,” YN says instead because it seems safer than telling him the truth, she bucks her hips upwards towards his center but doesn't make contact.

“And I want you to behave,” Harry grunts with annoyance in his tone, hands coming to press her hips back down with a harshness that she hadn't had from previous partners.

She loved it.

She lets out a soft moan at the contact, even as frustration builds.

She wishes they weren’t crammed into the backseat of his car.

Wishes she could be stretched out on his bed, bare and unhurried, with his full weight pressing her into the mattress.

“I’ll be good,” YN says, her voice gone kitten-soft and breathy.

It surprises even her, the way it sounds—submissive and sweet.

Not like her at all.

“Show me what I want to see then. Be a good girl,” Harry sits back, his eyes tracing over her body, and resting down on the thick of her thigh - squeezing.

YN briefly wonders if this is how Harry had been with Lauren - dominant but attentive, and that's a twist of jealousy in her stomach that she'd rather not consider right now.

The skirt is already bunched at her waist, fabric wrinkled and forgotten.

Her hand trembles slightly as she dips back down to her center, hooking the gusset of her thong around her fingers and tugging it aside.

It was nerve-wracking to expose the most private part of herself to the man she was crushing on so deeply, had been for so long, and even though he's seen her like this before - it still hadn't become any less intimidating.

“Fuck,” Harry curses when she does so, his hand coming down to almost curiously roll her swollen, hard bud until his thumb, “So puffy f’me. Never seen a prettier pussy.”

And it's probably just a line, he has said those words to the girls that came before her but it still boosted her ego quite a bit.

Emboldened, YN arches her hips into his touch, a pretty moan slipping out as her head tilts back, exposing the soft, pale column of her throat.

“Desperate for my touch, huh?” Harry rasps, ghosting down to tease around her entrance, not dipping in but gathering the wetness there.

“If you don't make me come soon, i'll go back in that bar and get Will,” YN threans with her own smile because she knew he wouldn't like that, “He would get me off.”

Will was one of the DJ’s who ran trivia and he had taken quite a liking to YN, had made it known, and had asked her out a few times.

Harry didn't outwardly admit jealousy but would make snarky comments about how pathetic Will was, how annoying he was, and how he just needed to do his job.

His expression hardens instantly, brows furrowing, top lip curling.

“You think Will could get you off?” He snaps, glancing up from where his fingers still hover just shy of her cunt, “That fucker doesn’t even know where the clit is. You’d be getting licked out until next year.”

“It’d still be quicker than how long it takes you to get me off,” YN shoots back, chin tilted.

Her pulse is thundering in her ears—because she’s poking the bear, and she knows it.

Harry’s easy to rile when it comes to showing off.

He never backs down when his pride is challenged.

His jaw ticks once, eyes narrowing.

Then, in a flash, he's had enough.

“Stop fuckin’ running your mouth,” Harry hisses finally hitting his breaking point, it was impressive because he rarely got to that point this quickly.

Before she can fire off another comeback, Harry grips her hips and yanks her down the seat, until she’s lying flat, skirt bunched at her waist, legs parted.

The leather squeaks under her, echoing in the silence of the car.

His hands grips her ass, firm and rough, pulling her pelvis up until she arches toward him—and then he’s there, his mouth crashing onto her with no warning.

YN cries out as his lips close around her clit, tugging it into his mouth with punishing accuracy.

Her body jolts, trying to flinch back from the intense pressure, but his grip tightens—keeping her locked in place and leaving her no room to wriggle away.

Harry’s nose nudges against her mound, his lips and tongue relentless, like a man feral.

He barely comes up for air, working her over with deep, rhythmic licks and suction that feel like they’re pulling the pleasure straight from the source.

YN reaches down to grab at him, fingers tangled in his curls as she pushes into his mouth before trying to shy away.

He moves one hand from her ass, thumbing over her seam before he's nudging two fingers in until he can pet at the front of her inner walls, scissoring them to make her feel the light, welcome stretch.

“Ye-yeah,” YN can only gasp as the stimulation grows more quickly than she's used to, his fingers and mouth are so knowledgeable , know exactly what their doing, “Oh, I'm clo-close, H.”

His eyes flick up to her, barely visible from this angle, but the glint in them is unmistakable—dark, electric.

His mouth never lets up, tongue lapping at her, lips sealing around her clit again in a rhythm that has her thighs trembling.

His fingers pump into her at a steady, sure pace, and he knows she’s right at the edge.

And then he stops.

Just like that.

He lets her drop back to the leather seat, slick and desperate, the cool air hitting her exposed skin.

She blinks in disbelief, mouth open in shock, hips twitching in search of the sensation that vanished too fast, and watches as he rubs his face against the calf that was hooked over his shoulder.

Harry’s the filthy one, really, because he runs his tongue over where he'd just wiped off her arousal without any shame.

“No, no,” YN complains desperately, she had been so fucking close, tryin to hold it at that delicious almost there bliss for as long as possible and it was starting to fizzle, “No, I didn't come- Harry, I didn't-”

Harry comes to cup her jaw, effectively shutting her up with a thumb pressed roughly against her lip.

“If only our friends knew what a mouthy, greedy lil’ thing you are,” Harry admonishes as he tugs down her bottom lip, his nose nearly brushing hers, “I know you didn’t come, silly girl. I didn’t want you to.”

“But why?” YN snaps at him, the sensitivity was continuing to fizzle out like a sparkler come to the end of it’s life, and it left this unsettled, uncomfortable ache that she was never used to feeling because if a partner was getting her that close - she didn’t have the luxury to edge or she wouldn’t get it back then she just wouldn’t come that time when they had sex.

Harry doesn’t answer with words at first.

His hand drops sharply to her inner thigh, a slap of dominance that makes her yelp—not from pain exactly, but the sting of surprise, of being handled like that.

“Because I said so,” Harry retorts lowly, teeth clenched as his brow draw further together, “I don’t think you’ve earned it. Not sweet ‘nough for me yet.”

“I’m sweet, I’m sweet,” YN knows she sounds like a begging puppy but he was the only person who brought of this desperation in her, this unhinged beahvior where she had no shame because she wanted him so much more than she wanted to keep her dignity.

Harry’s face softens—just a little.

His gaze travels over her flushed face, her trembling body, her wide, needy eyes.

Something fond flickers in his expression, just for a beat, and it makes her chest ache.

“Are you?” He murmurs, voice gone almost gentle in contrast. “How are you gonna show me?”

YN nudges forward to steal a kiss, relieved when he allows it but only for a moment before he’s biting down on her lip as punishment.

Her hand comes down to his center, gripping at him through the tight denim of his jeans, and it made her confidence skyrocket when she felt how rock hard he was for her, twitching underneath her palm at the unexpected touch.

“I’ll suck you,” YN tells him, it’s nowhere near the filth that he spills out but it still felt so foreign rolling off of her tongue, “Please, I want you in my mouth.”

“You’re already getting sweeter,” Harry croons as he bats her hand away, moving to unbutton his jeans, and shove them as well as his briefs down his thighs - he was intimidating, the size - the length and girth of him was enough to stretch the corner of her lips and make them ache, she remembers how it felt last week when she had swallowed him down and made her eyes water.

They’d only been doing this for a few weeks, with a break in between during the holidays when there was no trivia, and she still wasn’t use to handle someone as well endowed as him, her eyes had gone wide the first time she’d seen how pretty he was and he had given her this sleazy, proud smile at the time.

Harry wraps a hand around the base of his cock, thumb brushing the slick head.

Her breath hitches.

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t ask.

That she’d wait for him to initiate.

But they hadn’t had penetrative sex yet, sure they’d only hooked up in his car a total of three times now but it hadn’t come up, he hadn’t mentioned even one word of it yet, and she realizes just how much she has been craving him, having him fill her up in a way she’d never felt before.

“C’mon, darling. You’re been so good for me now,” Harry hums as he thumbs over the ruddy, wet tip, it was welcoming, tempting.

“No, I -” YN cuts off because she wants to stop herself, she told herself she wouldn’t, “Want you to fuck me.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, his composed facial expression fades momentarily with the surprise of her words, and his hand stops on his length, “Fuck you?”

“Yes,” YN tries to sound sure of herself but it’s faltering, because she’s not.

“And you’ve earned that?” Harry prompts, his cool demeanor right back in place, the shock disappearing just as fast as it had happened, “Or are you being selfish and trying to get out of sucking cock now that you’ve gotten your own?”

YN’s brow furrow, “I didn’t come though.”

Harry snickers, boyishly because he’s getting off of this, “I forgot, your mouthiness has me distracted.”

And looking back, YN thinks this is what people talk about when they use the term subspace.

She’s never felt like this—never felt safe enough to let go.

Because she’d never experienced it before this point but something in her just breaks, she feels floaty and unashamed - there’s no insecurity, no worries about how desperate she’s acting because all she can thinking about is Harry.

It’s an arousal that clouds anything logical and it feels like she’s in the clouds, drifting and weightless, and that’s she’s fully relying on him to take control.

Tears prickle in the corners of her eyes, not from sadness, but from sheer overwhelm.

“Want it,” she whispers, voice cracking, “Please. I’ll s—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Harry hushes softly, his tone is more like his normal cadence and not that deep, horny rasp that he gets, “Honey, are you alright?”

YN swallows, her fingers dug into his arms, “Just want t’come.”

Harry laughs quietly, it’s one of the nicest sounds that she’s ever heard, and right now it seems like the most beautiful music to her ears.

“Okay, pretty,” Harry simpers, his demeanor shifts into something more careful, more cautious as he helps pull her up, “Not many ways to do it comfortably in here.”

Invite me back, please.

Is her needy thought, she wants to be spread out on his bed.

But his next words shut down that hope.

“Will you ride me?”

It’s not really a question.

He’s already guiding her, and she follows without fussing.

She doesn’t have time to mourn—he’s sitting back, pulling her into his lap, and her thighs bracket his hips as she lowers down, the thick, flushed head of him brushing against her folds.

The sight of it is obscene.

She wishes she could take a picture, frame it, live inside this moment where he’s so hard and she’s so desperate, spread open and slick with need.

YN’s impatient, she’s never felt so needy in her life, and she couldn’t believe they were actually about to have sex because even when she was with Ben - she fantasized about this more than she’d ever willingly admit to anyone, especially him.

YN goes to grip at him, to guide him but he bumps her out of the way to do it himself, his other hand comes up to cup her cheek, “Tell me what you want.”

“You, want you,” YN babbles, willing to say just about anything if that means that he’ll stop drawing this out.

Harry shakes his head, his expression suddenly serious, and voice more firm, “No, YN. What do you want me to do?”

“Fuck me, I want you to fuck me - oh,” YN cuts out with a high-pitched moan because he’s painting himself down towards to press into her folds, thumping against her clit once before he’s tucking himself inside, and once his tip has breached his hands move to her hips to start moving her to sit down on him.

And it stretches, more intense than it’s ever felt with her partners in the past but it wasn’t painful, it was just a new sensation of accommodating, and he was bringing her down slowly, pushing her skirt higher up so he could grip her bare hips.

“Jesus,” Harry grunts out, it’s louder than he’s been since they had piled into his car, startling in the otherwise quiet space apart from their heavy breathing.

YN’s eyes widen, glancing up at him, and she’s knows she must just be moony-eyed, looking at him like he was the best thing in the world, her hair was falling into her eyes, startening to dampen as it got hotter, more humid in the confined area.

Harry lets out a low chuckle, his hand come to pet the hair back and behind her eye, voice hushed and sweet as maple syrup, “I’m sorry, sorry honey, didn’t mean to startle you. You just feel so good.”

“Yeah?” YN blinks at him, it was hard to keep anything straight but he was filling her up so fucking well that she didn’t feel like she was about to rip at the seams anymore.

Harry laughs again, happy and private as he bumps his forehead against hers, “Yeah.”

YN doesn’t do much of the work, her limbs are jello and the way Harry utilizes his grip on her hips has him doing the heavy lifting, hitting her spot dead on every single time, and his rhytmn isn’t fast but it’s steady, consistent, and hard.

There’s tears trickling down her cheeks as her orgasm starts to build again, faster than expected, and she actually feels a swoop of disappointment because it she doesn’t want it to be over when it feels like it really just began.

Her clit brushes up against his pubic bone, smearing her slick there as it gives her the perfect friction, and her fingertips are digging into the skin of his clothed shoulder because he was still fully dressed and that didn’t feel quite right but it was too late now.

“Can feel you squeezin’ on me,” Harry hums as he brings her down and sits her there, stops her hips from moving as he plants his feet and starts to thrust up into her, “Are you close, sweetheart? Do you need help?”

YN shakes her head, sniffling slightly as she rolls her hips into his thrusts, “Don’t wan’na.”

Harry doesn’t stop all together but he slows his rhythm, “Don’t want to what, honey? Talk to me.”

“Don’t want to come, don’t want it to be over,” YN admits as she blinks through the film at him and the look he has on his face, well it’s one that she’s never seen before but her brain isn’t in the place to be able to decipher that right now.

“I’ll give you another,” Harry promises, his hands slipping down to grip her bum and pull her even fruther into his lap until their chests are pressing together, tilting his head up to bite at the underside of her jaw, “I’ve earned a squeeze though, haven’t I? Get me wet, darling.”  And YN wishes those words didn’t get to her as easily as they did but it works, her hilts jittling to a stop as she grinds harshly into him, head falling backwards, and he starts sucking a mark right at the center of her throat that she can’t even start to be mad about.

“You’re so pretty, never seen anything prettier on my cock,” Harry groans as he picks up his thrusts, she was sensitive, it didn’t feel as pleasant but she still wanted it, wanted to feel how much he wanted her, and he was throbbing, “Fuck, where do you -”

“In me,” YN’s hand cups the nape of his neck, it felt like there was no other thoughts in her mind.

“Fuckin’ christ,” Harry responds as he squeezes her backside hard enough that she feels pinpricks of pain, knowing it was going to leave marks, and being happy about that, a memento from the best sex of her life, “How’d I get so lucky to get you on me?”

YN doesn’t have time to respond, wasn’t going to anyways when she feels him start to pulse, twitch as he starts to come, his hips slowing to a sluggish pace as he starts to come down from it, panting as sweat beads on his forehead - it was hot, sticky in the car now after all the physical activity.

Harry moves quicker than she can keep up with, plopping her back onto the seat and pinning her against the door as he wedges himself between her thighs.

It’s filthy, it’s something she’s never had anyone do but he swipes at her entrance, tasting himself before he’s wrapping his lips around her bud, and starting that tortuous pulsing that he’d done prior, only this time it doesn’t take more than a minute because she’s already hypersensitive from the first orgasm and he doesn’t tease.

No, instead he rides her through it, chasing after her like a starving man when she rears her hips away, and whines after she’s rode it out, “Too much.”

She was still floating, still teary as Harry wipes her up with a clean gym towel he had in his duffel, hands her an unopened bottle water before helping hero ut of the backseat, and walking her towards her car with a hand on her lower back.

He gives her a hug that seems far to platonic for what they just did, things suddenly awkward like they have been after every single time they’ve done this, and then he’s opening her car door and waving ‘bye’ before he’s heading back to his own.

YN doesn’t know why she starts crying as soon as she pulls out of the lot, why she has to park on a side road because her brain isn’t cooperating, and the pit of emptiness in her chest that wasn’t there prior was now gnawing away at her.

#harry styles writing #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fluff #update #harry styles masterlist #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harrystyles #au writing #writing #harry styles fic #one direction #harry styles fiction

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joaeriz · 3 months ago

Text

8 LETTERS (Paige Bueckers x Fem!Reader)

📎 inspired by “8 Letters” by Why Don’t We 📖 fluff | slow burn | soft romance | college AU 💌 word count: ~2.8k

summary: When Y/N is assigned to write a feature on UConn’s star player Paige Bueckers, the last thing she expects is late-night FaceTimes, secret hangouts, and catching real feelings. As the line between friendship and something more starts to blur, both girls are left wondering if they’re brave enough to say the eight letters that could change everything.

authors note: (Okay, so before you jump in—I just wanna say I had so much fun writing this. It’s honestly a mix of two of my favorite things ever: Paige Bueckers (who I adore) and “8 Letters” by Why Don’t We (which lives rent-free in my head, always). The idea hit me out of nowhere—like, what if that kind of soft, slow, “I love you but I’m scared to say it” kind of story played out between Y/N and Paige? And it just spiraled from there in the best way. I got way too emotionally invested in these two (not sorry), and writing all the cute moments, the late-night FaceTimes, and the feelings they’re both too scared to admit? Ugh. I loved every second.So if you’re into a little angst, a lot of softness, and some seriously sweet vibes, I hope this gives you butterflies the way it gave me butterflies writing it. Thanks for reading—it means so much. — Jo)

P.s: this is my first fic i have posted on here!! Im not new at writing, but let me know if you guys want more :)

You weren’t supposed to fall in love with your story subject.

That was rule number one of journalism school. No dating your interviewees, no crushes on profile pieces, no getting involved. But rules felt irrelevant the first time Paige Bueckers smiled at you like you were more than another face with a notepad.

Your assignment was simple—write a semester-long feature on the UConn women’s basketball team for the student paper. Paige, naturally, was the center of the piece. A star on and off the court. Already a national name. Every sports journalist dreamed of covering her.

You were supposed to remain objective.

Instead, you were falling for her.

Hard.

—

It started with a dead recorder.

Your first real conversation wasn’t planned—unless you count fate as a planner. You’d been huddled near the sideline at practice, trying to record a quote from one of the assistant coaches when your recorder sputtered out and died mid-sentence. You swore under your breath and slapped it, like that ever helped.

Paige had been walking by, sipping on a water bottle, and stopped. “Need backup?”

You looked up, startled. “Only if you’ve got a time machine.”

She smiled. “Nope. But I’ve got the Voice Memos app.”

She handed over her phone like it was no big deal—like she hadn’t just offered you her lifeline. You blinked. “You trust a random reporter with your phone?”

“You don’t seem like the type to scroll through texts.” She leaned in with a smirk. “Besides, you’ve got an honest face. And a tragic relationship with electronics.”

You laughed, cheeks heating. She stayed next to you for a few minutes, watching as you wrapped up your interview with her phone in hand. When it was over, she texted you the audio file with the message:

“Try not to let your technology trauma ruin your career.”

You responded with a lame thank-you and a joke about threatening your recorder with a hammer. You didn’t expect her to reply.

But she did.

“Violence is rarely the answer, but I’ll allow it.”

From there, it snowballed. Texts turned into full-blown threads. Threads into daily check-ins. She started sending random memes between practices—some sports-related, some completely unhinged—and you’d match her energy with cursed TikToks and sarcastic commentary.

Then came the first FaceTime.

You were editing audio at 11:47 p.m. when her name lit up your screen. Paige Bueckers is FaceTiming you.

You stared at it for a second. Then answered.

She was wrapped in a hoodie with damp hair and tired eyes, lying in bed. “Hey,” she said softly. “Didn’t wanna be alone tonight.”

That first call lasted three hours.

You talked about everything: your major, her injuries, your complicated relationship with your hometown, her fear of letting people down. She confessed that sometimes, the pressure made her want to run away to a place where no one knew her name.

You said you understood.

After that, it became routine. Late-night FaceTimes. Morning Snapchats. Study breaks where she'd call and say, “Tell me something random,” and you’d ramble about your day while she half-listened, half-dozed.

—

The first time you hung out outside of school was under the guise of an interview follow-up.

She invited you to a local coffee shop—some cozy little place with plants in every window and tables just slightly too small. You showed up with your laptop and pages of notes. Paige showed up in a hoodie and beanie, no makeup, looking infuriatingly good.

You talked for two hours.

Only twenty minutes was about basketball.

She paid for your drink when you weren’t looking.

“I’ll Venmo you,” you said, pretending to dig for your phone.

She just shrugged. “Nah. Call it a reporter’s hazard fee.”

After that came more not-quite-dates. Study sessions in the campus library where she never actually studied. Walks through the trail behind the dorms where she'd kick pebbles and talk about life like it was something she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

One night, she invited you to “movie night” with the team.

You showed up with snacks and nerves, expecting a whole crowd.

But it was just her.

Two mugs of hot chocolate already on the table. A blanket tossed casually over the couch. She tried to play it off. “The others bailed,” she claimed with a sheepish shrug.

She was a terrible liar.

You stayed anyway.

She fell asleep halfway through the second movie with her head on your shoulder, and you didn’t dare move.

After that night, everything shifted.

—

There were moments. God, there were moments.

The way her hand would brush yours when she passed you something and linger—just a second too long. The way she’d light up when you walked into a room, like you were the only one she’d been waiting for. How she’d say things like:

“Sometimes I forget how to breathe around you.”

And then immediately pretend it was a joke.

You wanted to say it.

You almost did—on Valentine’s Day, when she left a note in your dorm mailbox with a chocolate bar and the words “you’re my favorite notification.”

But you chickened out.

Because if she didn’t feel the same way, you’d lose her. And that possibility was more terrifying than staying quiet.

But then came the silence.

She started pulling away. Fewer texts. Missed calls. Short replies like:

“Practice ran late.” “Sorry, just tired.” “Talk soon?”

And soon became never.

Until the day it broke.

—

It was cold. Rainy. The kind of day that made everything feel heavier. You were walking past the practice facility, hood up, heart aching, when you saw her.

Paige. Alone. Leaning against the wall like she was waiting for something—or someone.

You slowed. She looked up.

“I think we should stop,” she said.

Your stomach dropped. “Stop…?”

“This. Us. I don’t know what this is to you, and I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with not knowing.”

You blinked, throat closing.

“I’m not asking you to guess,” you managed to say.

“Well, then tell me,” she whispered. “Because I think about you all the time, and I don’t know how to make it stop. And it hurts, Y/N. It hurts not knowing if I’m just another story to you.”

And finally—finally—you said the words.

“You asked what love looks like to me.”

She held her breath.

“It looks like you. Like FaceTime calls at midnight and cold coffee on a Sunday morning. It’s how you fight through everything and still smile like you’re not carrying the weight of the world. I didn’t say it before because I was scared, but I’m more scared of losing you.”

Her eyes glossed. She stepped closer.

“You love me?” she asked, barely a whisper.

“I do.”

And when she kissed you, it was soft and shaky and real. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

—

That night, your article sat unfinished.

She lay beside you on your tiny dorm bed, her hand brushing yours under the covers, the silence between you humming with peace.

“Say it again,” she murmured.

You smiled.

“I love you.”

Eight letters.

—

It had been twenty-six days since you told Paige you loved her.

Twenty-six days since she kissed you in the rain like her world had just started spinning again.

Twenty-six days since things finally became real.

And every single one of those days had felt like waking up in the softest dream.

Being with Paige wasn’t loud or flashy—not most of the time. It was slow mornings in bed, tangled limbs and quiet whispers. It was FaceTiming just to sit in silence while you both worked. It was warm hoodies borrowed without asking, and her stealing your socks because “they’re the soft ones.”

It was peace.

One Sunday morning, you found her asleep on your couch, wearing your crewneck and hugging your stuffed animal. She’d crashed the night before after watching movies in your room, the two of you curled together on your tiny dorm bed until she got too warm and rolled onto the floor, dramatically sighing, “This is why we need a queen-sized mattress and a lease.”

You’d laughed, thinking she was joking.

Then she blinked up at you and said, totally serious, “Like… a place. You and me. Off campus. Someday.”

Your heart soared, and you tucked the idea away like a wish on a star.

Later, she sleepily mumbled, “I want you in my mornings and my nights.”

And you knew she meant it.

—

Dating Paige came with little adventures.

Like the time she surprised you with a picnic—on a Tuesday.

You’d been having the worst week: deadlines, papers, zero sleep. Paige texted you in the middle of class: “Be ready at 6. Trust me.”

You met her behind the student union, expecting takeout and a movie.

Instead, she’d laid out a blanket under a canopy of fairy lights she somehow got from the volleyball team’s gear closet. There was music playing from a Bluetooth speaker, a thermos of your favorite hot cocoa, and a little box of cupcakes from the bakery you once mentioned you liked.

“I know you’re overwhelmed,” she said, pulling you into a hug. “So I’m forcing you to pause. Just for tonight.”

You nearly cried.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered.

She kissed your forehead and grinned. “Nah. We deserve each other.”

—

Her love came in a thousand small ways.

When your period hit hard, she showed up with snacks, heating pads, and the world’s ugliest cartoon pajamas she said were “scientifically proven to improve moods.” (They did.)

When she won a game, she didn’t go out with the team—she came to your place and danced with you barefoot in the kitchen to 2000s R&B.

When you got a bad grade on a paper and spiraled about being “not good enough,” she held your face in her hands and said, “You’re brilliant. One grade doesn’t get to rewrite the story.”

She never let you forget your worth—even when you did.

—

Your favorite tradition was Sunday mornings.

You’d wake up slow—her arm slung lazily around your waist, her cheek against your shoulder. She always looked soft in the mornings, voice scratchy, hair messy, face unfiltered.

“Don’t look at me,” she’d mumble, burying her face in the pillow.

You always did anyway.

You’d take turns making breakfast—read: burning toast and debating whether Pop-Tarts counted as a real meal. You’d play records on your vintage player, dance around the room in socks, kiss in the doorway like it was a scene from a movie.

She called you “home” once.

You didn’t say anything in return.

You just pulled her into your chest and held her tighter than words could manage.

—

There were no more secrets now.

People knew. Slowly, sure. But Paige had started holding your hand in public. At first on quieter streets, where no one looked. Then at campus parties. Then at a game.

After a home win, she ran over to the bleachers—where you were waiting—and kissed you in front of a thousand fans and a dozen cameras.

“I love you,” she said breathlessly. “Needed you to know before anything else.”

The video went viral. The team teased her endlessly.

She didn’t care.

Neither did you.

—

One night, lying in bed with your laptop open on your stomach and Paige half-asleep beside you, you said, “This is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

She looked up. “Because of me?”

You smiled. “Because of us.”

She kissed your shoulder and whispered, “Let’s stay like this forever.”

And maybe the future held more challenges—graduation, jobs, long-distance talks if things got complicated.

But for now, you had everything you needed.

Her heartbeat beside yours. Her laughter echoing in your chest. And the words you once feared to say now lived freely between you.

“I love you.” Eight letters. Forever on repeat.

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers uconn #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #paige bueckers #x reader #college wbb #uconn women’s basketball #Spotify

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lolasangelz · 3 months ago

Note

Couldn’t request dad!rafe and the fam getting ready for family pictures? And how the day goes down at the photo studio?

I loved ur one shot on rafe staying home so much and i wanted to read more abt their crazy fam 🙈🙈

family photos

w/c: 802

a/n: eek thank you!!! i love asks

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

the morning of the family photoshoot started like a war.

maddie was fighting with emerson over…what was they fighting about? grayson was still in his pyjamas—somehow now inside out—and maggie was doing whatever babies did: gurgling in her swing with one sock missing and a spoon in her mouth that no one remembered giving her.

“madeline. emerson. stop fighting,” rafe said firmly, in his best Dad Voice. it was mostly ignored.

“he said i look like a glitter monster!” maddie shrieked, shoving her brother.

“because you do!”

“you look like a glitter monster!”

“do not!”

“do too!”

rafe ran a hand down his face. “jesus christ.”

from upstairs, gigi’s voice rang out, perfectly clear and terrifying:

“rafe.”

he froze.

“get the kids ready for me in the clothes i put out, and do not let them get messy.”

right. the clothes.

rafe turned to the three-and-a-half spirals of chaos in front of him and exhaled.

“okay. alright. team huddle. we are going to look so good today, alright? mom’s gonna be happy, and we’re all gonna smile and wear matching outfits and not look like we just crawled out of a drain.”

grayson blinked up at him and then sneezed directly onto his own shirt.

rafe looked up at the ceiling.

“i’m going to hell.”

twenty-five minutes later, gigi came down the stairs.

hair curled, makeup flawless, patience already thinning.

she paused at the bottom step.

her gaze swept the room.

emerson was dressed—shirt slightly wrinkled, but tucked in. maddie had been wrangled into her dress but was wearing two left shoes. grayson had on pants, but the wrong ones, and no socks. maggie was pantsless, but happy.

and rafe… well, rafe looked like he’d gone twelve rounds with a herd of angry animals and barely made it out alive.

gigi crossed her arms. “you had one job.”

“they’re mostly dressed,” he offered. “and no one is bleeding.”

she stared at him.

he grinned.

“still going to hell,” he muttered under his breath.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

the photo studio was aggressively beige.

light backdrops, soft props, a photographer named Holly who spoke in a high-pitched, sing-song voice that made all the kids suspicious.

“okay, everyone! big smiles!”

grayson burst into tears because his sock was “itchy.”

maggie pooped. audibly.

maddie yelled “fart baby!” and emerson laughed so hard he knocked over a stool.

rafe looked at gigi. gigi looked at rafe.

“we’re never doing this again,” she whispered.

“agreed.”

somehow, somehow, they managed to get one shot—one miraculous frame where all four kids were still, smiling, dressed appropriately, and looking in the general direction of the camera.

and rafe and gigi?

they looked exhausted.

but happy.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

later that night, with the kids finally asleep and the house thankfully quiet, gigi flopped onto the sofa beside rafe, phone in hand.

“they sent the preview already,” she said, holding it out.

he leaned in.

paused.

smiled.

the photo showed the two of them in the middle, surrounded by four tiny, chaotic pieces of their hearts. emerson had his arm around maddie (shocking), grayson was showing his dimple, and maggie was wide-eyed and drooly and perfect.

“we don’t look too bad,” he murmured, resting his head back.

gigi smiled, leaning into his side.

“you didn’t even mess it up that bad.”

“high praise.”

“you’re welcome.”

he kissed her temple, his voice low. “i’d take a thousand glitter monsters and itchy socks for one photo like that.”

“you will, next year.”

rafe groaned.

gigi laughed.

and somewhere upstairs, a sock was probably already missing.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

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hereforuconnwbb · 26 days ago

Text

Foul Play - Chapter 1

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 4.2k

warning: language

hey guyssss heres a new series im starting (unless it's ass and i wanna delete it and not do it anymore)😭 yes ik i havent finished 'the study of us' yet but i will do it eventually !! but anyways this is series is basically js paige transferring to uconn from sc for her fifth year eligibility and azzi is apart of the uconn women's soccer team. nth really special in this first chapter but this is gonna be an enemies to friends to lovers series !! anyways i hope its good enough otherwise imma js delete it BSHASHAHSBA anywayssss hope u guys enjoy !! 🫶🏽

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“BREAKING: NCAA CHAMPION PAIGE BUECKERS TRANSFERS TO UCONN FOR 5TH YEAR”

The words flashed across every tv screen in the uconn athletics facility, bold and glowing like someone had set fire to the sports world. On social media, the reactions ranged from stunned emojis to full-on chaos in the comments. Everyone had something to say. ESPN reposted it within seconds. Bleacher report added an edit with Paige’s highlights from South Carolina which had a halfcourt buzzer-beater, a no-look assist, a chase-down block. Comments flooded in. “uconn is stacked now.” “why didn’t she just go pro ?” “this is insane.” “huskies r winning it all this szn.”

Azzi ? She barely glanced at the screen.

Her cleats scuffed against the turf as she paced toward the goal during a water break, twisting her hair into a tighter bun. The girls around her, though ? You’d think God had just descended onto campus.

“Bro. Paige Bueckers. Here. At our school. That’s fucking wild,” said sophomore winger Angel. She was leaned up against the goalpost, grinning at her phone.

“Deadass. Like… she’s literally the face of women’s basketball,” Destiny added, eyes wide, her thumb hovering over her screen like she couldn’t believe what she was reading. “I thought she was gonna go pro for sure.”

Across the field, a group of freshmen huddled in a noisy pack near the bleachers. They were loud, obnoxious, and painfully obvious.

“Oh my god, she’s so hot. Have you seen her arms ?” one of them squealed.

“Wait, wait—look at this video,” chimed in another. “She dropped thirty on lsu last year with a sprained ankle. That’s like… fucking mythical.”

“Her eyes are literally blue like ice water,” said another.

Azzi rolled her eyes as she jogged toward the group, water bottle in hand. She caught Caroline and Kaitlyn stretching near midfield, overhearing everything too. Caroline looked like she was already over it. Kaitlyn had that smirk which was half amused, half irritated.

“You guys gonna start foaming at the mouth or what ?” Azzi called out, mostly to mess with them.

“Can you blame them ?” Kaitlyn shot back, straightening up and brushing turf pellets from her knee. “It’s Paige fucking Bueckers.”

“Who ?” Azzi asked flatly, wiping her face with her forearm.

Caroline let out a dramatic gasp. “Don’t embarrass us like that. You really don’t know who that is ?”

“Should I ?” Azzi asked, deadpan. She wasn’t trying to be sarcastic, it just wasn’t her world. She only watched basketball when Marcus played. And even then, she barely paid attention unless he was on the court and made a 3 or yelled her name from the bench.

Caroline gasped. “Dude, she won 2 nattys with SC. She torched every team in the bracket. People call her the next DT. She’s been in Nike campaigns. She was literally on the fucking cover of slam.”

“She’s a walking highlight reel,” Kaitlyn added. “Smart, unbothered, stone-cold on the court. And lowkey ? Too good for this school.”

Azzi squinted up at the clouds. “So why’d she transfer ?”

“No one knows,” Caroline said with a shrug. “Rumours are she had beef with the South Carolina staff, which I’m pretty sure they cleared that rumour. Some people say it’s about the w draft timing. Or nil stuff.”

“Whatever it is, we just got a legend,” Kaitlyn said, then leaned closer. “And we finally have someone on campus who isn’t Marcus Reed.”

Azzi blinked. “You’re not a Marcus fan now ?”

Caroline scoffed. “Az, you know we love you. But your man’s a walking turnover with a midrange game from hell.”

“He’s got no court vision,” Kaitlyn added with a snort. “If he passes to a teammate, it’s by accident. Even Paige’s high school mixtape looks way better than his best college game.”

Azzi held back a laugh. “You guys are haters.”

“We’re just honest,” Caroline said sweetly, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “And if Marcus knew anything about passing, he’d pass you the ball once in a while.”

Azzi didn’t answer. She wasn’t about to start defending him—not here, not to them. Marcus was complicated. Her boyfriend, sure. But lately, he’d been so far up his own ass about the upcoming season that he barely asked about her own games.

Back across the field, the group of freshmen were still going off.

“I’d let her cross me up and dunk on my soul,” one sighed dramatically.

“Bro ion even think she dunks,” another laughed.

“She could dunk on my heart tho,”

Azzi shook her head and looked toward the facility across campus, where the basketball players would be later on. Where the blue-eyed transfer apparently was going to be.

“Hope she knows what she’s walking into,” Caroline muttered beside her, watching the frenzy.

Kaitlyn grinned. “She doesn’t. Not yet.”

Azzi smirked. “You guys sound obsessed.”

“We are,” Caroline said simply. “Because Paige Bueckers ? She’s that bitch.”

And just like that, the season had officially changed. No one knew what was really coming.

—---------------------------------------

Azzi was walking back to her dorm, airpods in, shin guards shoved halfway into her backpack, still sweating from drills.

She rounded the path toward the side entrance of her building, swiping sweat off her brow, when she nearly crashed straight into someone dragging a suitcase and a duffel bag up the kerb.

“Shit—watch it,” the girl muttered, stepping back just before their shoulders clipped.

Azzi blinked. “Maybe don’t take up the whole sidewalk.”

The blonde looked up, jaw tense, her eyes a piercing, icy blue and had that unmistakable air of someone who didn’t give a single fuck.

“Didn’t realize I needed a permit to exist here,” the girl said flatly.

Azzi took out one earbud. “You always this friendly, or is it just me ?”

The girl scoffed, not even looking at her as she yanked her suitcase over the edge of the path. “You ran into me. But sure, let’s make it my fault. That tracks.”

Azzi folded her arms, her temper flickering to life. “Ok, relax. It’s not that deep.”

“Right. God forbid I mess up your little jog home.” The girl finally looked her full in the face, and there was nothing kind about her stare. “You done ?”

Azzi raised a brow. “With what ? Existing near your suitcase ?”

“You sound real proud of that attitude for someone who can’t walk in a straight line.”

Azzi blinked, then actually laughed—sharp and humourless. “Ok, what’s your deal ?”

“You tell me,” the blonde fired back. “You act like you own the sidewalk and then pick a fight when someone doesn’t roll over for you.”

Azzi stepped forward. “I didn’t pick anything. You’ve got a whole attitude like you’re too good to be here.”

“I am,” she said, voice cool and even.

Azzi stared. “Geez. You’re dead serious.”

“I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes, taking her in now—tall, loose-limbed, unimpressed. Her hoodie said UConn Women’s Basketball, and something clicked in her brain.

“No way,” she muttered. “Wait—are you Paige ?”

The girl looked at her like it was none of her business. “Depends. Are you someone important ?”

Azzi’s jaw locked. “No. Just someone who lives here. Someone who goes here. Unlike you, apparently.”

“Congrats.” Paige said it like a punchline, shifting her bag over her shoulder. “Now if you’re done measuring your ego, I’ve got shit to do.”

Azzi stepped in front of her, blocking the door. “You know, I don’t care who you are. Transfer, champion, whatever. You’re not the only one who works their ass off here.”

Paige didn’t flinch. “Cute speech. Maybe you should save it for someone who asked.”

The silence was tight, electric.

“You’ve got a hell of a mouth for someone who just got here,” Azzi said.

“And you’ve got a hell of an ego for someone I’ve never heard of,” Paige shot back.

Azzi’s eyes narrowed. “Go to hell.”

Paige brushed past her, barely glancing back. “Already been. uconn’s just the next stop.”

The door slammed behind her with a sharp bang.

Azzi stood there for a second, stunned, jaw clenched. Her heart was still racing. She didn’t even know why. All she knew was 1 thing for sure:

She hated her.

And Paige ? She hadn’t even bothered to ask her name.

—---------------------------------------

Paige let the door slam shut behind her, the echo bouncing off bare dorm walls as she dropped her stuff with a thud. The room smelled like fresh paint and cheap pine cleaner, and everything about it felt unfamiliar, too clean, too quiet. New school, new room, same weight on her shoulders. Fifth year. Whole different battlefield.

She hadn’t even made it inside for 5 minutes before someone knocked.

“Paige ! Open up, it’s me,” came a voice from the other side.

She yanked the door open, still annoyed, and there was Aubrey, grinning like her whole day had just been made.

“Hey,” Aubrey said, practically bouncing. “Word is the women’s soccer team is already foaming at the mouth over you.”

Paige rolled her eyes, stepping aside. “Great. Can’t wait.”

Aubrey tossed her bag onto the chair and laughed. “Nah, I’m serious. Apparently half of them were drooling during practice.”

“Geez bruh,” Paige muttered, walking over to the bed and dropping onto it. “I already had one of them come at me outside just now.”

Aubrey blinked. “Wait, for real ?”

Paige nodded, pushing her hair back, still annoyed. “Yea. She almost ran into me, then acted like it was my fault. Got all up in my face like she was better than me.”

Aubrey’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god. Was she like kinda your height but a lil shorter ? Body is fit ? High bun? Brown eyes ? Tan skin ?”

Paige looked at her like she was psychic. “Sure. I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention to her biography.”

“That was Azzi,” Aubrey said, like it was obvious. “She’s like their golden girl.”

Paige scoffed. “Well their golden girl’s got a stick up her ass.”

Aubrey snorted. “What’d you say to her ?”

Paige leaned back against the wall, smirking despite herself. “Told her I’ve already been to hell. UConn’s just the next stop.”

Aubrey howled. “You’re such a menace.”

“She started it,” Paige said dryly. “Came at me like I owed her rent for walking near the building.”

Aubrey shook her head, still grinning. “God, this school is not ready for you.”

Paige stretched her legs out, her tone cooling again. “I’m not here to be liked. I’m here to win. That’s it.”

“Yea, well… you might end up doing both,” Aubrey said, eyes gleaming. “KK’s been pacing around like it’s christmas morning. Ice nearly jumped out the damn window when she saw your locker.”

Paige let out a short laugh. “At least somebody’s normal.”

Aubrey nodded. “Speaking of not normal—practice today’s a joint one.”

Paige sat up. “With who ?”

“The guys.”

“Fucking hell,” Paige muttered, dragging a hand down her face. “You deadass ?”

“Yea. You good with that ?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Her jaw clenched, then loosened. “Whatever. I’ll survive.”

Aubrey gave her a long look but didn’t push it. Paige appreciated that.

“Anyway,” she said, heading for the door, “next time you run into Azzi, try not to murder each other.”

Paige smirked without humor. “No promises.”

Once she was alone again, Paige leaned back against the mattress, her arms folded behind her head, eyes on the ceiling. She wasn’t here to make friends. She didn’t need them.

—---------------------------------------

The walk to the basketball facility was quiet, and full of muscle memory Paige hadn’t realized she still carried. Same bounce in her step. Duffel slung low on her shoulder. Same pre-practice tension tingling in her limbs. Only this time, she wasn’t wearing gamecock colours. She was now a Husky.

The doors to the facility swung open automatically, a blast of cool air hitting her flushed cheeks as she stepped in and that’s when she saw him.

Marcus Reed.

He was walking in from the opposite side lot, headphones around his neck, gym bag slung low, hoodie bunched around his elbows. His jaw tensed the second their eyes locked across the lobby.

Fucking perfect.

Paige didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. Just kept walking. And of course, he slowed his steps, timing it perfectly so they hit the entrance hallway at the exact same moment.

“Wow,” Marcus said, voice dry and low. “Look what the fucking wind dragged in.”

Paige smiled tightly, not stopping. “I could say the same about you.”

Marcus huffed a laugh, stepping sideways to block her path just before the double doors to the gym. “Still acting like you’re better than everybody, huh ?”

“I am better than you,” Paige shot back. “Always have been.”

He scoffed, stepping even closer. “Yea ? Then why you here ? Coulda gone pro. But nah you just had to crawl to uconn for more attention, huh ?”

Paige’s jaw twitched. “You think I give a fuck about your little theories ?”

“I think you’re desperate. Washed up, maybe,” Marcus said, leaning in like he wanted her to flinch. “You ain’t special anymore, Bueckers. You’re old news.”

“Right,” Paige said, biting down a bitter smile. “That why your dumbass still riding the bench half the season ? You’re so busy tryna be Steph, but you shoot like Shaq.”

That wiped the smirk off his face fast.

He stepped in again, voice lower, angrier. “You’ve always had a fucking mouth on you.”

Paige didn’t back down. “And you’ve always had your dick in someone else’s girl.”

His face hardened.

There it was.

Years of buried shit, shoved under their old Hopkins jerseys, under the fake smiles at aau tournaments, under all the “yo, that’s my bro” posts and inside jokes.

All gone the second she found out he was sneaking around with her now ex-girl. Back when they were both still dumb enough to think that kind of betrayal could stay secret forever.

“You still salty over that ?” he said, fake-casual. “That was senior year.”

“You were supposed to be my fucking bestfriend.”

He shrugged. “She wanted me, not you. Don’t be mad at me cause you couldn’t keep her.”

Paige’s fists clenched before she even realized it. Her jaw locked so tight it made her temples throb.

“God, you’re such a fucking fuckwit,” she muttered.

“And you’re still a soft bitch who thinks rings make you untouchable.”

Paige stepped into his space now, just enough to make his smug mask falter. Her voice dropped into something colder, flatter, dead calm.

“If I ever catch you talking shit about me again, I swear to God, I will embarrass you so bad that they’ll take your name off the fucking roster.”

Marcus didn’t move. His jaw ticked. There was a flicker of something under the arrogance, maybe fear, maybe regret, maybe just plain ego getting bruised.

But he didn’t say anything.

Paige pushed past him, shoulder brushing his as she walked through the doors without another word.

Behind her, the air hung thick with everything they didn’t say. The broken trust. The years of silence. The scars that still stung.

Paige pushed through the doors of the locker room, her jaw still tight, fists still flexing like they hadn’t quite come down from the urge to swing.

Aubrey looked up from tying her laces, immediately catching the heat radiating off her. “Yo… wassup witchu ?”

“Nothing,” Paige muttered, voice sharp, heading straight to her locker.

Aubrey narrowed her eyes, standing up. “You sure ? You look like you’re ready to square up.”

Paige tossed her bag down, and started changing without looking up. “I said it’s nothing.”

“Mhm sure,” Aubrey said, dragging it out. “Nothing usually doesn’t make someone look like they’re seconds away from homicide.”

“I’m fine.”

Aubrey didn’t believe her but she knew better than to push when Paige’s voice got that tight. She gave her a small nod, grabbed her water bottle, and let it drop.

Minutes later, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed outside the locker room, followed by Geno’s voice booming through the corridor.

“Let’s go, ladies ! We’ve got a packed schedule and apparently, this is a historic day. So try not to trip over your egos on the way out.”

Laughter rippled through the room and the girls started filing out. Paige took a slow breath and followed, pulling her hoodie over her head, hair slicked back tight, expression tighter.

The men' s team was already warming up on the opposite end of the court. Paige clocked Marcus immediately but he wasn’t looking at her, but she could feel the weight of his ego lingering in the room like smoke.

“Alright, alright !” Geno clapped once and the entire group settled. “Since most of you already know what today is… for the two of you that don’t, it’s the start of the new pre-season, and yes, we’re doing something different this year.”

His eyes scanned the group until they landed on Paige. “This is Paige Bueckers, if any of you have been living under a rock. Two-time national champ, former naismith winner, first team all-american, and the newest addition to our team for her redshirt year. So treat her with respect, or don’t she’ll make you pay for it either way.”

There were a few low whistles, excited chatter from the sidelines. KK let out a whoop, Ice bumped fists with Paige.

Paige nodded once, silent, jaw still ticked tight. Geno continued like nothing was off.

“Today’s session is a combined run-through with the men’s team. Team-building, chemistry, a lil scrimmage. You know the drill. Play hard, play smart, don’t break each other’s ankles. And if I see any dumbass drama, I’m making you run suicides until your lungs give out.”

A few groans echoed, but everyone got into position.

Paige took her spot at the top of the key, dribbling lightly, just warming up. Her eyes flicked toward Marcus once, then back to the ball. Nothing else existed now. Not the tension. Not the history. Just the court.

“Let’s go,” she muttered under her breath, locking in.

—---------------------------------------

Both the teams were now mingled on the court, paired off for a coed scrimmage, jerseys flipped inside out to indicate teams.

Paige barely listened to the instructions. She didn’t need to. She’d run a thousand scrimmages like this, and it was all muscle memory by now. All that mattered was that Marcus was on the other team. And he was guarding her.

Of course he was.

Aubrey caught her eye as they lined up at center court. “You good ?”

“Never better,” Paige muttered, jaw tight.

The ball went up. The scrimmage started.

From the first play, Paige was already locked in. She caught the outlet pass, weaved through the defenders like she was floating, and dropped a clean jumper just inside the arc. Net. No rim.

Marcus smirked like he wasn’t fazed. “Cute. You practicing for open runs or tryna relive your glory days ?”

Paige didn’t answer and just jogged back with a stone-cold expression, already eyeing her next move.

On the next possession, Marcus got the ball at the wing. Paige switched onto him on a screen. His eyes lit up, cocky. He jab-stepped. She didn’t bite. He dribbled right. She mirrored. Tried to cross her but Paige poked the ball loose and snatched it with 1 hand before he could recover. Transition bucket. Layup. Easy.

“Oof,” KK muttered from the sideline, trying not to laugh.

Marcus scowled, jogging back. “You gonna reach all game ?”

Paige shook her head. “Only takes one when you’re that predictable.”

That lit something behind his eyes. On the next possession, he got her again, posting up high, trying to bully his way into the paint. Paige held her ground. He lowered his shoulder, tried to spin but Paige stripped him clean and took off the other way, no hesitation. Fast break. Pull-up 3.

Splash.

“Oh my god,” Ice shouted, hands to her head. “She’s cooking him so bad right now.”

Marcus’s jaw flexed so hard it looked like it might crack. He waved for the inbound, got the ball again, and called for an iso. Paige didn’t even blink.

“You sure you wanna try that again ?” she said, crouching low, eyes locked.

“Fuck around and find out,” Marcus gritted.

He dribbled hard left, crossed right, tried to get her off balance. Paige slid with him step-for-step. He rose for a jumper and Paige got a hand up, clean contest.

Clank.

Rebound.

As the ball swung back around to the offense, Paige caught it at the top again. She dribbled slow this time, baiting him. He was sweating now, jaw clenched.

“Thought I was washed,” she said casually.

Marcus didn’t answer.

She drove left, then stopped on a dime, hitting him with a snatch back that made him stumble a half step. Paige pulled up. Midrange. Money.

“Dayuuuuuummmm,” someone from the guys bench yelled.

The scrimmage didn’t stop. But everyone felt it now. This wasn’t just a practice anymore. This was war.

Next trip down, Marcus didn’t even wait for the offense to set, instead he barreled right into a drive, shoulder down. Paige stepped in to take the contact. Hard. Chest to chest. He knocked her off balance but not down. The whistle blew.

Offensive foul.

“Oh that’s fucken crazy,” Marcus snapped, spinning toward the ref.

“Lowered your shoulder,” Geno called out from the sideline. “Control your body or sit down.”

Paige shook out her arms, already walking it off. “Can’t guard me, can’t score on me. Anything else you wanna fail at today ?”

He turned on her. “You keep running your mouth like that, you’re gonna get humbled real quick.”

Paige’s smile was ice. “You had many years to do that. Still waiting.”

“Still mad over some girl ?”

She didn’t answer that time. Just stared at him like he wasn’t even worth words.

Ball in again. Paige caught it near the wing. This time, she didn’t wait for him to get set. She blew by him off 1 dribble, left him grabbing air, and kissed it off the glass with ease.

Another whistle. Timeout. Teams jogged to the sideline for water.

Marcus stomped past her, breathing hard, sweat dripping down his temples. “You think this proves something ?” he muttered under his breath. “It’s just prac.”

Paige didn’t even look at him. “Exactly. And you’re already getting cooked. Imagine if I actually gave a fuck.”

Aubrey slapped her shoulder as she came off the court. “Yooooo that was filthy.”

KK tossed Paige a towel, grinning. “I thought that boy was gonna cry.”

Paige exhaled, letting herself cool down for the first time in 10 mins. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, jaw finally unclenching.

Marcus was sitting on the opposite sideline now, bent over, elbows on knees, still breathing hard. He didn’t look at her.

Good.

Paige leaned back against the wall, heartbeat still steady. Let them talk. Let them whisper. She hadn’t come to uconn for headlines, for reunions, or for revenge.

But that last part sure felt good.

—---------------------------------------

The whistle blew again sharp, 2 quick blasts that echoed off the walls.

“That’s it !” Geno barked, clapping twice as the last possession wound down. “Good run, good energy, nobody died. I’ll call that a win.”

Groans and laughter spread through the court. SHoes squeaked lazily as the players came down from the intensity, sweat dripping, shoulders sagging. Someone tossed a ball up from half-court, missing the basket entirely and triggering a chorus of boos.

“Hydrate, stretch, and get the hell outta the gym before I remember y’all still owe me suicide drills from last season,” Geno added, already turning toward his clipboard.

The teams began to drift together toward the center circle, slowly exchanging tired fist bumps and high-fives, some still catching their breath. Paige stayed back a moment, tugging at her practice jersey, sweat slicking her temples. Her fingers still tingled with adrenaline. Her shoulders buzzed from the inside out.

She didn’t need to look over to know Marcus had kept his distance for the rest of the scrimmage. After that last blow-by, he stopped calling for her switch. Stopped talking. She’d taken the air out of him, point by point, play by play.

And everyone saw it.

As the group clustered at center court, Paige moved in, giving quiet nods, tossing lazy high-fives to her teammates, a couple of the guys she didn’t know yet. She gave Aubrey a crooked smirk and bumped her knuckles.

Then Marcus stepped forward, hand out, expression unreadable.

Paige’s eyes flicked to him for only half a second which was just long enough to acknowledge he existed then passed him. She didn’t break stride. Didn’t lift her hand. Just walked right by.

His hand hung in the air a second too long before he dropped it with a clenched jaw.

Aubrey caught it.

She glanced between them, mouth quirking like she wanted to laugh but knew better. She jogged to catch up with Paige, who was already halfway to the exit.

“Damn,” Aubrey said under her breath. “You really hit him with the ghosted high-five ? That’s cold.”

Paige didn’t look over. “Didn’t see him.”

Aubrey let out a low chuckle. “Bro, he was standing right there.”

“Nope,” Paige said, cool and calm. “Must’ve missed him. Just like he missed every shot.”

Aubrey wheezed. “Yo, chill—he might cry in the locker room.”

“Not my problem.”

The locker room was a blur of steamy showers and exhausted chatter. Paige peeled off her soaked jersey, her body humming with that familiar post-game fire. She didn’t say much. Just changed, grabbed her water, and dipped early.

As she stepped outside the facility, she paused, standing on the steps of the facility, eyes drifting toward the horizon as campus started glowing in that golden dusk haze.

She took a breath, rolled her neck out, and cracked a small, private smile.

Welcome to uconn.

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