#and next week will be freezing so its just in time

[izzih22]

All That Tension

Note: I saw someone ask their anons if they wanted it and well I wanted to try to write it so here y’all go.

Warning: Smutish

Azzi was shaking her leg again.

Not a little, nervous bounce. Full-on trembling like her muscles had been locked up too long and couldn’t handle the tension. Her shoulders were tight, hands clenched around a highlighter cap, and her jaw looked like she’d been grinding her teeth for an hour.

Paige watched quietly from the other end of the bed, cross-legged and still, letting Azzi spiral just enough to know this wasn’t going to pass on its own.

“You’re chewing through that cap like it owes you money,” Paige finally said, voice calm, low, just a little teasing.

Azzi didn’t look up from the textbook. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve read that page four times.”

“Because it doesn’t make sense.”

“You already know this. You’ve been working on it since last week.”

Azzi sighed, still not looking at her. “Doesn’t matter. If I freeze on the exam, knowing it now won’t help me then.”

Her voice cracked a little on that last word. Paige moved quiet, slow until she was next to her, their knees brushing.

“Az” she said softly. “Look at me.”

Azzi hesitated. But she did.

And Paige could see it now under the sharp edge of stress in her eyes, there was fear. Real fear. Not of failing the test, but of letting herself down. Letting others down.

“Come here,” Paige murmured, opening her arms.

Azzi hesitated again. “But we haven’t—”

“Azzi.” Paige’s voice dropped, not harsh, but firm. “You don’t need another flashcard. You need to breathe.”

Azzi let out a shuddering breath and let herself fall forward into Paige’s arms.

She melted the second Paige wrapped around her.

“I got you,” Paige whispered, kissing the side of her head. “You don’t have to be perfect for me. You never have to be perfect.”

Azzi clutched her hoodie like a lifeline, burying her face into Paige’s neck.

They stayed like that for a minute. Or maybe longer.

Then Paige tilted her head, lips brushing Azzi’s ear. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

“I know what you need,” Paige said, lips brushing her cheek now. “You need to stop thinking. You need to feel.”

Azzi didn’t speak just nodded into her shoulder.

Paige leaned back just enough to look at her, fingers tucking a curl behind Azzi’s ear. “Say it.”

Azzi’s cheeks were flushed. Her voice came out soft, breathless: “Please.”

That was all Paige needed.

She kissed her slow, lips warm and deliberate, her hand cradling the side of Azzi’s face like she was something fragile and precious. And when Azzi gasped softly into her mouth, Paige deepened the kiss just a little just enough to make Azzi sigh.

Paige moved like she had time. Like there was nowhere else in the world she needed to be.

Her hands found Azzi’s waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin where her hoodie had ridden up. “Lift your arms for me,” she murmured.

Azzi did, wordless and eager, and Paige slipped the hoodie off, revealing the tank top beneath. Paige kissed down her shoulder, slow and reverent, and whispered, “You always carry everything right here.” She trailed her mouth across Azzi’s collarbone. “All your stress. All your pressure. Let me take it off you.”

Azzi’s chest rose in a shaky breath.

Paige gently lowered her onto the bed, mouth never leaving her skin. She kissed her stomach through the tank top, tugging it up inch by inch, exposing her skin like a gift. She didn’t rush. Just let Azzi feel every brush of her lips, every pass of her hand.

“You’re so beautiful,” Paige whispered, voice rough with emotion. “You know that?”

Azzi moaned, her hands trembling against Paige’s back. “Say it again.”

Paige smiled, cupping her jaw. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

She kissed the words into her neck, into her chest, into every inch of skin she could reach.

By the time Paige eased Azzi’s leggings down, Azzi was panting, her body arching up into every touch.

Paige kissed the inside of her knee, trailing up her thigh. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

Azzi’s voice cracked. “You. Please, I—I just… I need to feel you. I need you so bad.”

Paige groaned low in her throat, like Azzi’s words undid her. “That’s my girl.”

She moved up to kiss her again, slow and deep, one hand holding Azzi’s cheek, the other slipping between her thighs, gentle and confident.

Azzi cried out, soft and desperate, clinging to her. “Please don’t stop. Paige, please—”

“I’m right here.” Paige whispered the words like a vow. “I’ve got you.”

She moved slow. Precise. Every touch was patient, every motion designed to unravel Azzi in the most loving way possible. And when Azzi started shaking body trembling from how much she needed the release Paige leaned down and pressed their foreheads together.

“Let go for me,” she whispered. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. Let go.”

Azzi did.

With a sob of relief, she came hard, whole body arching, breath catching as Paige held her through it still whispering to her, still kissing her skin.

“Good girl,” Paige breathed. “That’s it. Just like that.”

Azzi was wrecked in the best way. Tears clung to the corners of her lashes, but she was smiling, flushed and dazed, chest rising and falling like she’d just run five miles.

Paige kissed her nose. Her cheek. Her jaw.

“You still anxious?” she asked softly.

Azzi giggled weakly. “I don’t even remember what class we were studying for.”

Paige grinned. “Perfect.”

She pulled her into her arms, under the covers, pressing kisses to her forehead as Azzi curled into her chest.

Azzi whispered, barely audible: “Thank you.”

Paige kissed the top of her head. “Always.”

[babybl00s]

collide like two stars

warnings: smut (p-in-v, vaginal fingering, oral f!receiving), LOTS OF KISSING yippeee, bob is so down bad, he's also a munch, no condom *gasp*, cumming inside, i guess some dirty talk idk, mdni 18+, explicit language etc.

summary: part two to all i need

author's note: back by popular demand. thanks for the likes/reblogs/follows. didn't think this would get that much attention but i'm glad y'all liked part 1!! this is a beast of its own

ps: this is not beta read. if u notice any typos ignore them cause i will cry

Alpine’s judging, unblinking stare does nothing for your nerves when you walk through the doors of your apartment. Her tail flicking softly, as if she was waiting up for you and wasn’t happy about it. Ladybug notices you from her crate, wagging her tail, but doesn’t get up to greet you; she takes bed time seriously.

Your mind is racing as you toe off your heels, haphazardly tossing them onto the shoe rack by your door. Scurry down the hall to your room and dig through your dressers to find a change of clothes. The cold tile of the bathroom soothes your sore feet as you place the clothes on the counter, tearing off your uniform and ruined underwear and tossing them into the hamper. You don’t bother to let the shower warm up, stepping in with a hiss as ice-cold shards of water pelt your skin.

You’d just…let Bob Reynolds rut himself against you. In the Watchtower. On their fucking couch. And Mel - fuck, Mel walked in after, probably traumatized for life even though she really didn’t see anything but you two scrambling to look normal. Which was a total giveaway. You make a mental note to buy her lunch for, like, the next week or two. 

The ghost of his bruising grip on your hips and thighs still lingers. His hot, wet tongue in your mouth. On your neck. The way he whimpered in your ear -

You turn the dial on the wall to make your shower just the slightest bit colder. You bite back a shriek as the freezing cold water rains down on you. You need to stop; you can’t get horny over him again. You grab your body wash and douse it on your body scrubber, lathering it up on your arms and chest. 

His cock, warm and big and thick, grinding against your pussy; his sweatpants creating a delicious friction against the thin layer of your underwear. The way the head of his cock caught against your clit, making you see stars. You wonder how he’d feel inside you - 

You lean your head against the tiled wall, the action making a soft thud echo. God. You want him so bad you could cry. And it wasn’t even the fact that he made you cum from a little bit of grinding - it was everything. The way he kissed you; electrifying, leaving you breathless and wanting more (which he was very happy to give). How he held you, tender and loving, while whispering sweet nothings to you.  

And then you’d left him, on that couch. Face flushed and eyes hopeful. The smile sliding off his face made you want to die.

This is uncharted territory. You don’t know how to…do this. Hadn’t meant for this to happen, but…you don’t regret it. For the most part. Doing it in a shared space was probably the worst idea you had but, you know. Kind of hard to think straight when a hot guy is on top of you telling you how much he’s been wanting you.

You shake your head and lather up the rest of your body. You’re able to finish the rest of your shower with little to no intrusive thoughts, and dry yourself off with a towel before throwing on your pajamas for the night.

Alpine is curled up tightly in the center of your bed when you walk out, Ladybug equally curled up but on the bed you have for her on the floor of your bedroom. She probably felt left out when Alpine came into your room, you muse. You let out a sigh as you fall into the space next to Alpine, tucking yourself tightly against her warm little body.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve opened a door you can’t close. What does it mean for you and Bob? Your thoughts spiral, and you bring up a finger to chew on the skin around your nail. Do you tell him how you feel? You don’t even have his number, and asking Bucky would open a whole nother can of worms. 

Maybe…you could visit him again? Talk to him then. Bucky still hasn’t messaged you so you’re assuming this mission will take more than one night. And with the rest of the team gone with him…

Okay, you think, you’ll…talk to him tomorrow. After work. Somehow. 

Bucky still isn’t in when you go into work, which is great for you. Means he’ll probably be out for another day or two, which is more than enough time for you to gather your thoughts. Maybe even buy some lunch. 

Ah, that reminds you: you have to buy Mel lunch today. And tomorrow. And maybe for the foreseeable future. You’re, like, 99% sure she won’t say anything. Assistants having to stick together and all that. But you feel bad, so…

You float around the office all day, talking to the other assistants and helping them assign caseloads to the interns. Writing up emails, going over some of Bucky’s drafts of new bills. Yesterday’s work had taken a huge load off of everyone’s plate, which was great for them, but not so great for you. Because all you’re thinking about is Bob’s lips and his tongue and his hands - his strong, calloused hands - and - 

A bag of food is dropped onto your desk, making you jump almost fifty feet in the air. 

It’s Bucky. Bringing you takeout. Here, in front of you. Not…on a mission. 

Huh, This puts a huge wrench in your plans.

He has a guilty look on his face. “I know I promised not to leave Alpine on you like last time, but something came up. Just got back today. Would’ve texted ya sooner but my phone kinda went in the shitter. I’m…sorry.” He finishes lamely. He clears his throat and gestures to the food he bought. “For you. Your favorite.” 

You sit there, wide-eyed, completely caught off guard. You give a terse nod. “Thanks.” You turn back to your computer and continue drafting up the email you were about to send. 

He shifts his weight, nervous. Like he’s afraid to poke the bear. He blinks, trying to choose his words carefully. “You’re not…um, mad…?”

“No. It happens.”

The clack of your keyboard fills the silence. Bucky’s still rooted in his spot. He clears his throat again. “Right. I’m - I gotta run. Get a new phone. I’ll come by later to pick up Al.” 

“Cool.” 

He lingers for just a second, then scurries away as if you’ve threatened to bite his head off. Once he rounds the corner your head drops to the desk with a loud thud. 

Fuck. This was not a part of the plan; hell, that was your only plan. Bad idea on your part, admittedly. The smell of the food wafts towards you. Well, at least you didn’t have to pay for your own lunch.

During your lunch break, you’d tried to brainstorm a new plan that’d let you see Bob again; ones that didn’t involve you going to the Tower for no reason (i.e., without using Bucky as an excuse), but no dice. Bucky usually hung out in his Brooklyn apartment after missions, and unless another one randomly happened to come up, he wouldn’t be hanging about the Tower until next week.

Besides, there was always someone there. You know the team well enough through Bucky, but not so much that you could just waltz in and act like you belonged there.

Eventually, people start trickling out of the office one-by-one, until you’re the only one left. You tap your fingers on your wooden desk, lost in thought. Whatever, you’ll figure it out soon enough. You power off your computer and grab your things, heading out to the bus station.

Luckily, it seems your apartment building actually gives a shit about its occupants for once, because when you walk in the elevator is no longer out of service. You’re kind of scared when you enter but you’d honestly rather die than walk up three flights of stairs right now. It makes some concerning noises on the way up, but you’re still in one piece so you’ll take that as a win.

Alpine and Ladybug are lounging about the couch when you walk through the door. Lady hops off to greet you, while Alpine merely blinks at you. You give Lady a couple of kisses and she follows you into your room and waits patiently while you shower. She follows you again after you’ve changed into an oversized shirt and a pair of flannel bottoms. 

You sit down on the couch, kicking up your feet as you let an episode of Breaking Bad play. You’re not really paying attention, bouncing your leg anxiously as you wait for Bucky to show. The anticipation knots up your stomach; you knew Bucky was coming to pick her up, but you didn't expect to feel this anxious about it. Part of you thinks that he knows what you did and who you did it with - where you did it. Maybe he’s known all along and is coming to fire you in person. That probably wouldn’t be legal but you’re too stressed to think clearly.

You take a glance at the clock for what feels like the hundredth time, the soft ticking echoing through your apartment. Your mind starts to drift back to yesterday. To Bob.

You’d always thought he was cute - who wouldn’t? He’d always made an effort to talk to you, which you couldn’t really say for the rest of the team. At least, not the way he did. Always so attentive, listening as though you’d been saying something profound, when all you did was bring up how Ladybug had learned how to balance a treat on her nose.

How thoughtful he was, bringing food and coffee for Bucky cause he knows the guy goes days without eating, nights without sleeping. Brings you your favorites, which you realize you had mentioned once, almost a year ago. Yet he remembered.

The way he held you at the Gala, one hand on your waist and the other in your hand. As if you were porcelain, and he was scared to break you. 

Yesterday, when he caressed your face and asked - asked - to kiss you, and did so sweetly. Even in the midst of passion, he kissed you softly. He’s not the kind of guy to just do that on a whim, you know that much. And if you could just talk to him - 

Your doorbell buzzes, snapping you out of your thoughts. Must be Bucky. You tiptoe over to the door, looking through the peephole to confirm and, yup, it’s him alright. You take a quick breath to steady yourself and swing the door open.

Bucky stands there, with a box of pizza. Except - he’s not wearing that guilty look on his face. He looks proud. Mischievous. 

“Pizza.” He simply announces, stepping by you to enter your apartment. Your breath catches for a split second as he passes, a figure that you hadn’t seen through the peephole making himself known. Your eyes meet his. 

Bob. 

He’s wearing another oversized sweatshirt (green this time; the color suits him), wavy hair slightly tousled, hands wringing together, him shuffling on his feet like he isn’t sure he should be here, but is anyway. His lips turn up at you nervously, and for a moment, you feel your cheeks heat up.

“Hey,” he breathes.

“Hi,” you return, your voice a bit higher than normal.

Bucky watches from the living room as you lovesick idiots stare at each other, unimpressed. Seriously, after all the work he did to get you two alone together, all you can say is hi? Risking his life by leaving Al at your door when you’d almost ripped his damn head off the last time…

He sighs. At least he’s got you two alone again, he muses. He places the pizza box on your kitchen counter, picks up Alpine and tucks her in her carrier, giving an extra bit of attention to your dog on his way out.

“So, uh, thanks for keeping an eye on Alpine,” Bucky says, stepping between the two of you to get to the hallway.

“No problem,” you manage to say, your focus shifting between him and Bob (who hasn’t kept his eyes off you). “Anytime.”

A knowing smirk grows on Bucky’s face, and he turns the other way to head back down to his car. “You two have fun!” He calls out. 

Ladybug uses this as her chance to try to bolt out the door, but you’re able to grab her before she’s successful. You shoo her back inside and look back at Bob, who still has his warm gaze directed at you. A flutter of butterflies develops in your stomach. You hold your breath, unsure of what to say next; this definitely was not a part of the plan. But it was a part of Bucky’s, apparently.

You step aside to let him in. “Did you wanna…” You nod towards your apartment. Bob lingers for a moment, but enters, standing at your side as you close the door. 

Bob’s smile widens as Ladybug approaches. He kneels to the ground and pets her softly; she throws herself to the ground and rolls on her side, demanding belly rubs.

“She likes you,” you comment, a little taken aback. Ladybug isn’t the best with men, took months for her to warm up to Bucky. But with Bob, she’s…well she’s rolling around begging for his attention. You’re almost jealous.

“I like her, too,” he mutters, turning his head towards you, but you’re not so sure it’s Lady he’s referring to. You don’t want to overthink it. 

You need a second to breathe. “Shoes off,” you instruct over your shoulder, marching over to the kitchen, “do you want anything to drink?”

“Water’s fine,” he replies, toeing off his sneakers. He pads over to your couch and takes a seat, Ladybug trailing after him. When you return, he takes it from your hands, fingers grazing over yours in a manner that doesn’t necessarily seem accidental. 

You take a seat next to him, propping your legs on the couch to keep him at a respectable distance. He takes a sip of his water then places it on one of the coasters on your coffee table. 

Ladybug scampers away to her crate, bored of the lack of attention. You fiddle with your fingers as you work up the courage to say something to him. 

“I wanted to -”

“Your place is -”

You both stop and chuckle. His face and ears lightly dusted with pink, yours heating up as well. 

You poke his bicep playfully. “You first,” you urge softly. 

His eyes flicker over you. “Your place is nice. Cozy. I’m sorry if - if I’m intruding. I know you weren’t…expecting me, but Bucky insisted I come with,” he pauses. “I…wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me again,” he finishes quietly, his gaze trailing to the floor. 

“I did,” you blurt out, “want to see you again. I was going to. Today, but then Bucky showed up and…you know.” He doesn’t look up from the floor. “I…” you sigh. “I shouldn’t have left like that. I’m sorry, I just - I panicked. But it wasn’t because of you.”

“We shouldn’t have - no, fuck I don’t mean it like that,” he panics, correcting himself when he sees you raise an eyebrow at him. “I should’ve…I don't know, been more…respectful of you. Take you - fuck, I mean - be with you, somewhere more private.”

“You wanted to make an honest woman out of me, Bob?” you tease, delighted by the embarrassed groan he lets out. “I’m flattered.”

He takes a moment to formulate a response. “I wanted it to be good for you.” He mumbles.

Oh. You don’t really know what to say to that, at first. Honestly you’re not used to a guy being so open and honest with you. Willingly having this conversation with you, listening to (listening, not just hearing) what you have to say. Obviously the bar is low, but this is nice. He’s definitely a little embarrassed by the conversation, evident in the way his hands come up to cup his bright red face. You poke his thigh with your foot and giggle when peeks at you through his fingers.

You bite your lip in thought. “It was good for me,” you admit, “really good.”

The air between you feels different now, charged. The casual conversation has shifted. You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding, if he notices how nervous you are. He’s fiddling with his fingers, and you try not to stare too hard. You honestly feel a little overwhelmed, but your need to talk to him overpowers anything else.

“Did you mean what you said,” you ask, your voice faltering towards the end. You clear your throat. “About…wanting me…?”

“I meant everything I said.” He says suddenly, eyes finally meeting yours again. You blink, feeling your heart stutter in your chest. He presses on. “You - fuck, you don’t know what you do to me. I’ve been - I’ve been trying to get your attention for months. Visited Bucky all that time just so I could see you. I just - I didn’t know how to talk to you. You’re so - you’re perfect.” He’s rambling now, mouth running a mile a minute while you sit there, your face heating up. If you had known - that all this time - “And then I saw you at the Gala and - fuck, you looked so beautiful. And then we danced…” he trails off, searching your eyes for a bit of hope.

You’ve somehow found yourself a hair's breadth away from him, one leg tucked under you while the other dangles off the couch, knee bumping against him. “Bob,” you sigh, placing your hand on the side of his neck, stroking his jaw softly. He closes his eyes at the sensation.

“When I held you, that’s when I knew,” he whispers sweetly, “that I wanted this, wanted you.”

You pull him in closer, foreheads touching. “You have me,” you confess, your lips brushing against his, “I want this with you too.”

His breath hitches, then he pulls you in for a kiss, one arm behind your back, pressing your body against his while you wrap your arms around his neck. Despite the way he’s holding you - like he’s afraid to let you go - the kiss is sweet. Tender. Electric, even, but it’s hidden by the innocent passion that sends a delectable shiver down your spine. You let out a smitten giggle, wrapping your arms around him tighter when you feel him smile into it. 

He caresses your back, nibbling at your bottom lip. You part them, tangling your hands in his hair when he licks into your mouth. You feel a flare of heat spark in your belly. Hold back a moan when he tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss. Your breathing picks up, your body trembling in excitement.

Bob pulls away, and it’s you chasing after his lips this time. He plants another wet kiss on your lips before pulling away again. You lean your forehead against his, his breath intermingling with yours. He traces random patterns on your back, his other caressing your pajama-covered thigh.

“You’re really good at that,” you chuckle, still trying to catch your breath.

(A sense of pride swells within him. Unbeknownst to you, he’s read up on this; stole one of Yelena’s trashy magazines, one with a spread called ‘How to be an Expert Kisser’ followed by another labeled ‘For Her Pleasure’. He’s a quick learner. Has a couple other tricks up his sleeve.)

He pulls you onto his lap with ease. You settle on him, tracing your finger down his chest. Biting back a smile when you feel something hard straining under you. You’re no better, you already feel the cold fabric of your underwear sticking to your skin.

Bob grabs your hips in a tight grip, rocking your hips against his. You gasp, grabbing onto his shoulders for balance. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you since last night,” he pants, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, “could still feel you against me, even after you left. Made me hard all over again.” He drags your hips from the base of his cock all the way to the tip, your clit catching at the seam of his pants, making you let out a pathetic whine. 

“You’re so big,” you pant. “I could still feel you, too.” He groans, bringing you into another kiss that’s all tongue. His large hands trail up under your shirt, meeting the soft skin underneath. He brings them up slowly, his fingers teasing the swell of your tits.

“Wait,” he pulls away immediately, hands flying back down to your hips. “We can’t - not here,” you gesture towards Ladybug, who’s fast asleep in her crate and unaware of the debauchery her mom is engaging in 30 feet away. “Not in front of her, she’ll be traumatized for the rest of her life.” You pout. He laughs. A real, genuine, laugh that comes from his belly.

“You’re ridiculous.” He laughs, blinding you with a bright smile. You scrunch your nose at him and he gives you another short kiss. 

You squeal into his mouth as he stands, picking you up effortlessly from the couch with him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, legs tight around his waist. You point towards the door to your bedroom and he makes way, his hands under thighs to support you. 

He closes the door on his way in, and places you on your bed so you’re lying comfortably on your pillows. He settles in between your hips. The soft glow of your fairy lights casting a halo around his body. Your nerves are starting to get the best of you, and as though he senses that, he places a series of soft, loving kisses all over your face. It makes you laugh, which puts a smile on his face as well. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I’m just nervous. But I want this. I want you.”

He pulls up your shirt a bit, goosebumps rising along the skin of your stomach from the slight chill of your room. “Can I…can I take this off?”

“Yeah.” 

He lifts it up slowly, mesmerized by the sight of your tits in his face. You’ve barely gotten the shirt off and over your head before he latches onto one of your nipples, his tongue lathering the stiff bud with attention while his free hand reaches up to tweak the other between his thumb and forefinger. It makes you squeal, your own hand coming up to support the back of his head. He’s so eager it’s making your head spin. 

You squirm, dragging your nails down his back. He groans, switching his attention to your other tit, licking and sucking at it with the same amount of love he gave the other one. You let out a long, embarrassing moan when he switches hands to tweak your spit-covered nipple. You’re so wet by now you’re sure it’s leaking through your pajamas.

He lets go of your tit with a pop. Buries his head against your shoulder, pants against the skin. “Can I taste you?” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Please?” he begs.

“Mm-hmm.” You whimper, because the thought alone has fried your brain beyond comprehension. 

His fingers hook onto the band of your pajamas, sliding them down your legs slowly. He peppers kisses down your stomach, your hips, lingers at the band of your underwear. He pulls the pants off your legs, tossing them off the bed without a care in the world. 

“Bob,” he gives you his full attention. You bite down on your bottom lip nervously. “Can you…can you take off your pants too? And…and your shirt?” You feel a little self conscious, being the only one who’s practically naked. It’s only fair. 

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah - I can.”

He climbs off the bed, unbuckling his belt with trembling fingers. It warms your heart that he’s just as nervous as you, makes you feel better. You scoot to the edge of the bed and cover his hands with your own, and he looks at you with wide eyes. You gently pry his hands away and take matters into your own hands, slowly unbuckling his belt with ease, unbuttoning his pants and pulling down the zipper. He waits with a bated breath, his pupils blown out. 

You pull down his pants. Once they reach his thighs, he tugs them off, cursing when trips over himself a little. The sight makes you giggle, and he gives you a dopey smile. He’s standing between your legs again. You tug on his sweatshirt, but he hesitates.

“You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable.” 

He shakes his head. “No, it’s just - I have…scars, from when I was on…um,” you take his hand and give it a small kiss.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, “I won’t judge, if that’s what you’re worried about. And if you don’t want to take it off, that's okay, too. It’s not a big deal.”

He takes a deep breath, then tugs it off in one fell swoop. He’s - he’s…

Wow. He’s…muscular. Definitely a sleeper build. You ogle at the veins that run along the muscle of his forearms, his well-defined abs, the trail of hair that starts right under his navel and leads down to his cock, hard and straining against his briefs. At eye level. A wet spot where the head of his cock is. Your mouth waters. You plant your lips innocently against the tuft of fur and he tenses, his cock twitching in excitement.

“Lay back down,” he orders, which you happily follow. 

He kneels on the floor, pulling you closer so your ass is just off the edge of the bed. He starts at your calf, starting a trail of kisses that travels up to your knee, your thigh. Ends at the hem of your underwear, right where you want him. You almost cry when he repeats his actions on the other leg.

Your face heats up, so you throw an arm over your eyes. “Bob,” you whine.

He gets the message. He pulls the article of clothing off your hips, places his thumbs on either side of your pussy and spreads you open. You gulp; you feel so exposed. 

“F-Fuck,” you gasp. He’s licked a long, hard stripe up to your clit. Moans at the taste on his tongue, passes his tongue again to collect the wetness that’s leaking. He takes your swollen clit into his mouth, sucksucksucking to the point where your hips lift up off the bed. He hooks an arm under your thigh, over your hips, to hold you down.

Bob groans, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body. You write helplessly, your free hand reaching down to pull his hair into a vice grip. He flicks his tongue across your clit, panting against you when you tug his hair. 

“So fucking good,” he sticks his tongue into your pussy, lapping up your arousal like his life depends on it. His nose rubbing against your clit. You whimper, panting harshly as he lavishes your pussy with attention. You push yourself up the bed, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders, pulling him in closer. You take advantage of this angle to look down at him. 

He’s absolutely wrecked, face flushed but with a content look on his face, like he’s died and gone to heaven. He’s so messy - his spit and your arousal mixing together, leaving a sticky layer on your thighs, his face. Your eyes droop shut, overtaken by pleasure. He can stay there for as long as he wants, as far as you’re concerned.

You don’t notice his fingers until one of them prods lightly at your pussy. You gasp. “Can I?” he mumbles, not taking his mouth off you.

“Yes,” you beg, “yesyesyes.”

He mutters a curse under his breath, pushing his middle finger into you, licking at your clit to help you relax. You sigh at the feeling, brushing back the curls from his face. He pumps it in and out of you slowly, testing at first. Sinks it deep, curling his finger up on the way out. A whine gets stuck in his throat when you clamp down on him. He rests his head on your thigh, watching his finger sink into you.

He’s brushing against the spot inside you that makes your toes curl, builds up the pressure in your belly. You melt, falling back against the bed and clawing at the sheets, your hand still tugging at his hair. Wordlessly, he grabs your hand off the bed and intertwines his fingers with yours, resting them on your hip. The action is so sweet it almost makes you cum.

Your skin is slick with a fine layer of sweat, your body on fire. Your thighs are trembling, shaking as he inserts his pointer finger, the stretch making you hiss and you throw your head back with a whimper.

“S-So good,” you stutter, “it feels so good, Bob.” 

He’s stuck in a trance, watching your arousal pool out of you, onto his fingers, onto the palm of his hand. The lewd sight alone driving him crazy. He takes your clit back into his mouth, making you squeal. You feel it then; the pressure building up, threatening to snap. Your thighs snap together, trapping his head against you (not that he minds at all). You grind yourself against his face, his fingers never faltering.

“Oh my God,” your breath hitches, eyes screwing shut as your toes start to tingle. “Fuck, Bob, ‘m cumming -”

“Please,” he begs, “in my mouth.” His teeth graze against your clit, and you gasp. It tips you over, and a loud, vulgar moan leaves you. More of your arousal spills out of you, onto his fingers, into his eager mouth. You shudder, hands gripping onto him while your body twitches, your toes curling. The pleasure is almost blinding. 

You weakly push his head away when the pleasure turns into overstimulation. He lets you, leaning back on his haunches as he slowly drags his fingers out of your pussy. Unblinking when you clench around nothing. He sticks his fingers in his mouth, moaning at the taste of you. The entire bottom half of his face is covered in your arousal, but he wears it like a badge of honor.

“Kiss me,” you plead. He pulls you up so you’re sitting, pushing his tongue past your lips and licking the roof of your mouth. His tongue pushes against yours, your fingers never relaxing on the grip you have on his hair.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says through kisses, “taste so fucking good.”

He’s so talkative, doesn’t shut up. Another wave of arousal thrums through your veins. “I want you, Bob. Please?”

He gets off the floor and lifts you back up so your head is supported by your pillows again. Kneeling between your parted legs. Bob tugs off his briefs, his cock slapping against his abdomen. It’s…big - a lot bigger than you thought. A prominent vein running along underside it. A bit of pre leaking out from the tip. Your mouth waters again, imagining how it would feel in your mouth, on your tongue. Hot and heavy probably, teasing the back of your throat.

Next time, you muse. You need him inside you now or you’ll explode.

He blushes at your attention, shy. Like he didn’t just eat you out and finger you. God, how did you get so lucky?

“I don’t,” he swallows, “I don’t have a condom. I didn’t think - I wasn’t planning on…We don’t have to, if that’s -”

“It’s okay,” you return, just as nervous. “I’m…I’m on the pill. And I’m clean. You?”

“Yeah - Yeah, me too. Clean, I mean.”

Bob grabs one of your pillows and tucks it under you, right at the small of your back. Then he lingers, hands on your knees. You’re so pliant in his hands. He leans down, lips meeting yours. It’s sweet, reassuring. You guide him so his weight is on you, your tits flush against his chest, his forearms braced on both sides of your head. You bring your knees up, a hand under one of them to keep it supported. You feel the warmth of his cock on your thigh, twitching when you curl your arm over his bicep to brace yourself.

He reaches down, hissing at the feeling of his hand on his cock. Lines himself up at your pussy, gliding his cock between your lips. A soft sob leaves your lips, which he muffles with his own. He circles the tip of his cock around your clit, slapping it once, twice. You’re shaking like a leaf, so turned on it almost hurts. 

You’re about to chastise him for being mean, but then he aligns his tip at the entrance, pushing through the ring of muscle. He whimpers, breaking away from your lips to bury his head in the crook of your neck. Your fingers stroke through the ring of curls that are sticking to the back of his neck. 

“So good,” is all he says, thrusting softly to ease more of himself into you. Reaches down to stroke your clit with his thumb. You’re already so wet that the rest of him slides in easily, and you shiver at the feeling of being so full. You feel him throbbing. The hair at the base of his cock tickling your clit.

He’s holding himself back. You can tell, the way his muscles are tensing. His harsh panting against your ear. You clench down once, giggling at his long, pained groan. 

He nips at your shoulder in retaliation, pulling back his hips and snapping them softly against you. Your toes curl. 

“You can move, Bob.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. 

He starts off slow, gentle. Pelvis meeting your thighs, creating an audible, wet slap of skin that makes your face heat up even more. 

“Fuck me,” he exhales, “better than I dreamed.”

He snaps his hips harder when you clench down. Your mouth falls open in a silent groan, your head thrashing against the pillow. 

“Harder,” you whine, “harder.”

He places a hand under your belly button, pushing you down to keep you steady as he puts a little more force into his thrusts. He circles his hips just so, allowing him to brush along the spot inside you. Your nails dig into his bicep and your teeth bite down on his shoulder. 

He drills into that spot, over and over. Your legs are starting to feel like jelly, and sweat pools under the hand that’s keeping one of them propped up. One particular thrust makes you lose your grip on your leg, but he catches it, bringing it up so your knee is resting on his shoulder. The new angle makes you moan uncontrollably, a gush of arousal pouring out of you and onto the sheets below. His pelvis brushing your clit with every thrust, the soft plap plap plap of his thighs hitting your ass fills your room. 

Bob pushes himself up. He grabs the knee that’s on his shoulder and rubs it lovingly, lips teasing the skin. He looks down at your chest, your tits bouncing in rhythm to his thrusts. He bends down again to take one into his mouth, grazing his teeth along the nub.

The pressure in your belly is about to snap. You squirm in his hold, your hips chasing after his. He pulls away from your tits to spit on your clit (Jesus fuck), his thumb rubbing frantically to get you there quicker. He presses his forehead against yours, eyes flickering between your fucked out face and his cock drilling into your pussy. 

“I’m,” you babble, your voice rising an octave, “I’m cumming - Bob -” 

He keeps his gaze locked on you, admiring the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks, your kiss swollen lips. Your face twisting in pleasure as your orgasm rocks through you, your grip on him unforgiving. Legs tightening around his torso, refusing to let him go. Pussy squeezing and sucking him in like it never wants him to leave.

Tears gather at the corner of your eyes as your body relaxes. He kisses them away. His cock rests inside you, and he circles his hips a little to make you squirm. 

“Cum in me,” you slur, biting your lip when your feet dig into his back to push him in further. “I want it.”

“Oh, fuck me,” he curses, drilling into you with that same unforgivable pace. You stroke his back, his chest, the base of his neck. Trace softly over his old, faded, scarred track marks. You’re so damn sweet. Doesn’t deserve you, but you clearly want him just as bad.

God, he’s so in love with you it hurts.

You squeak with every thrust, the overstimulation becoming too much. You reach down and cup his balls in your hand, eyes sparkling in amazement as his hips begin to stutter, his pace becoming frantic and desperate. You yank his head towards yours. His eyes begin to glow, that same yellow hue from last night. It’s mesmerizing. He’s so close, you can feel his cock twitching inside you.

“F-fuck. Fuckfuckfuck,” he stammers, letting out a deep groan as he releases his load. Warmth fills you. The lights in your room flicker, and you hear a high pitched noise coming from the lamp that’s on your nightstand. He thrusts weakly, and the noise stops when he drops his full weight onto you, completely spent.

Interesting.

Bob snuggles up on your chest, panting heavily. He rubs your waist soothingly. You brush your fingers through his wavy brown hair, working out the knots you’re sure were caused by you. He sighs softly when your nails scratch his head softly. You press your lips to the crown of his head, and you swear he purrs from the attention.

“Congrats. You’ve made an honest woman out of me.” He gives you a playful bite on the swell of your tit, making you giggle. 

He hums. “And you’ve ruined me for anyone else. Guess you’re stuck with me,” he replies languidly. All the usual stress and tension he carries soothed away after a good fuck, apparently. Good to know.

He makes no move to pull out of you. He seems pretty happy where he is. You’ll definitely have to push him off sometime soon so you can go pee. But for now, this is fine.

Hm. Guess you’ll have to pay for Bucky’s lunch, too.

[camficdiner]

Hi Cam! Can I please order, [1.3] [2.1] [3.3] [4.2]? Thank you so much! 🥰

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 033

🍒 Thank you so much to the lovely soul who requested this! Your prompt was pure 🔥 and your vision was so fun to bring to life. I hope this spicy hallway detour with our favorite Hughes baby gave you everything you craved — from the jealousy to the soft post-game cuddles. First class delivery, babe.

Enjoy your meal love, its piping hot

-your favorite server

💬 “No One Else Gets to Touch You.”

✨ Description & Prompts:

 Character: Luke Hughes

 Prompt: “Caught kissing in a hallway — and it’s not just kissing anymore”

Tropes: jealousy, possessive!Luke, rough smut

 Word count: ~1.3k

 Type: smut with hurt/comfort softness

🧾 Tips keep the diner open: ko-fi.com/camsficdiner

🛼🍒✨🧁

You didn’t expect him today.

The last thing Luke texted you was something along the lines of “back-to-back travel sucks, I’m dying” — so when you exit your lecture and spot him in the hallway, hoodie up and hands in his pockets, your heart full-on stutters.

You almost miss him at first — he’s leaning against the far wall like he belongs there, head down, pretending to scroll his phone.

You’re about to call out when someone next to you says your name.

“Need the notes?” It’s Ryan.

Cute, confident, too-smooth-for-his-own-good Ryan, the guy who always saves you a seat and keeps offering to “grab coffee sometime.”

You never said yes. But you’ve never said no either.

You laugh, thanking him as you accept the printed copy. He says something dumb about how “girls like you shouldn’t strain their wrists handwriting notes,” and you roll your eyes.

But you don’t notice Luke watching.

Don’t see the way his jaw ticks the second Ryan brushes your arm.

You don’t hear the silent exhale he lets out when your laugh slips through the air like it belongs to someone else.

He stays hidden.

Burning.

—

You round the corner toward your dorm, steps light, smile still playing on your lips.

He grabs your wrist.

“Luke—?” But he’s already got you pushed against the wall.

His mouth crashes into yours like it’s the only way he can breathe. His hands are on your hips — then sliding lower. You gasp into the kiss, but he doesn’t give you time to speak.

“You’re mine,” he mutters into your neck. “Don’t let him touch you again.”

“What are you—”

His thigh presses between yours, mouth still dragging hot along your jaw.

“Don’t play dumb. You know he’s into you.”

You blink. “Ryan? He’s just—”

Luke groans. “Don’t care.”

He kisses you again — rough, possessive — until your backpack drops to the floor and your hands are in his hair and—

“Oh.”

You both freeze.

Ryan stands at the hallway entrance.

Sees everything.

Stares for just a second too long.

Luke doesn’t stop touching you.

Ryan’s mouth opens like he’s going to say something, then he doesn’t. He turns around. Walks away.

Your heart’s in your throat.

Luke smirks. “Good.”

—

You barely get the door to your dorm shut before his mouth is back on you.

Your hoodie is halfway off. His fingers hook in your waistband. His teeth graze your collarbone. You moan his name — part frustration, part full-body want.

He lifts you like you weigh nothing. Carries you to the bed like it’s muscle memory.

“You let him flirt with you?” he growls.

“I didn’t even—” You gasp when he presses against you. “—notice.”

“Well I noticed,” he snaps, hands rough on your thighs. “And I haven’t seen you in weeks. And that’s the first thing I walk into?”

Your hand wraps around his jaw. “Then shut up and do something about it.”

He does.

The rest is hands in hair, hips grinding, heavy panting and hot, messy kisses.

You don’t even care that the blinds are only half drawn. That your bed is squeaking. That your RA is two doors down.

You just want him.

And he wants to remind you exactly who you belong to.

—

"Luke,” you gasp, breath hitching as your back hits the mattress. “Lock the door.”

He kicks it shut with one foot.

“No interruptions,” he mutters, pulling his hoodie over his head, revealing the tight white t-shirt underneath that clings to his chest like sin.

He drops to his knees between your legs. “Take these off.” His fingers tug at your leggings. His voice is low, but shaky — not from nerves, from the way he’s barely holding it together.

You obey, and that’s his undoing.

He kisses down your thighs — not gently. It’s hungry, fast, lips and teeth and tongue dragging across skin like he wants to mark you, prove something.

“You have no idea,” he mutters, hot against your skin, “what seeing him touch you did to me.”

You tilt your head, breathless. “Wasn’t even flirting.”

“He was.” His voice is firm now. “And he’s a fucking idiot if he thought you’d ever—” His hand pushes your panties aside and two fingers slide in, deep, curling just right.

You arch. “Fuck—Luke—”

“You’re mine,” he whispers, eyes dark and heavy. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“I’m—fuck—yours, Luke.”

His mouth meets yours as he pushes in — not soft, not slow. You claw at his back, nails dragging red across his skin as he buries himself to the hilt with a broken groan.

You gasp his name.

“Missed you,” he growls into your neck, thrusts hard enough to rock the frame. “Missed this. Missed you.”

Your head falls back. “Then show me.”

He does.

It’s all tangled limbs and heavy moans, his hand gripping your throat just enough to make you whimper, just enough to feel him everywhere. You’re both panting, dripping, frenzied and frustrated, like the space between NHL games and campus halls just wasn’t fair.

He finishes with your name on his lips — breathless, worshipped, like it’s the only prayer he knows.

And then it’s over. Sort of.

Because then he’s holding you.

—

His forehead rests against yours.

You’re both sweaty. Out of breath. Twined in each other.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“For what?”

“For not texting more. For showing up like this. For… losing my shit.”

You trace lazy shapes into his arm. “You didn’t lose it. You just got a little territorial.”

He snorts. “Understatement.”

There’s a pause.

“I just don’t get to have you much,” he says, more vulnerable now, voice raw. “And seeing someone else… I know it’s not fair, but I couldn’t take it.”

Your hand finds his cheek.

“Then don’t waste time being mad,” you whisper. “Just be here. Now.”

He leans into your palm. “I missed you. So much more than I thought I would.”

You kiss him. Gentle, slow. The kind of kiss that feels like home.

He kisses you back like a promise.

[strxn-2]

Burner Phone - m.s

Summary - the burner phone,

TW: cheating (dont do this) crying , angst , unresolved angst , physical abuse. nicknames (baby, lace)

It started like always  

“No Caller ID” was plastered on my phone, i knew exactly who it was – her. 

My breathe caught in my throat as if this hasn’t happened hundreds of times already, like she hasn’t called me off her burner phone when she’s home alone hundreds of times already, i never questioned why it was a burner phone and never her number , i just suspected she didn’t want her fans finding out , the bad side of fame is that it brings out the weirdos , and i liked how it was just us, right? 

One day i get the call, i  answer as usual, i could hear a man shouting in the background, i ask her 

“lace, what's going on?” i say concerned, why was there a man shouting in the background at her? 

“c-can i come over...?” she says, her voice shaky and fragile 

I don't think I'd ever heard her so scared 

“of course, do you want me to pick you up?” i reply quickly, i needed to get to her as soon as possible 

“n-no its fine, I'll walk over” she says before hanging up. 

I’m left there in a stunned silence not knowing what to do before snapping out of it, preparing some food and a bath for her so when she came, she was relaxed and comfortable. 

She gets here 10 minutes later, climbing through my bedroom window – she had a black eye and a missing tooth – i look at her in shock before pulling her into a tight hug whispering soothing words to her before she told me what happened. 

“h-he hit me” she says her voice shaky 

“Who baby, who hit you” i say running a hand through her hair soothingly 

“My-my boyfriend” she says sniffling “i-im sorry i didn’t tell you before” 

I momentarily freeze, so she was cheating, with me? God, it’s killing me how dishonest she was, i speak up then 

“Shh it’s okay don’t apologise baby” 

She cried into my arms until half past two before she fell asleep- i fell asleep cuddling her 

The next morning i wake up and she's gone – no note, no text, no nothing just gone... I sigh to myself. 

She didn’t call or text me for the next week – i didn’t eat once during that time, i just couldn’t, i would kill her fucking man in a  heartbeat if he did anything to her... 

2 weeks later she was at my door again, i look at her as she looks up at me, she doesn't keep eye contact instead just looking away, i sigh, my built-up frustration threatening to spill, she didn’t say anything so i did: 

“I wanna cry for you, I wanna hold you like a kid hugs a tree”  

She stays silent, so i continue 

“Tell me, is this what you wanted?”  

She doesn’t answer so i repeat myself 

“Is this what you wanted? cause it isn't what I wanted”  

And with that i slammed the door on her and let out a deep sigh. 

A/N - a liitle short but oh well - italics text is lyrics from the song btw

taglist : @bernardsbendystraws @eyesonmattyb @mattsturnsfavcrime @jacsismattswife @slut4christopherr @lvrsturniolo @grace-sturnz @abbystromboli @stvrnsslvts @chrxsprettygirl @matts-girlfriend @sturniolo-szn2 @sturnsflirt @mattsmoth @silverspringsstare @avee-wavee @strnlslvr

[fjordfolk]

new jacket new jacket new jacket

(sad spart sad spart sad spart)

[meamiki]

[reverse entry AU]

so glad the work week is over!

no more meetings!

what do you mean its only tuesday.

[x22817]

We are ready for not snowy. Thank you very much. I can pretty confidently say we are NOT cold weather girls

[moafleco]

i hate that duality that your mind can be your safe heaven that helps you get through some difficult things, keeps you going and brings you happiness at the worst of times. and at the very same time it could be your worst tormentor that won't let you rest and won't let you breathe, literally for no particular reason at all. and you can't leave or silence it. can't get it to stop when it gets dark in there. can't get the light in when you desperately need to feel a respite instead of suffocation.

[poutysprouty]

Stalker!Gojo

“I’m imagining them sneaking inside trying to take an article of clothing only to find their clothes in the closet.” — In which reader is just as obsessed with Gojo as Gojo is with her.

warnings: 18+ MDNI. Stalking, NSFW, mentions of panty stealing, broken beds, and male masturbation.

a/n: I was watching a video on Tiktok about stalking your stalker right back & the above quote was one of the comments. I got inspired and ran to write this! This is my first time writing something like this so please go easy on me. Very much NOT edited I wrote it & then posted it.

Stalker!Gojo who first saw you at the local library. If anyone were to ask him about it, he’d say it was love at first sight! You were so pretty, so precious, your voice so melodic, making his heart race. He wouldn’t mention the fact that he hadn’t even spoken to you—no, he had been hiding in the shelves a few feet away while you were chatting with your friend over one of your latest reads.

Stalker!Gojo who, from that moment on, makes it his mission to find out everything about you—ignoring the fact that he was stalking you instead of actually approaching you.

Stalker!Gojo who rationalizes his actions by telling himself he was too nervous to approach you. You were so pretty, so perfect, that he knew he’d be a stuttering mess and probably ruin any chance he had with you.

Stalker!Gojo who stopped caring entirely the moment he caught a glimpse of you through your bedroom window, your matching lacy bra and panties causing all of his blood to rush straight south.

Stalker!Gojo who swears to himself that he was only driving by on his way to the store to get milk when he saw it. He conveniently ignored the fact that driving past your home on the way to the store took him twice as long as his old route.

Stalker!Gojo who couldn't stop himself from pulling over and parking across the street to deal with his little big issue.

Stalker!Gojo whose thoughts are flooded with the image of you on your knees for him, his hands replaced by yours in his mind as he works himself closer and closer to climax.

Stalker!Gojo who cums way faster & harder than he has in his entire life, making a mess all over his expensive leather seats. But he couldn’t care less—not when you were now completely nude, slipping on what looked like an entirely too flimsy pair of pajamas.

Stalker!Gojo who quickly drove off before you could see him. And before he did something he’d regret later—like march up to your front door, break the damn thing off of its hinges, and fuck you on the closest surface.

Stalker!Gojo who spends the rest of the night fucking his hand, wishing it was you, and ending up shooting blanks before the night is over.

Stalker!Gojo who continues watching protecting you for the next few months, content with his routine.

Stalker!Gojo who recently started dropping by your house when he knew you were gone, picking the lock on your front door so he could slip into your bedroom and steal a pair of your used panties.

Stalker!Gojo who always returned the panties he borrowed when he came to take a new pair. The old pair was always freshly washed—even if he so badly wanted to return them covered in his own cum.

Stalker!Gojo who, one day, realizes that you had moved your laundry basket into the closet. He thinks it’s odd—you’ve never moved it before.

Stalker!Gojo who is shocked as hell when he opens the closet door to see not just your laundry basket, but some of his own clothes hanging up. Clothes that he thought were missing for weeks now.

Stalker!Gojo who whips around when he hears a throat clearing behind him, seeing you standing in the doorway. That cute little smirk on your face is not helping the issue that is currently rising in his pants.

Stalker!Gojo who freezes when you step closer to him, so close he can feel the heat radiating off of your body. He gulps when you trail a finger along his arm.

Stalker!Gojo who nearly crumbles to his feet when you speak. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you here today. But since you’re here….”

Stalker!Gojo who can’t fucking believe his luck when you drop to your knees in front of him, hands reaching out to undo the buckle of his belt.

Stalker!Gojo who realizes, several hours later while the two of you are resting in your (now broken) bed with you curled up against his bare chest, that you had been stalking him, too.

Stalker!Gojo who knows for a fact that he is never letting you go after this.

[bywons]

GIVE ME ONE MORE KISS 𖥔 PSH

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬──── 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈𝗑𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽

❪ 𝑃𝑅𝐸𝐶𝑖𝑆 ❫ ｡ 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝗒𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 11O4wc 𖥔 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ── 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 愛 ／ 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

する ܃ sorry for da late upload, practicals this week was too hectic :< for silly hoon girlies :0

reb𝑙ogs& ˊᗜˋ 𝑓eedbacks

“sunghoon— what are you doing? my parents will see us!” you hiss at him, giving him the look over your shoulders as your hands are already busy with the dishwashing.

sunghoon doesn't look the least bit fazed by your words. instead, he leans casually against the counter, his sharp features illuminated by the warm glow of the kitchen lights. his lips curls into a mischievous smirk as he tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

“and if they do?” he teases, his voice low and smooth like velvet.

you shoot him another glare, but it lacks its usual intensity. sunghoon was insufferable when it came to obeying you, it's almost as if your instructions fall on deaf ears. “they won't like it if we're too… close,” you whisper urgently, glancing toward the doorway.

“that's unfair, and stupid,” sunghoon whines, he steps closer to you, standing just behind you. leaning forward, he whispers back, “can’t their future son in law be close to their daughter?”

your cheeks burn at his boldness, and you immediately turn back to the sink, furiously scrubbing a plate as though it had personally offended you. “stop being so cheeky,” you hiss, but your voice waver ever so slightly, betraying the effect he has on you.

“relax, princess,” he chuckles, the sound of his laughter making your heart skip beats. but what he does next, sends a shiver down your spine. he moves even closer to you, ultimately wrapping his hands around your lower abdomen, resting his chin upon your shoulder.

“sunghoon!” you shriek, “can you let me work in peace?”

“shh,” he murmurs, leaning down so his lips were near your ear. “i’m just helping.”

before you could finish, sunghoon reaches around you, his long fingers brushing yours as he picks up a wet plate from the drying rack. “drying,” he said simply, his tone far too innocent for someone who had you blushing like this.

you shake your head, biting back a smile. “you’re unbelievable.”

“and you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he shoots back without missing a beat, making you groan in exasperation.

although you want to get used to this moment, to sunghoon holding you within his embrace and warmth, you want the clock to stop itself and freeze the time around the both of you. he brought smiles and giggles to your face so effortlessly each time, and it made you wonder if he'd like to do that the rest of your life.

but that's a question for tomorrow, for now, all you could tense about is your parents hustling in at any moment.

in an instant, you turn the tap water off, move the washed plates to the drying racks and turn to your annoying, yet lovely boyfriend. all the irritation that you prepared in your speech evaporates in the air like vapour, as soon as you meet sunghoons mellow eyes.

“enough now,” you gather yourself, softly pushing his hands away from your waist, “my parents will come in at any minute.”

he rolls his eyes at your statement, you both know it doesn't make any difference to park sunghoon, he just wants to cling to his girlfriend.

“so?” he cocks his head to the side, raising an eyebrow, “im not going anywhere.”

you groan in frustration, your hands now resting on your hips as you face him, but the corner of your lips betrays the smile you’ve been trying to hold back.

“sunghoon…” you start, but his hand is already on your cheek, gently turning your face toward him.

“you don’t want me to go?” he asks, his voice low, teasing. and before you can even form a response, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

you gasp in surprise, but he doesn’t give you the chance to push him away. his lips move slowly against yours, and he pulls back just enough to whisper between kisses.

“you don't want me to go, do you?” he repeats, pulling you closer by your hips, once again snatching your next sentence to press the softest kisses on your lips. once, then twice, then scattering them all over your face.

you try to find your words, but the only thing that comes out is a breathless laugh. “i... i—”

he kisses you once more, his lips gently pressing against yours along with his body as he wraps you to himself, he moves his lips tenderly, before pulling away to leave you dizzy. “i’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.” another kiss follows, and your thoughts scatter.

“sunghoon, stop it.” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper as he moves in again, kissing you once more.

but his playful smirk only deepens as he kisses you again, this time even more passionately. “stop? why would i stop when you’re so cute when you try to resist?”

your heart races, and you’re almost overwhelmed with how good he feels against you. Every kiss makes your mind blank, and the tension in your body melts away, but your thoughts struggle to hold on. you want him to let go and go away, but at the same time, you want him here with you forever “my parents… they’ll—”

“they’ll deal with it, love,” he whispers back in an urgency. within a split of a second he’s back on your lips, arms holding you close like a fragile doll made of glass. you hold onto him as well, smiling into the kiss, as you feel sunghoon smile back into it.

you almost lose yourself in the warmth of his embrace, your hands instinctively moving to wrap around his neck. but just as you begin to give in completely, the faint sound of footsteps echoing down the hall snaps you back to reality.

you pull away just slightly, breathless, and look toward the door. “sunghoon… seriously, they’re coming.”

he looks at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, but there’s something tender there too. he leans forward again, kissing you once more, and then pulls back, his forehead resting against yours.

just as the footsteps intensify and stop outside the kitchen door, almost like magic sunghoon stands beside you, normally, without any part of him lingering on your body or face. “good evening, sir!” he greets your dad with a coy smile.

“evening, young man,” your dad says in an uninterested tone, eyes narrowing, he asks, “i suppose your behavior towards my girl was apt, in the time we were gone.”

“of course,” he grins, taking a glance at you and then at your dad, before he blurts out, “nothing you need to worry about, sir.”

© BYWONS, 2024 / do not copy or repost without permission . div ctto

taglist────open tags in the reblogs ! network tag. @/k-labels @k-films @k-nets CLICK ME

[rafesteddy]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖: 𝕌𝕟𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕕

𝙳𝙸𝙻𝙵!𝚁𝚊��𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: age gap, swearing, older!rafe, drinking, reader is a senior in college, choking, unprotected p in v, kissing, handjob, cum play, spit kink, bathtub sex, changing positions, soft!rafe

📖 based on an ask from @starkeysprincess : ooo ok ok for kinkmas what about college!reader who babysits single dilf!rafe’s kids & she’s stressed cause of finals coming up (totally not self indulgent hehe) and he helps her destress 🩷

Reader’s POV:

You sit cross-legged on Rafe’s plush leather couch: textbooks, sticky notes, pens, and crumpled flashcards littered on the marble coffee table. You blink fast, widening your eyes the next moment, trying to stay awake and on task, willing your eyes to stay open.

Your eyes flicker to the baby monitor, watching Mr. Cameron’s daughter, Winnie, fast asleep. The camera pans over to the next bed, Rory doing the same. Throwing your head back, you breathe deeply, soaking in that little win. At least I have the kids under control.

The week before winter break was always brutal, but this semester felt next to impossible between tests and papers. Five finals in three days…

You tear your planner out of your backpack, jotting down a new study schedule, feeling the pen tremble in your hand—watching the ink scribble and stray from the regular pattern.

I haven’t slept well in days… My stomach has been in knots, my muscles aching, and my head pounding. This week can’t end soon enough.

Shit. Your phone glows with a new notification, but the time catches your eye. Midnight… I still have a couple of hours left, at least. You pull your laptop, open the essay that you have been working on, and check the page count. “Fifteen pages… Twenty-page minimum… What the hell,” you whisper, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration.

A lump forms in the back of your throat. You swallow hard, refusing to let the tears burning in your eyes spill over. It’s just school. It’s only school… Don’t break down. Not here… Not in his house.

The front door clicks open, jarring you from your thoughts. Your body freezes, fingers quickly lifting to your waterline to clear any tears that dare break. Rafe Cameron… Kook King and Kildare royalty. The man who somehow manages to be intimidating, yet incredibly charming. He’s devastatingly handsome… Fuck, he’s so hot.

Your pulse quickens as you hear his designer loafers shuffle down the hall, echoing through the foyer. Mr. Cameron darkens the doorway a moment later, loosening his tie with one hand and checking his phone with the other.

His toffee-colored hair is tousled— not as sleek as when he left. His large biceps are hugged with a crisp white button-down shirt; suit pants snug enough to show you just how fit he is. “Y/n,” he greets you warmly, lighting up at the sight of you. “How were they?”

"They were great," you manage to say, voice wavering slightly with nerves. “Uhh-Umm… They fell asleep right on time. Rory’s jammies are on backward. He said, ‘The buttons push on his tummy.’ I tried, I swear,” you laugh lightly.

“I know you did,” he smiles as he nods and scratches his five o’clock shadow. His gaze lingers a little longer than usual. “What about you? Are you okay? You look…" he pauses, choosing his words carefully, “… a little stressed. I hope you don’t take that the wrong way. You look beautiful, just stressed.”

Your cheeks warm up at his compliment and his attention; Rafe’s focus never falters. Yours does as your heart flips, your gaze taking refuge in the mess before you to ease the tension, embarrassment quickly filling its place. “Just finals,” you say with a weak laugh. “Five exams in three days. I still have to drive back to campus. I need a shower… And, I have to study… a lot, a lot.”

Rafe’s eyebrows pinch together—his muscular arms cross over his strong chest, the man leaning casually into the doorframe. “You goin’ all the way back to campus?”

You bite your lip and nod. “Yeah, I’ll be alright… I babysit for the Thorntons on a date night and always drive back super late…”

He shrugs his shoulders, looking back at you. "You don't have to," he responds. "Drive back, that is. You can stay here if you’d like if you’re more of a morning person. You can stay in one of the guest bedrooms, watch TV, study, and shower. Or, you can just sleep… Fuck, you look like you’ve been workin’ way, way too hard.”

Your lashes flutter at his offer. Stay the night? Here? You replay to his sweet words again. This place was luxurious… Rivaling any resort on Figure Eight—but this was Rafe Cameron’s house.

“I don’t want to impose,” you babble, catching him waiting for your answer.

”You wouldn’t be,” he tilts his head slightly as a smile plays on his pretty lips. “Seriously, I insist.”

Your shoulders unwind, the stress you were feeling lifting slightly just knowing that you could spend that extra time studying instead of driving; you could spend the night in a cozy bed instead of your cramped apartment. "I really appreciate it, Mr. Cameron,” you breathe.

“Please… Call me Rafe,” he encourages as he rolls up his shirt sleeves, heading toward the sink. ”Go on,” he drawls. “S’gettin’ late. There are two rooms at the end of the hall. You can pick whichever one you’d like.”

You gather your things and head upstairs, your heart still racing. Reaching the end of the hall, you look both ways; each room equally stunning. You glance back at the first option, catching a glimpse of a large bathtub in the mirror.

Shutting the door, you discard your belongings on the bed and quickly undress. You stroll over to the tub, running a bath, adding a heavy spoon of lavender-scented bath salts. As soon as it hits the water, the smell swirls with the steam, wafting around you. You sink into the bubbles, letting out a sigh of pure bliss.

Your body relaxes for the first time in days, melting into the tub.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

”Y/n?” Rafe calls for you from behind the door, his voice husky and deep. “Do you need anything to eat? I should have asked earlier. I apologize.”

Your heart pounds in your chest just knowing he’s outside the door. “I’m fine. Thank you,” you respond sweetly, tucking your lip between your teeth, a part of you wishing you would have said ‘yes’ so he would’ve come back.

”A drink?” He asks. “Wine?”

Your cheeks burn from your giddy smile at the offer. “Wine sounds great. Thank you.”

A few minutes later, there’s another knock. Rafe cracks open the door, his large hand wrapped around the glass, setting it gently on the marble counter, his handsome face still hidden behind the door.

“You can come in,” you call. The door moves fast, then slow, creaking open. Rafe steps inside with a bottle of red wine in hand. Maybe he was hoping for this all along? Perhaps he was just going to set it down on the nightstand?

Rafe walks over, his steps smooth and deliberate, resting the glass in your hand. You lift it to your lips, smiling before sipping, relishing the taste for a moment before letting out a dreamy ‘thank you.’

“You work too hard,” he says softly as he walks away, leaning back into the counter. He looks back at you; genuine concern painted all over his face as well as a glow of admiration.

Your lips draw to the side, nodding in reply, but your mind is clouded with Rafe’s praise so that you can think of a reply.

“Feels good?” He asks, and you nod, your wide, doll-like eyes drawn to the devastatingly handsome man. “You like that?” He asks as he steps closer, gesturing to the bath.

“Yeah,” you smile as you look up at him.

“You can stay over anytime you’d like, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” you whisper as you tilt toward him. “I’d like that.”

Rafe leans down, lowering himself eye-level with you, his beautiful blue eyes dancing at the waterline, your gorgeous breasts half-hidden under the suds. “You should take more breaks, princess. “It’d be good for you-” Acting before your mind, you grab his shirt and tie, tugging him closer, his lips finding yours for a deep kiss. Your heart races as he deepens the exchange, pulling you closer, causing the water to slosh out of the tub onto his white shirt.

You gasp in surprise, looking down at his muscular body, the white linen clinging to his skin. You race for his buttons; and Rafe for his tie between messy kisses and panting breaths. Your eyes widen as he takes off more and more clothes, tossing them messily to the floor; the air charged between the two of you sparks flying when your lips meet again.

”This okay, princess?” He pants hungrily between kisses.

“Yeah,” you mumble, sucking on his tongue before swirling yours.

“What do you need from me, baby? Tell me what you need.”

“You… Just you, Rafe,” you whimper, feeling as he smiles against your lips. Your fingers stroke the underside of his thick cock, making him moan into his mouth; his breaths choppy as you wrap your fingers around him, rubbing with the cadence of your kiss. Your fingertips ghost over his swollen tip, making him seethe through his teeth before biting your lip.

“M’gonna make you feel good, sweetheart. Yeah? I’m gonna help you relax. But you need to tell me what you want from me” he groans as your other hand cups his balls, rolling slowly.

His abs muscles flex as you toy with his cock, the older man bucking into your hand as he bites his lip. Your eyes widen at the sight of him—finding yourself at a complete loss for words seeing him like this.

Rafe’s fingers tighten on the tub's edge, knuckles turning white. The blood in his cock starts to pump harder as he moves closer and closer to his climax.

The blues of his eyes start to fall, lids growing heavy as his breathing grows deeper. “Let me see your face, pretty,” Rafe pants, cupping your chin with one hand, fisting his dick with the next. You open your mouth, not sure where he wants it, body buzzing from the low rumbles of his moans and praise. “Fuck,” the word falls from his lips as you feel his warm cum land in ropes on your cheeks, lips, and tongue. “Look at you… Shit,” he groans.

Rafe doesn’t loosen his hold, moving closer instead, gliding his warm tongue along your skin, cleaning up your face, keeping your lips popped open with his grasp, but you wouldn’t dare close it. He spits in your mouth; his climax landing on your tongue. “Swallow it, baby,” he whispers against your lips, gentle yet commanding, sending chills down your spine.

Before you can’t think, Rafe moves you through the water, resting you on his lap to face him, chest to chest. Your hands rest on his broad body, the two of you breathing rapidly together. Rafe reaches for you, wrapping his big arms around your waist—lips latching onto the sensitive spot on your neck.

“Fuck me, Rafe…” Those are the only three words he needed to hear, pulling you exactly where he wants you again. You hold your breath, swathing your arms around his neck, nails clawing into his massive shoulders as you bury yourself in his neck, whimpering as you take every inch.

“Just like that… Just like that, princess,” Rafe huffs, tossing his heavy head back at the feeling of you. You rest your hand on your stomach, feeling him deep. “And look at you takin’ it all, baby,” he drawls as he takes his turn nestling himself in you, taking a hold of your hips to urge you to rock against him.

Water starts to move around you, crashing against the back of the bath; rolling over the edge. "That's a good girl,” he moans as you tighten your walls around him, moving at a slightly quicker pace.

Rafe raises his hand, wrapping his ringed fingers around your throat, squeezing before pulling you to his lips. The two of you start moving with each other as the pressure builds inside, just seconds away from coming undone in each other's arms.

”Bounce for me,” he mumbles as his gaze falls just like before, eyes stealing glances as your plush tits move, soaked in soapy water.

Rafe hands sneak up your back, cupping the tops of your shoulders, shifting himself on top. You cry out in pleasure, voice bouncing off the walls of the bathroom as he fucks his dick deep.

”Cum for me,” he whispers, and you do. Your perfect pussy fluttering around his throbbing dick as he empties himself deep, filling your cunt with his cum. Your body becomes one with the water and him, lips mirroring his as you come down from your highs together.

“Two more nights, princess…” He pants between passionate kisses. “You’re comin’ back here tomorrow night… N’we’re doing this again. Promise me… I just want to take care of you…”

You smile against his lips, living in the afterglow of your pleasure. “I promise.”

[miyadollie]

R/CRUSHES : HOW DO I TALK TO MY OFFICE CRUSH ? sillyguy0813 says : dude just borrow a stapler

★ STARRING office worker lee jeno x fem reader ( ft. best friend jaemin ) ★ WORD COUNT 2.6k + 3OO bonus ★ CONTAINS co-workers to dating, fluff !! lee jeno being a cutie, jaemin is a menace to society, workplace romance, ★ MIYA SAYS 💗 this is my first time TRYING to write a long fic :3 pls give me any constructive criticism and feedback thank uu 🧘🏼‍♀️ . update : wow i absolutely dislike my writing here but its been rotting in drafts too long and i gave up on fixing this TT

it starts with a stapler.

one you’re not even sure belongs to you. maybe you bought it once during a sale, or someone left it at your desk during a particularly chaotic week, and it stayed. quietly claimed as yours.

the moment wasn't love at first sight, no grand declaration of love with bouquets or fireworks. just a quiet tuesday morning, your inbox overflowing, the boss increasing your headache by preponing your deadlines, the coffee machine on its last breath and the fluorescent lights above flickering slightly like they, too, were tired of this job. and then there’s him.

lee jeno. clean-cut. soft-spoken. the kind of guy who always says “excuse me” when passing behind you, even when there’s plenty of space. always dressed a little too well for your casual office. not flashy—never that—but tidy, crisp. thoughtful. one cubicle down, diagonal from yours. he’s been here a while. a familiar face in the sea of semi-familiar ones. you’ve never really talked but only ever exchanged the kind of polite nods reserved for coworkers who share nothing but recycled air and a breakroom.

until today. “could you pass the stapler?” you look up, startled slightly by the voice.

he’s leaning just slightly over the low partition separating your desks, eyes trained on the corner of your workspace where your lonely black stapler sits. he gives you a smile. not flashy. not flirtatious. just—nice. warm. gentle. you blink once. then reach for it. “thanks,” he says. you nod. he returns to his screen. that’s it. except… it isn’t. because the next day, he borrows a pen. the day after that, post-its. then tape. then scissors. always returning everything. always smiling. always saying thank you like he means it. and now you’re wondering. is this flirting? some kind of extremely office-safe, hr-friendly version of it? or are you just painfully, embarrassingly overthinking it? or maybe did you have an unspoken crush on him? not that you can be blamed. - lee jeno is attractive. undeniably so. you’ve seen him once—just once—rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down in the middle of summer, and you swear you forgot how to form a coherent sentence for ten straight minutes. defined forearms. slim but strong hands. that razor-sharp jawline, often tilted thoughtfully while reading something on his screen. dark lashes. deep voice. a gym guy, apparently—you overheard it once when he mentioned it to jaemin (you weren’t eavesdropping, you just… have really good ears). you haven’t initiated anything. neither has he. but those tiny moments? the ones that make your heart skip? they’re adding up

────

FRIDAY | 4:30 PM

“soo… still down to try that new restaurant?” jaemin asks one afternoon, casually leaning on your desk during lunch with a fresh iced americano in hand—probably his fifth for the day. “obviously,” you reply, eyes lighting up. “people have been absolutely glazing it online. thanks for getting us a table!” he grins. “see you at 9 then.” just as he turns, he spins back around like a cartoon character. “oh, also—jeno’s coming. hope that’s cool?” you freeze. your face says i’m fine, but your body language screams mayday. “y-yeah. sure. totally chill,” you manage. “coolcoolcoolcool,” you say, immediately turning your head towards your computer, and then you see your reflection on the blank empty screen. you were blushing. hard. jaemin smirks knowingly as he walks off. of course he knows. he always knows. after all, he’s the mastermind who told jeno to borrow your stapler in the first place. ────

8:55 PM

the restaurant is low-lit and warm, the kind of place where the wood-paneled walls muffle outside noise, and everything feels just a little more intimate than it should. you arrive five minutes early. out of habit, mostly. or nerves. you’re not sure which. jaemin’s already there, somehow sipping an iced americano even here, scrolling through his phone while pretending not to notice your presence with a dramatic sigh. “i told you 9:00,” he says, without looking up. “it’s 8:55.” “still early.” he glances at you now, then raises an eyebrow. “cute top.” you ignore his antics, he’s just trying to get a reaction out of you. typical jaemin. your heart is already thudding too loudly, because jeno walks in right after. black shirt, sleeves rolled up. clean slacks. a bit of cologne, subtle but warm. his hair’s tousled slightly, and his eyes light up just a little when they land on you. “hey,” he says, with that soft smile. you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just smile back, scooting over so he can sit across from you. the conversation is light, easy. mostly thanks to jaemin, who fills every awkward silence with a joke, a story, an embarrassing anecdote about your office. jaemin and jeno were friends in school, you get to know that night, they were benchmates. jaemin always chose jeno as his partner for every game, every lab, and jeno just liked his company, so he stood with him always. jaemin talks about you to jeno too—how you both were first day interns and hit it off over a conversation about which seventeen album is truly the best. but every now and then, you catch jeno looking at you. not staring. not even for long. just—looking. like he’s seeing something he's trying very hard not to see too obviously. “so,” jaemin says mid-way through dessert, smirking at you over his spoon, “funny how you two never end up talking at work.” you nearly choke. jeno shifts in his seat. “like, what’s with all the stapler borrowing, huh? no small talk?” you glare at him. he grins. “i’m just saying. feels like there’s some unspoken office tension.” jeno lets out a quiet laugh. and then, after a beat—he looks at you. “i guess i just… wanted a reason to talk,” he says, voice soft. and your breath catches. your heart is thudding again. you manage a smile, small and shy. trying not to mess up words or blabber out something nonsensical. “i noticed,” you reply. the space between you feels full, suddenly. full of every little interaction. every thank-you. every passing smile. jaemin stretches obnoxiously. “well, look at the time! i’ve got a meeting with my bed in ten.” you roll your eyes. “you’re so obvious.” he shrugs. “you’re welcome.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind. leaving you and jeno, two half-finished desserts, and a quiet restaurant glowing gold in the late-night hush. “i can walk you home,” he says, gently. not pushing. just offering. and something in you says yes. to the walk. to this night. to the maybe that’s been building between you both. ────

10:45 PM

the night is cool, with a breeze just strong enough to lift the corners of your coat and make you tuck your hands into your sleeves. the restaurant’s warm glow fades behind you, replaced by the hush of quiet streets and dimly lit sidewalks. jeno walks beside you, hands in his pockets, his steps matching yours. neither of you says anything at first. the silence isn’t awkward. it’s... full. full of unspoken things. of nerves and glances and the way your arms brush every few seconds and both of you pretend not to notice. “jaemin talks too much,” jeno says eventually, voice low. you laugh softly. “it’s his specialty.” he hums in agreement, then adds, “he wasn’t wrong, though.” you glance at him, catching the way his eyes flicker to yours and then away again, like he’s testing the water, like he’s afraid of saying too much too fast. “i... didn’t really need the stapler that day.” your breath catches. “oh,” you manage, and you’re smiling now. you can’t help it. “i just... i guess i liked the idea of you looking at me. talking to me.” he pauses. “even if it was just a stapler.” you stop walking, just for a moment. jeno turns, realizing you’re no longer beside him. there’s a streetlight above him, casting shadows across his face and soft highlights in his hair. “you could’ve just said hi,” you whisper. he steps closer. barely. but enough to make the air between you buzz. “i know,” he murmurs. “i wanted to. every day. but you always looked so focused. and i didn’t want to ruin that.” your heart is a mess of drumbeats and warmth. “you wouldn’t have.” silence again. then he says, barely audible, “could i maybe get your number... just for office related stuff, of course.” you nod, because your voice has already betrayed you too many times tonight. a soft smile tugs at his lips. the quiet kind. the kind you know he saves for only a few people. he walks you all the way to your apartment. and when he says goodbye, it’s not a hug. not a kiss. just a quiet “goodnight” and a look that lingers longer than it should. but your heart knows. it knows everything. ────

SATURDAY | 9:00 AM

the next day, the office is just waking up. it always feels colder in the morning—half because of the ac blasting too early, half because everyone’s too busy chasing caffeine to talk. desks are still half-empty. monitors glow. the printer sputters. someone sneezes. a mug clinks. you step in, trying to hide the stupid smile that’s been stuck to your face since last night. your coat is too warm for indoors but your hands are cold, so you hold your coffee tighter. and then you see it. your desk. something’s different. sitting neatly on top of your keyboard is a brand-new stapler. blue, shiny, absolutely unnecessary. you freeze. right beside it, a yellow post-it. his handwriting. neat. almost too neat. “thought you could use one that wasn’t cursed.     —jeno :)” you almost laugh. it’s such a him thing to do—dry humor disguised as helpfulness. but your heart? it’s fluttering like it’s stuck in a romcom scene, an angelic choir singing along in tandem. you reach out and pick up the stapler.you didn’t even need one nor were you going to use one. but you want to keep this one forever. cherish it. maybe even pass it on as an heirloom.

just then, you hear someone clear their throat. “new office romance i should know about?” you don’t even need to turn around. jaemin. of course. loud, nosy, iced-americano jaemin. “shut up,” you say instantly, trying to sound bored. your cheeks are already heating up. but he walks past you, grinning like the devil, a bounce in his step like he’s in on the joke you’re still figuring out. and then—your gaze drifts. to the cubicle across. there he is. jeno. typing. or pretending to. his posture is the same—back straight, eyes on the screen—but his fingers are still on the home row keys, just gliding about. and when he feels your eyes, he glances up. It's brief, barely a second. but he smiles. like last night wasn’t just dinner. like it meant something.

a few hours later, a message pops up.

jeno lee “did the new one pass inspection?”

you “it’s still under review by the council. but i think they approve ;)”

jeno lee “let me know if it jams. i’ll personally fix it.”

you smile. a full smile this time. the kind that makes you reach for your coffee, lean back in your chair, and breathe in like something in your world has shifted.

jeno 💗 “what’s your go-to coffee order?”

you “anything except that poison jaemin drinks every day. ‘i like my coffee as dark as my soul’ ahh guy.”

jeno 💗 “haha.” “noted.”

the next morning there’s a cup of coffee on your desk, with yet another post-it note. “it’s the new specialty at a cafe near my place. i thought you’d like it :)”

that was truly the best coffee you had ever tasted. and maybe he started getting it for you every day. ────

WEDNESDAY | 9:00 PM

it's another day at the office. rain taps gently on the windows, a soft drumbeat to the silence of overworked employees and abandoned coffee mugs. you’re still at your desk & so is he. the fluorescent lights overhead are dimmer than usual, humming low like they’re tired too. you stretch your back, glancing at the clock. 9:04 pm. “still here?” comes his voice. you look up to see jeno leaning on the edge of his cubicle wall, sleeves rolled up, tie a little loosened. “so are you,” you shoot back. he smiles. “want company for the walk back?” you nod before your brain catches up.

the streetlights blur against the wet pavement, reflecting like oil paint smudged across the road. jeno’s shoulder brushes yours every few seconds—neither of you move away. he talks about the weird way jaemin eats ramen. you laugh. you tell him about your favorite childhood cartoon. he says he watched it too, and suddenly it’s three blocks later and you’re still talking. at a red light, you both stop. he glances down at you. you glance up. it’s a pause so charged you swear the rain quiets. “...you looked really pretty today,” he says suddenly. his voice isn’t confident or smooth—he says it like a secret. you don’t respond right away. just tuck your hair behind your ear, your face heating. he notices. the light turns green and you simply walk on. on reaching your apartment building you stop at the steps. he’s still holding the umbrella. you don’t say anything. he doesn’t either. there’s that moment again—that pause like the world might tilt if either of you moves. “i’m really glad you came to dinner that night,” he finally says, voice quieter than before. “been wanting to talk to you properly for months.” you blink. “...really?” jeno chuckles. “you had the office’s only decent stapler. of course i had to make a move.” you laugh—nervous and shy and full of everything you’ve been holding back. he takes a step closer. just one. not too much. “but also,” he adds, and this time his voice is a little more sure, “i like you. not just the lunch break, passing-notes kind. the kind where i want to sit and mindlessly watch silly romcoms with you, the kind where i want to walk you home every day and make sure you had dinner. the kind where - " he goes on. but words fall on deaf ears. you feel your heart clench, sweet and sharp. you’re about to respond when— “...so, if you’re okay with it,” he continues, scratching the back of his neck, “can i officially take you out sometime? like, not just coffee machine and post-it flirting. a real date.” you blink. once. twice. your face is warm. your chest feels like it’s glowing. “...yes.” you don’t even hesitate. his smile is soft. wide. genuine. and when he hands you the umbrella and waves goodnight, walking back with his hands in his pockets and a quiet bounce in his step. you think, maybe this started with a stapler. but it’s gonna end with something a lot more permanent. ──── BONUS : FEW WEEKS LATER | 2:00 PM

you, jeno, and jaemin were perched on the edge of the rooftop, paper lunchboxes balanced on your laps, chinese takeout - courtesy of jeno. the breeze is nice, the sky a little overcast, and jaemin's halfway through an enthusiastic rant about the company’s new vending machine layout.

“and like .. why did they move the green tea to the bottom row? what kind of criminal.. oh, thanks man.” he says as jeno hands him a napkin mid-rant, like muscle memory.

you say while giggling, “you guys are like an old married couple.”

jeno chokes on his rice. you pat his back helpfullly , still giggling.

jaemin just shrugs. “what can i say? i raised him well.”

jeno glares at him. mouthing ' stop. talking.' he knew jaemin could slip up any moment. for he always did.

jaemin does not stop talking.

“i mean, not to brag, but if it weren’t for me, he’d still be hovering awkwardly near your desk pretending he needed your stapler.”

you blink. “wait. what?”

jeno drops his chopsticks.

jaemin freezes. realizes.

“oh..." he mutters.

your jaw drops. “waitwaitwait. you told him to borrow my stapler?”

“in my defense,” jaemin says, holding up both hands, “i was just trying to save him from dying of heart failure every time you walked past. it was either that or fake a paper jam crisis.”

jeno is silent. fully hiding behind his lunchbox now.

you slowly turn to him. “is this true?”

“…maybe,” he mumbles.

you snort, trying to hold in your laughter. “oh my god. so all this time..”

“don’t act like it wasn’t genius!” jaemin interrupts. “you’re welcome, by the way. this whole slow-burn coffee shop romcom office love story? all me.”

jeno groans. “can i push him off the roof.”

you lean into jeno’s shoulder, grinning. “you should’ve just said hi.”

he sighs. “i wanted to. but every time i tried, you were always typing so fast. and glaring at your screen like it personally insulted your ancestors.”

you snort. “fair.”

jaemin raises his water bottle. “to true love, born from borrowing office supplies.”

jeno snatches it from him and takes a sip without asking. you think that’s revenge enough. read more ❤︎ please like, reblog and let me know your reviews (๑>◡<๑) this work is a piece of fiction and is not intended to reflect the real personalities, actions, or beliefs of the individuals portrayed. the idols mentioned are used purely as fictional characters for storytelling purposes. no harm, disrespect, or objectification is intended. everything written here is entirely imaginative and not based on real-life events or relationships.

[theetherealbloom]

The Things I Would Do, Just To Be Here With You

Summary: Amidst the whirlwind of movie premieres and busy schedules, you and Pedro Pascal, both thriving in your respective careers, find ways to celebrate each other despite the distance. While Pedro promotes Gladiator 2 in London, he longs for your presence at the after-party.

Or, you two would scream at the stars for keeping you apart... and the government too.

“Pedro Pascal x f!reader, Pedro is promoting Gladiator 2, and reader is in Wicked (Elphaba or Galinda of course!) for the screenplay of Wicked, and they are just really supportive of each other but also joke about their own movie being the best. Finding time to come to each other’s premiers. Posting behind the scenes or visiting each other.” — From @imaginemixedfandom

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Ty @imaginemixedfandom for giving the idea! I didn’t really want to replace the reader with the cast of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. Those two are just too iconic. So instead I will make the reader a writer for the screenplay adaptation of Wicked tehe. You all should listen to brent iii by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler, it’s absolutely one of my favorite albums of this year. Lastly, remember this is all fictional and for fun! Enjoyyyy my loves!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: and the government too! By Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

gif by @andrew-garfielld

| Main Masterlist |

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you nestled deeper into the duvet, your body cocooned in its comforting folds.

“Hola, mi amor.” Pedro’s face lit up on your phone screen, the warm timbre of his voice washing over you like a balm. “I miss you.” “I miss you too… so much,” you replied with a little pout. The time difference between London and New York was merciless. Between his packed schedule promoting Gladiator 2 and prepping for Fantastic Four, and your whirlwind of work with the Wicked movie premiere, your conversations had been reduced to stolen moments like this. Still, even through a screen, Pedro had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. “You look cozy,” he said with a lopsided grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off here on set. I think my nose might fall off.” You laughed softly, the sound tinged with longing. “I’d trade you, you know. I’ll take the cold if it means I get to see you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling your screen. “If I weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d hop on the next flight and show up at your premiere tomorrow. Red carpet and all.” You smiled wistfully, your fingers brushing against the edge of your phone as if you could reach through it to touch him. “You’d outshine me. Imagine the headlines: ‘Pedro Pascal steals the show at Wicked premiere.’” “Please. Everyone’s going to be talking about you. ‘Brilliant screenwriter dazzles Hollywood!’” He paused, his tone softening. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Your throat tightened at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Stop, or I’ll actually cry, and my face will be all puffy for tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, mi amor, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” “And so have you,” you countered. “The Gladiator 2 trailer broke the internet, and you still found time to send me flowers last week. You’re amazing, Pedro.” “Yeah, but flowers aren’t the same as being there with you.” His voice dipped, a hint of regret slipping through. “I hate being this far away.” You sighed, your heart aching in tandem with his. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the unspoken tension of your shared longing. Then, Pedro’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “who do you think has the better movie? Be honest.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you seriously asking me to compare Wicked to Gladiator 2? One’s a heartfelt, magical adaptation, and the other is a testosterone-filled epic. They’re different.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question. I knew you were scared to admit Gladiator 2 is better.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in bed. “Scared? Please. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings when Wicked inevitably becomes a global phenomenon.”

Pedro laughed, the sound rich and contagious. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, this would be grounds for war.”

“Lucky? You’re the lucky one,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll prove it when I finally see you in person again. But until then…”

You brought the phone closer, pressing a soft kiss to the screen. Pedro mimicked your gesture, his lips brushing his camera lens.

“Goodnight, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Pedro.” Your voice was tender, laced with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

As the call ended, you clutched the phone to your chest, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Despite the distance, despite the chaos of your lives, you knew one thing for certain: Pedro Pascal would always be worth the wait.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — MORNING

Today was the day. You were walking the red carpet for the Wicked movie premiere. A sea of celebrities, producers, fellow writers, and editors would surround you. The sheer magnitude of it all left you feeling both giddy and utterly petrified.  

You smoothed your hands over the silk robe you wore, your palms damp with nerves. While you loved the craft of storytelling, the spotlight had always felt daunting. You preferred to let your work speak for itself—a tendency that paired surprisingly well with dating Pedro Pascal, the literal human embodiment of charisma and charm.  

“There, all done,” Laura, your makeup artist, said with a satisfied grin.  

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin glowed, your eyes were accentuated just enough to look striking without overwhelming, and your lips were painted a perfect shade of confidence.  

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, giving her a warm smile.  

“Of course I did,” Laura replied with a wink. “Big night for my favorite screenwriter.”  

Mia, your stylist, emerged from behind a rack of gowns, holding up the dress. “Speaking of big nights... Ready to put this beauty on?”  

You nodded, though your smile wavered. “I just wish Pedro were here,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.  

Laura and Mia exchanged sympathetic glances before Laura gently squeezed your shoulder. “You’re going to look incredible, and he’d lose his mind if he saw you. How about we take some pictures to send him? A little preview for the man himself.”  

You hesitated, glancing at your phone on the vanity. “I don’t want to distract him. He’s busy with interviews and set work. London and New York aren’t exactly next door…”  

“All is fair in love and war,” Laura teased, her giggle breaking the tension. “Come on, babe! If anything, it’ll be motivation for him to hop on the next flight.”  

Mia chimed in, smirking. “Or just to remind him what he’s missing. Trust me, teasing Pedro is a public service.”  

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nerves lift slightly. “Fine, fine. But if he complains, I’m blaming you two.”  

They ushered you into the dress—a masterpiece of emerald silk and intricate detailing that clung perfectly in all the right places. As Mia zipped you up, Laura stepped back, her hands pressed dramatically over her heart.  

“Pedro’s going to lose his shit.”  

“You look like a literal goddess,” Mia added, spinning you toward the mirror.  

For a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The reflection staring back radiated elegance and confidence, even if you didn’t entirely feel it yet.  

“Okay, okay. Take the pictures,” you relented, biting your lip as you tried to contain your grin.  

Laura grabbed your phone and started snapping. You struck a few playful poses, twirling and laughing as Mia adjusted the hem of your dress. It felt silly, but imagining Pedro’s reaction warmed your chest.  

Once the photos were taken, you grabbed your phone and hovered over the message screen. You debated for a moment, then attached the best photo and typed a quick message.  

You: Wish you were here. But since you’re not... Enjoy this. Don’t let it distract you too much, cariño.  

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the familiar swoosh of the message sending making your heart race.  

The reply came faster than you expected.  

Pedro: Distract me? How am I supposed to do anything now? You look like an angel. No, better than an angel. Drop-dead stunning. 

You couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face.  

Pedro: Red carpet better be ready. They’ve got no idea who they’re dealing with tonight.  

The butterflies in your stomach multiplied tenfold. Before you could reply, another message appeared.  

Pedro: I’m so proud of you. Go knock ’em dead, mi amor. I love you.  

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink back the sudden tears threatening to ruin Laura’s hard work. You tapped out a quick reply.  

You: I love you too. Now go back to being the coolest man alive.  

“You okay over there?” Mia asked, watching you with a knowing smile.  

“More than okay,” you said softly, tucking your phone away.  

As you prepared to step into the whirlwind of the premiere, Pedro’s words echoed in your mind. Even from thousands of miles away, he made you feel invincible.  

Tonight wasn’t just about the red carpet or the glitz and glamour. It was about celebrating what you loved—and knowing Pedro would always be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where in the world he was.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON — AFTERNOON  

Pedro sighed deeply, his head resting against the back of his chair. The steady hum of activity on set felt like background noise, the voices and clatter muffled by the ache in his chest. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, the motion absent-minded, a physical echo of the restlessness he felt inside.  

He missed you.  

It wasn’t the casual longing of someone who hadn’t seen their partner in a while—it was the kind of yearning that settled into his bones, heavy and persistent. A few hundred miles of ocean separated you, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy.  

He opened his phone and scrolled back to the picture you’d sent him that morning. The emerald dress, the way it hugged your form, the way your eyes sparkled even in a still image—it took his breath away. You looked like a dream. His dream.  

“If I were there right now…” he murmured under his breath, running his thumb over the screen as if he could touch you.  

If it were as simple as hopping on a flight, he’d already be on his way. He imagined the way you’d light up when you saw him, how you’d rush into his arms. He’d bury his face in your hair, inhale your scent, and hold you so tightly that he’d forget about the world outside.  

But it wasn’t that simple. The timing was off, as it so often was with both your careers in full swing. He was tied to the production schedule of Fantastic Four, and you were in the spotlight for Wicked. The universe seemed determined to keep you apart, and for the first time in years, Pedro felt the cracks in his patience.  

He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Damn stars. Damn schedules. Damn… government,” he muttered bitterly. The laugh that followed was humorless, the frustration thick in his voice.  

If he could, he’d scream at the stars for conspiring against you both. Curse the invisible forces that made life so complicated. He’d barter with time itself, twist it and stretch it, just to have you here with him for a few stolen moments.  

He wondered what you were doing right now. Were you nervous about the red carpet? Did you feel as hollow without him as he felt without you? Pedro clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him. You deserved to have him there, to walk that carpet with you, to hold your hand and beam with pride as you took in the applause for your work.  

“Pedro, they’re ready for you!”  

The call from a production assistant jolted him from his thoughts. He blinked, the weight of reality crashing back down as he stood and stretched.  

“Be right there,” he called back, tucking his phone into his pocket.  

As he made his way back to the soundstage, he couldn’t shake the thought of tomorrow. The Gladiator 2 premiere loomed ahead, another milestone he should be celebrating with you by his side. Instead, you’d be halfway across the world.  

But one day, he promised himself, one day, nothing will keep us apart.  

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING 

The flashing lights were relentless, casting an almost blinding glow over the red carpet. The screams of fans and the constant click of cameras created a symphony of chaos, one you weren’t entirely comfortable navigating. You’d always preferred the quiet—curled up with a book, tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.  

But tonight, you smiled and posed alongside your cast and the production crew. You owed it to them, to yourself, and to the story you’d helped bring to life.  

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Winnie Holzman, the original writer of Wicked, leaned in with a smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowd.  

You nodded, though your voice was tinged with nervousness. “It’s incredible. Overwhelming, but in the best way.”  

“You’ve done amazing work,” Dana Fox chimed in, her excitement infectious. “We wouldn’t be standing here without your screenplay tying it all together.”  

Jon M. Chu, ever the cheerleader, clapped you lightly on the back. “Tonight’s your night too. Own it.”  

You laughed softly, feeling a little more at ease with their encouragement. Together, the four of you posed for the cameras, sharing a few candid laughs before heading closer to the press area.  

As you stepped into the spotlight for interviews, the questions started flying.  

“How does it feel to see Wicked finally come to life on the big screen?”  

“It feels surreal,” you answered, your smile genuine. “Everyone on this project has poured so much heart into it. To see it come together like this is... overwhelming in the best way.”  

“You’re known for being quite private. How are you handling all the attention tonight?”  

“It’s definitely out of my comfort zone,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’m surrounded by such a talented and supportive team, which makes it easier.”  

Then, inevitably, came the question you’d been bracing for. “We couldn’t help but notice that Pedro Pascal isn’t here tonight. Do you miss him?”  

The question tugged at something deep inside you. “I miss him so much,” you said softly, your expression softening. “He’s busy promoting Gladiator 2 and filming in London. I know he wishes he could be here, just like I wish I could be there for him. We’re both incredibly proud of each other, though.” You grinned, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “But, of course, Wicked is better. Don’t tell him I said that.”  

The interviewer laughed, and you followed with a wink before stepping away.  

AFTER THE PREMIERE  

As the credits rolled and the crowd applauded, you walked alongside Jon, Winnie, and Dana toward the exit. The night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the theater.  

“You were glowing on that carpet,” Winnie teased, nudging you gently.  

Jon smirked. “Bet it’s because of a certain someone who couldn’t make it.”  

You flushed immediately, your cheeks warming. “Stop,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed your embarrassment.  

“Oh, come on,” Dana added with a laugh. “You were gushing about him earlier. Just admit it—you’re head over heels.”  

You sighed dramatically, though your heart raced just thinking about Pedro. “Okay, fine. I miss him like crazy. I just—” You paused, glancing up at the stars. “I wish I could be there for him, you know? For his premiere. He’s always so supportive of me. It feels wrong not to do the same.”  

Jon stopped walking, turning to face you with a thoughtful look. “So go.”  

“What?”  

“Go to him,” he said with a shrug. “Take the jet. I’ll make the call.”  

You blinked at him, stunned. “You—you’d let me do that?”  

“Of course,” Jon said, waving off your concern. “You’re part of the heart of this project. If being with him makes you happy, it’s worth it.”  

“But I don’t have a ticket, and I need to pack, and—”  

Dana held up a hand, already pulling out her phone. “Relax. I’ll call a car, and we’ll pack together. You just focus on getting there.”  

Before you could protest further, Jon had already stepped aside, dialing someone on his phone. Dana grabbed your arm and started steering you toward the waiting car.  

“You’re really doing this,” she said, grinning.  

“I—I guess I am.” Your voice trembled with excitement and nerves. “What if I don’t make it in time? What if—”  

Dana cut you off with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “You’ll make it. And even if you don’t, just being there will mean everything to him.”  

AT THE AIRPORT  

The private jet was waiting for you, its sleek frame illuminated by the glow of the runway lights. You quickly texted Pedro’s manager and assistant, letting them know you were on your way.  

You: I’m coming to London. Please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.  

The response was almost immediate:  

Franklin Latt: Got it. He’s going to lose his mind—in the best way.  

As you settled into your seat and the jet began to taxi, your heart raced. Seven hours separated you from Pedro, but for the first time in days, the distance didn’t feel insurmountable.  

You leaned your head back against the seat, clutching your phone tightly as you closed your eyes. You could already picture the look on his face when he saw you.  

Just hold on, Pedro. I’m on my way.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The energy in Leicester Square was electric. Fans filled the barricades, the roar of excitement nearly drowning out the camera flashes as Pedro made his way down the red carpet. Dressed in a sharp black shirt, the top unbuttoned, slacks, his signature charm, and a warm smile lit up every interaction as he stopped to greet fans and pose for photos.

The press area was bustling, and soon Pedro found himself standing in front of a journalist holding a microphone.

“Pedro, congratulations on Gladiator 2! How does it feel to be here tonight celebrating this film?”

Pedro grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It feels incredible. This is one of those projects you dream about as an actor, and to see it all come together, to see everyone’s hard work pay off, it’s… it’s a real honor.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’ve had an amazing year, between this and your other projects. But we couldn’t help but notice that someone special in your life had a big night recently—the Wicked premiere in New York. Did you get a chance to see any photos?”

Pedro’s face lit up instantly, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, I did. Believe me, I did. She sent me some pictures, and I’ve seen the ones floating around online too. I mean… she looked absolutely stunning. Like, knock-you-out, breathtakingly gorgeous. I might be a little biased, but still.”

The crowd nearby caught wind of his gushing, and a few cheers erupted. Pedro laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I’m so proud of her,” he continued, his voice softening. “She poured so much of herself into that screenplay, and to see her get the recognition she deserves? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The interviewer smiled. “There’s definitely a lot of love and mutual admiration between you two. Word on the street is you’ve got a bit of a friendly competition going on—Gladiator 2 versus Wicked. Any truth to that?”

Pedro chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s absolutely true. We’ve got a bet going. She’s convinced Wicked is going to sweep the box office, and I, of course, have complete faith in Gladiator 2. Let’s just say the stakes are high—winner gets breakfast in bed for a week.”

The interviewer laughed along with him. “That’s adorable. Who’s winning so far?”

Pedro smirked. “Let’s just say she’s got me a little worried. But I’ll never admit that to her.”

LATER, BACKSTAGE

Pedro leaned against the wall, sipping from a glass of water while chatting with Paul Mescal. Their conversation flowed easily, but Pedro’s gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, as if hoping for some sort of miracle.

“You’ve got that look again,” Paul teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning ignorance.

“The ‘I’m desperately in love and missing my girl’ look,” Paul quipped with a grin.

Denzel Washington, who had just joined the conversation, chuckled. “He’s not wrong, man. You’ve been staring off into space like a lovesick teenager.”

Joe Quinn walked by, overhearing the exchange and throwing in his two cents. “It’s cute, though. Very romantic. Someone should write a movie about it.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, though a bashful smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay, I miss her. Can you blame me? She’s halfway across the world, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Frank, Pedro’s manager, stepped in, giving him a supportive pat on the back. “You’ve got it bad, buddy. But hey, it’s not a bad problem to have.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, already knowing what Pedro didn’t—that you were on your way. He could only imagine Pedro’s reaction when he saw you walk through those doors.

“Alright,” Pedro said with a dramatic sigh, “can we please focus on the fact that we’re here for Gladiator 2 and not my love life?”

“Sure,” Paul said, smirking. “But if she shows up, we’re all watching you lose it.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take that bet.”

Little did he know, he was about to owe a lot of people a round of drinks.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING  

The crowd in the after-party buzzed with excitement, a mix of A-list chatter and glasses clinking. Pedro stood near Lux, their conversation about the night’s success lighthearted, though his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that the ache of missing you hadn’t dulled, even amidst all the celebration.  

Lux, sharp-eyed as always, caught the slight shift in his expression and smirked. “You’ve got that look again,” she teased.  

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning nonchalance as he sipped his drink.  

“The one that screams, ‘I wish she were here.’” Lux nudged his arm playfully.  

Before he could muster a witty retort, Lux’s eyes darted toward the entrance, widening in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil…”  

Pedro turned, following her gaze, and the breath left his lungs.  

There you were, stepping into the room, your black silk gown catching the dim lights perfectly. Your hair, slightly tousled from the rush, framed your face with an effortless beauty that made his heart stop. Heads turned as you walked in with Frank, but Pedro didn’t notice anyone else.  

He froze, jaw slack, his mind racing to comprehend that you were actually here.  

“Pedro,” Lux whispered, amused. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”  

But Pedro couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch as you walked toward him, the soft smile on your lips turning into a grin as your eyes met his. He vaguely registered Joe, Paul, and Denzel laughing nearby, but he didn’t care. You were here.  

When you finally stopped in front of him, your grin widened, and you quipped, “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was terrible—there’s a movie premiere happening, and I—”  

Before you could finish, Pedro moved.  

He swept you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet as a chorus of cheers, whistles, and laughter erupted around you. You let out a surprised giggle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he held you close, burying his face against your shoulder.  

“Dios mío,” Pedro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here.”  

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his curls.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with love. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”  

You smiled, tears threatening to spill as you cupped his face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, kissing you with a fervor that made the entire room fade away. The kiss was deep, all-consuming, and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.  

Your laughter broke the moment, and Pedro pressed his forehead to yours, his hands still firmly around your waist as if afraid you might disappear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.  

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.  

“For being here. For being you. For… everything.” His voice was low, reverent. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop thanking the universe for it.”  

You kissed him again, a soft press of lips this time, and smiled against his mouth. “You don’t have to thank the universe. Just let me love you.”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You’re incredible, you know that?”  

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased, resting your head against his chest as the room slowly came back into focus.  

From the sidelines, Joe nudged Paul, chuckling. “Think he’s gonna let her go anytime soon?”  

Paul smirked. “Not a chance.”  

Denzel clinked his glass against Joe’s. “Now that’s a man in love.”  

And Pedro? He didn’t care about the laughter, the cameras, or even the early morning call time tomorrow. For now, you were in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

[rosenclaws]

Cute || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: Sometimes dating Logan comes with its difficulties. Especially when you feel like you just can't compare.

warnings: fem!reader, insecurity, jean slander im sorry bby but ur a plot device for this fic.

wc: 2.4k

a/n: I'm gonna be so honest I had this idea last night and I thought it would be fun to write but I finished it and I really hate my writing for some reason this week so I'm not happy with it but I wanted to get something out so here it is ig 😭

You never should have eavesdropped. You didn't mean to. But you heard Logan and Jean talking and you just...you couldn't resist.

Logan. Well he was everything to you. You never dreamed of being the one to wake up next to him. To be the one who gets to kiss him, to call him yours. You pined after man for a long time. Ever since you stumbled your way to the mansion Logan had invaded your heart. Powers that felt like nothing compared to the omega level mutants just down the hall.

Super senses and magnetic sensitivity that could barely movie a fridge magnet. People could shapeshift, teleport, and turn to metal. Compared to them you were no one, just another mutant living at the mansion.

For years you watched him from afar, falling deeper in love with him every day. Despite being so private Logan was gossiped about fairly often. The kids were drawn to him and his protective nature. The stories spread until he was something of an urban legend walking among commoners.

He’s over 150 years old who knows what he’s done in all that time. Stories of his heroics, his dark moments, his triumphs and his devastating losses. You tried not to pay any mind to them but you just couldn’t help yourself. He is the Wolverine. He may not lead the X-Men or enjoy the spotlight but he is undeniably a legend.

Whether he wants to be or not.

He didn’t even know your name, or at least that’s what you thought. It was something out of a fairytale the first time you two truly talked. The mansion was on lockdown because of a blizzard but you needed to get stuff for the lab. It was urgent and it couldn't wait. You were going to go alone but Logan had stopped you before you could even take one step out of the doors.

"Now where do you think you're going?" You yelped at the sound of his voice. Your ears folded back as you spun to see Logan standing behind you.

"Out." You said shyly. This is the longest conversation you think you've had with him. Your eyes glanced up to meet his but you could only look for a second. He just made you so nervous.

"Out? In 10ft of snow? You're going to freeze your damn ass off sweetheart." He raised an eyebrow as he gestured to the heavy snowfall outside. You felt your face heat up at the nickname.

"I'll be fine, promise." You bundled your coat and headed down the driveway, your ears perked up as you heard a second set of footsteps behind you.

"Logan, I said I was fine." You stopped and stared at the white snow in front of you. His heavy footsteps caught up to yours as he stood in front of you. Snow fell on top of his poufy hair, a cigar sat in his mouth.

"I'm sure you can take care of yourself, but I won't let you. So this better be worth it." Without another word he turned and continued down the driveway, leaving you stunned and rushing to catch up to him.

How he knew you were leaving was a mystery, you never asked. But you keep that moment close to your heart. By the time you returned to the mansion you were covered in snow and your face was freezing but you didn't care. Not when Logan had given you his jacket half way through the trip.

As you shake the snow off your hair you see Logan watching you, he's stripped down to just a t-shirt and your eyes dart to his arms. He walks up to you, a small smirk on his lips as your heart stops in your chest. You could smell his cologne and it was utterly overwhelming.

"Cute." He hummed. He walked away, whistling lowly as he headed back to his room. Oh it just wasn't fair how easily he could turn to you to a puddle of mush.

Logan continued to flirt and find ways to be around you, to talk to you. Until he actually asked you out on a date. Taking you to a diner just outside of town and buying you a milkshake. A little old fashioned to the point you asked if he had done this back in the 50's too. He just rolled his eyes at you but you saw that little smile he tried to hide.

You could barely believe that the Wolverine wanted you and honestly neither could some of the other mansions residents. You tried to block them out as best as you could but your super hearing made it hard. But Logan could hear them too and he always did his best to soothe your worries. But sometimes the words buried themselves under your skin, wrapping around your heart and they just won't let go.

There's...one thing that has always bothered you, maybe it's why you let those words get to you so much. Logan loves you, he's said it before and you know it's hard for him to be open and vulnerable. You kiss, you hold hands, you do...other things behind closed doors. But there's one word that just seems to haunt you.

Cute.

Logan calls you cute all the time and you like when he does but that's all he calls you. Not beautiful, pretty, gorgeous, stunning. Just cute. Your quiet nature and shitty powers already make it hard for people to take you seriously sometimes and for Logan to just see you as cute, it hurt.

You're not a literal goddess like Ororo or stunning like Jean or beautiful like Marie. It was slowly killing you inside every time he called you that. But you kept it to yourself, you couldn't lose him. You loved him and you just had to believe he loved you too.

Which brings you to this stupid conversation with Jean. She was never your biggest fan and you think it has something to do with the fact that Logan used to chase after her. It was no secret that Logan had a thing for Jean since the day he showed up at the mansion. But that was years ago and he promised he was over it, that he's moved on.

So why is it so hard to see them together?

You really didn't mean to intrude, you were just looking for Logan. Your ears perking up when you heard his voice coming from the kitchen. As you neared closer you heard that he wasn't alone.

"You seem happier." Jeans voice was light but you could sense a hint of hostility as she talks.

You peaked into the kitchen and saw them together, alone. Logan was leaning against the counter with a root beer and Jean was next to him, a little too close for your liking. You should leave, you shouldn't listen this is an invasion of privacy. But your feet stayed rooted to the ground. Unmoving.

"I am." Logan says as he takes a sip of his drink.

"Look Logan, we're old friends right? So you can be honest with me." Jean places her hand on his wrist and he doesn't move.

"Are you sure about her? I mean the two of you together, it's a bit odd isn't it."

"Odd? The hell is that supposed to mean?" Logan narrows his eyes as he tries to understand what Jean was saying. She laughs and you feel your heart clench.

"She's like your pet Logan, cute but not very serious. She's not what you need." There's that damn word again. Cute. Her voice cruel and uncaring. As if she was just stating the obvious. And maybe she was. There's the knife, stabbing right into your heart.

"Be honest Logan, is she really what you want?" She asks. You wait for his response. You wait and wait. The knife twisting with each passing second. Shredding your heart to pieces as he stays quiet.

"Stay out of my head Jean." He growls, slamming the now empty bottle onto the counter.

Is that all he has to say? Really? The knife falls to the ground a bloody mess, leaving your heart completely and utterly broken. Suddenly the once comforting smell of his cologne is suffocating.

So you just run.

Run far away from the mansion, from Logan and Jean. From everybody. You just run and run until you can't anymore. You bury your face in your hands and let the tears fall. Tears of anger and hurt and sadness stream down your face. Who were you kidding? Logan is the guy of your dreams and now you're waking up. A pet. Is that really how everyone sees you? Some cute little thing to entertain Logan until he moves on to someone else? You don't know how long you're out in the small forest behind the mansion.

You slowly walk back, needing to just lock yourself in your room for the foreseeable future. The sun is gone and you've definitely missed dinner. There's a few lights left on by the time you reach the open clearing. Your arms are wrapped around your self as you keep your head low. You just feel purely defeated. You slip in the back door and up the stairs to your room. As you place your hand on your doorknob you hear a very angry Logan.

"Where the fuck have you been?!"

"Nowhere." You snap as you open your door and try to close it in his face. He slams his hand on the door to stop you. He follows you inside and slams the door shut.

"Nowhere? I looked everywhere for you. No one knew were you went. Do you know how worried I was?" He growls, the veins on his neck are bulging. You roll your eyes and it ticks Logan off even more.

"What the fuck has gotten into you?"

"Sorry is your little pet misbehaving?" You snap, your fist balling in anger as you finally face him. Logan's eyes widen when he sees the tears in your eyes.

"What?"

"I heard you and Jean in the kitchen Logan." You wipe your eyes as you slowly step closer to him. "She's just a pet, be serious Logan." You mock in anger.

"Trust me that's not the first time I've heard that before, but you." You shove his chest but he doesn't move, he's watching you. Stunned by the outburst.

"You just sat there and didn't say anything. Nothing Logan!" You shout, not caring who heard you. He grabs your wrists and pulls you close to him. He's never looked so serious before.

"Jean is full of shit and you know it sweetheart."

"Do I?" You rest your head against his chest. The anger slowly draining as defeat takes its place.

"Logan when was the last time you called me anything other than cute?" You ask. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

"Do you understand what hearing cute and only cute feels like? Is that really the only compliment you can think to give me? Do you not love me?" He lets go of your hands and you push him away.

You fall onto your bed and cry. Logan feels sick to his stomach. He didn't know its all bothered you so much, he thought he was doing alright protecting you. But he's failed you. He drops to his knees and tries to pull your hands away from your face.

"Sweetheart, of course I love you." He mumbles.

"I just feel so small sometimes. Standing next to you, being with you. Logan we were never meant to be together."

"What are you talking about?" You finally lift your head up and Logan wastes no time in wiping away your tears. You are everything Logan wants. Meant to be together? He wants to be with you and that's good enough for him.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" "Yes, prettier than anyone else in the world." He says without missing a beat.

"So why have you never said anything?" Logan sighs as he rubs his thumb gently across your cheek.

You're everything to him. You were never a rebound or a pet, god he hates that word now. Logan...he's not the kind of man you'd ever look at and think cute or soft. He is definitely not the kind of man to be loved by you. You're so gentle and kind and so cute it makes his heart hurt. He's never experienced that before. He's not the guy who gets the pretty sweet girl. But then he was and shit, it feels good. So fuck the rumors and the gossip.

"Someone like you shouldn't be with someone like me, I'm not the hero people think I am. So when someone like you loves me, it's a little hard to believe sometimes." He tilts your head up to press a kiss to your lips.

"You're cute," He kisses your cheek softly.

"and pretty," Another kiss.

"and beautiful and gorgeous and so much more." You let out a small giggle as his bread scratches your face.

He nuzzles into you until you open yourself up. He wraps his arms around your waist and hoists you up off the bed. Spinning around until he's got you in his lap.

"Cute isn't an insult. Just seeing you smile makes me feel like a fucking teenager." Logan bumps his nose against yours.

"I didn't answer Jean because I didn't want to. It's no one else's damn business how I feel about you."

"You really think all that?" You say shyly, biting your lip as the doubt still creeps into your head. But Logan pushes it away with another searing kiss.

"Fuck yeah I do. You're everything I could ever want." He frowns as he notices the worry on your face. He would give anything to make it better.

"And more." He adds on. He sees the smile grow and he feels the weight lift off his chest.

"Come on, don't hide that pretty smile from me." He grabs your chin so he can get a better look at you.

He makes a silent promise to never let you feel like this again. Anger stirs inside but he keeps himself as calm as he can. If he had his way he'd rip into anyone who feels like spreading their stupid gossip. But for your sake he won't. But he makes no promises the next time he hears some punk kid open their damn mouth about HIS girl.

"I love you Logan." You hum as you duck your head to rest under his chin, wanting to be held by your boyfriend. His arms wrap around you, holding you close for as long as you need.

"I love you too sweetheart, my gorgeous girl."

[pucksandpower]

Three Weeks

Day 2 → Chastity 💋 Max Verstappen

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

Three weeks.

Three weeks is all it took for you to lose your sanity, to be stretched thin by a mixture of longing and frustration so intense it makes you want to scream.

And scream you have — into pillows, into the empty apartment that feels like it’s mocking you with its silence. Max is thousands of miles away, tearing up the circuits in North and South America, while you’re here, in bed, staring at the ceiling with tears of sheer, unfiltered need blurring your vision.

It’s the belt. That damn belt.

It’s tight against your skin, a constant reminder of his control, of how much you want him, of how much you can’t have him. It’s cruel, almost — leaving you like this, teetering on the edge of madness, so close to breaking that you’ve nearly begged him over the phone to let you take it off.

But Max, in his cool, controlled way, simply chuckled. “Patience, schatje,” he had said, voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “I’ll know if you try anything. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

You haven’t seen him in weeks. His voice is all you have, crackling through the phone, teasing you mercilessly, coaxing more desperate pleas from your lips with every passing day. The sound of engines roaring in the background as he whispered sweet, sinful things to you, telling you how much he misses you, how he can’t wait to get his hands on you.

And now, you’re here. Alone. Aching.

The tears that slip from your eyes aren’t new. They’ve been coming in waves, uncontrollable and humiliating in their persistence. You’ve tried to study, to focus on anything other than the throbbing between your legs, but nothing works. Every time you close your eyes, you see his smirk, feel the phantom touch of his fingers tracing over the belt’s leather, and it’s enough to drive you mad.

The apartment door creaks open, and you freeze, half convinced you’re imagining it. But then you hear the familiar sound of his footsteps, slow and deliberate, and your heart skips a beat.

“Max?” Your voice is small, barely above a whisper, but it carries through the stillness of the room.

He steps into the bedroom, and for a moment, you just stare at him, unable to comprehend that he’s actually here. Max looks every bit the champion he is — tall, broad-shouldered, with that aura of confidence that makes your stomach flip.

He’s home. Days early. And he’s looking at you like you’re his next victory.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, crossing the room in a few quick strides. “What a mess you’ve made of yourself.”

His tone is soft, almost teasing, but there’s an edge to it that makes you shiver. He’s right — you are a mess. A pathetic, frustrated mess who’s been counting down the seconds until he’d come home, until he’d finally-

“Please,” you choke out, the word escaping before you can stop it. There’s no dignity left in you, no pride — just raw, desperate need.

Max’s smirk deepens, and he reaches out, brushing a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “What’s wrong, schatje? Did I leave you like this too long?”

The question is rhetorical, but you nod anyway, biting your lip to keep from sobbing.

His eyes darken, and he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Good.”

A shudder runs through you at the single word, your breath hitching in your throat. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, how much you’ve been suffering, and he’s relishing every second of it.

Max’s fingers trail down your body, stopping at the belt’s buckle. He tugs on it lightly, making you gasp as it tightens around you. “You’ve been good, haven’t you? Kept this on just like I told you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, nodding frantically. “Yes, Max, please-”

“Shh.” He cuts you off, his thumb pressing against your lips. “I want to hear you say it. Tell me how much you’ve missed me.”

His command is clear, and you don’t hesitate, the words tumbling out of you in a rush. “I’ve missed you so much. I can’t — Max, I can’t stand it anymore, I need you-”

He hums, clearly satisfied with your answer, and finally, finally, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small silver key. The sight of it makes your heart race, a fresh wave of tears spilling over as relief and anticipation flood your senses.

Max doesn’t rush. He never does. Instead, he takes his time, savoring the moment as he slides the key into the lock, his eyes never leaving yours. The click is almost deafening in the quiet room, and when he finally undoes the belt, you can’t stop the sob that escapes your lips.

He pulls it away from you, tossing it aside carelessly, and then — then he just looks at you. His eyes roam over your body, taking in every detail, every tremor, every breath you take. It’s maddening, the way he’s just standing there, watching you unravel before his eyes.

“Max,” you whimper, your hands fisting the sheets beneath you. “Please.”

But he doesn’t move. Instead, he leans down, so close that you can feel the heat radiating from his body, and he blows — a single, soft puff of air against your neglected bundle of nerves.

It’s all it takes. The sensation is so light, so fleeting, but it’s enough to send you over the edge, your body seizing up as pleasure crashes through you like a tidal wave. You cry out, arching off the bed, your vision blurring as you’re torn apart by the force of your release.

And Max just watches. He watches as you shatter beneath him, as you tremble and writhe, your breath coming in ragged gasps. He’s in control — he always has been — and he’s enjoying every second of it.

When you finally come down, your body going limp with exhaustion, he smiles. It’s soft, almost tender, but there’s a wicked glint in his eyes that tells you this is far from over.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice like velvet, wrapping around you like a second skin. “And I’m going to remind you of that every single day.”

You don’t doubt it for a second.

Max doesn’t waste any time. The second your body starts to relax, sinking into the bed with the aftershocks still rippling through you, he’s on you again, hands firm and unyielding as they slide down your sides. There’s no tenderness in his touch now — no gentle caresses, no soft murmurs. He’s relentless, each move calculated to drag you back into that haze of desperation and desire that’s been your prison for weeks.

“Max, I-” Your voice breaks, but he doesn’t let you finish. He cuts you off with a rough kiss, his lips bruising against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he growls against your mouth, and there’s a thrill that shoots through you at the possessiveness in his tone.

You nod, even though every part of you is already trembling from exhaustion. But Max doesn’t care. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay, doesn’t check to see if you can handle more. He knows what you need — what he needs — and he’s not going to stop until he’s satisfied.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading them apart with a force that makes your breath hitch. You’re still oversensitive, every nerve in your body on high alert, and when his fingers slide into you, it’s almost too much.

“Max-”

“Shh,” he soothes, his thumb pressing down on your clit with just enough pressure to make you squirm. “You can take it, schatje. I know you can.”

Your head is spinning, the mix of pleasure and pain blurring together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. But even through the haze, you hear the challenge in his voice — the unspoken dare. You won’t beg him to stop. Not now. Not after everything.

He moves his hand with a skill that makes you see stars, curling his fingers just right, his thumb rubbing circles that have you gasping for air. You’re already so close, your body primed to snap at the slightest touch, and Max knows it. He knows exactly how to push you, how to stretch you to your limit and then demand just a little more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his eyes fixed on your face as he works you over. “So beautiful like this. You’re perfect when you fall apart for me.”

You can’t speak, can’t do anything but moan as he continues, his words sinking into your skin and lighting you on fire. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto as the pressure builds again, more intense than before.

“Max, I-” The words are swallowed by another moan as he hits that spot inside you, and you arch off the bed, every muscle in your body tightening. “I can’t — I’m going to-”

“I know,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “But you’re going to wait for me.”

It’s impossible, but you try, biting down on your lip so hard you taste blood. Your entire body is screaming at you to let go, to give in, but Max’s grip on your thigh tightens, grounding you.

“Wait,” he repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re mine, schatje. You come when I say.”

It’s torture — sweet, agonizing torture — and you don’t know how much longer you can hold on. But Max is relentless, his hand working you with ruthless precision, keeping you right on the edge until you’re sobbing from the strain.

“Please,” you beg, the word slipping out before you can stop it. “Max, please-”

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Now.”

The single word is all it takes. The coil inside you snaps, and you’re falling, tumbling into the abyss with a scream that echoes through the room. It’s overwhelming, the pleasure crashing over you in waves, so intense that it leaves you breathless, trembling, tears spilling down your cheeks.

Max doesn’t stop. Even as you’re coming apart beneath him, he keeps going, pushing you further, dragging out every last bit of pleasure until you’re nothing but a quivering, sobbing mess in his arms.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction as he watches you fall to pieces. “You’re doing so well for me.”

You can’t respond, can’t even think. Your mind is blank, your body limp, completely at his mercy. And yet, there’s a part of you that craves more, that wants to keep going, to see how far he’ll take you.

He pulls his fingers out of you slowly, watching as your body shudders at the loss. His hands move to your hips, gripping them tightly as he positions himself above you. The look in his eyes is predatory, his intent clear. He’s not done with you yet — not even close.

“You’re going to give me another one,” he says, his voice leaving no room for argument. “And then another, until I’m satisfied.”

You don’t know how you’ll survive it, but you nod, the need to please him overwhelming every other thought. Your body is already spent, muscles twitching with exhaustion, but when he thrusts into you, filling you completely, every nerve comes alive again.

The first thrust steals the breath from your lungs, the stretch almost too much after everything. But Max doesn’t give you time to adjust. He sets a brutal pace, his hips slamming into yours with a force that has you crying out, your hands clawing at the sheets.

“Max-” His name is a broken plea on your lips, but he doesn’t slow down. If anything, he speeds up, his grip on your hips so tight that it borders on painful.

“You can take it,” he growls, his voice rough with need. “You’re going to take everything I give you.”

Your body responds to his command, the pleasure building again, too fast, too intense. You’re already so close, the edge looming before you, but Max doesn’t let up. He drives into you with an urgency that makes your head spin, his breath hot against your skin as he leans down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss.

It’s too much, and you’re falling again, the orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you sobbing, clinging to him as your body convulses with the aftershocks. But Max doesn’t stop. He keeps going, pushing you through the pleasure, dragging you back up to that peak again and again until you’re trembling, your cries muffled against his chest.

You lose track of time, of everything, your world narrowing down to the feel of him inside you, the sound of his voice in your ear, the taste of his skin on your lips. He’s relentless, driving you to the brink and pulling you back only to shove you over the edge again.

“Please,” you whimper, your voice barely more than a broken sob. “Max, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” he says, his tone firm, unwavering. “One more, schatje. Give me one more.”

You don’t know how you can, your body already beyond its limit. But Max’s hand is on your cheek, his thumb brushing away your tears as he looks into your eyes, his gaze filled with a hunger that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Or,” he adds, his voice deceptively calm, “I’ll put the belt back on. Another three weeks, just like this.”

The threat is enough to cut through the haze of exhaustion, your eyes widening in alarm. You can’t — another three weeks of this would destroy you.

“Max-”

“It’s your choice,” he says, his tone casual as if he’s not asking you to make an impossible decision. “But you’re going to give me one more either way. So what will it be, schatje? Now, or later?”

There’s no real choice, and he knows it. You’re too far gone, too desperate to defy him now. “Now,” you whisper, your voice cracking on the word. “Please, Max. Now.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, dark and satisfied. “Good girl.”

He doesn’t waste any time. His hand moves between your legs, finding that sensitive spot with ruthless efficiency, and you scream, the sound torn from your throat as the pleasure crashes through you again. It’s overwhelming, almost painful in its intensity, and you clutch at him, your nails digging into his skin as your body spasms with the force of it.

“Max-” His name is a plea, a sob, but he’s not letting up, driving you harder, faster, until you’re convulsing beneath him, your vision going white as the world falls away.

This one is different. It’s not just an orgasm — it’s a breaking point, the moment where your body gives out completely, surrendering to the relentless onslaught of pleasure. You feel yourself falling, tumbling into an abyss with no end, and Max is the only thing grounding you, his hands on your hips, his voice in your ear, telling you how perfect you are, how much he loves you.

By the time it’s over, you’re spent, completely and utterly spent. Your body is limp, your mind blank, and all you can do is lie there, panting, as the aftershocks ripple through you.

Max slows his movements, his hands gentle now as he soothes you, murmuring soft words of praise as he strokes your hair. “You did so well, schatje,” he whispers, his voice filled with pride. “So good for me.”

You can’t respond, too exhausted to do anything but cling to him, your body trembling with the remnants of everything he’s put you through.

Max brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch tender now as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It’s over,” he murmurs, his voice softening. “You did so well.”

You nod weakly, your breath evening out as you slowly come back to yourself, the warmth of his body comforting against your own. He holds you close, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back, grounding you in the here and now.

“Rest, schatje,” he whispers, his lips grazing your temple. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

With those words, the last of your tension melts away, and you finally let yourself drift, safe in the knowledge that you’re in his arms, exactly where you belong.

[prettydaisygirl]

would love to see a one bed trope with james!!

hi nonnie! Thank you so much for requesting, I hope you enjoy <3 I love one-bed tropes omggggg

friend!James Potter x fem!reader who fall victim to Sirius' trap ✿ 2.0k words

cw: fem reader, James has a crush on reader, they are both awkward, James is a professional athlete, Lily is James' ex (sorry), background wolfstar, Remus had an allergic reaction but Sirius saw an opportunity

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

next part

James should’ve known Sirius had ulterior motives. He always does.

When Sirius had called him yesterday, James immediately knew something was wrong. Sirius never calls him. He should’ve been more suspicious when he answered and Sirius’ tone was bright and cheery despite the words he was saying.

“Remus had an allergy attack,” Sirius says, and James can hear the hospital machines in the room behind him. Sirius laughs when James asks if Remus will be okay. “He’s fine! You know Moony, he’s resilient!” 

James doesn’t know if Remus is really that resilient, but Sirius seems to blow off his worries, quickly moving on. “Anyway, Prongs, I have a favor to ask you.”

“Yeah?” Upon later reflection, James will again realize that the tone in Sirius' voice should’ve made him suspicious. 

“Rem and I rented a cabin for the weekend, but now with this, we can’t go. And they won’t let us refund it with such short notice.” Sirius’ voice muffles a bit as he seems to turn to say something to Remus, but James can’t make out the words. Sirius turns back and continues, “You should go for us, yeah? Enjoy a nice weekend away, it might be nice to relax and get away from all of your problems.”

James should’ve known better. He always knows better when it comes to Sirius. 

Maybe it was his burnout, or the sounds of the hospital room in the background, but James finds himself agreeing. Which isn’t the stupid part.

The stupid part was not asking anymore questions. 

James is expecting a cabin in the woods. He is expecting quiet peace away from hectic city life, and work, and everything else. 

But he's not expecting you.

James opens the front door as you’re stirring a pot over the stove. You freeze, he freezes, the both of you like deer in headlights.

“Hello,” He says, smiling softly as he steps inside and shuts the cabin door behind him.

“Hi, James!” You say back brightly, setting down your stirring spoon and brushing your hair off your face with the back of your wrists. “What are you doing here?”

“I was… going to ask you that.” James says as he sets his bag down by the front door. He runs a hand through his hair as you pick up a dish towel and wipe off your hands.

“Sirius invited me,” You explain, and glance at the stove again before deciding to reach over and turn it off. James watches your every move. “He said they rented this cabin for their anniversary this weekend, but Remus had to go to the hospital. They didn’t want to waste the reservation… Why are you looking at me like that?”

James blinks a few times and tries to wipe whatever look he must have off his face. “No, I just… that’s what he told me too. He invited me too, just yesterday.”

“Oh,” You say, and then a sharp chuckle escapes your lips, “Why would he do that?”

James knows exactly why Sirius would do that. 

A few weeks ago, after a few too many, James admitted to Sirius that he maybe, sort of, kind of, just a little bit, fancies you. James has had a very hard time getting over Lily after the breakup, and this admission had Sirius grinning like the Cheshire Cat. James had hoped Sirius wouldn’t remember it, and he thought that because Sirius hadn’t mentioned it again, that he didn’t.

Except, evidently, Sirius did remember.

“Well, that’s alright!” You say, the sweet, happy smile returning to your lips. Its familiar presence makes James’ insides flutter. “I can make more soup!”

“Oh, you don’t have to-” Your voice is quick to cut off James’ protests.

“Don’t worry! It will only take me a few minutes,” You wave him off with a hand, already moving to turn the stove back on and begin adding more ingredients.

James takes this moment to slip away and collect himself. He leans down to grab his bag and dashes across the living room to the door on the other side. He opens it and finds the bedroom. 

He runs a hand through his hair, tossing his bag on the bed. He steps into the connected bathroom, turns on the sink, and splashes some water onto his face.

Fuck, He thinks. James was definitely not expecting you. 

He steps back into the bedroom and sits on the bed, only to freeze, his entire body tensing. His eyes dart around the room in disbelief, panic flooding him.

Fuck, again. James thinks. There’s only one bed.

His immediate panic recedes when he realizes he can just sleep on the couch. He groans internally at the thought of having a sore back for a day or two, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. 

Only, when he walks into the living room, there isn’t a couch. Just two wicker chairs. 

Fuck, three times.

He walks back into the kitchen, hearing you humming to yourself as you set two bowls of soup on the table. He pretends like his mind isn’t reeling as he takes a seat, beaming brightly at you. 

“How have you been?” He asks, and he cringes as you sit down. He should’ve gotten your chair for you.

“I’ve been alright! Things have been busy, but what’s new? How have you been? Lily doesn’t talk about you anymore so…” Your voice trails off as you realize you’ve said the wrong thing. James’ stomach churns just a bit at the sound of Lily’s name from your mouth but he pushes it aside quickly. He waves off your anxiety with a wave of his hand.

“I’ve been alright,” James answers, picking up his spoon but not taking a bite yet, “I’ve been throwing myself into the team. We've been doing really well this season. Oh, and I got a new flat a few months ago, it’s nice.” 

He tries to keep his voice steady and you just nod and smile. So far so good, he thinks.

“Sorry for…” Your voice is quiet as you squeeze your eyes shut with embarrassment and James is quick to soothe your anxiety again.

“No, I promise it’s alright. Don’t worry about it. How… How is she?” James asks, and he does care but more than anything he doesn’t want you to think he is hung up on Lily. Their breakup was the hardest thing he’s ever gone through, but it was never going to work out between them and he understands that now.

“She’s alright, she’s… I think she’s getting engaged soon.” You shrug a bit and James gives you a soft smile.

“Good… That’s good.” James says. He hates the way the room is thick and the silence stretches awkwardly in a way that makes his skin crawl. 

You don’t let the tension stop you, speaking up again. “I’ve been watching your games. You’re right when you say the team is doing really well.”

James finds himself both surprised and flattered that you watch them. Maybe you’re just a fan of the sport, but he convinces himself you’re watching it for him. “You watch me? Really?”

He adores the way you become flustered, eyes darting away from his for a moment as you shy, “Well… I mean you’re there, so…”

James chuckles brightly and the room lightens a bit. He shakes it off his shoulders and tilts his head at you. “I wish I would’ve known you were watching. I would’ve shown off for you.” 

Your eyes brighten and James’ heart skips a beat. “You weren’t already?” You ask, the corner of your mouth turning up, and James falls deeper in love with you.

The rest of dinner goes well. James finds the soup you made absolutely delicious, and your company even better. Your laugh is contagious and the both of you find yourself having a good time, especially when you find the bottle of champagne that was seemingly left for Remus and Sirius’ anniversary trip. At the end of the bottle, after moving to sit outside, the two of you are laughing so loud you might have scared off any animals nearby. 

James adores the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, the way the light from the setting sun causes your irises to glow just a bit brighter. The last of a series of chuckles leaves his lips and James finds himself telling you, “There’s only one bed.”

Your chuckles slow and your brow furrows just a bit, a smile still on your lips. “What?”

“There’s only one bed, and there’s not even a couch.” James’ voice is lighter than normal, and there’s a long moment of silence before the two of you break out into giggles again.

“Oh no,” You say teasingly, giggles slipping out every few words, “I have to sleep with James Potter? How disappointing.”

James knocks into your shoulder lightly with his own, but you don’t move, just letting his shoulder rest against yours. 

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” He asks, a surprisingly sober question for his tipsy brain. You shake your head, turning to look at him with your pretty eyes and beautiful smile. The alcohol and the look on your face make his brain fuzzy.

“No,” You say, and James lets his knee fall into yours too. “You can sleep on the bed with me.” 

He lets you get ready for bed first, laying on top of the sheets and simultaneously cursing and thanking Sirius for setting him up like this. You come out in some sleep shorts and a t-shirt and James thinks he might die. Just the sight of the skin of your thighs is enough to have him practically jumping off of the bed and heading into the bathroom. 

When he comes back out, now changed into a pair of boxers and a different t-shirt, you’re already under the covers. He feels his heart pounding in his chest as he slides in next to you. His buzz from the champagne has mostly worn off now, and he can see your eyes shine just a bit in the darkness of the bedroom.

“Is this still okay?” James asks softly, the two of you facing each other. His leg bumps into yours.

“Yes,” You whisper back softly, and you seem to hesitate for just a moment before you place your hand on his. “It’s okay. I want you to sleep here.”

James feels himself practically melt and his body moves closer to your own, your words encouraging him. He squeezes your hand and he can feel the soft puffs of your breath against his face. 

“‘m glad you’re here,” James admits softly and your lips curl into a soft smile. 

“Me too.” You say, and he watches your eyes fall shut for a moment before they open again. The two of you lay there, eyes on each other, until you’re the one who leans forward to press a kiss to his lips. 

It’s soft and sweet, nothing earth-shattering. James thinks it's perfect. He decides to be brave too, and slides an arm around you. You continue to kiss lazily for a few minutes until you yawn. James pulls back enough to pretend to look offended.

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?” He asks, voice soft and teasing as he runs a hand up your side. You shiver a bit and smile tiredly.

“Sorry,” You say, voice practically a murmur as sleep calls to you, “I’m sleepy.”

“I know,” James whispers, and he runs a hand through your hair. You smile, letting your eyes close and letting sleep start to take you. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, James.”

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© prettydaisygirl