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nakylvr · 8 days ago

Note

Hii i hope you're having a good day, i've been wanting to request but i didn't want to be a bother in case you're busy so feel free to ignore this lol.

But in case you're open to writing, could you write katseye's Sophia with fem reader where they sort of accidentally kiss after drinking, not thinking much of it, but after sobering up they just can't stop thinking about it and start seeing each other in a new light iykwim, until they end up confessing?

finally going thru my inbox...im so sorry this took so long anon please forgive me

— wish you were sober ✧ s.l

summary જ⁀➴ after a night drinking leaves you kissing your best friend, some feelings resurface. ones that you tried pushing away out of fear that she would feel the same.

warnings/tags જ⁀➴ fluff, drunk kisses, f!reader, best friend!sophia, friends to lovers, non idol!au, confessions, not proofread

you weren't the biggest on drinking. sure, a beer or two is fine for you. but shots after shots? hard pass. a bottle of tito's in one sitting? you would rather die. and yet, you were standing there in the middle of a club you didn't even want to go to, a drink in your hand that was half-finished. your friends dragged you along for no reason, ultimately. with the guise of saying you "needed to get out more". which okay, is partially true. but you weren't one for crowded environments, or strobing lights, or loud music. you didn't get the point of it in all honesty.

glancing around, you take a sip of your drink. you don't even know where your friends went, probably scattered around the place with different people. your foot taps anxiously on the ground, off-beat of the rhythm to the music, and then you spot her. your best friend, and also the girl you managed to fall for, sophia laforteza.

she was talking with some guy, clearly not interested but the guy couldn't take a hint. you could see the tension in her shoulders compared to earlier in the car, and the guy kept talking, not even giving her the chance to respond with anything. you take another swig of your drink, feeling the alcohol burn your throat – when she turns and sees you.

you quickly avert your eyes, pretending you were looking at something else, but you can see her say something and walk away from the male, heading over towards you.

"you just saved me from the worst guy imaginable!" she sighs dramatically when she reaches you.

you blink. "i didn't do anything, though?"

"well when i called you my girlfriend it seemed to work pretty well. especially with you staring." she says like it was nothing, waving her hand that didn't have the drink.

you feel your cheeks flush at her words. "i wasn't staring." you mumble.

"uh-huh, sure." sophia smiles. "you want another drink?"

"huh?" you let out, looking at your cup and realizing it was empty. "um i don't think i–"

"c'mon!" she's already dragging you away before you can even fully answer.

you stop at the bar, not saying anything as sophia buys two more drinks, smiling when they're handed over. she grabs them both and hands you yours.

"cheers!"

you sip from the drink, and instantly feel the burn down your throat. "jesus christ." you choke out.

"what? don't tell me you can't handle your liquor." she teases.

"i never said that." you respond.

"c'mon, let's dance." sophia grabs your hand again and pulls you away from the bar.

you don't know how long it's been since your first drink, and you don't know how long it is until you finish this next one. but you can feel the effects soon after sophia dragged you to dance. your body swaying to the music, your eyes focused on sophia like she's the only thing in the world. she looks beautiful like this, in the bright colorful lights without a care in the world. you don't even realize you're staring until she looks at you.

"what're you thinking about?" she asks, a glimmer in her eyes.

"you." you answer without thinking.

"me?" she raises an eyebrow, a smile forming on her face. "what about me?"

"you look beautiful."

sophia's cheeks turn pink at how nonchalantly you say the words. she doesn't know how to respond to that. you're always too timid to receive compliments, let alone give them when you were too afraid of the reaction you would get. you're drunk, clearly with the way your words are slurring, but she has hope that you're being truthful.

without a second thought, she steps forward and wraps her arms around your neck, making your eyes widen slightly – pupils blown wide. "you think i'm beautiful?"

you nod, shaky hands moving to her waist. "i think you're always beautiful, fia."

and there it is. that damn nickname that made her love you even more. she was in far too deep, she was in love with you, she knew that. she wasn't stupid. but you were hard to read. she couldn't tell if this was the alcohol talking or your real thoughts. she couldn't tell what you were thinking when you were sober. you were her best friend, and she didn't want to ruin what she already had with you. that being said, she finds herself leaning in closer. "you mean that?" she asks in a hushed voice only you can hear.

"yeah." you whisper, suddenly aware of how close you were.

you lean in a little bit, your lips mere inches away from hers. your eyes meet hers, and you can see the desire flooding through them. you hesitate, your eyes flickering down to her lips before back at her gaze which she notices. sophia closes the gap between you two, her lips smashing against yours rather messily, desperate, like she was waiting for this moment.

you pull her closer to you by her waist, your body pressing against hers as your lips slide against hers. she tastes like alcohol and strawberries mixed with her lipgloss that was surely transferring to your lips. her body feels warm against yours, like electricity shooting through your body when she grabs your nape of your neck and deepens the kiss, tilting her head.

you pull away to breathe, and it quickly dawns upon you what you just did. your cheeks heat up in a fiery blush, and you don't know what to do now. she's drunk, it probably didn't mean anything else.

"yn!" manon's voice is heard before she appears, and sophia quickly steps away from you. you don't even realize the disappointment on your face, but sophia does as much as she tries not to.

"i've been looking for you this whole time!" manon exclaims dramatically, throwing her arms over you.

"sorry." you mumble. looking at manon, she's definitely had enough for the night, which means an easy escape for you. "i think you've had enough for tonight." you pat her shoulder. "let me call an uber and we'll go home, okay?"

"okay." manon murmurs, clinging onto you.

you glance at sophia, who is now standing away from you like you have the plague, and she can see the hurt in your eyes. "are you okay to get home?" you ask her.

sophia feels guilt wash over her. how can you still be so concerned about her and care so much when she just kissed you and then jumped back like you had a disease when manon showed up? she can tell you're upset but trying not to show it, and she doesn't know what to do for once in her life.

"yeah." she nods shortly. "i'll be okay."

you nod, an arm wrapping around manon's waist to keep her standing straight as you start walking away. and all sophia can think as she watches you exit is how bad she might've just fucked this up.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

you wake up the next morning with a hangover you've never felt before. your head is pounding, your body feels heavy, and you threw up the second you saw the toilet. you don't even remember most of last night – except the one thing. kissing sophia.

you groan, head leaning against the bathroom wall as you sit on the floor, dragging your hands down your face. you look at your phone – no messages from sophia. she always texts you when she gets home, that she was okay and nothing happened. nothing ever happens, but she still makes sure to text you and let you know no matter what. you fucked up.

with a sigh, you put your phone down and close your eyes. great job, you might've just lost your best friend.

meanwhile, sophia is losing her shit when she wakes up hungover as hell. all she could think of was your face when she jumped back, the way your eyebrows furrowed together and your eyes turned sad like a puppy being told to go away. it was all she could see every time she closed her eyes. she fucked up.

she woke up far past when she should've been awake, but she didn't care. she sat in her bed for a while, staring at the ceiling. she knew she had feelings for you, but she couldn't tell if you had any feelings towards her. but after last night, she thinks she might've just screwed it all up. of course you did. you always have. it's always been you two, always. even with other friends in the group, you two were attached to each other. everyone knew that. everyone could tell you two loved each other more than friends, but no one said anything.

it was eleven when sophia finally checked her phone. no texts from you. not even an "get home safe?", when she usually forgot to tell you she got home. it made her throat close up. she quickly got up and changed, slipping a pair of shoes on before leaving.

the last thing you expect to hear while eating post-hungover ramen is the doorbell ringing. you glance at your phone and see no messages from anyone, so who was here? you set your bowl on the table and get up, going to the door and unlocking it, opening it to reveal sophia.

you visibly tense up at the sight of her. no makeup on, her hair not brushed, her hoodie draping over her body, and she still looks perfect.

"oh. hey." you say awkwardly, shifting your weight on your feet. "what's up?"

"can i come in?" she asks. "i think we need to talk."

your eyes widen subtly, but she notices. you clear your throat, "yeah, sure." and open the door wider for her to walk in.

you sit back down on the couch and she sits next to you, a reasonable distance between you two instead of her practically on top of you like usual. it makes a pang of hurt rush through you.

"so, uhm–"

"i have feelings for you." sophia blurts out.

"what?" you let out, looking at her with wide eyes.

sophia's not looking at you, staring ahead while fiddling with her hands under the sleeve of her hoodie. "i'm in love with you." she says softly. "i think i've known for a while now i just...was scared."

a moment of silence passes as you collect your thoughts and try to think of a response.

"really?" you ask.

you sound like you don't believe her, and it makes sophia's heart ache. "yeah." she nods. "i thought i fucked it up by kissing you last night." she murmurs after.

"i'm in love with you too." you tell her.

sophia finally looks at you, and you have a small smile on your face. "you are?" she asks hesitantly.

"yeah." you nod. you carefully reach for one of her hands and grab onto it, giving a gentle squeeze. "i have been since i met you."

another minute of silence passes by.

"can i kiss you?" sophia whispers.

all you do is nod. and when she kisses you this time, it's different. it's not messy, it's not rushed. it's slow, calculated like she wants to remember the way your lips feel on hers, how soft they are, and how they fit together perfectly. her hand cups your cheek, drawing small circles with her thumb, feeling you shudder at the feeling.

when she pulls away, you both have blushes on your faces. she smiles at you, and you smile back at her.

"do you...maybe wanna stay for a bit?" you ask quietly.

her smile grows bigger as she nods. "i'd love to."

you two spent the rest of the day ordering takeout and getting over your hangovers, with sophia cuddling against you and making you watch both mamma mia movies, not that you mind. you'd do anything for her anyways.

#katseye thoughts 💭#katseye x reader #katseye imagines #sophia laforteza thoughts 💭#sophia laforteza x reader #request

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stellamarielu · 4 months ago

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Hear me out babes (may I call you babes?)

Declan x reader who is Taggie's friend and has a secret daddy kink..it almost slips out while teasing so Declan makes sure it fully comes out later ;) and maybe some more of that "be the sweet thing we both know you are and take it like a good girl" type shit if ya feel like it? Love you and your writing so much!

daddy

declan o’hara x female reader

summary: you're mocking the way declan's daughter is always calling him daddy, but the teasing only has the two of you discovering something new about your preferences in the bedroom

content: nsfw, 18+, literally just porn with a sprinkle of plot, cursing, daddy kink, risky quickie, teasing, penetration, praise kink, him calling the reader good girl [duh], him calling reader babygirl [idk i blacked out], hair pulling, slightly degrading, kinda rough sex, pull out game strong on this one!

author’s note: you can call me whatever you want when you’re dropping requests like this in my inbox, god damn! i’ve had tons of taggie’s best friend x declan requests lately so i hope this can feed you all– i’m looking directly at the anon who said “what if reader was taggie’s best friend and declan bent her over the closest platform and fucked her brains out.” [fucked her brains out had me on the floor]

—

You were having dinner at the O’hara’s for the second time this week. You'd like to say you helped taggie cook, but really you just watched her stride around the kitchen and handed her different ingredients as you talked her ear off. Now, after all her hard work and little boasts of encouragement from you, you were both sat at the kitchen table finishing dinner and laughing. Her father was sat across from you shaking his head at the cackling going on between you and Taggie. You were having a hard time keeping your composure with him only being a few feet away. It was hard to focus- hard to act normal when you knew you’d be sneaking into his room later.

It wasn’t your fault Taggie’s dad was so hot, and it also wasn’t your fault that you'd been hooking up with him.

You weren’t proud of it- in fact you felt guilty for doing something as blatantly wrong as having sex with your best friends dad. But it was Declan. You'd had a massive crush on him since the first time you walked through Taggie's front door. Not to mention his wife recently left and he was walking around all sad and lonely, practically begging you to fuck him out of his sorrowful daze. It wasn't like you were some home wrecker, Declan was the one who had initiated it weeks ago. Pulling you aside after taggie had fallen asleep one night and practically ambushing you with dirty whispers and not so innocent touches. In retrospect you had been doing everything within your power to break him down; so it didn't come as a surprise when he finally gave in to temptation and took you against his bedroom door.

Regardless of who tempted who first, you were now in some kind of relationship. You weren't really sure what it was exactly, all you knew was that you couldn't keep your hands off each other which made things complicated seeing as though his daughter- your best friend- was always right there next to you.

Like right now, she was sitting next to you and chatting with her dad about something that happened earlier and you couldn't be bothered to pay attention. Instead, you were fixated on the man in front of you. Declan was leaned back in his chair, the top two buttons of his shirt undone and all you could do was stare at the exposed skin beneath it.

"You done?" His voice was breaking you out of your trance.

He was leaning forward and reaching for the empty plate in front of you. The grin on his lips told you he knew exactly what had you so zoned-out. In fact, he had probably unbuttoned his shirt on purpose just to tease you.

“It’s alright daddy, i’ve got it” Taggie was chiming in as she stood to her feet, stacking your plates on top of one another and carrying them across the room to the sink.

Daddy, a term of endearment for her father. The word sounded so sweet and innocent coming from her mouth. It was a name she called him frequently and each time she did, you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to say it yourself. To use it as so many people often did, in the bedroom.

Now that Taggie was away from the table, you and declan were left sitting across from each other, just staring. An amused smile had taken over your face at Taggie's recently spoken words.

He raised an eyebrow mouthing “what?” in curiosity to the look on your face.

“Nothing… daddy” You were sing-songing almost silently underneath your breath, careful not to let taggie hear.

Declan's brows furrowed and his mouth fell open slightly as if he were about to respond when you abruptly stood from your seat and grabbed the remaining dishes off the table, striding over to join your best friend across the room.

Then, Declan was sitting alone, his mind reeling from hearing you call him that. A name exclusively reserved for his children. He never even thought about what it would sound like to hear it from your lips. But now, it took on an entirely different meaning, the way you said it with your eyes all wide and challenging. It was as if you needed him to put you in your place. declan was accustomed to being in control in the bedroom but that word, “daddy” had him craving the authority that hid beneath its meaning and your submission that came along with it. He needed to hear you say it again. Wanted to hear it as he railed into you from behind with your hair wrapped around his fist.

You were standing with Taggie at the sink and stealing the sponge out of her hand, demanding to do the dishes since she cooked. Then Declan was behind you muttering something about “You’re our guest you’re not doing the dishes” and ushering you both out of the way. This was followed by you retorting, “Guest? I’m here practically every night.” determined to do the chore at hand.

After you and declan argued a bit more over who would do the washing up, taggie gave in, leaving you both to take care of the mess.

She was grabbing a tinfoil covered plate off the counter and waltzing out the front door before either of you could protest. She had promised Lizzie left over bread pudding and told the two of you she would be right back as she walked out the door to their neighbors house.

In taggie’s mind she just left her best friend and her dad to clean up the kitchen while she ran a quick errand– harmless. But the reality of it was much less innocent. In fact, the second taggie was down the driveway declan was pawing at your waist.

“You think it’s funny teasin’ me in front of Tag like that? you’re gonna get us both in trouble.”

You turned slightly so that you were facing each other.

“I’m not the one with my entire chest out.” you were accusing him, finding the third button from his collar and popping it open to match the two preceding it.

“Wish you were” He was chiding playfully as he molded to your touch.

You let your hands explore his exposed chest, gliding over the smooth curls hiding underneath the undone material of his shirt.

“Say it again.” His eyes were burning into you as you traced his collarbones.

His voice was deep and gruff, skipping over the playful tone you had introduced moments before.

“Say wha-“ Your brows were furrowed at his command, confused as to what he wanted you to repeat, and then it hit you.

“Daddy?”

You looked up at him with a devious sparkle in your eye. You were completely joking earlier, just mocking his daughter when you had said it the first time at the dinner table. Never in a million years did you think he would be into that sort of thing. You’d had a lot of sex over the past few weeks, all of it hot and dirty and at times a bit kinky, but the word daddy had never once come up.

“Oh you like that? You filthy old man.” You were giggling, every word fell from your lips in a joking tone, but the look in declan's eyes was far from playful.

You'd seen him wearing that expression before. In fact, the last time he had that unchecked feral look in his eyes, he had three fingers in you, telling you to "take it like a good girl." while your eyes were watering from pleasure.

"Bend over." His words were simply spoken and his eyes were blown wide as he peered down at you.

"Declan-" you were ready to tell him no, that you couldn't, that the risk of getting caught was far grater than the reward of a quick fuck against his kitchen sink.

"I wasn't askin'."

His rough hands slid to your hips, his strong hold on you forcing you to pivot until the front of your body was pushed against the kitchen counter.

"Declan, Taggie-" you were beginning to express your worry of getting caught when he interrupted you, his breath hot on your neck.

"She’ll be gone for at least twenty minutes." He was roaming the expanse of your torso with his big hands, not leaving a single inch of your body untouched.

"We've got plenty of time." His whispers were in your ear as he stood behind you and the invitation of his warm embrace had you falling back into his touch.

"You gonna take it while I bend you over the counter sweetheart?"

This time his voice was taunting as he spoke against your neck. One of his hands was coming down to the hem of your dress, hiking it up to your waist in one quick movement.

"Yes"

You were giving in. You had to. Everything about his hands on your body and his words swimming in your brain made you willing to do anything he wanted– a slave to his touch.

"Yes, what?" The teasing tone was back in his words as he coerced you into saying the one word he desperately needed to hear. His fingertips were pushing between your legs running over the embarrassingly damp material of your underwear.

"Yes daddy."

As soon as you said it, the gentle touch of his fingertips against your clothed core turned into a firm grip. His palm was flat on your cunt as he cupped your heat, and the friction of it had you biting back a squeal.

"There you go."

He was so satisfied by the feeling of having your body in his grasp- all bent over for him, that he let you have a little taste of your own satisfaction. He was hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulling them down, replacing the lace material with the pads of his fingertips as they played in the mess of arousal gathering there.

"This all for me sweet girl?"

He was cooing in your ear, with his fingers painstakingly gliding over your opening.

You were whispering out a hushed, "yes" in hopes that he would finally fill you with something. You were desperate for relief and knew Taggie would be back soon.

"What’s that? Couldn’t here ya."

He was enjoying himself, teasing as you were submitting to his every whim.

"Declan, we have to hurry." You were mumbling through a moan as your back arched, reminding the man behind you that you were meant to be racing against the clock of his daughter's inevitable return.

“What happened to my pretty little obedient girl huh? Not very nice to rush me.” As he spoke you felt his touch vanish from between your bodies.

A pitiful noise erupted from your mouth at the loss of his touch on you.

"Declan..." You meant for this name to come out as a stern warning but instead it was just another deplorable whine, and he still wasn't touching you. It was as if he were waiting for something. Waiting for you to be compliant with his need for dominance.

"Please daddy, I'll be good for you." You were mustering up the sweetest little voice you could manage and pushing your ass into his crotch.

"I promise." you were purring out a vow of compliance as you looked over your shoulder at Declan.

The second your eyes found his all filled with innocence, it was a wrap.

He was working at his pants in a frenzy, quick to get them off so he could line himself up with your center that was exposed and ready– all for him.

Your gaze was once again fixed forward but you could feel Declan's length at your backside threatening to finally push into you.

You were getting ready to say something– anything– when a surprised yelp escaped your lips.

He had plunged his cock all the way into you in one swift movement. The wetness already drowning your core was enough to let his member slip right in and slide deep inside, making you cry out in pleasure.

"Yeah? Gonna be good?" He was huffing out as his hands gripped onto your hips, hard.

"My good fuckin' girl." His voice was a groan as he pulled your hips back to meet his over and over again, his cock diving into you with each movement.

One of his hands was letting go of your hips and sliding up your body until you felt him intertwining his fingers in your hair and gently pulling at it as he buried himself deeper with each thrust. The slight yank of your hair causing a perverse moan to seep from your mouth.

Your lewd noise made Declan's pace quicken as he bottomed out with every thrust.

"You like it when daddy pulls your hair like that huh baby?"

He was relishing in the pleasure of your walls wrapped tightly around his cock and the power he had over you in this position. The surge of control was bringing out the most unholy parts of him, causing filthy words to fall from his tongue.

And with each word off his lips you could feel your walls clenching harder around him and your body tensing in anticipation.

"Fuck- are you gonna come already?" Declan could feel the way you were squeezing and squirming against him, he knew exactly how your body reacted to him when you were on the verge of release.

"That's pathetic baby."

His voice was jeering as he reached around your body and placed the smallest amount of pressure over your clit with the pad of his index finger. The careful touch was especially surprising to you given the way he was currently pounding into you from behind. Everything about the contrasting sensations had your abdomen burning with pleasure.

"Gonna give it to me sweetheart? Gonna be a good girl for me?" His voice was spilling out of him in the most sinful groan.

you were whining out a "yes daddy" as he continued driving into you, simultaneously pushing your hips back to meet each of his relentless thrusts.

it was all too much; his attentive strokes to your clit, his tight grip in your hair, his unyielding pace as he filled you with every inch of him. You could feel the tension building in your body ready to snap, and your legs threatened to give out underneath you.

Bracing yourself against the kitchen counter, you pressed your forearms against the cool surface.

"That's it babygirl." Declan's sinful chants were filling your ears as you allowed your release to wash over you. White hot pleasure shot through your entire body as you folded even further over the kitchen sink.

"There's my good girl."

His praise was a low murmur as he took in the way you were melting into him with relief. Your body gave into him completely as your grip around his cock tightened.

"Fuck look at you."

The astonishment in his voice made yet another pitiful whine slip past your lips. You were still trembling as he continued thrusting into you, his movements much slower than before.

"Came so fast. Ya needed me that bad babygirl?"

You couldn't bring yourself to speak, instead you just nodded your head pathetically as you remained slumped against the countertop.

"So fuckin' tight sweetheart." He was marveling at the feeling of your walls squeezing around him like a warm perverted hug.

He was picking the pace of his thrusts back up, unable to keep himself from giving in to how good it felt to have you bent over for him with your mind all dazed and your cunt pulsing.

With one hand pulling at your hair and the other grabbing at your waist, Declan was practically slamming himself into you, the breathy groans leaving his throat made your head spin.

"Feels so good daddy." You were mewling out a statement of flattery for the man currently ruining you, hoping your words held the same power of his.

Judging by the way his thrusts ceased and the fact that he was pulling out of you in mere seconds, your use of his new favorite nickname must've pushed him right over the edge.

He was using the hand at your waist to gather your dress higher on your body, ensuring that his eventual mess wouldn't ruin the material.

Thick, hot strands of come came pulsing out of him, covering his own fist and the exposed skin of your lower back. He fought to keep his eyes open as his orgasm pushed through him, watching the way his load spilled over your body.

You were both regulating your nervous systems and sharing a few smitten chuckles as Declan grabbed a nearby dishtowel to wipe away the evidence of your shared debauchery.

After a few minutes of normality and washing dishes, you watched through the kitchen window as Taggie made her way back up the driveway.

You and Declan shared one last brazen smile before going back to being nothing more than acquaintances.

"I'm back!" Taggie's voice filled the Priory like a song as she came bounding in the front door.

She entered the kitchen with a smile on her face as she took in the cleanliness of her surroundings, somehow you and Declan had managed to finish washing up after he fucked you over the kitchen counter.

"Look at that! My heroes." Taggie was exclaiming as she pulled you both into a loose embrace, you on her left and Declan on her right.

She proceeded to grab you by the forearm pulling you away from her father and toward the doorway of the kitchen; taking you back for herself so the two of you could go gossip and listen to music in her room.

"Oh daddy, Lizzie says hi by the way!" She was speaking to her father right as you were about to exit the room, and you couldn't help the smirk that found its way to your lips.

Declan's eyes found yours at the sound of the word and both of you were fighting back a laugh as Taggie hauled you to the stairs.

my masterlist

#oh boy look away #it's daddy declan! he has arrived!#declan o’hara #declan o’hara smut #declan o'hara x reader

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wlw-imagines · 2 months ago

Text

Blown Away - Amelia Shepherd x Reader (Grey’s Anatomy)

requested: Hey, can I please request Amelia Shepherd dating Meredith Grey's sister (reader), who is a part of the BAU (FBI) and is best friends with Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan? (Maybe they're out on a case and something goes wrong and reader has to go to the hospital?) (Also can there be some fluffy content with Amelia like wearing reader FBI jacket around there apartment?) - anon

a/n: it’s been a WHILE that this has been in my inbox but i thought this would be a good time to use it! hoping to keep up with the month prompts but we shall see - for now, enjoy! (all medical langugae from heavy google sessions plus good old grey’s anatomy watching, will probs be wrong!)

cw: surgery, explosion

summary: Y/N Grey, part of the famous Grey family and member of the FBI’s BAU, is dating Amelia Shepherd. After a dangerous mission, Y/N is injured and rushed to the hospital. She’s surrounded as she recovers.

Part of Mayloncholy 2025: Day One, “Don’t leave me here.” of @may-lancholy

The radio alarm blared to life, the sharp voice of the morning news anchor cutting through the stillness of your bedroom like a knife.

You groaned, face still buried in the pillow. “Yeah, okay, I get it,” you muttered hoarsely, blindly reaching out to smack the snooze button. The volume only seemed to get louder. “Stop...” You grumbled out.

Eventually, the noise ceased, and silence trickled back into the room. You turned over slowly, arm reaching instinctively across the bed, expecting to pull Amelia into your chest for one of those soft, sleepy forehead kisses you’d grown to crave.

But your hand met only cold sheets.

You frowned, eyes cracking open despite the early hour. The bed was empty. Her side was still rumpled, but the chill there told you she hadn’t made it to bed last night. Your heart sank a little. You hoped she hadn’t been pulled into another marathon surgery. The last one had left her running on fumes for days.

With a reluctant sigh, you peeled yourself from the warmth of the comforter before you could be tempted back under. The light under the door caught your attention - faint and yellow from the living room lamp.

“Amelia?” you called softly, your voice still rough with sleep.

Padding barefoot across the cool wooden floor, you nudged the door open.

And there she was.

Asleep on the couch, still fully dressed in her scrubs, half-wrapped in the thick fleece throw you’d given her for Christmas last year. One foot hung off the edge of the cushion, her face slack with exhaustion, mouth slightly parted in a quiet snore.

Your chest ached with a mixture of affection and concern.

You walked over quietly and sat beside her, careful not to wake her too roughly. The dip in the cushion stirred her, and her eyes fluttered open in a start, panic there for a brief second before recognition settled in.

You gave her a small smile, lacing your fingers with hers. “Good morning, trouble.”

She blinked at you, disoriented, brows furrowed. “Wha—?”

“You never came to bed,” you said gently, brushing a few stray hairs out of her eyes.

She groaned, stretching under the blanket. “I just… laid down for a minute. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Her voice was scratchy. You could tell from her face that she hadn’t meant to worry you.

You smoothed the blanket back over her shoulders. “I figured. Long shift?”

“Busy.” She sighed and brought your hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “I didn’t even notice how tired I was.”

You nodded toward the bedroom. “Come on, my love. The bed’s still warm.”

With a little coaxing and a sleepy laugh, she climbed onto your back, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and legs around your waist.

“I should stay up,” she mumbled into your hair. “I’ve got emails to answer… maybe even laundry-”

“Nope.” You cut her off, adjusting your grip so she wouldn’t slip. “You’re going back to sleep. There’s lunch in the fridge and fresh clothes by the shower.”

“Mmm, overachiever,” she sighed contentedly.

You ducked through the doorframe, careful not to bump her legs, and lowered her gently onto the bed. She immediately burrowed under the covers, eyes fluttering shut even as she reached for you.

“I love you,” she whispered, her hand brushing your neck before falling back to the sheets.

You adjusted the comforter again, tucking her in like you had when she was sick last winter. “Rest up, okay?”

She tugged you down for one more kiss, this time lingering longer, noses brushing, her warmth anchoring you for a moment.

“Don’t go just yet.”

It almost worked. You hesitated, watching the curve of her shoulder as she sank into the bed, the dark circles under her eyes, the way her fingers refused to let go of yours completely. But eventually, you had to pull away.

“I’m sorry. I really have to get to work.”

She frowned, soft and small. “I miss you,” she admitted, catching your hand again and squeezing.

“I know,” you said gently, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I’m right here.”

Her eyes flitted away. “I know,” she repeated, quieter this time.

“I love you,” you murmured.

“Love you too. Have a good day,” she mumbled, already curling into the blankets.

As you shut the door behind you, a small unease settled in your stomach - not quite a worry, but something quieter, heavier. You’d been through worse together. Opposite shifts were nothing compared to what you’d already survived.

Still, the way she said ‘I miss you’ stuck with you.

You made a mental note to come home early if you could. Maybe cook dinner. Maybe just… be there.

She’d always been your home.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

You rushed through the bullpen, weaving between desks with coffee in one hand and a crumpled paper bag in the other, muttering curses under your breath. The weather had been a nightmare with rain coming down in sheets and traffic had decided to stage a small-scale apocalypse. You’d thought a quick detour for caffeine and a pastry might make the morning more tolerable.

Timewise? Not your best decision. But emotionally? Worth it.

From across the room, a voice rang out like a cannon. “Well, damn. Is that Y/N Grey actually gracing us with her presence?”

You didn’t even have to look up to recognize the booming sarcasm of Derek Morgan. He was already halfway across the floor, grinning.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start, guys.”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “Start? You’ve been missing for,” he paused to check an imaginary watch, “fourteen minutes! We were about to put out an Amber Alert.”

“Oh, hilarious,” you deadpanned, brushing past him.

Just then, Emily Prentiss rounded the corner with the perfect flair of timing. She gasped as if she were genuinely shocked. “No. It can’t be. Y/N Grey? Walking? Talking? Existing in physical form?”

You were already mid-eye-roll before she even finished.

“I’m literally ten minutes late. You two need hobbies.”

Dropping your bag beside your desk, you collapsed into your chair with the defeated sigh of someone who already regretted getting out of bed. Emily perched on the corner of your desk like a cat in observation mode, while Derek leaned over the back of your chair, clearly not finished.

“She distracted you this morning, didn’t she?” he teased.

You didn’t need to ask who she was.

“Shut up,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

Emily smirked and started leafing through one of your files. “I mean, if I had the hot doc waiting for me in bed, I’d never show up to work either.”

You snatched the folder back and tossed it unceremoniously on top of the disorganized stack on your desk. “When exactly did we form a torment-Y/N club?”

“Roughly the minute you fell for someone hotter and smarter than you,” Derek grinned.

You tried to tuck your chair in, but it didn’t budge. You turned to glare at him. “Derek, are you literally pinning my chair down with your body weight?”

He gave you a smug look. “That’s what being late gets you. Public humiliation and mild physical restraint.”

You yelped as he swatted playfully at the back of your head, and the two of them erupted into laughter.

“I’d hate to see what you do if I was thirty minutes late.”

Emily leaned back with an innocent smile. “Oh, that’s when we start psychoanalyzing your childhood.”

“And if you hit the one-hour mark…” Derek trailed off as he walked back toward his desk, “...we go full character assassination. No mercy.”

“You do that every day anyway!” you called after him.

Before either of them could volley back, JJ’s voice floated out from the open office door.

“Hey, team? Let’s move. We’ve got a case. It’s local.”

Emily turned toward her, frowning. “A case? Already?”

You, Derek, and Emily all exchanged the same tired glance.

“Do they ever let us breathe?” you groaned. “I’ve got, like, a mountain of paperwork to catch up on.”

JJ offered a small shrug, almost apologetic. “Look at it this way, you got here just in time.”

You exhaled heavily and reached for your coat again. “Great. Guess I should call Amelia and let her know it’s another sleepover with my bulletproof vest.”

“Call her on the road,” Derek said as he passed you, tossing you a smirk. “Maybe she’ll forgive you faster if you sound breathless and heroic.”

You chuckled, despite yourself. “Unfortunately, she’s used to the hero complex by now.”

You followed him out of the bullpen, phone already halfway to your ear. Amelia’s number was the first on your screen, always. And as you waited for her to pick up, you reminded yourself: the job might pull you away, but at the end of it, she’d still be home.

And that was everything.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

“There’s nothing! How is there nothing?” Derek shouted, slamming his hand down on the hood of the SUV in frustration after a fruitless search of the Unsub’s property.

“Hey, we found a dog. I’m calling that a small win,” you called out from a few meters away, crouched beside a shaggy black mutt whose tongue was lolling out as he gazed up at you like you hung the moon.

Derek turned toward you. “How about this... try not to get so distracted next time?” he said, his tone sharp with sarcasm.

You hummed, unbothered. “I think Amelia and I should adopt a dog.”

Emily snorted as she approached, sliding her gun back into its holster. “Whoa, slow down. Everyone knows the only step after adopting a dog is proposing.”

You let out a dramatic groan. “You two are insufferable.”

Derek grinned. “And maybe this is your way of saying that you do want to propose?” He arched an eyebrow, “As long as I’m the maid of honour of course,” he added, bending to scratch the dog behind the ears.

Emily raised a brow and laughed. “Please. She’d pick me.”

“Hell no,” Derek scoffed, turning to you. “You wouldn’t… right?”

You paused, biting your lip. “She might not say yes.”

“Of course she’ll say yes,” Emily said without hesitation.

Before you could respond, Hotch’s voice cut through the air. “Let’s wrap it up. We’ll reassess back at base.”

Emily, of course, wasn’t done. “Wait, you’re really thinking of proposing?”

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug, but your voice softened. “I love her. A lot.”

“Lock her down before she figures out what a softie you are,” Derek teased.

You ignored him, stroking the dog under its chin. “You’re cute, huh? I think Amelia would love you.”

“Y/N!” Derek called.

You sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

“You know you can’t adopt every stray you find,” Emily said with a grin.

“Watch me.”

“Place the dog... on the ground.”

“Fine,” you muttered, setting the dog gently back on the ground. As you turned to usher him toward the house he probably wandered from, something in the upper window caught your eye. A flicker of movement. A curtain, shifting.

Your body stilled. “Hey... did anyone else see that?”

“What?” Derek asked, already halfway back to the SUV.

“That window. Top floor, two from the left.” You pointed. “The curtain just moved. Someone’s up there.”

Derek sighed. “We cleared that house top to bottom. It’s empty.”

“I know, but… I saw something.”

“One more sweep?” Emily offered.

“Wouldn’t hurt.” You started back toward the house, more alert now. Your hand instinctively dropped to your sidearm.

“Y/N, wait up,” Derek called, jogging to catch up.

“Hurry up, slowpokes,” you shouted back, picking up the pace. “I swear to God, if we lose someone because you two are dragging your feet, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?”

“I don’t know, but it’ll be super fucking annoyi-”

You didn’t finish.

A deafening rip shattered the air, and the ground beneath you exploded. You didn’t feel the blast before it threw you backward - but you definitely felt the landing. The jarring, shattering collapse. The rain of debris. The weight. The dust.

You couldn’t breathe.

Panic clawed at your chest as you gasped, desperate for air. Your hearing was warped, muffled like cotton in your ears, but you could still make out Derek’s voice in the distance.

“Y/N!”

Your radio crackled with urgency. Officer down.

You blinked. Someone was down. Who? Was someone hurt? You couldn’t think properly.

You heard Hotch’s voice cutting through the chaos. “Derek, stop! There could be a second blast!” But it was too late, Derek was already there, sliding into your line of sight. Your mouth opened but no words came. Just wheezing.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his hands cradling your head with a kind of desperation. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“Der—” You barely choked it out.

“I’m here. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Emily appeared beside him, horror flooding her expression.

“Don’t—” you croaked, torn between not wanting either of them near any kind of danger but also craving their presence.

“You’re okay,” Derek whispered again. “Just stay with me.”

The fear overwhelmed you and you decided you just wanted them, needed them to keep you safe, “Please… don’t leave me here,” you gasped, voice cracked and barely audible.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “Not if you stay with me, too.”

“I-” You didn’t finish the thought. You didn’t have the breath.

“Y/N, stay with me. Just breathe.”

“I’m okay, it’s...” You looked at Emily. “Em… I’m okay,” you tried to promise, voice rasping.

“The ambulance is on its way,” she said softly, her hand finding yours. “Just breathe. That’s all you need to do.”

“Amelia,” you rasped, mind flashing to your girlfriend. “Call her. You have to call Amelia.”

“I’m already on it,” Emily said, pressing her comm.

“The dog… is the dog okay?” You winced as you tried to look around. Pain radiated through your ribs.

A sharp bark rang out across the lawn, high-pitched, frantic. You couldn’t see the dog, but the sound cut through the fog in your brain like a thread tethering you to something real.

“That enough of an answer?” Derek said, voice cracking with emotion as he tried to keep things light. His hands were covered in dust and blood, your blood, and they trembled where they held your head steady. “You’re lying in rubble, and you’re asking about the damn dog.”

You tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “I’ve…” You gasped, chest seizing. “I’ve had worse.”

“No, you haven’t,” he said, barely above a whisper. You saw it in his eyes, the fear, the helplessness he rarely showed. “You doing okay?”

“Y/N?” Emily’s voice came in tight, controlled, but barely hanging on.

“Yeah, I’m... just-” Your voice broke off into another pained wheeze, and this time the fear wasn’t just in their eyes. It was in yours, too. Your vision swam. The world blurred at the edges.

“Stop. Don’t talk. Just breathe,” Emily said urgently, crouching at your side, her hand wrapping tightly around yours like an anchor. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

You looked between them, struggling to find air, to find words. “Derek…”

“I’m here.” He didn’t hesitate. “I’m right here.”

Shouts echoed from the road. Boots pounded against pavement. Gravel scattered.

“Careful with her!” someone yelled as medics rushed in, their voices sharp, movements efficient but frantic.

Hands were on you now, checking your pulse, cutting away fabric, pressing gauze to your side. One of them was talking into a radio. “Female agent, multiple contusions, possible internal-”

The rest faded. Your hearing was pulsing in and out again like the rise and fall of the tide.

Emily leaned in, brushing hair from your face, her fingers shaking. “We’re right behind you, okay? We’re coming. Just hang on.”

The pain wasn’t sharp anymore. It was a dull, deep, blooming pain like ink spreading through your veins. You could feel the weight of it in your chest, your limbs going numb.

Your eyes fluttered, and behind them, a face formed - not Emily’s, not Derek’s.

Amelia.

The curve of her smile. The sound of her laugh. The warmth of her body curled into yours on quiet mornings. The way she said your name like it meant something.

Even as the pain surged, even as your blood stained the grass beneath you, the thought of her was the only thing that kept you grounded.

Hold on, you thought.

You had to get back to her.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

“Meredith.”

“I’ve got two minutes, Amelia, max - I’ve got a consult in Room-”

“Meredith.” Amelia’s voice cracked, cutting through the sterile rhythm of the hospital like a fault line.

Meredith froze. The hallway outside the OR suddenly felt louder - footsteps, intercom buzz, machines whirring behind closed doors.

Amelia swallowed, breath caught in her throat. “It’s Y/N.”

Meredith’s face fell instantly. “No.”

“I just got a call. From her team.”

“No.” Louder this time, more desperate. As if saying it twice might rewind the universe.

“She was hurt,” Amelia whispered. “Badly. In the field.”

“No. No, she-” Meredith took a step back. “She’s okay. She... what happened?”

“There was an explosion, and she-” Amelia blinked rapidly. “I- I paged Bailey. Because she’s the best. They’re bringing her here. The whole team is already on their way.”

Meredith’s mind started racing, already calculating. Blast radius. Internal trauma. Time of arrival. What she’d need to ask. What she couldn’t afford to know.

“She’s not...” Meredith’s voice faltered. “She’s okay though, right? You asked. You know?”

“I- I don’t know.” Amelia cried out, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “Something about shrapnel. And blood. She couldn’t breathe, and- I didn’t get more, I just... I panicked.”

“You didn’t ask for more details?” Meredith’s voice came sharp, too sharp, too scared. “You didn’t-”

“I didn’t know what to ask! I just- I can’t think, Meredith.” A silence stretched between them, thick with the kind of fear that leaves no room for air.

Meredith took a shaky breath. “Okay. It’s Y/N. She’s strong. She’s stubborn as hell.”

“I saw her this morning. And she was smiling.”

“She’s going to be smiling again.”

“I love her,” Amelia said, and it came out like a confession, like saying it made the possibility of losing her even more unbearable. “What if-”

“No.” Meredith’s tone turned. Steel beneath the grief. “We don’t go there. She needs us. We show up.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Well, get ready.” Meredith took Amelia’s hand, squeezing it hard. “We don’t lose her.”

Amelia’s eyes were wide, unfocused, filled with tears that hadn’t yet fallen. “We can’t.”

“We won’t.” Meredith’s voice shook, but she held firm. “Come on, Amelia. Come on, Y/N. Please, just hang on.”

They stood together in that hallway - two surgeons, two sisters, two women trying not to shatter under the weight of love and fear.

And still holding hands.

Waiting for the ambulance doors to open.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

“I’m staying with her,” Amelia said immediately, arms crossed and voice firm, but the fear in her eyes betrayed her.

Teddy Altman didn’t even hesitate. “You’re not. I’m sorry, but no one is allowed in the OR who isn’t scrubbed in and vital to this surgery.”

Amelia stepped forward, fists clenched. “I am vital. I’m her-”

“I am staying with her,” Derek interrupted, barreling into the hallway in a swirl of panic, breathless from sprinting through the hospital. His eyes locked on Teddy, wild and pleading. Her eyes were quickly drawn to his FBI jacket and she sighed.

“Sir,” Teddy said firmly, holding up a hand, “I understand you care, but this is a sterile surgical procedure and I cannot-”

“Are you working on Y/N’s surgery?” he snapped, cutting her off.

“Yes, I’m leading-”

“Then I’m coming with you,” he said again, resolute.

Teddy's jaw tightened, clearly fighting to stay calm. “I cannot have any of you distracting me. I need focus. She’s critical. This is already... this is already tight.”

“You’re wasting time,” Meredith snapped. “Every second we stand here, she’s bleeding out.”

“I can’t operate with all of you staring at me from the scrub room like ghosts at a funeral,” Teddy said, her voice trembling with contained stress. “She’s not just another patient. She’s... her. And I can’t lose her either. It’s... I just can’t.”

“Teddy,” Meredith tried again, softer now.

“No.”

“Please,” Meredith begged, her voice cracking, “She’s my sister.”

Teddy faltered, her eyes flicking over to Amelia, who hadn’t said another word but was trembling like she’d fall apart if someone breathed too hard. "It’s just you’re... she’s-”

“My partner,” Amelia whispered. “She’s mine.”

The silence pulsed like a second heartbeat in the hallway.

Teddy closed her eyes briefly, then nodded. “Fine. Both. Outside the OR. You do not come inside. You will be updated first, I swear.”

“And me.” Derek stepped up.

“Fine,” Teddy snapped. “But do not interfere. Not one word through that intercom. I need silence.”

Derek nodded, “I wasn’t asking. I was always coming.”

“I don’t care who you are,” Teddy said, her voice steel. “Don’t get in my way. Let me save her.”

Bailey appeared behind them, surgical gown already on, clipboard in hand. “X-rays just came through. If we’re going to do this, we move now.”

They all surged forward, rushing toward the OR. No more talking. Only action.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Teddy stood over Y/N’s body under the harsh overhead lights. She looked small beneath the sterile drapes, wires and leads tracing lines across her chest. The monitors were too loud, too fast, every beep was a reminder of how little time they had.

“We need to be precise,” Teddy said to the room. Her voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of tension. “This is a high-risk trauma. These are our people involved. Let’s do this right.”

Bailey nodded, already scrubbing in beside her. “Vitals?”

“Blood pressure’s 85 over 45, heart rate 128 and rising,” called out the nurse.

Teddy looked over at the trauma imaging on the overhead monitor. “Blast injury from an IED. The pattern of the fragments suggests high-velocity shrapnel. There’s a piece lodged close to the anterior wall of the left ventricle, dangerously close to breaking through.”

“She was wearing a vest, but it failed to protect the lower torso,” Bailey added, flipping through the trauma report. “There’s also a liver laceration and a closed femur fracture on the left side.”

“Priority has to be cardiac,” Teddy said. “That fragment moves even a millimeter- we risk myocardial rupture. We need to move forward without cardiac bypass if possible.”

“Can you get in without opening the pericardium completely?” Bailey asked.

“I think so. I need minimal movement. Set up suction and be ready to assist.” Teddy flexed her hand and took a deep breath.

“Understood.” Bailey turned to the circulating nurse. “Two units of O-neg, now. Prep for emergency thoracotomy. I’ll handle the abdomen.”

Teddy nodded. “Let’s get her stabilised.”

Bailey made her first incision in the right upper quadrant, voice calm but focused. “Liver’s bleeding. Packing now. Let’s get some gauze in here.”

“BP’s creeping up. Ninety over fifty,” someone said from anesthesia. “She’s responding to fluids.”

“Hold pressure on that gauze. Let’s see if it holds.”

The room buzzed with quiet urgency... until the monitor suddenly flatlined.

The tone changed instantly.

“V-tach!” someone shouted. “No pulse!”

“Everyone stop,” Teddy shouted. “Charging to 200. Clear the field.”

“Clear.”

Y/N’s body jumped as the defibrillator delivered the shock.

“Still no rhythm. Recharging.”

“Clear.”

After the second shock, the line flickered.

“She’s back. Weak but stable.”

Teddy exhaled, but didn’t pause. “We don’t get a third shot. I’m going in for the shrapnel.”

“I’ve got the liver packed,” Bailey confirmed. “Bleeding’s slowing but still present.”

Teddy adjusted the retractor carefully, guiding her hands into the thoracic cavity. “Suction.”

A moment of tense silence passed as everyone focused on her movements.

“There it is,” she murmured. “Anterior to the pericardium, adjacent to the ventricular wall. It’s not embedded.”

“Any penetration?” Bailey asked.

“No obvious breach. No active bleeding. I’m lifting it. Steady... steady-”

The suction whirred. The room held its breath.

“Got it.”

Monitors stabilized.

“BP’s holding at 100 over 70. Heart rate normalizing.”

“Good work,” Bailey said. “I’m closing the liver now, suture looks clean, field’s clearing.”

Teddy glanced up at the wall clock, then back down. “Let’s close. Keep an eye on that chest tube output post-op.”

Bailey nodded and only as the final sutures were placed did Teddy allow herself a breath.

“She’s stable, for now.”

Bailey glanced toward the scrub room. “Let’s get her to recovery before those two kick the door down.”

Behind the glass, Amelia’s hands were braced against the window, eyes unblinking. Meredith stood beside her, jaw clenched, arms wrapped tight around her chest. Derek stood against the opposite wall, a grim look on his face.

“They’re going to be glued to her bedside,” Teddy muttered, almost to herself.

“And the FBI,” Bailey added with a wry smile. “Don’t forget the feds.”

Teddy gave a tired nod. “Alright. Let’s move her. We’re not losing her.”

“Not today,” Bailey agreed, peeling off her gloves.

The room slowly began to move again.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Warm light spilled through the curtains, leaving long golden stripes across the bed. The room smelled faintly of clean laundry and the trace of coffee that had long since gone cold. You stirred against the pillow, slow and sore, muscles stiff from healing. Beside you, Amelia’s arm lay draped lightly over your waist, fingers twitching as she blinked awake.

“Good morning,” she murmured, voice low and husky.

You turned your head toward her, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Hi.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. You just watched each other, the weight of the past week still humming beneath the silence.

“I don’t think we’ve woken up together in a long time,” Amelia said quietly.

“Not without one of us having to run off to work,” you agreed, eyes tracing the curve of her jaw, the way her hair stuck up on one side.

She nodded, shifting slightly closer. “I could get used to this. To you. Every morning.”

“Oh yeah?” you teased, voice scratchy from sleep and healing lungs.

“Yes,” she said, with a seriousness that made your chest ache. “You are very, very beautiful. I’m a lucky woman.”

You raised a brow. “Even with all the fresh scars?”

She reached up to gently brush your hair back from your forehead. “Hmm. I love you in every way. I just wish you weren’t hurting.”

You went to sit up, wincing at the pull in your ribs.

“Careful,” she said immediately, her hand bracing your back. “You’re still healing.”

“I’m okay,” you breathed. “I just wanted you right here.”

“You have me,” she said softly, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “You always will.”

You tilted your head. “Day off?”

“Yeah. Swapped my shift.” She grinned and sat up, revealing the oversized black FBI jacket wrapped around her small frame. It nearly swallowed her. “I’ve already cooked breakfast in bed for us, did three loads of laundry, and cleaned the bathroom. Plus a little nap as a treat for the past half hour or so.”

You blinked at her. “It’s not even 8.”

“I am... unstoppable,” she said proudly.

“And slightly terrifying.” You shook your head, amused. “You didn’t have to do all that. You should rest too.”

She shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep too easily. I was worried about you.”

“When did you get up?”

“Not long ago,” she lied easily, brushing it off. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That you were still here.”

“I’m still breathing,” you said, offering a weak smile.

Her face fell a little. “Don’t joke. Not about that.”

“Sorry.”

She touched your side again, more purposeful this time. “Let me check. Lift your shirt.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Amelia rolled her eyes as she sat up, her fingers were gentle as she examined the healing incision. Her touch was clinical at first, but lingered slightly at your hip, grounding you both.

“It’s healing well,” she murmured. “No signs of infection. Sutures are holding.”

You watched her work, calm and precise, the jacket sleeves pushed up to her elbows. “I like watching you when you’re in doctor mode.”

“I’m trying to be serious.”

“I know.” You rested your hand on her knee. “I’m lucky to have you.”

“You are,” she said, but her smile was full of warmth. “very lucky.” She leant down, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“I’m okay, Amelia. You can relax.”

She hesitated, then gave you a look. “And you need to stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m your everything.”

You leaned forward, brushing your nose to hers. “Okay. So what? Maybe I have a crush on you.”

She grinned. “You lo-o-o-ove me.”

“I love you,” you said, and this time, there was no teasing in your voice.

Her expression stilled. Then she whispered, “I love you too.”

She let her forehead rest against yours for a beat before pulling back. “Stay here. I’ll get the food.”

You appreciated the fact that she was taking such good care of you, but you quickly became bored. You wanted her here, with you, after all you’d been through. You squirmed your way across the bed, pushing yourself up to a sitting position and swinging (and by that, you slowly inched) your legs over the bed and landed your feet on the floor.

You'd made it as far as the wardrobe, wobbling slightly on crutches you definitely didn’t need, by the time she returned. Amelia paused in the doorway, tray in hand, her brows lifting.

“I told you to stay in bed,” she scolded, though her tone was more amused than angry.

“How was I supposed to stay away from you?” you asked, leaning against the furniture for balance.

Amelia rolled her eyes, setting the tray down on the bed-side table. The jacket shifted slightly on her as she moved, it dwarfed her, yet looked somehow perfect. She caught you staring.

“What?” she said, glancing down. “Emily dropped it off yesterday. Along with some stuff from the office. And flowers.”

“You wear it well.”

“She calls me the hot doctor, you know,” Amelia said, smirking.

“I know. And she’s not wrong.”

“I like her even more now.”

You hobbled closer and tugged lightly on the hem of the jacket. “I’ll get you one of your own.”

She shook her head. “This one’s warm now. Smells like you. I’m keeping it.”

You stepped into her space, letting your crutches fall to one side as she caught you. “You’re cute.”

“And you were supposed to stay in bed.” She repeated, clearly aggrieved that you had dared to move, “I was bringing you breakfast in bed.”

“Well, I missed you.”

“You saw me, like, ten minutes ago.”

“I still missed you.”

She looked at you like she might melt, then helped ease you onto a chair. “You had surgery. You can’t just wander around like nothing happened.”

“I know. You don’t have to remind me.”

Her hands, warm and steady, lingered at your waist as she helped you settle. “I’m just scared,” she said softly.

“I know,” you said, wrapping your arms around her waist, careful not to press too close. “But I’m okay.”

She leaned down and kissed the crown of your head, arms tightening slightly. “Yeah,” she whispered. “You are.”

291 notes · View notes

oscquinn · 3 months ago

Note

'you better watch your fucking mouth.' with ❜#43 quinn hughes please!!! Also love your fics!! <3

if i stop posting it's cause this req killed me

"you better watch your fucking mouth" from this subtle smut list. part of my mini writing event!

quinn hughes x f!reader, NSFW 18+. explicit content, rough p in v, slapping, spanking, degredation... brat tamer Q >:)

you have a knack for pushing quinn's buttons. you love to get him riled up, pull the darker side out of him. you never mind the roughness, the morning after ache a pleasant one, knowing you'd been taken care of. more importantly, that you'd taken care of him.

that's how he's fucking you now, bruising grip on your hips as he hammers into you from below. "fuck, so tight, you like that angel, hm?" he asks, a coy smirk playing at his lips. he stays quiet for a moment—except for his soft grunts and ragged breathing—then continues, "can you take it? or is it too much for your pretty little pussy?"

"that-ah!-that all you got?" you ask, shaky voice and punched-out moans doing little to hide the way you're falling apart. "think you could stand to fuck me harder," you tease, pretending to be bored as you sit up straighter, stretching out.

the result is quinn's hips slamming to a stop inside you, followed by a sharp smack to your face. you whine, squirming on his thick cock, the tip nudging that spongy spot that always makes you whimper. his large hand grips your jaw, bringing you in close.

"you better watch your fucking mouth," he growls, dark eyes staring you down.

you feel small under his gaze, still squirming as he rolls his hips gently into you. it's all a ruse, lulling you into a false sense of security, and just as your eyes slip closed he slaps your ass hard.

a startled yelp pulls from your throat, strong hands gripping you by your hips to lift you fully off him. you can't help the wrecked sob that escapes your lips, feeling so fucking empty at the loss of him. it only spurs quinn on.

"hands and knees," he commands, moving to the side so there's room for you at the center of the bed. "c'mon, you know how i want you. be a good girl, i don't like this little brat you're pretending to be."

you sigh and whine in protest, but eventually, you position yourself in the way he wants. quinn moves behind you, grabbing handfuls of your ass and pressing gentle kisses to your lower back. it isn't long before he's lining back up, pressing into your needy cunty in one long, rough stroke.

you lurch forward at the force of his pace, babbling "q-quinn, fuck! fuckfuckfuck, right there!"

"that's what i thought," he grumbles, yanking you up by your hair. "but you're not getting off that easy, sweetheart. think i still need to fuck that attitude out of you."

#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes smut #qh43 x reader #qh43 smut #qh43 imagine #quinn hughes imagine #nhl x reader #nhl smut #nhl imagine #maggie's musings [blurbs]

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aventurineswife · 4 months ago

Note

“Reqs are open and my inbox is empty‼️‼️”

Not for long. (Now I sleep, ehe.)

—I’d absolutely adore you to write a scenario for Dan Heng, Sunday, and Aventurine (Possibly Shadow if you feel real extra tonight.)

How would each character react towards their partner falling asleep against them? Whether it’s late at night, early morning, they’re simply too comfortable to keep themselves awake.. and this would dawn on our dear characters. Feeling a sense of warmth, knowing their presence brings such a high level of comfort n’ security, where we—the reader fall asleep with ease no matter where we are so long as we have them. 💙✨

Anchored in Stillness

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Comfort, Quiet Moments Softness, Vulnerability Gentle Affection, Bonding, Emotional Reflection, Introspection, Slow Burn, Established Relationship.

It was late in the quiet hours of the night, the gentle hum of the Astral Express barely audible as it sailed through the endless expanse of space. Dan Heng sat in a corner of the lounge, eyes scanning a book that had long since lost its grip on his attention. His focus, though steady and disciplined as always, was elsewhere now. The warmth of the room, combined with the soft whirring of the train, created a sense of peace he rarely afforded himself.

It was then that he felt it—soft pressure on his shoulder. His eyes drifted to his side, and he froze for a moment. There, resting against him, was you, your body relaxed in a deep, untroubled sleep. Your presence, warm and quiet, was almost a contrast to his own habitual distance. Dan Heng’s gaze softened slightly, the weight of the moment settling over him.

His lips parted, but no words came. He didn’t want to disturb you. There was something deeply comforting about this—how, even in the quietest, most vulnerable moment, you trusted him to be your anchor. He didn’t feel the need to say anything. The connection was unspoken, but it was real.

Dan Heng shifted subtly, ensuring his posture was just right so you could remain comfortable. He could feel the steady rhythm of your breathing against him, each inhale a small reassurance. It was in these moments, in the quiet stillness of the night, that he allowed himself a brief reprieve from the guilt, from the weight of the past that clung to him so tightly. Here, now, in the silence, he felt something akin to peace. He wasn’t alone—not anymore.

And as you continued to sleep soundly, his own eyes fluttered closed, the faintest trace of a sigh escaping his lips. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t running from something.

The moonlight outside cast a soft glow over the Astral Express, and the cabin was bathed in a tranquil, almost ethereal light. Sunday sat at the edge of the couch, a book forgotten in his lap. His eyes wandered to the window, but his thoughts drifted elsewhere. The gentle rhythm of the train’s movement was lulling, but it wasn’t what held his attention tonight.

It was the soft, rhythmic sound of breathing beside him. He turned, and there, curled up against his side, was you, eyes closed in peaceful slumber. Your body was relaxed, the weight of your head resting against his shoulder. For a moment, Sunday merely watched you, his eyes softening as he observed the vulnerability you showed in your sleep.

His wings fluttered slightly, as if subconsciously reacting to the warmth you exuded. He felt an unfamiliar warmth in his chest—a sense of duty, yes, but something deeper, too. A connection that went beyond his usual capacity for empathy. It was the kind of bond that, despite all his doubts and internal struggles, felt undeniably right.

He felt your presence, steady and grounding, and it soothed him in ways he couldn’t quite describe. The idea that he could be someone who provided comfort—that he could be the source of someone else’s peace—was something he had never fully embraced before. Yet, here it was, real and undeniable.

Sunday’s breath caught for a moment as he allowed himself the luxury of simply being in the moment. He was so used to thinking of others, to sacrificing for the collective good, that he often forgot how to simply be for himself. But with you here, asleep and safe, he felt a strange sense of ease. It was a quiet reassurance, like a whisper in his heart that reminded him of the small, beautiful connections that made life worth living.

His hand shifted slightly, resting over your shoulder, fingers brushing lightly against your skin. He wasn’t sure if you were aware of his touch, but it didn’t matter. The warmth between you was enough, and with a soft sigh, Sunday closed his eyes for a brief moment. There, in the stillness, he allowed himself the rare indulgence of peace.

Aventurine, ever the master of managing his surroundings, sat in his luxurious chair, surveying the quiet room with a calculated detachment. It was well into the night, and the flickering light of a candle danced across the polished surfaces of the cabin, casting long shadows on the walls. He should have been focusing on the many schemes, the next move in the game, but something about tonight felt different.

He had thought he was alone in the room, but as he shifted slightly in his chair, he felt a warmth at his side. Looking down, he saw you, your head gently resting against his shoulder, your body soft and relaxed as you drifted off to sleep. Your presence was unexpected, yet it wasn’t unwelcome.

Aventurine’s eyes narrowed slightly, the usual hint of calculation in his gaze replaced by something softer. He had never been one to let his guard down, not even for a moment, but here he was, caught off-guard by the intimacy of it all. His mind raced as he quickly calculated the right course of action—should he move? Should he speak?

But then he paused.

Your presence, your comfort, filled the space around him. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, the warmth radiating from you—it was an unexpected peace, a momentary break from the endless games of strategy he played with his life. For all his calculated risks and meticulous plans, he hadn’t anticipated something as simple as this.

He allowed himself a rare, almost imperceptible smile, his eyes flickering with a touch of vulnerability—just for a moment. His gloved hand moved almost instinctively, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle despite the harshness of his demeanor. He hadn’t realized how much he had longed for this kind of closeness, this kind of warmth.

The silence was heavy with unspoken words, the tension of his past and his ambition swirling just beneath the surface, but for now, Aventurine let it all fade into the background. Your presence grounded him, and for the first time in a long while, the thrill of the gamble didn’t feel so urgent. With a quiet sigh, he allowed his body to relax, his hand resting on the armrest of the chair as he let his thoughts drift, your warmth a silent reminder of the connection he never quite understood but desperately needed.

In the soft silence of the night, Aventurine let the game rest, just for a while.

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daxisyzz · 3 months ago

Text

⁺‧˚ ⋆ 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥 | 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋆ ˚‧⁺

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 3: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒆𝒐'𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Pairings: ceo!boss!bucky barnes × fem!reader

Other characters: bestfriend!Natasha romanoff, platonic!coworker! Wanda Maximoff, Sam Wilson and Peter Parker.

Contents: fake dating, chaotic relationship dynamic, workplace romance, contract relationship.

Summary: News of your relationship spreads like wildfire, and suddenly, you’re the most talked-about person in the company. Between nosy coworkers, jealous stares, and Bucky mysteriously showing up wherever you go, you start to wonder—who exactly is pretending here?

Word count: 2.3k+

Warnings and tags: Bucky’s mean for a split second, he's a cute menace, hyper bestie Nat, judgemental office people, Reader keeps spiralling, many scene switches.

Series masterlist

Previous episode Next episode

Inspired by the kdrama Business Proposal

Previously on Business Proposal...

You stare at him, fully aware you're about to sign away your entire life. And yet—your landlord just raised the rent, your boss (who's sitting in front of you) is on the verge of layoffs, and your bank account is actively crying.

You had no choice.

With utter resignation, you grab the pen, sign the contract, and glare at him.

“If I go to jail for this, I’m haunting you.”

Bucky smirks, completely unbothered. "Oh, sweetheart, this is just the beginning."

_____________________●

It has been two days since you held that contract and signed it to become your boss's girlfriend. Nothing much has happened except for you learning info about Bucky from a file he provided, about his likes and dislikes—to make it more realistic.

You walked into the office exhausted. No one knew about your relationship yet, and you didn’t know when he was going to reveal it to the public, but you weren’t exactly thrilled. For the past few days, Bucky had been his typical self: ice-cold with a petty streak the size of the Empire State Building.

You were beginning to think you had signed a contract with the devil himself. Ever since you agreed to be Bucky Barnes' girlfriend, he had done nothing but make your life miserable in the most cliché way possible.

Your inbox was flooded.

Your calendar was triple-booked.

And worst of all?

He was making you present at the 8 a.m. executive meeting without any warning.

You were dying.

He walked past your desk, perfectly polished in his charcoal suit with a smug aura, and tossed a file down—barely glancing at you.

"Need this by four."

You blinked at him, jaw slack.

"You said five—"

He cut you off smoothly: "I changed my mind." You stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. He smirked. Smirked.

"Oh, and don’t forget the new compliance reports. I want your summary on my desk first thing tomorrow."

"Are you serious?" you asked, already spiraling.

"Every time."

He turned and walked off like a villain in a spy movie while you genuinely contemplated sending your resignation via passive-aggressive memes.

Later that evening, you sat at your desk after work hours, rubbing your eyes among empty coffee cups and a document that refused to format itself.

Bucky emerged from his office with a silent air which, in your state, you might have missed if he hadn’t cleared his throat.

You didn’t look at him.

He came closer, leaning against your office doorframe and clearing his throat again to catch your attention.

"I might’ve overdone it," he said eventually.

You still didn’t look.

"I didn’t mean to actually... break you."

That finally got your attention. You turned to face him with a deadpan glare. "You gave me seven different tasks with three conflicting deadlines."

He winced. "In my defense, you lied to my face—twice."

"And in my defense, I’m one paper jam away from committing a felony."

He chuckled, then softened.

"Go home," he said quietly.

"I'll send the rest to someone else."

You stared. "What's the catch?"

"No catch." He hesitated, then added with a small smile, "I'll make it up to you. Fake boyfriend's honor."

You grabbed your bag and muttered, "Whatever weird revenge arc this is, I hope it ends soon."

He watched you gather your things in silence, too tired to argue.

Your eyes were rimmed red from hours of screen-staring, and your shoulders slumped under the weight of the day he’d dumped on you. Even now, you didn’t say anything snarky or bite back.

You simply walked past him with a quiet “Thanks.”

And that was somehow worse.

Bucky leaned against the glass wall of your office, jaw clenched. Damn it.

"She tricked you first," his brain reminded him, smug and cruel. "She pretended to be someone else, played me like a fool."

But…

"She looked like she was about to cry," he muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face. "I’m not a monster."

It wasn’t that he meant to overwork you—not really. He just got carried away. You made him feel off-kilter, and he didn’t like that. So he punished you with tasks, meetings, and impossible deadlines.

Petty.

Childish.

Effective.

But now? Now he felt like crap.

"Why do I feel guilty? She lied first."

He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "This isn't in the contract."

After a well-deserved sleep, you woke up feeling somewhat refreshed. You got ready, dreading the day ahead. Something was not right—you could feel it. Your gut never lies.

The word was out.

You were halfway through your iced coffee when Peter Parker, the new social media manager you befriended, ran into the office as if he had personally discovered the second coming of Christ.

"Are you dating the CEO?!"

You blinked, barely registering his words.

"What—no—what?!"

"Peter, inside voice," Wanda muttered behind him as she slid into her chair.

Sam raised an eyebrow from behind his computer. "So it's true."

You glanced around. The entire floor buzzed with whispers. You could feel their stares poking at you. Someone was even scrolling through a Reddit thread titled "The Employee Who Tamed the CEO."

You didn’t know how it leaked—maybe HR—but by lunch, the entire office knew.

You were dating Bucky Barnes.

You didn’t even have time to breathe before he appeared. There he was, in one of his many ridiculously tailored suits, slow strides and perfectly styled hair, his smirk as infuriating as ever. And—was that a second cup of coffee in his hand?

"Morning, babe," he said, placing your favorite order right next to your elbow.

"You looked tired yesterday. Thought I'd help." You stared at the drink like it might explode. Everyone’s jaw dropped.

You opened your mouth to respond but— "Oh, babe," Bucky interjected smoothly, crouching next to your desk like it was an everyday routine, "I've canceled all your meetings so you can rest. Just attend the brainstorming session, alright?"

Babe?

You made a strangled noise in your throat. "Alright," you said with a smile that suggested your soul wasn’t screaming.

Later, alone in the break room, you cornered him by the fridge, voice low and frantic. "What is happening?! Yesterday you tried to kill me via Google Calendar, and now you're acting like we’ve been married for five years."

Bucky leaned against the counter, calm as ever. "Things changed."

"Oh, really?"

"The office knows. Gotta sell it."

You stared. "So your solution is to completely change your personality?!"

He smiled—soft, this time. "No. I’m just being the boyfriend you tricked me into becoming." You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

"...I need stronger coffee," you muttered, turning on your heel.

Behind you, Bucky’s grin widened as if he were enjoying it way too much.

You sat at your usual table in the cafeteria with Wanda, Sam, and Peter, eating lunch and pretending not to notice the sideways glances from other tables.

"They’re staring again," Peter whispered, leaning over his tray of fries.

Wanda didn’t even look up from her salad. "Let them. I’d stare too if my friend suddenly started dating our CEO."

"It’s wild, though," Sam grinned. "One day you’re quietly working like the rest of us, and the next day—boom. CEO’s smiling like someone handed him the keys to his dream car."

You covered your face with your hands. "Can we not talk about this?"

Too late.

The cafeteria door swung open with an audible creak.

In walked Natasha Romanoff—hair perfect, sunglasses still on indoors, lips pressed as if she meant business.

She stopped in the middle of the room, scanned the crowd, and headed straight for you.

"Oh no," you whispered. "She found me." Wanda blinked. "You didn’t tell her?"

"I was going to. Eventually. Maybe. In a controlled environment."

Nat reached your table, hands on her hips. "You! We’re talking. Now."

You barely had time to set your drink down before she grabbed your wrist and pulled you up from the chair.

Sam let out a low whistle. "Uh-oh."

Peter muttered, "Good luck," as if sending you off to war.

Natasha didn’t say a word as she marched you through the halls, then stopped at an empty meeting room and shut the door behind you. Only once she let go of your arm did she speak. She simply stared before saying,

"I’m sorry."

You blinked. "What?"

"I’m serious," she said softly. "I should’ve never made you take that date for me. I was being selfish, and I didn’t think it’d spiral into... this." She gestured vaguely, as if “this” were too ridiculous to name.

You folded your arms. "Nat, it’s fine. Really."

She stared harder. "You almost got fired. That’s on me."

You shifted uneasily. "I didn’t. So don’t worry about it."

She shook her head. "No. You went to that restaurant dressed like a lunatic to scare a stranger off—and that stranger turned out to be your boss. The boss. This is peak corporate drama. I should’ve never put you in that situation."

You hesitated cause Nat seemed tohave no clue. "You didn’t force me. I said yes."

"You always say yes when I ask for stuff. That doesn’t mean I should’ve asked."

Your expression softened. "Well, joke’s on you, 'cause I bagged my CEO."

Nat stared. "You what now?"

You grinned exaggeratedly. "Yep. Dating him now. Whole-ass relationship."

Her mouth opened slightly. "Wait. Are you serious?"

You nodded, still beaming(gotta sell the act). "It’s... new. And weird. But yeah."

She squinted at you. "Since when are you into CEO types?"

"Since they started showing up at my desk with cappuccinos and weirdly good cologne."

Nat stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Okay, but—are you okay? Is he pushing you into anything? I swear, if he’s threatening you behind all that rich guy charm—"

"No," you interrupted quickly. "Nothing like that. He’s... surprisingly nice."

She narrowed her eyes. "You’re being really vague. Suspiciously vague..."

"...I can tell when you're lying."

"I’m happy, Nat."

She paused, then said, "Fine. I’ll pretend I believe you. But just know I’ll gut him if he hurts you."

You laughed. "Duly noted."

Nat sighed, stepping back and brushing imaginary dust off your blazer. "Alright. If you’re gonna keep seeing him, we’re leveling up your date-night looks. I’m pulling up to your door with all my new collections."

You blinked. "For what?"

"For your next date. You think you’re gonna keep dating the city’s most eligible CEO and wear those sad office blouses? No offense, but—no."

You groaned. "Nat—"

"Nope. Already picking dresses in my head. You’ll thank me later when you look like a million bucks and he’s short-circuiting."

You squinted. "You’re enjoying this too much."

"I need this win," she said seriously. "You deserve to look like a goddess after what I dragged you into."

You softened. "You’re forgiven. Really."

She smiled, finally relaxing. "Good. I'll leave you to it. I need the details soon. Gotta go, love—bye." She sent a kiss as you gave a tiny wave back.

The door to the meeting room clicked shut behind Natasha as she continued her day, leaving you alone with that drink still in your hand. You were still processing the chaotic whirlwind of her advice—especially about the date. You had thought she’d be more subtle, but that was clearly too much to ask.

You stared at your phone, shaking your head in disbelief as you scrolled through Natasha's texts. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, trying to focus on a reply, but the flood of messages kept coming in.

Natasha: “This red dress screams ‘CEO arm candy.’”

Natasha: “Do you own heels that don’t look like they’ve been to war?”

Natasha: “Lipstick shade: ‘I will ruin you.’ Thoughts?”

Natasha: “Wait, should I book a glam team? I know people.”

You could practically hear her voice in every text, each one more ridiculous than the last. Rolling your eyes, you typed back, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum:

You: “Nat, please—I work in marketing. This isn’t Bridgerton.”

Almost immediately, a new text arrived, and your eyes widened at the sight of the attached picture—a sparkly, backless dress that was way too much for a fake date. You sighed dramatically and shook your head. Just as you were about to craft a snarky reply, the sudden sensation of being watched made the hairs on your neck stand up.

You froze, your stomach twisting with a mix of nerves and something else. Before you could even turn, you felt a familiar presence in the doorway, and your heart skipped a beat.

There stood Bucky Barnes—silent, tall, his frame filling the entrance as he cast a shadow over your phone while he watched you.

You gasped, nearly dropping your phone. "God—!"

Bucky blinked, unfazed, as he stepped into the room, casually sipping from his travel mug. "Coffee machine’s slow today."

"No. You’re a creep," you hissed, clutching your chest. "Were you standing there the whole time?"

He sipped his mug, glancing at your phone as you tried to hide the screen in panic. "Planning something without me?"

You scrambled for words. "It’s just Nat. She’s... enthusiastic."

Bucky leaned on the conference table beside you, his eyes locked on your phone. His expression was unreadable, but the corners of his mouth twitched—as if he were holding back a smile. "Red dress or the sparkly one?"

Your jaw practically hit the floor. "You—!"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "You type loud."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "Why are you like this?"

He brushed past you, heading toward the counter as if he hadn’t just startled you.

"Just making sure my girlfriend’s not cheating on me with Valentino," he murmured casually. Then, with a wink, he added, "I have to keep up the act, don’t I?"

Your heart raced, and your mind scrambled to catch up with his sudden shift in demeanor. The flirtatious, teasing tone sent your stomach flipping.

Before you could say another word, he was already out of the room—as if he had places to be, the ever-dedicated workaholic.

Still staring at the door, you took a deep breath, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Your fingers flew to your phone, sending a quick text to Natasha in search of clarity amidst the chaos.

You: “He’s possessed. He’s like boyfriend of the year now. I need answers.”

You waited, and it didn’t take long before Natasha’s reply lit up your screen.

Natasha: “So what I’m hearing is: red dress.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but laugh. Shaking off the unease Bucky left behind, one thing was clear: things were getting way more complicated than they should be.

A/n: sorry for uploading this a bit late but here's the next episode. Lemme know your thoughts. Love you guys. Have a great day!!

Taglist: @calwitch, @scott-loki-barnes, @baw1066, @awesompawsum, @bucky-baby-barnes, @marianastudiesart, @pattiemac1, @maryevm, @borkybawnes, @mcira

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #⁺‧˚⋆Business proposal⋆ ˚‧⁺#james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #ceo!bucky barnes #episode 3 #sebastian stan x reader #Ceo!bucky barnes × worker!reader #Contract relationship #fake dating trope #ceo au

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tacobacoyeet · 4 months ago

Text

not the time | patrick zweig x reader, art donaldson x reader

a/n: few things to say. first of all, i got way too into writing this and i don't know if i like it or not yet, but we'll see. secondly, i gave up after i was done and decided not to proofread. oops! if you're like me and you like to listen to music while you read, i suggest loyalty by kendrick lamar ft. rihanna. yes, i'm linking it. finally, not related, but please send me requests or asks or whatever! just fill my inbox with literally anything!

warnings: SMUT 18+, cheating, cursing, everyone is messy, i'm still not entirely sure if this fully makes sense, not proofread!

It was just the four of you. You, Art, Patrick, and Tashi.

Not in some perfect, effortless way. Just the four of you… together. Training, sharing meals in the Stanford Athletics Dining Hall, fucking around, orbiting around each other in ways that weren’t always easy to define.

You were with Art, Tashi was with Patrick. That was just the way it was. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t complicated.

Patrick had always been technically better than Art. He had the trophies to prove it: from the little stuff back at the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy to the Junior US Open win. He had the natural talent, the aggression, the game that always just looked effortless. But Art? Art was the workhorse. He stayed longer on the courts, pushed himself harder, chased an invisible finish line, constantly. That’s why he, unlike Patrick, had chosen to play college tennis before going pro. He was convinced he needed to be better, not that he was too good to have his name attached to a university.

Tashi? She was the untouchable one. The best of all of you, of everyone, really. She was destined for something bigger, something far beyond your little group and Stanford and all of the stupid, tangled emotions that none of you had the words for yet.

And then there was you. Stuck somewhere in the middle of it all.

You and Art had just happened. No grand declarations, no dramatic tension. You were together because it just made sense. You understood each other. The way you both trained like you had something to prove. The way you both felt like you had to fight for space in a world that didn’t quite want to give it to you.

Patrick and Tashi were different. They were volatile, all sharp edges and unspoken resentments. Their constant, tiny arguments were what made them who they were—small, stupid things that started over footwork critiques and ended with Patrick trying to sigh, suck it up, and apologize while Tashi kicked him out of her dorm. But they understood each other in a way that made sense, too. She was the only one who truly made him feel challenged. He was the only one who ever gave her the chance to get angry.

It should have been simple.

But sometimes, Art looked at Tashi in a way that made your chest tighten. Sometimes, when he spoke to her, his voice softened in a way it didn’t with you. And Patrick… he never said anything, but you could always feel the way he looked at you, like he was trying to burn you into his memory just so he could pretend he had you.

You ignored it. Until you couldn’t, anymore.

---

“And now… your 2002, 2005, and 2006 NCAA Women’s Tennis Champions. Give it up for STANDFORD TENNIS!”

You and the rest of the team step onto the court, several of you waving to the crowd, smiling. Tashi doesn’t. It wasn’t abnormal for her to do that, but what was a little off was the way her eyes scanned the crowd for Patrick, gaze steely as she noticed the empty seat next to Art. Your boyfriend, Art, who was too busy frowning at his phone to look down and blow a kiss at you like he normally did at your matches. That’s when the feeling of impending doom started to fester in your gut. But you ignored it. Like you always did.

Not much later, you’re watching from the bench as Tashi absolutely demolishes Sally What’s-Her-Face from Pepperdine. She’s making it look easy, like she’s barely even thinking about it. But you know her better than that. She’s not thinking about it at all.

You can almost sense it before it happens—the way she doesn’t catch the barest hint of spin on the other girl’s ball until the last second, the way she tries to overcorrect mid-swing, the sickening snap that seems to echo around the court as she falls to the ground, clutching her knee and crying in a way that is entirely foreign for someone as stone-cold as Tashi Duncan.

You can feel the bile rising in your throat, the nausea in your stomach again. But before you can rush to confront your friend, your boyfriend is on the court, resting her head in his lap. You would’ve laughed at how stupid he looked hurdling over the net if your head wasn’t spinning so much. Where the hell is Patrick? You clench your fists, forcing yourself to breathe.

Now is not the time.

---

Later that night, you’re standing in the corner of the sports therapy room. You may as well have not been, though. Tashi had Art. He sat by her side like an obedient little chihuahua, convinced he was being a guard dog when he really just looked fucking desperate. But you didn’t say anything. You just watched him. The way his jaw was clenched, his eyes trained on the ground like he had a million things to say to her but no clue how to say them.

After a while, Patrick appears in the doorway. You watch Tashi’s face harden as she sees him open his mouth to speak.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Out. Out. O—”

“Tashi, Tashi listen! Please! ”

“OUT!” You would’ve been taken aback by the anger in her voice if Art didn’t open his mouth next.

“Patrick, get the fuck out!”

You’re dumbfounded for a moment as you look at Art, in disbelief that he was even capable of portraying anger to that level. It wasn’t just anger—it was something else. Something cold and dangerous in Art’s voice that you had never heard before. Patrick looks around the room, eyes wide. And then he swallows, jaw tight, before he turns and walks away.

You, ever the pacifist, always the one to smooth things over, couldn’t stop yourself from following him. Patrick might have been a lot of things— arrogant, reckless, a complete pain in the ass— but you had never seen him like that before. So… defeated.

He was already halfway down the hall when you caught up.

"Patrick."

He didn’t stop.

"Patrick, slow down—"

"Don’t." His voice was low, rough.

You reach for his arm. He jerks away.

"I don’t need the fucking pity, okay?" He turned to you then, eyes flashing. "I already got my ass handed to me in there, I don’t need you coming out here to make me feel worse."

"I’m not trying to make you feel worse," you said softly.

"Then what the fuck do you want?"

"I just—" You hesitate. You didn’t even know what you wanted. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Patrick let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

"Yeah? That’s fucking rich, coming from you."

Your stomach twisted. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Patrick exhaled harshly, dragging a hand through his hair. Then, after a long, charged pause—

"Forget it."

But you didn’t want to forget it.

"No. Say it."

Patrick’s jaw clenches. He takes a step closer, the air between you charged, suffocating.

“You never even noticed, did you?” he hisses.

You inhaled sharply, throat tight. Of course you fucking noticed.

"Patrick—"

"No, fuck it." He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "I’m supposed to be with Tashi, you’re supposed to be with Art, but it was never really like that, was it?"

The words settled between you, heavy and true.

Because you had felt it. That unspoken pull, the lingering stares, the what-ifs that neither of you had ever dared to touch. But now was not the time.

“Patrick, you can’t just—”

“No.”

And then suddenly, you weren’t thinking at all. It was instinct, impulse, desperation. One second, you were standing there, breath shallow, and the next—

You were kissing him.

Or maybe he was kissing you.

You didn’t know who moved first. All you knew was the way his hands grabbed at you, like he was starving, like he had been waiting for this for a lifetime. The way his lips crushed against yours, deep and desperate, stealing every thought from your mind and every breath from your lungs. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t careful. He wasn’t careful. And after that? The idea of going back was nothing but a childish fantasy.

---

12 years later, that moment is what’s replaying in your mind as you stare out the window, watching the clouds unleash a torrential downpour that might be the only natural phenomenon that could replicate the turmoil in your brain. The rain slams against the hotel window, drowning out the distant hum of the city. The room is too small, too dimly lit, but you don’t mind. You’ve stayed in worse.

Patrick is sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, elbows on his knees. His hair is damp from the shower, his skin still flushed from running drills to prepare for the first round of the challenger. He hasn’t looked at you since he walked in.

You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. You’re so fucking tired.

"Are you just gonna sit there all night?" you ask, trying to keep your voice even.

Nothing.

You swallow hard. Try again.

"Patrick."

"What?" His voice is clipped, irritated.

"Talk to me."

"About what?" He finally lifts his head, his eyes shadowed. "About how you’re the only reason we can afford this fucking room?"

The words cut, sharp and deliberate.

You stare at him, the exhaustion settling into your bones.

"I have never—"

"You don’t have to say it," he mutters, shaking his head. "I see it every time you sign another contract. Every time you win a match. Every time you pay for something I should be paying for."

Your stomach tightens. His failures are eating him alive, and instead of facing them, he’s turned them into a weapon—aimed at you.

"I have never once thrown that in your face," you say, voice trembling.

"Yeah?" Patrick’s laugh is hollow. "Then why do I feel like you’re the only reason I have a roof over my head?"

You freeze. The room suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. It’s not like this is the first argument. It may as well have been the thousandth. It starts with something small. It always does. A forgotten errand, a passive-aggressive comment, a new pack of cigarettes. Suddenly, you feel exhausted. Sick of sitting down, apologizing, letting it happen.

"Maybe because you won’t let me be anything but the enemy," you whisper.

Patrick blinks, caught off guard, but you don’t wait for his response.

You turn sharply, grab your jacket, and storm toward the door.

"Where the hell are you going?" he calls after you.

You don’t answer. You just go.

---

The rain is relentless, soaking you through your clothes, chilling you to the bone. You don’t know where you’re going—only that you can’t be there anymore. The lighted sign of the Best Western you had bought a room in flickers behind you as you walk further away. You’re not sure how long you’re walking, but soon enough, there are more cars, more buildings, more streetlights. After a while, the metallic gold of the Ritz-Carlton sign catches your eye, the white light from behind the glass doors illuminating a figure standing beneath the awning.

You can’t help but groan internally at your luck as your eyes lock with those unmistakable, piercing baby blues. Art fucking Donaldson. He’s leaning against a pillar, cigarette between his fingers, the ember burning bright in the pitch-black night. It’s a habit that Tashi always used to chastise Patrick for. You can’t help but wonder when Art picked it up. If that’s the only thing he’s been doing behind Tashi’s back.

You stop in your tracks, your chest rising and falling far too fast. He exhales, smoke clouding his face for a moment as he watches you. And then—

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Your stomach twists. You weren’t expecting to see him at a shitty little challenger like this one. He was supposed to be a big star. A ‘Game Changer’. He was supposed to be way past playing matches like this one, New Rochelle in the middle of Dumbfuck, Nowhere. Phil’s Tire-Town, or something. It’s not like Patrick was good enough for anything better, but Art sure as hell was. Or at least, he was supposed to be.

“Where’s Tashi?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.

Art closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling as he rubs a hand over his jaw. “Not here.”

That’s all he says. But it’s enough.

Your heart is beating far faster than it should be. Your hands are shaking. You’re not sure if it’s from the cold, the walk, or him.

“I hate you,” you hiss. But he sees through you instantly.

“Then tell me you don’t still think about me.”

You can’t. He knows you can’t. His eyes bore into you. Normally, you’d shrink under his gaze. He’s seeing far deeper into you than you want him to. But maybe the flare in confidence from your argument with Patrick is what’s supporting you. Maybe it’s the ringing in your ears, the pain behind Art’s eyes, or the burning of your skin despite the fierce cold. You’re not sure. But it doesn’t matter.

There’s a beat.

And then suddenly, you’re on him.

Or maybe he’s on you. You don’t know who moves first, only that one second you’re standing there, fists clenched, and the next you’re colliding—his hands in your hair, yours fisting his hoodie, mouths crashing together like neither of you can breathe without this.

It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s twelve fucking years of resentment and longing and need colliding all at once.

Art groans against your mouth, pressing you back against the cool brick of the pillar, hands gripping your waist like he’s trying to prove something. You arch into him, gasping when his lips move to your jaw, then your throat, teeth scraping against your pulse.

"You gonna regret this in the morning?" he mutters, voice rough.

"Shut up," you breathe, dragging him back up to your lips.

He doesn’t argue.

His hands are everywhere—palming your hips, sliding under your soaked shirt, fingers tracing the dip of your spine. Yours slip under his hoodie, pushing it up, needing to feel him, needing to remind yourself that this is real.

You don’t stop.

Not when you sneak your way up to his hotel room, avoiding the other patrons. Not when you're in the elevator and he's sucking hickeys into your neck that you'll have to hide from Patrick. Not when he lifts you, dropping you onto the mattress, not when he crawls over you, pressing you into the sheets, not when his hands slide between your thighs, gripping, teasing, pulling a whimper from your throat.

Not even when he pauses, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard like he’s trying to convince himself this is a mistake.

"Tell me to stop," he rasps.

You don’t.

You won’t.

Instead, you drag him down, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, whispering his name like a prayer. It takes barely a moment for both of you to bare yourselves to each other, clothes tossed around the room without a second thought. Art doesn't waste time. He wasted the last 12 years. He wasn't going to waste another minute.

Nothing about this is gentle. He’s biting his way across your collarbone, up the column of your throat, behind your ear. Your fingers are tangled in his silky, golden locks, tugging at them in tandem with the rhythm of the soft gasps and moans he’s drawing from you. His hair is short, now. For a split second, you mourn the messy mop of curls that graced his head 12 years ago, but your thoughts are quickly drawn away when he’s grabbing your jaw, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“Last chance,” he pants. “Tell me to stop now, and we leave like this never happened.”

You glare at him, gripping his hair a little tighter. “Is that what you want? To spend the rest of your life trying to forget about me? About Patrick? Trying to forget how you decided the puppy crush you had on Tashi was more important than your best fucking friend?”

His face hardens at your whispered remarks, each word pushing the knife deeper into his chest. But he wasn’t that stupid. Not anymore. “No,” he frowns. “Fuck, no. I’m never letting you go again.”

You don’t believe him, but you nod anyway. “Okay, then.”

You aren’t sure what you were expecting him to feel like after 12 years. He used to be soft, always drawing a line before he ever got too rough with you. But being a lapdog for this long had resulted in far too many pent-up emotions, and you were on the receiving end of them.

It almost gave you whiplash, the contrast of his actions. He fucked into you with an animalistic pace, hand squeezing your throat just enough, but his lips were by your ear, face nestled against your neck as he whispered praises and sweet nothings in your ear.

“You’re perfect. You always were. Should’ve been mine.”

It’s hard for you to focus on his words because you’re too focused on how his free hand has made its way down to your core, the pads of his middle and ring finger rubbing your clit with so much speed that you’re convinced he’s on drugs. Maybe he was hiding that from Tashi too.

You’re so lost in the sensations that you almost miss it. Almost. You wish you had.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

It makes your eyes fly open. The last thing you wanted to feel right now was guilt, and you knew that if he was feeling it, then it was only a matter of time before he projected enough for it to infect you too.

“Absolutely not,” you growl. “Shut your stupid mouth and keep fucking me.”

He listens. He thrusts his hips harder, faster, breathy moans of your name falling off of his lips with the ragged beauty of a waterfall. He moves his hand off your throat and into your hair, tugging with enough force to rip a cry from you. You’re so close, way faster than you wanted to be. But he won’t have it.

“Art,” you whimper. “Art, please, I’m so close, I—”

“No, baby, hold on. Just a little longer, please. You deserve it.”

He wanted to prolong your pleasure, give you the well-built orgasm you deserved. It was the least he could do, after all. If you wouldn’t let him apologize with his words, then he would make it apparent with his actions. Besides, he wasn’t sure if this would be the last time he’d ever have you beneath him. He had to make it count. And he did.

Soon enough, he’s fucking you through your orgasm, a hand covering your mouth to muffle your cries. God, he’d do anything to hear those noises every night, in his own bed at home, loud enough to make you go hoarse. But that would have to wait. For tonight, he’d take you just as you are. The fact that you were there, that you were really there was more than enough for him. He’d worry about the bits and pieces of it all at another time.

A few hours later, you sneak back into your hotel room. Patrick is dead asleep, his snores filling the small room. You don’t bother to cover Art’s hickeys. Patrick could use the reminder that you could do better. If he wanted to assume everything you did for him was from a place of pity and arrogance, then so be it. There was no reason for you to put effort into trying to pacify him anymore.

---

A couple of days later, the sun shines brightly down on the court of the Phil’s Tire Town Challenger. You make your way into the stands, heading for your usual front and center seat—and that’s when you see her. Honestly, you should’ve expected it. Tashi was Art’s coach, after all. Of course she’d sit in the spot with the best vantage point of the action.

She turns her head, her chocolate eyes locking with yours. That’s when you catch a glimpse of the small reddish-purple splotches just peeking out from the pristine white collar of her button-down dress. You can’t help the way the corners of your mouth curve up into the barest hint of a smirk. She glances down for a split second, clearly noticing the not-yet-faded mark that lingers on your collarbone, not entirely hidden by your clothes. Her eyes shoot back up to yours, a matching expression of mutual agreement on her features as you take the seat next to her.

Neither of you say anything. For now, both of you return your eyes to the court as Art and Patrick get announced, walking onto the court. They both look up at the stands. Patrick’s the first to acknowledge you and Tashi sitting next to each other. A Cheshire cat grin crawls its way onto his face, and he turns his head back to look at Art, who meets his gaze with a simple upward twitch of his lips.

Tashi’s fingers brush your hand as she grips the armrest. Your eyes meet again, both of your gazes charged with a little bit of electricity and a whole lot of sex. There’s a statement hanging in the air between you: ‘Yeah, I fucked your husband.’ There’s nothing particularly malicious about it— far from it, honestly. It’s more like an opening to a contract. A trade agreement. But, you’ll hash out the details later.

Now was not the time.

#a writes #i can't lie i definitely poured my soul into this one #challengers 2024 #challengers fic #challengers movie #challengers x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fluff #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig fluff #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig fic #tashi duncan #tashi duncan x reader #art donaldson fic #Spotify

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softspiderling · 1 year ago

Text

illicit affairs - part two | r.c

summary:

"Speaking of, why don’t you stay over tonight? It’s late, and I don’t want you walking home by yourself.”

“You’re not gonna drive me?” You asked with a pout and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m too tired, don’t make me. Just stay over.”

“What? And leave in the morning like I’m one of your hook ups? Please.”

OR; Rafe makes an outrageous suggestion and you? You give in.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: mention of drugs, talk about sex (nothing graphic yet) but the later parts will have smut, so 18+ MDNI!

word count: 2k

author's note: pt. two out so soon?? there's gotta be smth fishy going on 🤭we finally get into the PLOT! i hope you enjoy my lovelies, don't forget to leave a comment/like/reblog or share your thoughts with me in the inbox.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

pt. two: "it's born from just one single glance"

A week after the party, it was the first Friday in a while where the four of you didn’t go to a party. After spending a day out of the sea to test out Topper’s new boat, you got picked up some pizza and settled down in Rafe’s living room, where you were still in the same spot several hours later. The empty pizza cartons were stacked on the floor and the four of you strewn out on the couch and various seats.

“You want another drink?”

Rafe was waving his empty glass in front of you, a lonely ice cube clinking in it, an expected eyebrow raised.

You squinted at him, nodding. “Can you get me a coke please?”

“Sure.”

Kelce perked up in his seat at the prospect of another drink. “Hey, can you get me another beer?”

“No,” Rafe answered, without even looking back as he left for the kitchen. “You know where the fridge is.”

“What?” Kelce muttered with a frown, looking over to you as he slumped back down. “You know where the fridge is, why is he getting you a coke?”

You only shrugged with a grin, making yourself comfortable on the couch now that you had more space, while Topper clapped Kelce on the back in consolation.

“Come on man, you know she’s his favorite.”

“Hey!”

Grabbing a pillow from the couch, you shucked it at Topper, making him yelp when it hit him square in the face.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not right next to you,” you scowled. “And I’m not Rafe’s favorite.”

“You’re a clown if you actually believe that.”

“Fuck you, you’re a clown.”

Topper tossed the pillow back at you, narrowly missing your head by an inch and the pillow fell to the floor behind the couch, landing just in front of Rafe’s feet as he returned.

“I was gone for five minutes, what are you guys fighting about now?”

“Precious over here thinks she’s not your favorite.”

You glowered at the other two boys, while Rafe settled back on the couch next to you, pressing a can of coke into your hands. He took a sip of his drink, eyeing you briefly and shrugged, pursing his lips in agreement.

“Nah, you’re definitely my favorite.”

You stuck your tongue out at Topper when he gave you a knowing look, instead focusing on opening your coke. “Whatever. It doesn’t mean anything, you two shitheads don’t make it hard for me to be anyone’s favorite.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Kelce grunted with a frown and you raised a brow at him.

“You literally had sex in Rafe’s bed last year,” you said, before turning your attention to Topper. “And you’re still obsessed with Sarah.”

Rafe let out a noise, making clear that he was fully agreeing with you. “What she said.”

Topper, while satisfied he had proven his point, still rolled his eyes and Kelce crossed his arms, annoyed.

“I hate it when they team up like this.”

“Shut up and get your beer.”

The next couple of hours passed easily, just as it always did when the four of you came together to talk shit. While you did enjoy going to parties every now and then, you really appreciated just hanging out with your friends and talking about everything and nothing in the safety of the four walls of Rafe’s home.

Only you and your boys. Just the way you liked it.

“Alright, I think it’s time for me to go,” Topper said, breaking up the group with a yawn, shaking his head to stay awake as he sat up. “I’m beat.”

“Can you give me a ride?” Kelce asked, standing up and Topper nodded, turning to you.

“Do you need me to drop you off too?”

You stretched your arms, legs long draped over Rafe’s lap as you laid lengthwise on the couch. It was nearing one am and you really should make your way home, but you were far too comfortable to move, having spent most of the day in the sun, which was catching up to you now.

“I think I might stay for a while longer, thanks though.”

Topper clicked his tongue, ruffling your hair, messing it up for good measure as he and Kelce said their good byes, their voices getting quieter as they strolled to the front, the door shutting in its hinges. It wasn’t long after until you could heard Topper’s truck start, and then pull off the estate grounds.

Finally, it was quiet enough for you to hear the music, which was drowned out by Kelce’s constant yapping. You loved him but he was such a chatter box when he drank beer.

“Isn’t Sarah coming home tonight?” you asked into the sudden quietness, combing through your hair with your fingers, trying to get rid of the knots that have formed since you’d laid on the couch for the whole night. The estate had been quiet apart from the four of you causing raucous in the living room.

“Please,” Rafe scoffed. “She’s staying with John B more nights than not, I’m this close to kicking her out for real.”

“Oh come on,” you laughed, leaning up to shove his arm a little. “She’s in love. Leave her alone. And don’t act like you don’t enjoy being the man of the house and having it all to yourself.”

Rafe grinned to himself, shrugging his shoulders a bit like you weren’t absolutely right. Like you said, you knew him. “Eh. Maybe. House tends to get a little quiet sometimes... Speaking of, why don’t you stay over tonight? It’s late, and I don’t want you walking home by yourself.”

“You’re not gonna drive me?” You asked with a pout and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m too tired, don’t make me. Just stay over.”

“What? And leave in the morning like I’m one of your hook ups? Please.”

“Give me a break,” Rafe huffed. “You know damn well you’re not one of my hook ups. They don’t get to stay till the morning,” he paused, turning his head to look at you inquisitively, and you knew that look all too well. He was about to be nosy. “What about yours, anyways?”

“My what?”

“Your hook ups, Precious. Haven’t seen anyone around since Jack.”

You shrugged. “Cuz there wasn’t anyone else since Jack, you know that. And he wasn’t a hook up, he was my boyfriend.”

He was quiet, but you could basically hear the gears in his head turning. “I know you’re not into hook ups and shit, but don’t you need to get off sometimes?”

“And risk hooking up with weirdos like Moany? No thank you. I don’t need anyone else to get off.”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “I know, jesus. I’m just saying… Sex by yourself isn’t as good as sex with another person. If you know what they like. Not everyone has freaky requests like Monique. And if you’re compatible, you know the sex can be insane.”

You eyed him suspiciously, not sure if you liked which direction this was going. He wasn’t about to suggest the two of you having sex…. Right? Because that would be just crazy.

“… jus’ getting sick of having to get to know a new girl every time, ‘s exhausting.”

“You know you can have sex with a person more than once right?”

Rafe scoffed, leaning his hands behind his head. “Yeah, but then they start getting comfortable. I don’t need that right now.”

You waved your hands around, trying to stop Rafe’s train of thought before it could get any further.

“Rafe, stop beating around the bush. The fuck are you on right now?”

He swirled his drink around, downing the last of it before shoving the glass on the table, looking at you.

“What if… We fucked?”

“What?” you stared at him incredulously, like he had just grown a second head.

“I mean, not relationship wise. Casual. Friends with benefits.”

“Friends with benefits,” you echoed, dryly. “Are you insane?”

Rafe scoffed, shaking his head at you, not bothering with a reply. You thought that was the end of it, trying to calm your heart down, as it was nearly jumping out of your throat, when you felt Rafe’s hand splaying across your bare legs. His fingers brushed your inner thigh, making you tense and you glared up at him.

“Seriously Rafe?”

“Seriously Rafe?” Rafe mocked you, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear, the other hand starting to trace circles into the skin of your thigh, like it was the most normal thing for him to do. “We both know that if you didn’t want me touching you, you’d have kicked me half ways across the room already.”

You wanted to protest, but your words died halfway down your tongue, knowing it was no use with the way Rafe was looking at you. Also, he was a 100% right. Turning away, you stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore how his finger tips left your skin tingling, thinking of the most random things to calm yourself down.

There was no use of lying to yourself, a part of you wanted to say yes.

You knew Rafe didn’t do relationships, has never had a girlfriend in all the years you’d been friends. What if being friends with benefits was the closest thing you could be for Rafe? Not only his best friend, but a step further? What if this was all you could get with him?

“This is a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“You’re my best friend.”

“Exactly. You’re my best friend, I don’t have to tell you anything because you know exactly what I like and what I don’t.”

“Not when it comes to sex!”

“Okay okay, calm down, I was just making a suggestion.”

Rafe trailed off, dropping the topic, his fucking hand still on your thigh. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could tell that he was biting back a grin, and you hated to think that you were going to give in.

“We’re not telling anyone, you hear me? Not a single soul. Especially not Top and Kelce, they would never let us live this down.”

He turned his head, the corner of his mouth ticking up knowingly. He was your best friend after all, he knew what to say to convince you of his argument. “Those two knuckleheads don’t need to know everything we do,” Rafe said as he leaned in, but you stopped him halfway, your hand on his chest.

“If this affects our friendship in any way, or or…. If it gets awkward or someone… Just, we stop, okay? No lying to get your dick wet.”

“Have I ever lied to you, Precious?”

“Uh, yes. Remember when you, Top and Kelce snuck into my gard- oomph.”

Your sentence was cut short when Rafe pressed his lips against you in a soft kiss, his hand cupping the back of the neck. He pulled away, his breath hot on your face. Your lips parted a bit, shock coursing through your veins. You had wondered how it would feel to kiss Rafe for so long, and you had to admit, that the real deal was so much better than anything you could’ve imagined.

“You talk too much,” he mumbled against your lips and you rolled your eyes, brought out of your haze. This was still Rafe. Your best friend.

“Shut up.”

Fisting his shirt, you pulled him closer to you, lips hot as they interlocked. He leaned forward, both of his knees bracketing your waist, one hand moving from the back of your neck to the front, so he could cup your face. Suddenly, you were surrounded by him and if you weren’t so distracted by Rafe’s tongue slipping into your mouth, you’d be freaking out right now. This felt like a fever dream; your hands moving automatically down his torso, sneaking under his shirt, nails grazing his chiseled abs and when Rafe let out a honest to god whimper, you knew you were done for.

There was no going on back.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: am i sorry about the cliffhanger? ask me later👀

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks #obx #drew starkey

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