#might have to watch this again this summer. to feel something

[airbiscuitz]

The List

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Summary: After a big fight, you and JJ take a break. He leaves a folded note in your mailbox every day—a list of reasons why he loves you. On day 30, he writes, “I’m still here. Are you?”

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Angst! (to bbs that requested @apeachtea, @rottinglexi)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You and JJ Maybank were a wildfire—bright, burning, passionate, and destructive when left unchecked. The love was never the issue. It was everything else. The chaos of life on the Cut. The weight of growing up too fast. The pain he didn’t always know how to express, and the silence you’d learned to master when everything felt like too much.

The fight wasn’t new. It had roots tangled in past arguments, old scars reopened with sharper words. You told him he never let you in. He told you that you didn’t understand what it was like to always be running from something. The door slammed. Your voice cracked. And the silence afterward was more deafening than anything.

You didn’t know who walked away first. Maybe you both did.

But you remembered the first note.

Folded into a square the size of your palm. Stuffed in your mailbox like some forgotten secret. No name on the outside, but you knew the handwriting instantly. You’d traced it on his knuckles. You’d seen it scrawled on scrap paper maps during treasure hunts and doodled on napkins at The Wreck.

It read: Reason #1: You always made me feel like home, even when I didn’t have one.

You didn’t cry then. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just JJ being JJ—saying too much or saying it too late. You slid the note into your nightstand and tried to forget about it.

But then there was another the next day.

Reason #2: You snort when you laugh too hard. I love that stupid sound.

You smiled. Just a little.

And the next day:

Reason #3: You’re the only person who ever made my birthday feel real.

That one knocked the wind out of you.

Because you remembered that day. A few years ago. You’d spent a week saving up tips just to buy him a stupid cake and some fireworks. He tried to act cool, like he didn’t care. But you saw it in his eyes—like he was a kid again, even just for one night.

You started waiting for the notes after that.

Each one folded the same way. Always at the same time: 7:12 a.m. Like he knew exactly when your dad left for work and you’d be alone. Some notes were sweet. Some were funny. Some were heartbreakingly sad.

You started waiting for the notes after that.

Each one folded the same way. Always at the same time: 7:12 a.m. Like he knew exactly when your dad left for work and you’d be alone. Some notes were sweet. Some were funny. Some were heartbreakingly sad.

Reason #9: I loved watching you dance around your room when you thought no one was watching.

Reason #14: You’re the only one who saw me when I didn’t want to be seen.

Reason #18: I hate sleeping without you.

Reason #22: I kept your first hair tie. It’s on my keychain. Looks dumb, but I don’t care.

Each one dug a little deeper under your skin, until your hands trembled pulling them out of the mailbox. Until your pillow smelled like tears most nights. Until you started writing replies you never sent.

You thought he might stop. That he’d get tired. That maybe this was some guilt-ridden apology stunt.

But he didn’t stop.

Every day, no matter the weather, the fights in your head, or the ache in your chest—there it was.

Day 30.

You woke up before your alarm. You didn’t know why. Maybe something in you knew. You wrapped your hoodie around your shoulders and crept out onto the porch barefoot. The sky was still purple. The air was heavy with Carolina humidity and summer endings.

The note was already there.

You unfolded it with shaking hands.

Reason #30: I’m still here. Are you?

Fuck.

You sat down right there on the steps, note clutched to your chest like a lifeline, breath catching somewhere between your ribs. Thirty days of silence on your end. Thirty days of him not giving up.

You knew where he’d be.

The dock.

The same one where he kissed you for the first time. The same one you stormed off from thirty days ago. The same one where he told you, once, “If I ever disappear, this is where to find me.”

So you went.

You didn’t brush your hair. Didn’t even grab shoes. You ran, heart pounding louder than your steps, gravel biting at your soles. The sun was just peeking over the trees when the water came into view.

And there he was.

Sitting at the edge, legs dangling, same hoodie he always wore. Back to you. Still. Waiting.

“JJ,” you breathed.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn. Just said, “Did you get the note?”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see. “Yeah.”

Long silence.

Then softly, “I didn’t know if you’d come.”

You took a step closer. “I almost didn’t.”

He turned a little, not fully, just enough that you saw the flicker of hope in his profile. “Why did you?”

You swallowed, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. “Because… I never stopped missing you. Even when I was mad. Even when I told myself I shouldn’t.”

JJ looked down at his hands. He was fidgeting with something—a string from his sleeve, maybe. His voice cracked. “I thought I broke it. Us. That maybe I pushed too far this time.”

“You almost did,” you whispered. “But then you kept showing up.”

His laugh was hollow, but his eyes were wet when he glanced at you. “I didn’t know what else to do. Talking never worked before. So I wrote. I wrote every damn thing I couldn’t say that night.”

You walked forward until you were standing beside him, then lowered yourself down beside him, knees tucked to your chest.

“I read them,” you said. “All of them. Some more than once.”

He turned toward you fully now, blinking rapidly, like he couldn’t believe you were really there. “Do you believe them?”

You met his gaze. “I want to.”

“That’s enough,” he said quietly. “For now, that’s enough.”

Silence fell again, but it felt different this time. Softer. Like something mending, thread by thread.

“I didn’t write number thirty-one,” he added suddenly.

You raised a brow. “Why not?”

JJ shrugged, a small smile pulling at his lips. “I was waiting to see if you’d let me say it out loud.”

You nudged him lightly with your shoulder. “Then say it.”

He looked at you, eyes shining. “Reason thirty-one: You make me want to be better. For you. For me. For us.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you smiled anyway. “JJ…”

“I don’t have it all figured out,” he continued, words tumbling out now. “And I might still screw things up sometimes. But I swear to God, if you let me… I’ll spend every day proving how much I love you.”

You didn’t reply right away. You just leaned in, forehead resting against his. Your hand found his, fingers curling together like they belonged there. Like they never stopped belonging.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

He closed his eyes. “I missed you more.”

A pause.

“I’m still here,” he said, barely above a breath. “Are you?”

You leaned in and kissed him—soft and trembling and real. The kind of kiss that said yes. That said always.

And when you pulled back, tears on your cheeks and sunlight kissing the dock, you whispered, “Yeah. I’m here.”

That was answer enough.

---

You found a shoebox two days later. Stuffed under his bed. Filled with every note he’d written before delivering them. Some with crossed-out lines. Some tear-stained. Some rewritten three times.

He caught you holding it and froze.

“I didn’t want to mess them up,” he said.

You hid a small cry with a breathy chuckle before putting the letters back inside the shoebox.

"You didn’t. You never did."

[paarksunghoon]

resignation (9)

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: life & summer got in the way, so enjoy this extensive chapter x

(unedited, so...typos)

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: oral (m/f receiving), unprotected sex, semi-public sex, 69, chest-obsessed hoon, fingering.

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

When you wake up, it takes you a minute to realize you’re sleeping next to Sunghoon. 

Much like the first night you awoke in his guest bedroom, your panic subsides when you remember where you are. You blink slowly to grow accustomed to the morning light and look beside you to see a sleeping, naked Sunghoon. 

Your mind replays memories of the night prior and you start to blush all over again. It feels right to describe it like a night of passion. For as cheesy as that is, years of pent up sexual tension finally exploded in this bedroom. 

You’ve never seen Sunghoon look so peaceful before. His eyelashes look unfairly long against his cheeks and he snores quietly. You sit up on your elbow and peer at him below, taking in his quiet demeanor amidst the stillness of the room. He doesn’t feel like your boss right now. He feels like a lover. 

His chest anchors against the mattress with his face turned towards you, and you try not to reach your hand out to touch him. Sunghoon radiates warmth, even from the distance you put between your bodies. You’re still naked and push the sheets over your chest to give you some sort of dignity, but something tells you that isn’t necessary. 

Is it normal to feel so…calm? 

There’s no sense of dread about going into work and inevitably facing a million emails from people you don’t care about. You move on autopilot most days, running through the same routine to the point where you grow tired of it. But here, in Sunghoon’s vacation home, you feel more relaxed than you have since working with him. 

It’s weird and unsettling. You don’t scramble for your phone—did you even charge it last night?—nor do you push yourself to do something with your day to avoid feeling the endless doom of the incoming week. Something about seeing Sunghoon breathing peacefully beside you puts you at ease, and that thought alone makes you a bit nervous. It’s hard enough that you aren’t the type of person to fall for everyone you meet. Even harder when you’re in love with someone who might not feel the same way. What a recipe for disaster. 

As if he hears your loud thoughts, Sunghoon opens his eyes and sees you looking down at him.

“You like watching me sleep?” You shove Sunghoon at his bicep but he merely chuckles and turns on his back to look at you. You try not to blush too much at his shirtless nature and sculpted body. 

“Nothing to look at.”

“Right.” 

You’re lying, clearly. His morning voice is deep and raspy, unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. He blinks at you with those sleepy eyes after putting your body through the mattress for hours on end. Sunghoon looks painfully normal like this. 

“How long have you been awake?” Sunghoon asks, reaching for your hand before putting it on his chest. You feel how warm his body is. 

“Not long.” Your fingers start to trace on his skin. “Forgot where I was for a second, though.” 

“Mm,” he hums. “You forgot how I fucked you so good you came screaming every time?”

“Sunghoon.” You bury your head in his chest and feel him laugh from your hiding spot. Sunghoon wraps an arm around you loosely and pulls you closer to him.

“Can’t handle the truth, can you? What happened to my headstrong girl?”

“You’re such an asshole, Park.” 

“Your asshole, no?”

Your heart flutters. 

“Keep teasing me and you won’t be,” you say, looking up at him. He smirks and closes the gap, pressing a short kiss to your lips.

“We’ll see about that. Although, you should know I haven’t had a good night’s sleep like that in weeks.” 

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, baby. You have a magical pussy, or something.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”

“I’m serious.” He lifts himself off of the bed until you’re lying back on his mattress, staring up at his deep brown eyes. Sunghoon’s lips quirk into a smirk when his hand disappears underneath the covers and lands on your bare core. “Fuck. Still as good as I remember.” 

You open your legs and welcome the intrusion. His fingertips dance along your folds and you look up at him with a somewhat mischievous grin on your face. Sunghoon brings his hand up to his mouth, sticks his tongue out to lick the pad of his fingers, then puts it back onto your cunt. 

Sunghoon inserts his middle finger and is pleasantly surprised to find you as wet as you are. He breathes heavily and supports his body on his elbow to get a better angle. He moves his hand at a slower pace, feeling every drag of your walls as he pushes himself in and out of you. 

“Pretty baby.” The compliment comes out of nowhere and he kisses you right after. It’s tender and warm, but hot and sensual at the same time. 

Somewhere along the way, you take initiative and reach out to his lap. He’s already half-hard by the time you touch him, and he groans into your mouth when you wrap your hand around his dick. Swiping your thumb against his slit brings out a deep moan within him, and Sunghoon plunges his finger into you even deeper. 

He grows harder in your hand by the minute. The two of you are barely kissing at this rate. Sunghoon’s added another finger into your wet cunt and you focus on hearing just how much you’re splashing against his palm while stroking him, using the precum that’s oozing out to make him wet too. Your lips are just touching. You can feel his uneven breaths when you tug on his cock and twist your wrist, and Sunghoon keeps a steady gaze on you when you squeeze his base. 

Sunghoon mutters a quiet fuck and your heart swells with pride. When it comes to your professional life, it seems difficult to get a positive reaction out of him unless you go above and beyond. But when it’s just the two of you in his bedroom, Sunghoon praises you like it gets him off too. 

His precum leaks from his tip and you use your hand to coat it around him. Your palm feels his warm, throbbing dick that pulsates every time you twist your wrist. Sunghoon’s fingers falter every now and then. It feels like a victory to have him let his guard down. Although your day job is to take care of him, you find that Sunghoon seldom allows you to actually do it. 

“Let me take care of you.” 

You whisper it against his lips so tenderly that Sunghoon pulls away and looks down at you like he’s trying to decipher a difficult riddle. His fingers pause inside of you. 

“Me? Don’t you do that enough?” 

You roll your eyes and pull your hips from his hand. Sunghoon watches you with a curious arch to his brow as you maneuver onto the bed and move yourself between his legs as he spreads them apart. You pull the sheets off him, not caring that you’re naked too, and drink him in like you’re seeing him for the first time. 

His dick stands tall and proud. It felt so big inside of you last night. The thought of putting it in your mouth and sucking the soul out of him makes you clench around absolutely nothing and you feel no shame for it. 

You don’t look at Sunghoon directly, but you know he’s looking at you. His gaze is somewhere between watchful and lazy. It’s a perfect combination of curiosity and expectation, especially when you lay your chest down onto his mattress and wrap both hands around his base. Sunghoon flexes his thighs and breathes like he’s willing himself to calm down. 

You kiss his tip first and savor the salty taste of his precum before moving your lips to put gentle kisses all over him. You don’t know what compels you to be as gentle as you are. Perhaps it’s the morning sunlight and the quiet of the neighborhood that’s making you feel this way. It’s unlike the loud, bustling city that Seoul is. There’s no expectation to hurry and get started on your day. There’s just Sunghoon. 

He hums when you wrap your lips around the head and suck on it. Sunghoon’s hands clench beside him like he’s trying to get a grasp on reality, especially when your tongue swirls around it. You let your spit collect until it’s nearly spilling out of your mouth before pushing another couple of inches into your mouth and suck. That elicits a gasp from Sunghoon, who pushes his hands deep into the mattress. 

Like he’s done with you before, you reach for his hand and pry his finger away from his palm. He opens his eyes and looks down at your hand as your mouth works on his cock and immediately laces his fingers with your own. You’re still surprised at how they’re so soft. Sunghoon must take good care of himself.

With your other free hand, you grab his balls and gently squeeze them as you rise to push yourself down on his dick. Your throat constricts around his girth and you don’t pay any attention to the spit that falls from the both corners of your mouth. It adds lubrication and you ignore every uncomfortable sensation to fit even more of him. 

Sunghoon makes the most gorgeous noises. His deep voice echo throughout the room and his chiseled chest makes him look like a supermodel who stepped out of a fashion magazine. He’s gorgeous in every sense of the word and the fact that he isn’t afraid to moan in front of you makes him that much hotter. Sunghoon lets his pleasure do the talking and doesn’t disrupt your ministrations to get him off faster. You like that he’s letting you take control. 

Eventually, you pull him out of your mouth to catch your breath and focus on pumping his cock while your mouth travels down to his balls. He moans even louder when  you massage them with your tongue and switch them in and out of your mouth. The noises he makes are unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him. Sunghoon sounds pained and pleasured at the same time, almost like he’s been waiting to feel this good his entire life. 

“Shit, baby,” he says finally after regaining his composure. The hand that isn’t holding yours grabs your hair into a messy ponytail and you put your mouth back around his cock. 

Sunghoon doesn’t have to say anything else. With the way his thighs clench and how he grits his teeth while grunting, you know he’s close to his orgasm. He doesn’t push your head until you move it up and down his shaft, and you feel him grip onto your hair tighter. It makes you moan around his dick and he rewards you by emitting the deepest, sexiest sound you’ve ever heard from him. He pulls and pushes you down on his cock until he’s spurting his come right down your throat. 

It’s a welcomed sensation, but only because it’s Sunghoon. You don’t fight his hot seed, nor do you try to pull your head away from him. His grip on your stills and keeps you right where he wants you. You do your best to swallow every drop without choking on it and breathe through your nose to avoid coughing it up. Some of it spills from your mouth and you desperately chase it when he lets go of your hair. You don’t even feel embarrassed to lick up all of him that escaped your throat and you don’t notice Sunghoon looking down at you like he can’t believe you let him do that. 

When you sit up, Sunghoon immediately pulls you to him and kisses you. He doesn’t seem to care that he can taste himself on your mouth, and that makes you that much wetter. His cock, still hard even after coming to an orgasm just a minute prior, prods at your bare hole when you situate yourself on his lap. 

“You’re perfect,” Sunghoon mutters through sloppy, wet kisses. “My perfect girl.” 

“I give pretty good head, don’t I?” 

He gently smacks the side of your thigh. “You like teasin’ me, baby?” 

“Maybe.” You giggle against his mouth and he grins, pecking you once. 

“Mm. Won’t argue with you because that mouth of yours just made me come.” 

Even after having his dick in your mouth, his boldness still makes you shy. You look at him and bite your lip before wrapping your arms around his shoulders and digging your head into the crook of his neck. He laughs and you feel that vibrate along his naked chest. Sunghoon merely pulls you away from him and strokes the side of your face to push the hair from your eyes. 

“You’re so cute,” he coos. “Such a shy little thing when I have you in my bed.” 

“Total bitch when I’m in the office though, am I right?”

His grin widens. “Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t have it any other way. You don’t want to know how many boners I’ve dealt when you rip me a new one.” 

“You’re so weird.” His hot cock rests under your slit and Sunghoon can feel you aching against him. He lifts your lap up to position his tip against your hole and allows you to slowly sink onto him at your own pace until you’re fully seated on his lap. 

“Fuck,” you moan while his fingers caress your back as you slowly ride him. “So big.” 

Sunghoon looks up at you with dazed eyes like he just might love you. That smile he gives you makes your heart flutter. 

“You have the most perfect pussy.” 

That makes your face hot. 

“Hoon…” 

“Hoon,” he moans, eyes closing shut for just a brief second while his mouth warps into a lazy smile. “Call me that again.”

“Hoon?”

“Again.”

He pushes you down on his cock and pushes into your lap until it reaches your depths. 

“Hoon!”  

You yelp when he pulls your body down to his chest and brace yourself by flattening your palms on his chest and the mattress. Sunghoon’s hips drill right into yours at lightning speed. His tip hits the very spot he’s been managing to find this entire weekend and you feel completely limp against him. Every time you try to position yourself upright, Sunghoon tightens his grip around you while bending his legs to push into you at a deeper angle. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way he feels inside of you. His skin is warm and sticky from the friction and his muscles are so hard underneath your grip. With one hand on his chest and the other on his bicep, your nails dig into his skin and you hear Sunghoon hiss at the pain throughout his moans. He doesn’t say anything, though. In fact, knowing how hard you’re clinging onto him turns him on even more. 

The room might as well be the scene of a pornography video with the way the two of you are moaning. Nobody’s ever pulled these kinds of sounds out of you and when you think about all of the women Sunghoon has slept with, you wonder if he’s ever fucked them as hard as he’s fucking you. 

Temporary jealousy takes over and that little pang in your chest makes you grab his jaw between your hands to kiss him hard. Teeth and tongue clash everywhere as Sunghoon responds immediately, mouth pushing against yours in a heated fury. You orgasm around him when he hits your sweet spot and he feels you moan right into his mouth. Sunghoon drinks it right up and uses his hands to pull your chest right against him as he finishes inside of you too. 

You don’t know what you’re a fan of more: the long, drawn out bedroom sessions or quick morning sex. Sunghoon still manages to leave you satisfied in a fraction of the time compared to the night before. He basks in your glory, hair sticking to his forehead and the sheen of sweat covering his naked body. Sunghoon watches as you look at him all over before you bite your lip and bend down to kiss him tenderly. 

Unlike the fast pace from moments before, Sunghoon accepts the slow kiss and keeps his hold on you with a feather-like touch. He caresses your spine like he’s done it a million times before, his dick softening inside of you with your shared orgasm spilling out. The plushness of his lips feel like two soft pillows you want to kiss over and over again. 

“Good morning,” you say, bringing your hand to brush the hair from his face. He looks at you fondly. 

“Good morning, baby.” 

“You look so good right now.” Sunghoon brings your hand from his hair to kiss your palm. 

“You’re so cute when you’re soft.” You bite your lip and hide your face in his neck and feel him laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. I learn something new about you everyday.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” you mumble. Sunghoon grips your ass and gives it a hard squeeze. 

“I love it when you get feisty with me. But I like seeing you when you’re soft like this. It lets me know you trust me.” 

You pull yourself upright. “Does it?” 

“I’ve learned that you’re not easily impressed and it takes a while for you to let your guard down completely. When we’re at work, that's one thing. But from hearing your dating stories, it sounds like these guys didn’t give you a reason to stick around.”

“Well…that’s true.” 

He kisses underneath your jaw. “I don’t care if you’re yelling at me to get my shit done or being gentle. I like everything about you.” 

“Careful. You might say something you regret.” 

He looks you in the eye. 

“I always say what I mean.” 

The tension in the room is palpable and you almost say those three little words that seem to come easily for Sunghoon and no one else. You keep your tongue to yourself, however. He doesn’t seem to notice the inner turmoil going on inside of you and pulls out of you slowly before leaving to get a clean rag. 

Sunghoon beckons your legs open and cleans you up with a warm, wet rag. He’s gentle with his hands and smoothes over your folds and inner thighs. He holds you with such a delicate touch that it makes you feel as if you must be made of glass or something of more important weight. 

When he’s done, Sunghoon holds the cloth in one hand and bends down to press a long kiss onto your slip with his lips pushed right against them. He slips his tongue out and licks a stripe up your slit like he’s a kitten licking milk. He’s so attractive between your legs, especially with his eyes closed like he’s enjoying the meal. 

It’s too much for you to look at. You push his face away and close your legs while Sunghoon laughs and helps you up onto your feet, handing you a spare sweater before kissing you goodbye with the promise of meeting you for breakfast in the living room once you’re decent.

***

Midday comes around and the weather has gotten hotter as the sun reaches its peak. Lunch is long forgotten on the kitchen island as you pack a bowl of fruit and grab a few bottles of water to bring outside to the pool area. Sunghoon fetches a few towels and sunscreen before removing the protective barrier covering the pool, revealing stunning tiling that makes it look like a blue lagoon. 

The bikini you’re wearing barely hides any part of your body. The cups accentuate your breasts and you might as well have ditched the bottoms you’re wearing because they barely cover your ass. You can tell Sunghoon likes them too, with the way he’s been ogling your body ever since you walked out. He stares at your legs and the curve of your ass before trailing his eyes to the valley of your breasts. He’s shameless about it, too. But nothing about this feels like objectification. In fact, you want Sunghoon to look at you like you’re something he wants to devour. 

“Can you put sunscreen on me?” you ask him, holding out a bottle for him to use. Sunghoon takes it from your grasp and stares at your chest before his eyes flicker up to your eyes. 

“Sure, baby. Where do you want it?” 

You turn around and his eyes immediately follow your ass. You tilt your head until you can see him, and Sunghoon averts his gaze when you catch him staring. 

“Can you start with my back? I can’t reach there.” 

“Mhm.”

He hums when you turn your head back around and you hear the sunscreen squirt from out the bottle and onto his hands. Sunghoon rubs the product between his hands and you feel him put his palms on your shoulder blades before working it down your back. 

“This bikini…”

“You like?” 

“Yeah,” he says in disbelief. “I like it a lot.” 

“Haven’t had an excuse to wear it. I don’t have a pool in my apartment building.” 

“Mm,” he mumbles. “We should fix that.” 

You giggle. “Yeah, I guess we should. More trips to this house?”

“Whatever you want.” 

He sounds so unfocused that it nearly makes you double over in laughter. Sunghoon’s fingers reach the hem of your bikini bottoms before he brings his hands to cup your asscheeks, temporarily removing himself from your body to grab more sunscreen. 

“Can’t forget about your ass, baby. They might get sunburnt too.”

You push yourself out to him and look behind you. He’s barely paying attention to anything but your ass. “You’re so right, Hoon. Do you think you can put sunscreen there, too?” 

Sunghoon pushes the fabric together until it resembles a thong, using both of his enormous hands to spread the sunscreen all over you. He pulls apart your ass as if to inspect it and massages the meaty flesh before him until the product disappears. Sunghoon pushes your bottoms back to the appropriate position. 

“All done,” he says, clearing his throat. “I should put sunscreen on you everywhere just to be on the safe side, right?” 

“Right,” you say with a certain nod. “How about my chest?” 

“Good thinking.” He twists your body until you’re facing him and tugs on your bikini strings until his fingers graze your skin. “I think we should put some sunscreen here.” 

Sunghoon pulls the fabric away from your breasts to expose your taught nipples and nearly drools at the right. He bends down to suck your left nipple and squeezes the other, flicking his tongue expertly while you grab his head and moan softly above him. He hums around your nipple and pinches the other one gently before switching, taking his sweet time exploring your body while you stand helplessly. 

He pulls away faster than you’d like, but you relish in the way he looks completely dazed and out of it, like he forgot he’s supposed to put sunscreen on you. Sunghoon, acting in a daze, puts sunscreen all over your chest and stomach before clearing his throat and turning away. It makes you laugh. 

Sunghoon jumps in the pool and it splashes against the bottom of your legs. When he emerges, you fight the urge to squish your legs together. He wipes the water from his eyes and somehow, Sunghoon likes twice as good with water dripping down his body. It accentuates his muscles and you’re dripping wet without having jumped in yet. 

“I don’t bite,” he says when he sees you staring. Damn Sunghoon and the uptick on his mouth. 

You roll your eyes and get into the pool by the steps instead of jumping in like Sunghoon did. He waits for you to approach him and watches the way your assets bounce against the small currents from your movements. He licks his lips shamelessly and reaches his hands out to squeeze your hips when you come to him.

“There she is,” Sunghoon says. “There’s my girl.” 

You swat his chest. “You only like me because my tits are out.” 

Sunghoon averts his eyes to your chest. “Can’t say that isn’t true.” You fix your bikini top until your nipples are nearly peeking out just to tease him.

“Better?” He squeezes your hips. 

“Much better. Though, I think they’d look better if you took the bikini off.”

Sunghoon turns your body around until your back is pressed against his chest. His lips attach to your neck and he peppers kisses along your hot skin while his hands trail up your body to cup your breasts. His thumbs pass over your hardened buds and you don’t shy away from his touch. 

In fact, you encourage it. There’s no mistaking the arch in your back to press yourself against Sunghoon’s crotch. He grunts against your neck and cups your breasts through your top, giving them a gentle and firm squeeze. It makes you whimper softly against the sound of the pool water moving against the two of you and you swear Sunghoon grows harder by the second.

“Sexy girl,” he mutters, pulling the fabric covering your chest to the side to completely expose you. He hooks his chin on your shoulders and peers down at your breasts. “Fuck, they’re so beautiful.” 

It exhilarates you like no other to have him touch you like this in public, even though his backyard isn’t accessible unless you come from the house. Still, the prospect is still the same. 

“Let’s say we take these off, hm?”

He doesn’t wait for your permission, but it’s not like you’d decline him anyway and he knows it. Sunghoon moves his fingers slowly to untie your bikini top until it’s floating in the water next to you. He groans when your chest is free and cups them in his palms as he thrusts his hard dick against your ass. 

“Need my dick between your tits.” Sunghoon squeezes you again and you match the way he’s rubbing against you by pushing on him too. “Wanna see my come all over them.”   

“Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah, baby. I’ll fuck your perfect tits until they’re nice and dirty for me.” He drops one hand to your bottoms and bypasses the fabric until his fingers graze your slit. “Jesus, darlin’. Making me so horny in this little number of yours.” 

“Fuck,” you moan out. Sunghoon plunges a finger inside of you hastily and groans against your ear. His breath makes your body shiver and you feel him smirk right against you when he feels it. 

“I want to taste you right now.” 

He moves the two of you closer to the shallow end where the steps are and nudges you to turn around. You whimper when he withdraws his finger but the way he looks at you makes up for it. 

Your body’s halfway out the water and you feel more exposed when he undoes your bottoms, letting that float away in the water too. Sunghoon’s is rock hard against his swimming trunks when he bends down to bring his face closer to your naked cunt and licks a wide stripe up your slit.

You don’t shy away from moaning loudly and that seems to please Sunghoon, who licks you again and again until you’re moaning in contentment. You feel unburdened by anything and his mouth takes the stress from your body, and turns it into something pleasurable. 

His hands grip your thighs to keep you in place while his mouth attaches to your folds, lips puckered while his tongue runs across the expanse of your cunt like he’s trying to memorize every bit of you from this experience alone. Sunghoon is so good with his mouth that it astounds you how turned on you are just from oral. 

He hums when he feels your feet touch his back and buries his head deeper in you. The water subtly splashes around and the cool droplets lessens the burn of the hot sun. 

You’ve never imagined yourself to be someone as bold as this. Seldom do men make you feel comfortable enough to let your guard down, much less eat you out in a semi-public area. Sunghoon’s tongue explores your inner walls with every pass and his hands keep you grounded, reminding you to enjoy the present and turn your brain off. 

The hard concrete underneath you starts to feel uncomfortable and Sunghoon strokes your skin with his thumb as if to say you’re doing a great job withstanding the subtle friction. He moves his face until his tongue is perfectly hitting your clit repeatedly, making you come right on his mouth with your legs spread impossibly wide. The thrill of it all makes your stomach coil and you don’t shy away from bucking your hips right into his face. 

Sunghoon pulls back and his face looks absolutely wild, from his lust-filled eyes to his hard dick standing upright in his trunks. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you push your legs back underneath the water and attempt to stand on your own. He takes a step forward when you falter and kisses your forehead like he didn’t just devour you in his pool. 

“So good for me,” he mutters, moving to kiss your lips next. “I knew I’d get you out of your shell.” 

“Can’t believe I let you do that in public.” 

“Not technically public.” 

“Anyone could’ve seen!” He rolls his eyes when you laugh at him. You try not to seem bashful when he pulls himself out of his swim shorts but his hard, leaking dick looks you right in the eye and you become some animalistic version of yourself. 

“Atta girl,” Sunghoon says when you prop yourself over the ledge of the pool. 

You part your legs to fit him in between and he rubs your ass with one hand while gliding the tip over your hole with the other. The feeling of Sunghoon against your cunt will never get old. The intrusion is welcomed and encouraged, and he senses your eagerness when you squeeze around the head. 

It’s hot, mid-morning, and today feels like the kind of day to relax and unwind. Unlike this morning, Sunghoon doesn’t rush to make either of you orgasm. He sets a moderate pace and holds your hips while pushing his pelvis against your body. You’re content hearing him grunt behind you and your tits hangs over the ledge as he pushes and pulls from you repeatedly. 

To you, sex could never be as casual as this. It’s amazing how Sunghoon makes you feel like you don’t have to be ashamed to feel pleasure. You don’t need an excuse to have somebody adorn your body with their mouth or fuck you like they’re desperate for it. Here you are, spreading your legs and ass for your boss, but it feels like you’re on your first vacation with your boyfriend. 

You try not to think about that too much. Instead, you let the feeling of pleasure and euphoria takeover until you’re both coming. Sunghoon finishes inside and mutters something about how he doesn’t want to make the pool all dirty, and so your pussy is the only logical place to come. That makes you horny again, and you make him fuck you on the pool chair out in the open.

***

After the pool, you and Sunghoon decide you’ve played too hard to do anything that requires a functioning brain cell. The two of you shower together. Sunghoon tries to start something while you wash your hair and pouts when you tell him you need to clean yourself in peace. He waits patiently and doesn’t rush you, and you reward him by deep throating his cock until he bursts. 

The two of you dry up and spend the rest of the afternoon lazily lounging in his bed with the TV on in the background. For an hour, the two of you talk about everything and nothing, sneaking in a few kisses until you inevitably fall asleep on his chest. Sunghoon falls asleep shortly after. 

When you come to, Sunghoon is awake and checking his phone. You blink the sleep out of your eyes and see that he’s looking at an email for a dinner reservation. Sunghoon, who notices you’re awake when you stir above him, glances down and kisses your nose.

“Good morning, princess.” 

“It’s four in the afternoon, Hoon.”

“Good morning, princess,” he repeats. You swat his chest and fall back against him. “There’s a restaurant nearby that I really love. Romantic, candle lit, and everything. We have a reservation at seven.” 

“It’s so weird to let you handle this stuff,” you mutter against his neck before kissing it once. “I feel useless.”

“Relax and let me do the work, yeah? You can go back to being my assistant when we’re at the office.”

“I guess…” He grins when he hears your playful tone. 

“I know you’re sleepy, but I think you should get up and start getting ready. We need to leave by six-thirty to make it on time.”

You groan. “Wanna sleep. Wanna have sex a little more too.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Sunghoon pulls his body until he’s hovering over yours and locks eyes with you. “I knew you couldn’t get enough of me.”

“Not you. Your dick.” You bring a hand over his shorts to cup his bulge before squeezing it. 

Sunghoon spreads both of your legs wider and presses his covered crotch along your own covered mound, pushing himself until you feel his body heat. You can’t help but gasp, especially when you feel that he’s already started to harden against you. Sunghoon slowly grinds himself and the friction feels a bit too good to admit. He lifts his hips up and down until his hard dick is slotting themselves against your pussy. Your slick is already pouring out and your panties are pasted to the shape of your folds. 

“Feels so good,” you whisper against his lips when Sunghoon bends down to kiss you.

“I’ll fuck you some more after.” You whine when he pulls away. “Go get ready, brat. Let me be good to you. Stop sabotaging me with those eyes of yours.” 

You pout when you realize your seductive gaze isn’t working on him, but get up nonetheless.

Sunghoon gives you space and breathing room to get ready. He says he wants to be surprised by what you’re wearing and steps out of the room before you can say anything else. You put on some music while you paint your face a bit more elegant than normal, and feel the excitement of a date creep upon you.

While the two of you have had dinner just the two of you before, this feels like a real date. The intention of impressing him is clearly there. Your lips are an incredible shade of red and the way you did your eye makeup makes you look like a seductive siren. You don’t overthink it too much. This is Sunghoon, the man you’ve known for six years. He’s seen you naked and has finished inside you. There’s no reason to feel nervous.

But the nerves are still there. The warm feelings you have towards him creep up like a sleeper spy. They hit you when you least expect it and when you’re not distracted by him. The weighted reality of going back to Seoul and the two of you never addressing this weekend is a fear you have, but it’s one that doesn’t need to be addressed at this very moment. 

The lingerie you packed makes your body look like a sinful temptation. It leaves very little to the imagination and emphasizes your assets in a way that makes you feel more confident than not. The dress you’ve chosen makes you might as well be the most beautiful person in the room. Every insecurity you have seems to have vanished when you look at yourself in the full length mirror, and your nerves stem from excitement rather than worry. For the first time, you get a feeling that tonight won’t end up in tears and drowning your sorrows in cheap wine and popcorn. 

“Holy shit,” Sunghoon curses when you come out of the room. You hold your sleek pair of heels in your hands—a tall peep toe shoe with a buckle around the ankle—while Sunghoon’s eyes roam all over your figure. “Fuck, baby. I think I might cum right now.”

“Don’t flatter me too much.” It’s hard to avoid his eyes. He’s staring at your legs and beckons you to give him your shoes.

You stare in utter shock when Sunghoon bends to his knees to help you put them on. One by one, you slip into the heel and feel his fingers brush against your ankle until he’s standing in front of you with parted lips. Sunghoon looks delectable when he’s on his knees for you.

“I want to kiss you, but I’ll ruin your lip gloss,” he mumbles, eyes gazing at your mouth while his hands touch your hips. Sunghoon slowly kisses both of your cheeks instead. The way he’s looking at you makes your heart race.

He loops his arm with yours and leads you out the door. 

As promised, the restaurant is as romantic as Sunghoon described it. There are small candles on every table and the lighting is just low enough to make you feel like you and Sunghoon are the only two people in the room. 

The host leads you to the reserved table right by the window and the combination of the natural moonlight and the live band makes you feel like you stepped into a cliche romance novel. Usually, you’d turn your nose up at romantic endeavors, but tonight you feel like you’re brave enough to bask in its glory. 

Sunghoon pulls your chair out for you and you let him. Tonight, you’re his date. Not his assistant. 

“You look amazing.” You laugh.

“You said that four times already.” 

He grabs your hand above the table and starts playing with your fingers. Sunghoon, too, looks breathtaking. He’s slicked his hair back and you can see the silver jewelry adorning his neck and fingers. Sunghoon is so stylish, even down to his shoes, that it makes you feel a bit embarrassed to remember all of the guys who’ve dressed so poorly when they took you out on a date. 

Maybe it’s mean to judge those men for not having the means that Sunghoon does. But he’s clearly secure in himself and doesn’t mind letting you take center stage without a moment's notice. You saw it when he let you walk in front of him from the valet to the restaurant, and you saw it in the way he kept his eyes on you the entire time. You know you look good. He knows it too. 

If there’s one thing you love about Sunghoon, it’s that he seems to know what you’re feeling before you do. It’s your job to know that when he’s at work, but you often forget that he’s learned a lot about you in the time you’ve been working alongside him. He expertly suggests appetizers and cocktails that he thinks you’ll like and you actually enjoy them. Men from your past puff their chest and talk big for people who don’t know what they’re doing. 

You feel taken care of. And, if you’re honest with yourself, it feels good to let someone else take the wheel for a change. Sunghoon understands you on a level that is beyond your imagination. Neither of you have to speak in order to be on the same wavelength. It’s as if the two of you are two foreign objects working in tandem, completing each other without intent. 

It’s scary to realize how fast you’ve fallen for him. But on the other hand, were these feelings already there, and did you only act upon it when Sunghoon started to show interest in you too? You thought you had squashed these feelings down years ago, chalking it up to loneliness when you developed a small crush on your boss. Viewing him like the authoritative figure who signed your paychecks worked for a little while. Now, that method has gone down the drain. 

You’d always been a bit envious of the beautiful women in Sunghoon’s life and those who wanted to rub elbows with him. You never believed you could measure up because of the wealth disparage, and most would ignore your presence for the sake of having a good time with him. Working alongside him the first two years of your career was a challenge and a half. Picking him up from far away locations at ungodly hours of the morning tested your patience, as did seeing him with post-sex hair at 2 A.M. 

It was like a breath of relief when Sunghoon stopped seeing women so frequently. No more envy of the rich and famous, and no more heartbreak over the fact that he’d been with women who weren’t you. It was you who he called to fix his messes and it was you who he “came home to” at the end of the day. Per the requirements of your contract, you were always there for him and Sunghoon knew you’d be a call away. 

People push you out of the way when they realize you’re his assistant and not his equal. You’ve had your fair share of women weasel their way into his life with bad intentions and mistreat you because of it. Some are polite while others are snarky. Some try to butter you up with gifts and sweet words of affirmations, while others turn their noses in your direction. 

Learning to develop a thick skin came with time. Part of growing up meant knowing when to shut feelings off. You’d grown comfortable leaving your morality and emotions at the door every morning you stepped into the office building. Only when you’d read the threshold of your apartment would you break down into a puddle of tears. It’s a dog-eat-dog world and your position did not make life easier for you. 

Somewhere along the way, Sunghoon started to feel like a colleague rather than your boss. He started asking for your input and entrusted you with a few of his projects. As time passed by, the two of you developed a way of working well together without stepping on each other’s toes. For some accounts, you were the coordinator and liaison while Sunghoon took the backseat. On others, you were his acting assistant and remained that way until the end of the project. 

It almost felt like you were an employee of his status, too. You felt like you could’ve made a great career out of it. But jumping through hoops and glass barriers in your way posed a great challenge that you were not able to meet. Perhaps the stagnation of your job and the repetitive nature was what started to burn your light. Traveling to far away places only seems fun when you take the work aspect out of the equation. 

There was never enough time for you, and the accumulation of boredom and routine was what drove you to resign. But even now, in the wake of abandonment, Sunghoon cares for you. The end of the meal is anything but a sobering thought after multiple glasses of wine and enough food to make you feel like a rich heiress. What’s left is your raw feelings and your relentless love for him.

“You’re so good to me.” Sunghoon tilts his head and looks at you. 

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re so…attentive.” 

“I’d like to think I know you pretty well.”

“It’s hard for me to trust people completely.” 

He smiles softly. “I know.”

“I’m not used to letting my guard down, is what I’m trying to say. It feels like we’ve been on vacation for weeks, even though it’s only been a day.” 

“I care about you a lot, you know?” Sunghoon says. He sips on his wine without breaking eye contact, your own glass on its second pour. “You know me better than anyone else does.”

“Sometimes, I feel like I’ll never get out of the cycle I’m in. I’m scared that I’ll always feel lonely.”

He strokes your hand. “Is the second glass getting to you?” 

“Maybe…”

“You’re really cute.” 

You pout. “You keep saying that, but I’m telling you some depressing shit about how my life is boring and I’m sad all the time.”

“So cute.” 

He bites his lip and looks at you for a moment. It makes you feel like you’re under inspection. Perhaps it’s the wine that’s making you feel vulnerable and light-headed, but Sunghoon looks at you like he wants you to believe him. 

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I could never be the man I am today without you.” 

“You…You’re giving me too much credit.”

“No, baby.” You melt at his deep voice. “I don’t think I knew how intertwined our lives are until you gave me your resignation letter. You’ve been a constant in my life for the past six years and I took that for granted every single day. I want you to stay, but I don’t want you to choose me if that means sacrificing your own happiness.” 

His words pierce your heart.

“I’m…drunk.” 

Sunghoon seems to know what you mean. Your mind is too loud and combined with the volume of your heart pounding in your chest, you feel like nothing could ever capture what you want to say. Your eyes feel wet and glossy from his words and the alcohol that’s just on the precipice of wearing off. You’re sure you must look like some hot mess with smudged lipstick and a dazed look. To Sunghoon, you look like the epitome of perfection. 

“Let me take care of the bill, yeah? Let’s go home.” 

He kisses the back of your hand before standing up to pay. The empty dessert plates, insistent by Sunghoon, who tells you a tiramisu won’t kill your savory taste buds, sit on the table like they’ve been licked clean. It’s nice to jump off the deep end and do things differently every now and then. You can still feel his lips where he kissed you. 

When Sunghoon comes back, he kisses your forehead quickly before leading you out of the restaurant with his hand in yours. You let him lead you to the valet and will your beating heart to slow down before you die of a heart attack. The only thing you can think about when you’re in the car is how it feels like you’re his wife coming home after a much needed date night. You’re not his employee. You’re his equal. 

Sunghoon parks his car inside of the garage when you unbuckle and grab his face with both hands. You push your lips upon him by surprise and he makes a sound from the sudden movement, but his hands find themselves on your waist when you kiss him. It’s somewhere between heavy and seductive, rushed and calculated. You throw all inhibitions out the window and let your body do all the talking for you. There are no reservations and hidden insecurities when you’re with Sunghoon, just love. 

He pushes his hands up your dress and you happily moan against his touch. Sunghoon rewards you by kissing you harder and pulls away when he needs to catch his breath. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he mutters. His big, brown eyes look up at you and you wear you could finish right there. 

“I want you,” you whisper in the quiet of the garage. The hum of the fluorescent lights is the only thing you register, aside from how fast your heart is beating. 

“You have me.” 

Sunghoon beckons you out of the car after a few more kisses and promises to have fun with you when you resist. You see him harden up when you whine about him not touching you and it makes Sunghoon more aroused than ever before. He sees and hears your sheer desperation. It makes him want to take you on every inch of this house. 

Eventually, the two of you make your way inside the house and you nearly stumble when Sunghoon drops to his knees. His hands fumble with the strap of the ankle and you feel his fingers gently undoing the buckle. Every pass of his skin feels electrifying and so does looking down at him. He, who plays the role of an authoritative figure, is on his knees for you.

He’s still in control, but it makes you feel like you have all the power. You’re putty in Sunghoon’s hands and you’re starting to assume he’s the same when it comes to you. His surprisingly soft hands caress your leg with every touch that wakes up some pent up sexual frustration from the pit of your stomach. The desire is there and Sunghoon’s the first person to bring it out of you to this extent. 

Sunghoon puts your heels aside and kisses up your leg. He pushes the hem of your dress towards your upper thigh when he alternates legs until his face is right by your stomach. He kisses you there keeps his chin there to look up at you as if to admire you from where he kneels. It’s too much for you. It makes you want to suck the soul out of him and never return it. 

“You looked beautiful tonight,” Sunghoon says while maintaining eye contact with you. His hands come to cup the back of your legs, caressing your skin with his thumbs. You feel his warmth radiating off of him and he looks at you like he’s somewhere in between starving and satiated. 

You don’t say anything. You can’t say anything. Sunghoon has you stopped in your tracks that you feel like you’re frozen on the ground with nothing but the sound of your heart pounding in your ear drums. 

“You always look so good when you get dressed up. Did you dress up for me?” 

You blush at that. 

“I…”

“It’s okay if you did.” 

Sunghoon starts to feel up your body underneath your dress and touches the lace lingerie you have on underneath. He hums in satisfaction and looks up at you again.

“You’re so strong, you know that? It’s what I like about you the most. You don’t need me to tell you anything.” He snaps the band of your panties and you subtly jolt in your stance. Sunghoon rises from his spot on the floor, and you look up at him once he’s at his full height. 

“But I’m selfish. I like it when you dress up for me.”

“Yeah?” you whisper.

“Yeah. It makes me feel special.” 

“Special?” 

You never thought you could make him feel that way too. You’ve been so caught up in your own life and distracting yourself from falling too hard that you never considered how you affect him. His dark brown eyes reach the depths of your soul when he looks at you like this. 

“You don’t do things because anyone asks you to. You do it for you. You’re quitting your job as my assistant because there’s more to life than that. My brave girl. I like it when you dress up for me because I know you must feel the same way I do.” 

“I don’t want to leave you forever,” you quietly confess.

“I don’t want that either. You have me, remember? I’m not going anywhere. 

Sunghoon makes you feel all kinds of uncanny things. He makes you feel like the star of your own romantic movie. Every cliche is not meant with resistance, like you would with other men. Instead, Sunghoon says all the right things and you find yourself falling for every word. 

Except, there’s something about this that makes you believe it’s real. He’s not saying it to get into your pants and leave you in the morning. Everything about him fighting for your employment to taking you on a whimsical weekend vacation makes you think he feels just as deeply as you do. He’s never done this with any of his past flings and short lived relationships before. You’ve seen it firsthand when he blames work for keeping him busy instead of confronting whatever truth he’s hiding from. 

With you, Sunghoon seems to have let all of that go. 

The two of you kiss messily and stumble in the hallway until you’re in the bedroom. Sunghoon throws his jacket on the floor and doesn’t have time to think when you kneel before him and pull your dress down to expose your chest. He stutters and nearly trips, if not for the edge of the bed directly behind his knees, and takes his shirt off when you unbuckle his pants to fish out his cock. 

You don’t say anything before you put your mouth on him. No warning. Nothing but pure greed and lust mixed together. Sunghoon watches you lick him up and down with your warm tongue and groans at the feeling of your wet saliva smearing all over his dick. You don’t care that your cheeks are starting to dampen up. That makes him even harder.

You force his pants and boxers down when you fit him inside of your mouth. You’re not thinking at all. Sunghoon moans loudly when you take as much of him as you can in a single shot. His hands find the back of your head to balance himself while you hook your hands onto his legs to push more of him deeper in your small throat. Watching you pull your head back only to push right back in makes Sunghoon thrust his hips towards you. 

The gagging sound makes you wetter and it makes him quicken his pace. You breathe through your nose and focus on how good it feels to know you’re the one making him act like this. Every grunt, every moan, and every orgasm is because of you. 

Humming around his dick makes Sunghoon moan too. The two of you sound like a pornography film when you moan in tandem. The noises he makes are beyond anything you’ve ever heard before. Men before you have been too afraid to make any sounds during sex, but it’s like Sunghoon needs to let them out in order to feel true pleasure. His baritone voice makes you impossibly wet. 

He holds your head in place and starts to fuck your mouth without abandon. The tip hits the back of your throat and you gag until spit is falling all over the place, but you don’t care at all. Sunghoon’s pelvis touches your nose with every thrust and you arch your back and the pace he sets, sticking your ass out for him to see. He moans and widens his stance for a better angle and shoves his dick deeper in your mouth. 

“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “I don’t want to cum yet.”

Sunghoon pushes your head away and holds you by the hair with a tight grip. You chase his dick after it slips out, but he holds you in your place instead of letting you suck him back in. Sunghoon’s cock twitches when you whine. He pivots and forces you onto the bed before he lies on top of it with his chest facing the ceiling. 

When he pulls your dress down your body, he curses upon seeing the red lace adorning your body. Your chest is pushed in all the right places and nearly spills over the cups. He throws the fabric somewhere behind him and spreads your legs for him to see, and feeling like an object he’s inspecting turns you on so much that you’re sure he can spot the wet patch by now. 

Sunghoon doesn’t comment on it, too focused on taking in the way you look underneath him. His hands reach to grip your breasts and stomach, his finger tracing the line of the lace hem above where you need him the most. 

“Can’t believe you wore this for me.” Sunghoon bends his head down between your chest and kisses the spot there before turning to lick your left nipple over the cloth. “You’re so fucking sexy, you know that? Do you know how hard it is to keep myself in check every time I see you? It doesn’t matter if you’re wearing a trash bag. I get so fucking hard every time you walk into a room.”

As if to prove a point, Sunghoon pushes his cock over your covered pussy. He moans quietly and pulls the cups of your bra down to suck on your buds with a gentle hum, like he’s satisfied a craving of his. His tongue feels like some kind of gentle heaven and you can’t help but arch your back, which pushes your chest right into his face. 

You paw at his dick and grip it hard in your hand, attempting to tug on it at this angle. He chuckles against your chest when you struggle to grip all of him. 

“I love how eager you are,” he mutters against your chest before crawling on the bed himself. “You look so desperate trying to touch my dick. Is that what you want?” 

Sunghoon obliges. His hands grab your body and place you on top of him with your mouth pointed at his crotch. His cock looks so much bigger from this angle and you’re dripping right onto Sunghoon’s tongue. The feeling of the first pass makes you clench your hole and grip the base of his cock to balance yourself. 

He pulls your panties aside and moans against your pussy and licks you simultaneously. You feel his warm breath and the way his hands are prying your ass apart for him. Sunghoon groans when you push your lap onto his face, slapping your asscheek. 

You get the hint and wrap your lips around his dick, trying to fit all of it in your mouth. It’s slower than Sunghoon’s languid licks, but you must be doing a good job because you feel the vibration of his voice on your clit. It sends shivers up your spine and it makes your mouth water. 

Eventually, you find a steady pace as your hands squeeze Sunghoon’s balls between your fingers. You suck his tip like it’s a goddamn lollipop and you’re mouthing him like you have an oral fixation when it comes to him. He nearly bites you when you swallow his sack in your mouth and let your tongue lick through the seam. A swell of pride resides within you when you hear him. He’s so put together most of the time. It’s nice to feel him let his inhibitions go. 

You hollow your cheeks until it becomes a makeshift vacuum and suck on his dick as hard as you can. The moans coming from your throat make it hard for Sunghoon to stay still beneath you, but you welcome the intrusion every time his hips buck right into your mouth. Your saliva makes everything that much wetter and the sounds of his wettened cock and your slick core, egg both of you on. You’ve never felt so turned on sucking someone off before. 

Sunghoon’s tongue thrusts into you and you push back on his face, momentarily fearing that you might suffocate him if you continue. But his movements feel too good to care at this point. Sunghoon slurps up your juices and massages your ass while he eats you like a man on a mission, tongue rolling everywhere with no real method.

It makes you feel jealous that other women have experienced his magical mouth. You hate that he’s tasted women who aren’t you and you hate that you’ve had to watch him come home from a one night stand while pushing your own feelings below the surface. 

This motivates you to suck him with a death grip. Your mouth never relents and you force your head down until you’ve shoved all of him down your throat. Sunghoon moans against your core and you feel his grip on your ass tighten the more you constrict yourself around his cock. 

With a new sense of pride for making him moan the way he does, it propels you to use your head like that. You pull back and push down over and over again, letting his thick, mushroom head hit the back of your throat while your saliva spills everywhere. You refuse to take a break when Sunghoon’s suffocating himself on your pussy. 

One hand continues to touch his balls and aid his pleasure while the other grips his base to keep his dick right where you want him. God, you think. Where has this man been all my life? 

You cum when Sunghoon sucks on your clit. You push yourself off of him to arch your back, and grasp anything to make you feel sane. He moans when he tastes your orgasm and keeps licking while you process your high and come down from it. His cock is untouched and twitching with excitement upon tasting your release. 

“Need it,” Sunghoon nearly growls. 

He pushes your body off of him until the back of your head touches the plush pillows. He puts his mouth underneath your jaw and kisses you every place he can touch. Sunghoon drags his tongue all over and tastes the salty sheen of your sweat, grinning to himself. His canines graze your pulse point and you buck your hips until the underside of his wet cock is brushing against yours. 

“Do you want me as badly as I want you?” he whispers against your neck. 

“I need you more than you know.” 

“Fuck. I want all of you.” 

You spread your legs wide open and Sunghoon takes this opportunity to reach between your bodies to guide his tip to your entrance after pulling your panties to the side again. The push is slow and monstrous, unlike the times you’ve had sex with him before. He feels bigger somehow. More girth than earlier this morning. The stretch is deliciously painful and the sting burns no matter how wet you are. 

You both moan out into the open when he slips it in. Sunghoon looks like something devilish when he shuts his eyes while moaning. He’s so fucking hot that it’s not fair at all. His face becomes flushed and his forehead glistens with the sweat he’s built up eating you out. He buries himself to the hilt until you feel his warm sack on your ass. 

Your toes curl and you both feel the way your hole flutters around Sunghoon’s dick. His breaths are slow and deep. They make you more aroused, especially in the quiet of the night with nothing but the moonlight illumination through the uncovered windows. 

Sunghoon doesn’t snap his hips like you expect him to. He raises his hips and rolls them in slowly as if trying to savor every drag of your walls against his wet cock. He’s so slow that you hear your combined breaths trying to regain some kind of dignity and failing. The wet sounds add to your euphoria. Sunghoon starts to increase his speed, but not by much. 

“Perfect,” he mutters to himself. “So fucking perfect.” 

He braces both of his hands on either side of you. Sunghoon’s muscular bicep comes into view and makes you clench around him, to which he hissed and loses his composure, pushing his chest to yours. Your nipples squeeze under his skin. His body is so warm against you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt like you lost your mind before this very moment. Sunghoon feels like he’s reached every untouched crevice in your body and it makes you feel like you're frozen in time. You don’t run from this pleasure either. You stay right where you are and tell yourself you deserve to have good sex and you deserve Sunghoon. 

You’ve enticed him. Sunghoon widens his own legs to better angle himself until he’s plunging his dick straight into you. The sheer force and depth at which he’s fucking you feels incredible. He doesn’t seem like he’s thinking at all. He acts like this is his primal instinct and he’s letting that version of himself takeover. 

Sunghoon groans with the sexual frustration he has within him and drills himself into you like he’s trying to make the two of you become one. His hips start to lose control the faster he thrusts into you, his cock warm and heavy even at the pace he’s setting. It’s all so hot. 

You think you might love him so much that walking away would shatter you. Your heart can’t help but choose him every time, and some part of you is desperate to know if Sunghoon feels the same way about you. 

Whimpers pour past your lips the faster Sunghoon fucks you. The gradual pace tells you he’s the absolute master of self indulgence and patience. You see elements of it when you see him in the office, and it’s always made you wonder just how patient he can be. Tonight, it seems like he’s trying to draw out your combined pleasure for as long as humanly possible. 

“Oh god,” Sunghoon chokes. He’s pounding into you with relentless force. “I’m cumming, shit shit shit.” 

He holds his breath, focusing on his orgasm. Sunghoon breaks you out of any thought that isn’t right here and right now. He arches his back so beautifully when he’s close and it drives his cock into you that much deeper. 

Sunghoon glances down at you before shutting his eyes and letting the first droplets of cum seep into you. You tighten your grip around his dick in preparation for what’s to come. Only, this time surprise you more than the time. 

“I love you.” 

He moans it without caring how loud he’s being. Sunghoon’s admission triggers your own orgasm and you thrash your body around while he chases your hips to settle you in your place beneath him. Your pussy clenched over and over again, collecting every drop from his leaning tip. Your shared orgasm leaks from the empty space between the two of you and you feel it drip between your legs. 

It’s like your heart is bursting with warmth and shock at the same time. Electricity flies off of your body and your mind runs so fast that you don’t know if you’ll ever come down from this particular high. Sunghoon finds your lips and kisses you with fervor and passion while he slows down his thrusts. He’s kissing you like he’s trying to make sure you’re real. He doesn’t pull away or pull out, even when he’s becoming soft. 

“You love me?” you ask.

“Yeah.” Sunghoon laughs incredulously and looks down at you. “Yes I fucking do.” 

“Sunghoon—”

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same, because I know you do. Your body tells me everything I need.”

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same.” Sunghoon soothes your lips over with a gentle kiss.

“I’ve loved you for a while now. I just started listening to my heart.” 

“That was so corny.” 

He grins against your mouth. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“Well…you’re lucky you’re cute.” 

“Are you not gonna say it back?” he teases. You look away and pretend to be confused. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Brat,” he says, pushing his half hard cock deeper in you to make you yelp. “Say you love me back, baby.” 

You don’t need that much convincing.

“I love you.

***

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[messerscest]

okay okay, hear me out!!

Barty getting turned on after his dad beats him bc he got so used to Evan hitting him during the school year...

kink dynamics, dumbification, hitting, hairpulling, implied abuse, kinda incest? he gets hard cause of his dad, so...

oh wait, no, this is so good. I'm in love with this idea, if youre the same, 'hear me out' anon from before your brain is so magnificent for coming up with all of these, and if everyone has decided to just drop hear me outs in my inbox thats funny as fuck

Barty, who used to only top who finally lets go and gets comfortable with being a bottom sexually and letting himself go of everything, all his responsibilities and thoughts, and he actually enjoys subbing.

Evan loves watching him let go, but because of how active Barty's head can be, it takes a while to break him in and help him empty that pretty head of his.

Evan takes his time with barty, small sessions of teaching him rules, to always obey, yes sir, no sir, manners, posture, all of it to be Evan's personal plaything.

Barty almost laughs the first time but when he hears punishment something inside him twists with a satisfying glee.

Evan learns quickly that until Barty is broken he'll brat. He'll spit, he'll bite, he'll scratch. He needs to be bound still and forced to take everything Evan knows he needs, and Evan doesnt disappoint

After a particular snippy day Evan turns to Barty and slaps him across the face. Its harsh, and loud and it echoes. Barty grabs his face and gets ready to shout something along the lines of 'what the fuck'

He doesn't get the first sound past his lips before Evan's hands are on him again, he's tugging barty's hair, pulling him down until his legs give in, kneeling below the blond so he can slap him again. And again, two to one cheek and one to the other. The pale face turning red under the sting.

Barty's eyes practically fog over, enjoying nothing more than being beaten into submission, its everything he's ever needed and it makes all his thoughts halt.

They get a routine. Barty gets 3 strikes a day, and every friday night, he'll get the punishment so that the bruises have the whole weekend to heal, and thankfully, barty makes a really good bruisewart balm which helps with the particularly dark ones that form across his jaw and across his face.

Splitting for the summer almost hurts more than all the physical punishments combined. A promise to write and meet up sometime soon.

Barty gets home with a quick apparation from one of the many elves his father owns. Crouch Sr is in the foyer with nothing but disdain written across his face.

"Useless boy. You can do so much better. You're barely in the door, and you're already a disappointment"

Crouch Seniors hand meets Barty's cheek before he can even comprehend it. His body reacting in time with his training.

His knees buckle, catching himself only just, and he feels himself getting lightheaded from his blood all running south.

Barty is hard, close to subspace with thoughts already fading in the foyer of his house with his only witnesses being his dad and his house elf.

He might cry from embarrassment.

His dad is staring, the familiar look of disgust curled on his lip. Crouch senior has his brow furrowed and his top lip is practically melded to his moustache as he stares at the disgrace that his son is, who just enjoyed being slapped to the point of almost collapsing.

Absolutely disgusting.

[mars-ipan]

i sometimes think that in spite of my mental stuff i have a very good handle on myself and especially my impulsivity and then i look at how i consume media

[webism]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎HOT ROD !

After getting hooked on your taste, pornstar!satoru invites you and your pornstar boyfriend to shoot a threesome in the countryside.

pornstar!suguru x pornstar!satoru x fem!reader | part one, two

cw; ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she/her pronouns used for reader, unprotected sex, creampies, oral (m and f receiving), anal (m receiving), mmf threesome, voyeurism.

The sun has barely risen, the typical tangelo orange of a morning sky is yet to develop—instead, you watch a dull pink canvas the sky, turned more of a rose colour through the car's windshield. Suguru Geto, your lover and costar alike, keeps his hand on your thigh as he drives. Occasionally, he'll tap his fingers against your exposed flesh along to the beat of the old niche rock song blaring through the radio. You have the volume up too high—which isn't good for your ears, but is great for the soul—and the windows rolled all the way down. The wind is in your hair, which aids the setting heat of Summer in Japan. It's quite pleasant out here. You're filming at a location you can only reach through an open road that goes right past some very scenic hills, and you're having a lovely time just enjoying your lover's company. Nothing but the two of you. 

That being said—something sits at the forefront of Suguru's mind. You can tell his thoughts are preoccupied, having been with him so long gets you a sweet look into that pretty mind of his. So, when the strings of an electric guitar die out, you turn the radio down and shift in your seat to face him better. 

“Cold feet?” You ask. 

His hair is up and out of his face, save for a stand that falls over his eyes, though it’s pushed back by the wind regardless. He glances at you, smiles, and looks away.

“I don’t get cold feet," he says flatly, looking at you for half a second before his focus returns to the road. “I'm just interested to see if he'll fuck as good with me there, of if the poor guy will get performance anxiety."

Ah, jealousy it is. The flat kind, because your sweet-boned lover never gets openly jealous. You have to settle for half-bitten quips. You smile, "he didn't seem like the type to get performance anxiety."

Suguru hums in a noncommittal way, his lips pulling inwards. He squeezes the fat of your thigh and taps a finger against your skin.  Your skin heats under his touch, it always does. You might earn your living through the most sensual of touches, but none of them quite set you alight like Sugurus does.

Well, except for Satoru. You try to avoid closing your eyes, in fear of being met with the memory of his cock sinking into you rather than the darkness of your closed eyelids. You feel half-guilty, despite Suguru's obvious itch to see you laid out for Satoru Gojo of all people. You know him, you wouldn't be driving forty minutes through the countryside if Suguru wasn't at least a little bit obsessed with the fantasy.

Satoru Gojo, a known name in the porn industry, got to fuck you stupid only a week ago. He had asked you out for drinks after, and though you rejected him verbally, you’re starting to fear that your mind didn’t reject him in the same regard. You had come home that night to your sweet Suguru, and told him all about being hit on by your co-star, to which he laughed.

And oh the irony, that your Suguru was balls-deep inside of you that night when the two of you got an email from Satoru’s agent– an offer, an expensive one. One shoot, a week from then, a threesome between his new favourite love birds and, of course, him.

Suguru remembers Satoru like he was the season prior, like the winter that bled into you, the spring. They did a few films together, Satoru got a little too stuck in Sugurus mind and then, once their contracts were up, they never spoke again. 

The rising sun makes him squint against the road— he almost misses the turn off to the countryside estate you had been told to meet at. The place is nice, big, and you’re starting to wonder just how widely distributed this porno will be if the producer is shelling out so much money just for an estate to rent out for half a day. 

“With how much they’re paying us, I half expected the budget for location to allow for a crack den at most,” Suguru snorts as he pulls in through the large paved driveway. 

“No kidding,” you hum. With this paycheck, you’d just be greedy looking for work in the next few months. 

Suguru parks and undoes his seatbelt with a sideways glance in your direction. “We’re a bit early,” he notes. “But it never hurts to get a feel for the place, talk to our co-star for a minute or two.”

You smile. “Mhm, talk.”

“Ready to get fucked for cash?” Suguru snorts, and opens his door to get out of the car. You follow suit, rolling your eyes at his crude words when your feet hit the ground and you’re closing your door behind you. 

You walk around the car to meet your boyfriend, and he greets you with a pinch to your ass and a kiss to your temple. You’d recognise something poetic in the contrast of his actions if your mind wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of performing for him in only a few moments. 

Despite both being pornstars, you rarely take scenes together. Threesomes aren’t a frequent venture— this is something relatively untapped for the both of you. And though you’re sure it would never jeopardise your relationship at all, you can’t help but entertain the worries that creep in. Will Suguru really not mind sharing? 

You aren’t sure what’s worse— the thought of him getting overly jealous of Satoru and cutting the scene short, or the thought of Suguru not minding in the slightest as you get fucked stupid by another man. A little possession never goes unappreciated on your end. 

“Hey,” Suguru’s silken voice brings you back to the now. “You okay? We can turn around and speed off into the sunrise if you want to leave.”

You grin. “I’m good. Excited, even.”

Your boyfriend nods and leads the way to the estate's front door. It’s closed, which is a little odd considering the production crew will be coming in and out with equipment and the such. You furrow your eyebrows and realise your car is the only one here—maybe you’re earlier than you realised. 

“You checked the shoot time, right?” you ask. 

“Yes, love,” Suguru makes it to the front door and tries the handle only to find it locked. “Fuck, maybe I should have triple checked.”

He presses a thick finger to the doorbell button and glances to you as the sound of an overly upbeat chime echoes through the estate. Maybe it’s the wrong place, too lavish to be true. Maybe it’s the wrong date, even. Maybe—

The door swings open, and standing to greet you with a knowing grin is Satoru Gojo. 

His eyes meet yours first, and then drop to take in the rest of you. Something soft flashes over his face. Lust, perhaps, or appreciation, maybe both.  His arms cross over his chest, leaning his body weight on the doorframe as he flits his gaze to your boyfriend, and his eyes return.

“Long time no see, lovebirds. Just on time," he chirps, stepping aside to let you in. "Excuse the mess, I just moved in."

It takes a moment for your brain to register his words, and Suguru is right behind you in thought. "This is your place?" he asks, appraising the foyer as he walks in. 

“Mhm,” Gojo replies, and though you expect his lilt to be more cocky, he speaks smooth like silk. “The city is too… busy for me. Plus.. saves a dollar on renting out a house to film in, right?”

You can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips: from the looks of his home you doubt he’d blink an eye at paying rent for a night of filming. Still, you don’t know if he’s just trying to show off, or if he really wants his home to play backdrop for the shoot. But whatever the case, he definitely thinks it’s clever on his behalf to lead the both of you here. It worked, you give it to him, but damn.

You look around, taking in everything that catches your eye – the sleek furnishings, a wide kitchen to the left, and an elegant living room straight ahead. All of it feels clean and welcoming. You wonder, idly, what it's like for Gojo to live in a space like this all alone – if he is alone, that is. The question remains unanswered as Gojo leads the two of you down the hall until you reach another door and slip inside.

The bedroom you end up in is stunning; a double bed dominates the centre of the room with fluffy duvets thrown haphazardly over top, whilst the walls are painted a warm, calming shade of grey. The carpet is plush and dark brown in colour, the curtains hanging at either side of the grand windows allow for plenty of natural light to flood the room. There's a tripod set up with a very expensive looking camera pointed directly at the bed: Satoru points to it and grins at you and Suguru, "our camera crew."

You furrow your eyebrows, but Suguru speaks up before you can. "It's just us?" 

Satoru nods, crossing his corded arms and he flits his gaze between the two of you. "Yes. I did specify it was a private shoot, lovebirds."

Your boyfriend settles in closer beside you than before, you can feel the heat from his body as he crosses his own arms, a mirror of the white haired man in front of you. "I figured it was a private production shoot," he speaks cautiously. "The email I got was from an agent, not you directly."

Satoru looks unperturbed. "'Course," he says languidly. "She handles all my correspondence."

Gojo turns to the dresser and, from the top drawer, pulls out two white envelopes. Your eyes linger a little too long on his slender fingers as he hands them over to you, one each. As you peek into the envelope handed to you, you find an obscene amount of cash neatly sat inside. 

"As agreed, plus... a little extra for the commute," Gojo shrugs. "You can take it and go, if this isn't what you want. If it is, well..." He gestures to the bed. "I'm kinda dying here."

You glance down at his insinuation and find that he's beyond hard. His pants are tight and tented, making his arousal painfully evident. You have to force your gaze elsewhere – to Suguru, who is staring almost shamelessly at Gojo, his brows creased in the middle as he thinks.

The silence is deafening, you can feel the tension rising between the three of you, vibrating off the surface of your skin and permeating the air itself. Suguru seems to have made his mind up, because he turns to you with an awfully familiar look on his face: desire.

"Thoughts, darling?" he asks, and your stomach flips. 

There's no point in pretending that there aren't things wrong with how your mind still reels after Satoru's touch. This entire thing has been confusing and disorientating; you're confused about everything – your feelings, your career, your sexual desires – and now, in your current situation, you’re downright torn. And yet, despite that, despite all the questions swirling around in your mind, as soon as your eyes land on Satoru's again – you know you'd die without another taste of his pink glossed lips. That feeling, the desire, the forethought of how he'd pant and whine after you've fucked him senseless – you'll do anything to achieve it. 

This doesn’t feel like work anymore, not with the way these two men are looking at you. The camera isn’t even rolling yet, and yet you find yourself ready to fuck them both to the brink of oblivion.

So, without so much as a second of hesitation you pull away from your train of thought and turn to press your lips to Suguru's in a searing kiss. The action, so swift, causes Gojo's breath to hitch in his throat at the sight. Suguru kisses you back, of course, the hand that isn't holding his envelope quickly makes its way to your waistline and pulls you flush against him, leaving nothing but your clothes between the both of you. You wrap your arms loosely around his neck as Gojo watches the two of you intently, gaze burning into the meeting of your lips. You can feel him watching you, his spectatorship dizzying, and you bite Suguru's bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the moan bubbling up your throat.

“Jeez, didn’t know this was a cuckolding shoot,” Satoru sounds whiney, threadbare with lust. “Though I wouldn’t mind that… another time maybe.”

You place a hand on the planes of Suguru’s chest as you disconnect your lips and turn your head to the white-haired pervert with heart-shaped pupils. Your grin is sweet, sultry - "another time, huh?"

You pull apart from Suguru and move past Gojo, making a point not to glance in his direction, until you're crawling onto the bed and turning to rest with your elbows propping you up. Both Suguru and Satoru standing, your observers - admirers, is a sight for sore eyes. The camera sits between them, propped up and set on you. In spite of it, you feel oddly at home. The same sweet excitement builds within you that you normally feel when it’s just you and Suguru at home. You didn't know the air could weigh so intimately in front of a camera.

It takes a moment of staring at you, jaw slack, for Satoru to finally spring into thought. He steps towards the camera, makes sure everything is looking good, and then clears his throat as he presses record. He almost looks nervous, and if he weren't so cocky in his usual demeanour you'd think he's getting cold feet. But you remember the way his eyes glossed when he pushed into you, how that confidence of his melted into carnal need in just one thrust. You know what you do to him, and god does it seem amplified tenfold with Suguru here.

And your black-haired lover must know it too, because the second Satoru makes a move to speak, Suguru cuts him off with a step towards him and a burning kiss pressed to his lips. Satoru's sound of alarm at Suguru's lips on his is almost enough to send you dizzy, but the true aphrodisiac is the sight of your lover taking charge with him; lips locked onto one another, the lewd noises they make as Suguru cups Satoru's face with one hand and scratches into the back of his hair with the other. Satoru's moans become louder and more desperate, as Suguru's tongue explores the recesses of his mouth, sucking hungrily upon the flesh of his lower lip. When the two break apart they're both breathing heavily, panting as they catch their breath. An undoubted look of longing is etched into every last one of their handsome features.

You feel your stomach roil with anticipation as you watch them, realising the camera is only pointed at you, capturing your wanton expression. But then, it snaps, and suddenly your lovers are pulling apart to instead lay their gaze on you, resting back on Satoru's wildly comfortable bed sheets with a lust-driven smile pulling at your lips.

“You’re a fucking lucky man, Suguru,” Satoru coos, blue eyes raking over you in appreciation. You’re hardly undressed, and yet you feel naked under his gaze. “Don’t know how you can do porn when you’ve got such a pretty thing waiting for you at home. It’d ruin my performance.”

“I know,” Suguru says plainly, truly. "You've never been good at multitasking, have you Satoru?"

"Harsh words," Satoru pouts, giving his best imitation of an overly dramatic frown. "I can multitask just fine, do you need me to prove it?"

Without a word further, he plucks the camera from its tripod and points it at Suguru. "For example," he sing-songs, "I can fuck and film at the same time."

“Can’t do it dressed,” you point out, to which both men turn to find you already stripping yourself of your clothes. Satoru turns the camera onto you, finding it a sin to not capture you revealing yourself with such delicate fingers. You look into the lens, eyes sultry as you’re known for doing, and wonder just how many people are going to slip their hands under their waistbands at the sight of you. 

Once you’ve laid yourself bare, your naked skin feels static with the tension in the air, you reach your hands out and make grabby-hands at Satoru. “Pass the camera,” you hum. “It’s your turn.”

A glance between themselves, and then Satoru is leaning over the bed to slot the camera in your hands. It’s heavier than you’d thought it would be, but feels nice and cooling against your otherwise sweaty palm. Satoru’s fingers brush over yours as he hands it over, something electric stills the room for a moment, and then he pulls away with a cough.

He hadn’t realised that Suguru had fallen into place behind him, because when he steps backwards and his back hits your boyfriend's chest, Satoru gasps. You capture the pink blush that speckles at his cheeks, and the beautiful way in which Sugurus hands snake around his body to caress down his chest.

Suguru has always been gifted in the way of sparking intimacy. It’s why the porn he shoots is usually so artistic, he’s sensual. And Satoru, not for the first time, is falling victim to his seductive ways. The gentle traces of his fingers down Satoru’s chest is testament enough to just how narcotic Suguru’s touch is. When he reaches the hem of his shirt and starts lifting upwards, unwrapping his next meal, Satoru can’t help but lift his arms and help move the process along — he’s feeling beyond restless. 

Now exposed, Satoru’s chest and torso are now at the mercy of Suguru’s searing touch. Each trail of his fingers down the white-haired man’s chest, each tweak over his surprisingly sensitive nipples, each rough kiss against the column of his neck, they all elicit the most pornographic moans from Satoru Gojo’s throat. You study them both through the camera’s screen, and watch as Suguru presses his lips against Satoru’s ear.

He speaks in hushed tones, enough so that you know the camera isn’t going to pick up on his words. You can hear them though, only just, they're low and sensual and entirely full of sin. "You're lucky I'm letting you fuck my girlfriend for a second time," he purrs. "You know, she hasn’t stopped thinking about your last shoot. We watched it together the other night, I matched your rhythm, let her pretend it was you. She’s obsessed."

You're almost embarrassed by the confession, a burn sheens your skin, but the way Satoru's eyes darken impossibly further calms you. Suguru grins, catching your gaze from over Satoru's shoulder, and presses a kiss to his earlobe. "It brought me back, too," he says. "To when I got you to myself. You remember our films, hm? You're just like she is." 

Satoru nods, the tips of his ears turning redder. His breathing is shallow, ragged, needy; and in a split second he's turning around and returning his lips to Suguru's. Desperate hands lift at your boyfriend's own shirt, exposing his tattoo-laden skin underneath. His jeans soon follow, and then so do Satoru's pants.

For a moment it's just the two of them, all clothes bar their boxers discarded to the floor and hands exploring bare skin. The warmth of Satoru's fingers digging into his chest, his ribs, his hips, the hard planes of his body, their bodies pressed together as if to become one. Their lips connect again, hungrily, their teeth knocking together with every brush of tongues. Satoru takes Suguru's lower lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to elicit a choked groan from the back of Suguru's throat.

And when they part, it's obvious just how much heavier the air has gotten. Suguru turns your white-haired tryst and pushes him towards where you sit on the bed. "Move your ass before I fuck that too," he deadpans.

Satoru doesn't blush like you expected he would. Instead, he grins. "That would be a big change from last time, don't you think?" he sing-songs, eyebrows raised as he steps further towards the bed. "Or maybe you don't remember crying from how well I stretched you out, I sure do, all pretty and—"

This time Suguru does flush crimson, and you laugh out loud at this revelation. "I didn't know you bottomed for him," you shake the camera a little with your laughter, capturing the way Suguru glares at Satoru from beneath long eyelashes, "that's something I've got to see."

"Hah," Suguru climbs onto the bed and snatches the camera from you, settling on his knees as he points it down at your form. There, his fingers graze lightly against your bare skin, making you arch your back in anticipation. "Tough luck, pretty."

His black boxers are beyond tented, and he slips them off easily enough, allowing his cock to spring free, perfectly poised and ready for your hand. The sound of Suguru's moan as your fingers wrap around his length is paired with the shuffle of Satoru climbing onto the bed too. He hovers above you for a moment, watching you stroke Suguru through the camera, before taking it from him with a grin. 

Satoru returns the camera to its stand and checks its positioning before climbing back onto the bed and settling himself just behind you. You turn to smile at him, and then gasp as his hands tentatively find your shoulders. He peers over you, to the sight of Suguru’s drooling cock in your hand, and presses a kiss to the skin just under your ear.

“You know I’m fucking obsessed with you, right?” He purrs, glancing down to your boyfriend's cock before pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you. I dreamt of breaking you and your boyfriend up until I found out it was Sugu, here. Wanted you all to myself, pretty thing, but I think I’m happy enough to share now, because god do I want to see your lips wrapped around his cock.”

“Mm,” you hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “You haven’t even kissed me yet, and you’re making demands?”

Satoru smiles, his lips glossy and so perfect you could cry. “I want to taste him on you.”

His words light a fire in your core that licks through your body, ravenous. You can't help but oblige at his words, returning your gaze to sweet Suguru before dipping your head down and pressing a chaste kiss to the weeping tip of his cock. Suguru and Satoru both inhale sharply when you do so. You wet your lips with your tongue and then meet his cock again, drawing lazy circles across his tip before closing your lips slowly, reverently around the shaft of Suguru's cock.

Satoru's hand pushes down a little on your shoulder, and you're forced forward onto your lover's length. Your moan betrays you and sends narcotic vibrations down his shaft, making Suguru grunt and buck his hips forward a little. Satoru, who remains behind you, gently takes hold of your hips and manoeuvres you into more of a doggy-style position — your fingers splayed over Suguru's thighs to try and find purchase as Satoru leans over you. 

Gojo's chest presses against your back, skin-to-skin intimacy broken by the feverish kisses he presses to the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades, your spine, His kisses become hotter, wetter, open-mouthed as he moves down to your waist, large hands playing with the flesh of your ass as he kisses a path down. You moan and shift against his grip, moving your hips in an effort to push yourself back against his boxer-clad erection, but Satoru only snaps you forward, and you choke a little as you're forced to take Suguru's cock even deeper down your throat.

"Fuck," Suguru hisses, pretty purple eyes meeting yours as you look up. Drool glosses his length, slick and hot and heavy against your tongue when he finally gives you a moment to breathe. 

Your mouth immediately goes back to work again once your breathing steadies, hollowing out your cheeks and dragging him down, deeper, faster, more desperately. The receipt of pleasure etched into Suguru's tight-wound face is enough to spur on your own needs, but you nearly choke when Satoru Gojo bites into the fat of your ass. Your body arches up and you squirm and whine, but Satoru is relentless, licking over the indentations left behind as Suguru snaps his hips into your open mouth over and over again.

You barely have room to move before Satoru is pushing your knees apart with a strong hand, the heel of his palm firm against your ass as he spreads you open. He takes a moment, heavy breaths fan against your exposed slick, and you’re suddenly all too aware of yourself. You’d protest, tell him not to stare if your mouth wasn’t full with your heavy-lidded lover's cock. You don’t even know why you’re embarrassed — you’re a pornstar, your job is to lie subject to the most intimate of ogling.

Your thoughts melt into the bedsheets, however, when Satoru groans and connects his lips to your pussy. Stupid off the taste of you alone, he whines against your slick heat, enamoured. His tongue flicks over you, circling your clit repeatedly and making your insides burn. You moan, and it comes out muffled and breathless around Suguru's dick.

"You taste so fucking good," Satoru speaks against your cunt. One hand slips between your legs, running two fingers through your folds in collection of your arousal, whilst his other hand tugs down at his own boxers, pulling his cock free and growling against your pussy as he starts to stroke at himself. "Fuuuuuckkk..." He pushes two fingers into you, easy with just how wet you are, and curls them in tandem with each pump of his cock.

Each thrust of his fingers pushes you just that little bit further onto Suguru's length. And you're thanking god that he's there, because without his muscled thighs to hold onto, you fear you’d be fucked too dizzy to keep yourself upright. You figure you must look a mess now, hair mussed and eyes bleary and drool rolling down your chin and all over Suguru's pulsing cock. 

You feel pathetic with how quickly your orgasm crests. Satoru must feel it too, how you clench around your fingers, the subtle tremor in your thighs, because his tongue only speeds up in its assault.  He's still stroking himself, keeping you open and willing as he sucks your clit harshly. Once you're right at the brink, teetering off the edge of ecstasy, Suguru pulls out of your mouth and leans down to crash his lips against yours. 

"Come," he orders into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. "Come for us, darling, come on now."

You're overwhelmed by Suguru's rakish lips over yours, and Satoru's relentless tongue over your sex. Before you can even try to present yourself for the cameras, you're cumming, hard. You writhe against Suguru, and your nails scrape across his thighs until you can hardly draw breath. The world slows down around you, leaving nothing but pleasure to consume.

"Holy shit," Satoru’s breath comes out in a hitched sort of laughter as he pulls back, not bothering to wipe away the sheen of your lust that coats his mouth and chin. “My head’s spinning, I think I’m in heaven. Do I still have a pulse?”

He makes a show of checking his pulse, despite the way you roll your eyes. You’re still coming down from your climax as Suguru peppers feather-light kisses over your face. Satoru, feeling more hungry than doting, brings his two fingers to his own mouth, licking them clean. Suguru catches sight of the action and gently pulls back from you, something knowing in his eyes.

You assume he’s going to redirect your head back to his cock, let you finish your job, but instead he tuts and nods his head to your shared tryst, who is still diligently working at tasting you some more on his fingers. 

“Think someone’s a little pussydrunk,” Suguru grins, and you do too at the sight of Satoru Gojo so blatantly desperate for more. Your eyes drift down to his cock, long and hard and weeping with precum. 

Though, you don’t want to neglect Suguru, so you turn back to him — “you didn’t finish,” you make a move to reach for his cock, still rock hard and achy-looking, but your lover shakes his head gently. 

“Got other plans,” he nods subtly to Gojo. “How about we show our stalker here just how much better the real thing is?”

You grin, catching onto his drift, and watch over your shoulder as Satoru rolls his pretty blue eyes. “You know, I’ve had the real thing, from both of you.”

“You haven’t had both of us,” Suguru shrugs. “And I know you’ve fucked your fist to the thought of it. Don’t lie, or you won’t enjoy this as much as you could.”

Satoru’s loaded remark gets stuck in his throat as Suguru pulls away from you entirely, though not without a gentle kiss to your forehead first. He stands by the bed, rolls his shoulders and nods to Satoru — “go on,” he gestures to you, still on your hands and knees. “Taste me on her lips.”

Satoru would probably blush if he weren’t so dedicated to the promise of a taste, because he’s got a hand under your stomach and is flipping you onto your back with ease in only half a second. You sigh at the reprieve of the strain on your hands and knees, and revel in how soft Satoru’s mattress is, when he’s collapsing on top of you with a strangled growl and his lips are meeting yours.

It’s a strange thing, to taste both Satoru, yourself, and Suguru at the same time. You taste Satoru in the way he kisses, hungry and listless, with knocking teeth and exploratory tongues. You taste Suguru in the remnants of his cock in your mouth, the precum that has coated your tongue, mixed with your saliva that now mixes with Gojo’s. And you taste yourself glossed on Satoru’s lips; your climax, the buildup of pleasure he had gifted you with both his mouth and fingers. 

A strange mix, maybe, but a perfect one nonetheless. You have to close your eyes to stop yourself from growing too dizzy, and also partly to stop yourself from worrying too hard — how were you meant to enjoy anything to its full potential now that you know how this tastes?

Satoru’s cock presses against the inside of your thigh; you can feel the gentle thrum of its pulse — a testament to his aching need. His arms box you in on either side, settled comfortably between your still-shaky legs. When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips to his, and his eyes are darker than you remember. 

“I need to be inside of you, need. You’re fuckin’... god I can’t think.”

As if by instinct, your legs part further, allowing him the access he so craves. It’s a fluid movement, the way he moves one hand down to direct his cock to your slick folds. He rubs himself against you, his tip kissing your clit teasingly. You suck in a shaky breath between parted lips, and when he doesn’t hurry up despite his desperation, you feel like you could cry.

Though, before a complaint can leave your lips, you're watching as Suguru joins you two on the bed, kneeling behind Satoru and running his long fingers gently down the white-haired man's bare back. Satoru's head falls forward at the touch, and as your boyfriends hand runs lower and lower on his back, you realise exactly where this is going. 

"You're gonna fuck her good," Suguru purrs, graceful in his touch. "Because I'm going to help you -- that okay?" He reaches back up, brushing his knuckles from between his shoulder blades, down the curve of his spine until he reaches his tailbone. 

Satoru's eyes are locked on yours as he answers your lover. "Yes," his exhale is beyond needy. "Please, god. Yes."

And from there, things move with practised ease. It feels normal to submit yourself, your body, to Satoru. As Suguru takes hold of either side of his waist and guides him into you, the stretch is searing. You remember just how hard it was to adjust to his size the first time, having to try and keep your face melted neutral for the cameras. You don't feel that same pressure now, despite Satoru still filming, and your nose scrunches up at the feeling of Satoru inside of you.

"You're..." you try, words stuck in your throat as Suguru pushes Satoru's hips into yours a little more. "Please."

Satoru takes control of the pace, his breath hot and heavy on your cheek, his body moving in sync. You moan as he starts thrusting slowly in and out, stretching every muscle in your body as you get used to the feeling. With every thrust, you feel him getting harder and deeper within you, and his mouth dips down to trail along the sensitive skin on your neck.

It's a narcotic, the way he fills you. He's longer than Suguru, though not quite as thick, but he reaches depths that aren't typical for you. As he sheathes himself deeper and deeper inside of you, with the help of Suguru's hands on his waist, You slowly become spineless; relaxing into the pleasure of his sweet push and pull.

Sweat beads at your skin as Satoru quickens the pace, pulling out and plunging back in again with unbridled whimpers as Suguru works on taking his fill. Your boyfriend, domineering though still gentle, starts working your tryst open with one of his fingers.

"Ah- fuck," Satoru's words are heady with need, the initial discomfort of Suguru's fingers pushing into his ass are quickly forgotten, replaced with a deep yearning for more sensation. It sends his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out inside of you at such depths you can't help but cry out. It's a symphony of wetness and gasps of air, each syllable punctuated by Satoru's frantic movements. Your body grows tighter and tighter around Satoru with every pass as he gets worked open so beautifully by Suguru.

Your mind is clouded by everything Satoru has done to you and by the sheer force of him filling you with his cock and all that comes with it. You're completely and utterly lost in the moment, consumed by Satoru, who is consumed by Suguru, who is consumed in the pleasure of serving you both in turn. 

"More," Satoru is barely able to get the word out as he slams deeper and deeper inside of you. "Fuck, more."

And Suguru isn't one to deny a pretty thing like Satoru such pleasures; he's pulling his fingers out of him in seconds and replacing them with the head of his cock at his ass. Suguru is gentle, but unrelenting as he thrusts himself into Satoru in one fluid motion. The pressure is enough to prick tears at Satoru's pretty blue eyes, which you reach up and wipe away from underneath him. 

A moment is shared, a chance for Satoru to breathe the best he can, before he's testing the waters and pushing back a little, onto Suguru's cock, before thrusting his hips forward, into you. 

This is ecstasy incarnate. The two men seem to merge together, their bodies melting as they meet. Suguru fucks you through Satoru, each thrust into him is a thrust into you, into the both of you. It almost hurts, you'd wager, the way your whole body throbs in synchronization with theirs, the way Satoru moans as Suguru drives you both to insanity. It's a weird way to connect with your lover, but one that works nonetheless, the both of you seem to share an awful yearning for the man sandwiched between you, fucked mindless. 

And then he's driving your entire being towards the edge, and you feel the orgasm coming on, the rush of blood to your head, your muscles tightening around Satoru. It's a strange feeling of being connected to something bigger than yourself, a system working in tandem with each other to chase climax, but it's a feeling you're quickly growing addicted to. It's warm, it's comforting, and most importantly, it's yours. This man right here, his body pressed tight between yours and Sugurus, is yours. Even if only for the early morning.

"Gonna cum," you whine, lips ghosting against Satoru's. He nods, eyes locked onto yours. 

"M—fuck—me too, baby. God, you have to let me come inside of you, doll, can't deny me, please. You—"

"You better," Suguru cuts in, his voice biting from behind Satoru. He thrusts sharply into Satoru, sending him keening forward into you, pressing right into your sensitive g-spot as Suguru hits his prostate in a mirrored pleasure. "Wanna watch you claim her," he bears down, "gonna fill you up, you fill her — watch her face, Satoru. Watch what you do to her."

You gasp as Satoru's fingers dip down to rub frantic circles over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm with each knock of his hips into your, of Suguru's into his. the room is filled with a chorus of moans and whines and desperate pleas for more and more and more. You know you'll never recover from this level of arousal if you don't come soon, but before you can find purchase in your body and begin your descent into bliss, Suguru is first to come undone.

His hips snap forward into Satoru, head craning into his neck, biting down on the muscle of his shoulders for some sort of physical gag — ever the one to stifle those beautiful noises of his. And the feeling of being filled in such ravaging volumes must be enough to send Satoru over the edge, too, because he's knitting his eyebrows together and cumming ropes into you in only moments.

"Fuck," he whines, once again tears prick at his eyes, overwhelmed by the duality of his pleasure, of you and Suguru, so close to you but also never close enough. He wants to be one with you, a complete unit, bound by sex and soul and the sweet sounds of the most powerful orgasm he's ever had in his life. 

You come in tandem with him, it's completely blinding. Your legs fall apart as you cry out, nails scraping across Satoru's bicep as the world melts away and the sensations start swirling about in your mind's eye and the last thing you register is Satoru collapsing forward, breathing raggedly into your ear. 

You catch the salty flavour of him as you suck in a lungful of air and smile in response, fucked stupid and blissful and never ready to give this feeling up. Never ready to give anyone else this feeling- god, you already despise whoever gets to taste Satoru Gojo next. 

Suguru has to pull out of Satoru slowly, and you wipe at his face with the pad of your thumb when it scrunches up in protest of the loss of Suguru’s stretch. Before he can truly call the scene over, though, Satoru leans down and presses the most gentle of kisses to your lips. A myriad of ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’s spill from his tongue as he does so, each word cut by a kiss to the expanse of your face.

And when he pulls out of you a sickening gush of his cum follows. It spills from your aching pussy and onto the bed sheets beneath you, though Satoru doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He swipes his finger through the mess he’s made of your sex, smiling when you hiss at just how sensitive you are, and brings his cum-coated finger back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. 

Your stomach flips at the sight. Great, he’s gone and fucked you lovestruck.

“Satoru,” a clean voice cuts in. Your head constricts in your fucked out daze when you turn to see Suguru standing by the tripod, his eyebrows raised and pretty purple eyes beyond amused. “It’s not even fucking recording.”

Instead of being confused, Satoru looks sheepish. He flops down onto the bed next to you, eyes glossy and cheeks blushed pink. “I…. can explain? I think I’d rather die than share the two of you with the world. But I’d really die if I didn’t get my hands on you both.”

You meet your boyfriend's gaze. Something passes between you, something knowing. In a weird, probably unhealthy way, you both feel the exact same. This was never a scene for the cameras, anyway— not when such strong… feelings are involved.

“I’m not proposing marriage here,” Satoru huffs when he catches onto your shared gaze. “I just, you enjoyed it, right?”

You giggle from beside him, your sweat-soaked skin cool against the air. Suguru chimes in with his laughter, melodic and beautiful. He folds his arms and watches the two of you laid across the bed. 

“Let’s get you both cleaned up, then,” Suguru hums. “I’m not fucking either of you again until we’ve shared a shower.

TAGLIST: @sugurubabe @fullbelieverheart @starrysho @meowforluv @ch3rryistheg @miizuzu @okayiamkassandra @inconcise @sexcults @hotgirlgoob @mistalli @ourfinalisation @graceloveslanadelrey @blessed-princesa @plinkuro @pe4rl-diver @sugojosgf @beachaddict48 @chimmysoftpaws @blendingcaramal @dongh9e @caramelised-onions @kyluskaye @sammywo @4evrglow @hiraethwa @stinkinstuffie @tomiokasecretlover @ser0t0nln @yuzu-ku @lagataprrr @dear-fifi @hel-lhound @kensqueent @sserafin @dabisdolly @zoroisminty @angelkazusstuff @reinam00n @kaeyakaikai @bunny416 @littletittygothgirl @glitterbitch1 @saccharine-nectarine

cont in comments !

[yoursaltyqueen]

you realize you’re in love with bucky barnes… and everyone else already knew.

It hit you on a random Tuesday afternoon.

Not during a battle, not during one of those late-night talks when Bucky let his walls down — no.

It happened in the kitchen.

You walked in half-asleep, hair a mess, wearing one of Sam’s old hoodies (because it was huge and cozy and he always pretended to be annoyed when you stole it). And there was Bucky, standing by the stove, humming something under his breath while flipping pancakes.

Pancakes.

The Winter Soldier was making pancakes.

His hair was pulled back loosely, little strands falling into his face, and he looked… soft. At peace. Like he belonged in this tiny kitchen with sunlight streaming through the window and your favorite song playing faintly from his phone.

And it just hit you.

Like a truck.

Like every cheesy love song and dumb rom-com moment you’d ever made fun of.

You were in love with him.

Hopelessly, stupidly, heart-achingly in love with Bucky Barnes.

“Uh oh,” came Natasha’s voice from behind you.

You jumped, nearly knocking over a chair. “Jesus, Nat—”

She gave you a slow, knowing smirk, crossing her arms. “Took you long enough.”

Your face burned. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sweetheart, I’m a spy. I notice things.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “The heart eyes? The way you smile every time he enters a room? Classic case.”

You groaned, covering your face. “It’s that obvious?”

Nat just patted your back. “To everyone except Bucky. But hey — Captain Oblivious makes pancakes. That’s something.”

You risked another glance.

Bucky was now trying (and failing) to stack the pancakes neatly. He muttered a curse under his breath when one slid off the plate, and something warm bloomed in your chest.

Sam sauntered in next, sunglasses still on despite being indoors. He took one look at your red face and snorted. “Well, well, well. Look who finally joined the party.”

“Not you too,” you groaned.

Sam clapped a hand on your shoulder, grinning. “Oh, c’mon. Steve and I made a bet about when you’d figure it out.”

Your eyes widened. “Steve—?”

“Yeah,” came the deep voice from the hallway. Steve Rogers appeared with a cup of coffee, looking far too smug for someone so wholesome. “I said it’d take you until summer. Sam said spring.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “Pay up, Rogers. It’s spring.”

As Steve dug out a crumpled twenty from his wallet, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Meanwhile, Bucky finally noticed the gathering. He turned around, blinking in confusion. “What’s going on?”

Everyone immediately schooled their faces.

“Nothing,” they all chorused too quickly.

You cleared your throat, trying to act normal even though your heart was pounding like a drum. “Uh—pancakes smell great, Buck.”

His lips quirked into that rare, soft smile — the one that always made your chest tighten. “Made ‘em for you,” he mumbled, eyes flickering away shyly. “Figured you might be hungry.”

And just like that, the world tilted again.

Nat smirked behind her mug. Sam waggled his eyebrows. Steve just sighed like a tired dad watching his kids be idiots.

You were in so much trouble.

And you were so, so in love with him.

By the time you escaped to your room, you were convinced your friends were conspiring against you.

Natasha’s smirks. Sam’s dramatic eyebrow raises. Steve’s disappointed dad sighs.

All because you’d realized — far too late — that you were in love with Bucky Barnes.

You flopped face-first onto your bed with a groan. “I’m doomed.”

“You are,” came Nat’s voice. You lifted your head just enough to see her leaning casually in your doorway, arms crossed and looking far too smug for your liking.

“You need to tell him,” she said simply.

You scoffed. “Tell him? Are you out of your mind? This is Bucky we’re talking about. The guy who shuts down when someone even mentions feelings. I can’t—”

“You can. And you will,” Nat said, pushing off the doorframe. “Because if I have to watch you make heart eyes at him over pancakes again, I might actually puke.”

You threw a pillow at her. She caught it with ease.

“Nat—he doesn’t feel the same. He’s… closed off. And broken and—”

Her expression softened, all teasing gone. “And so are you. But you found each other, didn’t you?” She stepped closer, voice quieter now. “You steady him. He smiles more when you’re around. He’s softer. You’re not imagining it.”

Your heart squeezed. “You really think…?”

Natasha rolled her eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I know it. And honestly? You both deserve something good. So go get it.”

Your mouth was dry, heart pounding, but before you could overthink it, you found yourself walking out of the room, down the hallway, and right to the balcony where Bucky usually disappeared when things got too loud.

And there he was.

Leaning on the railing, hair loose, metal fingers tapping a rhythm against the iron. The sunset cast gold across his face, making him look even more unfairly beautiful.

“Bucky?” you croaked.

He turned, and the second his blue eyes met yours, your knees nearly gave out.

“Hey, doll,” he said softly. That pet name, the one that always made your heart stutter. “Everything okay?”

No. Yes. Absolutely not.

“I—I need to tell you something,” you blurted out, hands shaking. “And if I don’t do it now, I might chicken out and never say it.”

His brow furrowed, concern flickering in his eyes. “What is it?”

You took a deep breath, Nat’s voice echoing in your head.

Go get it.

“I’m in love with you.”

There. Out in the open. No take-backs.

Bucky’s eyes widened, mouth opening and closing like he was trying to process it.

“I know you’re closed off and scared,” you rushed on, heart racing. “And I get it, Bucky. But I had to say it. Because I’m tired of pretending like I’m not completely gone for you.”

Silence.

Your heart sank. Maybe you’d misread everything. Maybe—

But then—

Bucky crossed the space between you in two strides, cupping your face in both hands — one warm, one cool — and kissed you like he’d been waiting forever.

It wasn’t soft at first. It was desperate, a little clumsy, like he was pouring every wall he’d ever built into that kiss just so he could finally let it all go. And then it softened, his lips moving slower, gentler, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, Bucky pressed his forehead to yours.

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I just didn’t think I deserved to say it out loud.”

Your breath hitched. “You—”

He kissed you again, cutting off your words.

Somewhere inside, you knew Natasha was probably watching from the window with the most smug look imaginable. Sam would owe her twenty bucks. Steve would finally stop sighing.

But right now, none of that mattered.

Right now, it was just you and Bucky, tangled up in golden light and stolen kisses, two broken people who finally realized they could be whole together.

[luvbabydoll]

strawberry lip balm ♡

simon “ghost” riley x ditzy!reader

a/n: this is inspired by this post from @bitterrfruit

he comes in just after two.

the doors hiss open like they always do, sticky from the summer heat and the busted rubber lining you keep forgetting to tell your manager about.

you don’t look up right away.

you’re busy.

counting nickels into neat little stacks.

chewing absently at the corner of your strawberry lip balm because you lost the cap again and now it’s tacky at the edges.

the radio crackles low beside you. love song. old and scratchy. something slow.

it takes you a second to feel him.

big.

heavy.

the weight of something unfamiliar at your periphery.

you glance up.

and freeze.

he doesn’t belong here.

that’s the first thing you notice.

black from head to toe. thick boots scuffed white at the toes. jacket hanging off broad shoulders like armor. gloves tight enough to squeak when he flexes his hand.

and a mask.

not a ski mask. not the usual dumb knit ones the gas station cameras catch on idiots who can’t even cover their tattoos.

this is bone-white.

painted like a skull.

hollow black eyes staring at you.

flat. empty.

you stare back.

a half-beat too long.

then—automatic, like muscle memory—

“pump six is still down,” you tell him softly. “if uhm that’s what you’re here for.”

your voice barely carries.

thin like tissue paper.

you shouldn’t have said anything.

he doesn’t answer.

doesn’t move toward the snacks. or the fridge. or the stupid plastic rack of lighters shaped like fish.

he moves toward you.

slow.

steady.

uncoiling the gun from his jacket like it’s just part of him.

like an afterthought.

your lips part.

soft pink.

glossy and bitten raw at the corner.

“oh,” you whisper.

small.

like you’re embarrassed.

like you interrupted him.

“register.”

the word drops like lead.

hard. heavy.

your stomach flips.

not all the way into fear — not yet — but something colder than nerves.

something that tells you this is real.

this is happening.

“o-okay,” you breathe.

because what else are you supposed to say?

you move automatically.

fingers shaking as you punch in the code.

3-3-7-4.

your nails click stupidly loud against the plastic keys. glittery pink polish chipped at the tips because you can never sit still long enough for them to dry.

the drawer sticks.

of course it does.

you yank.

too hard.

your dumb little heart-shaped name necklace snags against the counter lip and pulls you back like a leash.

“shoot,” you mumble, tugging at it, all clumsy and flustered. “m’sorry. it does that sometimes.”

he doesn’t answer.

but you feel his eyes on you.

dragging over every awkward little movement like he's watching something breakable.

like he’s wondering how you’ve survived this long.

finally—mercifully—the till pops open.

you grab the bills in two hands.

instinct, maybe.

like handing out change to an old man instead of giving your life away to a man with a gun.

you hold them out.

both hands.

palms up.

careful. like he might bite.

he takes them.

rough-gloved fingers scraping yours.

big.

hot.

gone too fast.

but he doesn’t leave.

your heart kicks.

that’s when it sinks in.

the wrongness.

the weight of him still standing there.

not moving.

watching.

“turn around.”

it’s not a request.

your breath stutters.

“…why?”

like an idiot.

like a child.

“turn,” he says again. slower. rougher.

pause.

“…checking for a panic button.”

oh.

okay.

that makes sense.

that feels safe. familiar. like movies. like protocol.

you swallow.

turn.

pink hoodie riding up at your waist when you shift.

he’s closer now.

right behind you.

close enough to feel the heat of him curl up your spine.

close enough to smell him — cold metal and gun oil, sharp like ozone.

“lift it.”

your stomach twists.

but you do it.

because he told you to.

because he sounds like someone who doesn’t like repeating himself.

fingers fumbling with the hem of your hoodie.

pulling it up slow.

revealing the soft dip of your lower back.

bare skin warm under the fluorescent lights.

the peek of pastel polka-dot underwear sitting crooked on your hips.

silence.

heavy.

pressing.

then—

low.

dark.

almost like he can’t help it—

“cute.”

your throat goes dry.

your heart in your mouth.

“…uhm,” you whisper. “thank you?”

stupid.

soft.

sweet.

like you really meant it.

and behind you—still staring, still close enough to catch your strawberry lip balm on the air when you breathe—

he laughs.

quiet.

sharp.

mean.

like he’s already decided.

like he’s not leaving alone.

he steps closer, and the heat of him is on your skin again. it’s so close that you feel it under your ribs. he leans down. not enough to touch, but enough that you can feel the roughness of his breath near your ear, heavy and slow.

your hands are still at your sides. frozen.

then, like it’s no big deal, he says, “lock the door.”

your brain goes blank for a second, because it’s the middle of the night and you’ve never been asked to do something like this before.

“…what?” you’re stalling. and it’s the dumbest thing you could do right now, but your lips part, like it’s something normal to question.

“lock the damn door,” he repeats, his voice sharp and cold, but still measured, like a thread of control pulling tighter.

your pulse quickens, but you don’t move. he’s too close. too much.

the radio hums. static crackles in the background. the pressure is unbearable, but your hands still don’t move. you’re waiting for him to do something, but he just stands there, still, patient, like he’s in no rush. like you’re the one who’s supposed to figure it out.

you blink again, feeling like the world’s fogged up, and your lips part—finally—you walk over to the door.

it clicks into place with a soft thud.

a lock.

not a simple one, either. the one that keeps the night shift safe. you should’ve locked it sooner.

but now? now, you’re so aware of everything around you. the slight squeak of your shoes on the tile floor. the hum of the flickering lights. how you feel his eyes all over your back.

he watches every move. every single one. like he can already tell how your hands are trembling just trying to twist the key in the lock.

not yet. don’t let him know yet.

you turn back to him. he’s still standing, arms crossed loosely in front of his chest. mask still on. still too quiet.

“what… now?” you whisper. your voice sounds like it’s not even your own.

"now, we take our time," he answers, a slight, dark chuckle curling in the air between you.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Such a Good Boy, Knows How to Please

Billy Hargrove x Hopper!fem!reader

You convince yourself that you hate Billy, but after having nothing but dirty thoughts about him, you give him a proposition.

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) mention of vomit/throwing up

This series is being discontinued but you are still more than welcome to keep reading!

part two part three

The summer sun beats down on the pool that's filled with people swimming, splashing, and just generally just trying to soak up the last few days of summer before school starts again. It's so hot that you can feel your flesh burning underneath your many layers of sunscreen. You're there because you know you're really going to miss the pool when you go back to college next week.

Most of the other women, though, they're just there for him. Every day, you watch them fix themselves, touching up their hair and pulling down the tops of their swimsuits to show off their cleavage. And he eats out of the palm of their hands, always making conversation, pulling down his sunglasses as he not so subtly flirts with them.

You seem to be the only one who's not on the receiving end of the flirting and you're starting to think that maybe it's because he knows who your dad is. It would make sense that he wouldn't want to involved with the daughter of the chief of police. And it's not like you care, anyway. You've always hated Billy.

You honestly just don't get the hype, why pretty much every woman in Hawkins is throwing themselves at him. Why wives and mothers are willing to ruin their marriages for that pig. Sure, you can admit that he's hot, but any admiration you might have always goes out the window anytime he opens his mouth.

He just says those dirty things for shock value and you have no idea why anyone ever believes him. You're sure that he just has a notebook filled with lines that he uses instead of speaking from his heart. That's not his thing because all he cares about is getting women into bed and as soon as he's done with them, he kicks them to the curb. It's nothing you haven't seen before.

Billy exits the back room to start his shift and you roll your eyes, adjusting your sunglasses on your face as you collect your things to leave. You can't take another minute of watching everyone fawn all over him. And besides, you really think you need to be in some AC.

You're leaving just as Billy is passing your lounge chair and just when you think he's going to head to his chair, he stops right in front of you, preventing you from leaving. His arms are crossed over his chest and he's got that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that always means that he's up to no good.

"Where ya goin', Hopper?" He asks and you pull your sunglasses down to show him just how unimpressed you are with him.

"Home, not that it isn't any of your business." Billy knows that you don't like him, but he just loves pisses you off. You're so hot when you're angry and the fact that it's aimed towards him makes it even more so.

"Aww, you can't play with me for a little longer?" He pouts and you just scoff. How do people actually fall for this shit? "I just got here."

"Afraid not," you shrug. Usually being short with people is a deterrent, but not with Billy. It only eggs him on. But you can't be bothered with making conversation with him.

"Our sisters are friends, why can't we be?" If Billy were a nice guy, you probably would have been friends with him, but he's not and the kind of friends he wants to be doesn't interest you.

"Because you don't have friends, Billy. And I really don't want to be whatever you do have so if you'll excuse me." You push past him and he watches you hurry towards the gate where you exit before disappearing from his view.

Once you're gone, he turns to head to his chair, but the sun reflects off something out of the corner of his eye. He heads over to the lounge chair where you had been lying and notices a book there. Billy picks it up and pulls down his sunglasses to get a better look at it. There's a man and woman on the cover. They're embracing and he's got his lips on her neck as she arches her back. He never would have expected you to read this kind of thing, but he supposes he doesn't know you very well.

He sticks the small book into the pocket of his swim trunks then makes the rounds of flirting with all of the MILFs before heading to his chair, pulling the book out once he's settled.

He flips to the first page and his eyes widen at how graphic it all is. It's not something he normally reads (he doesn't actually read at all) but he has to admit that he's intrigued. So much so that he does nothing but read until it's time for his break.

He's already halfway through when his shift is over and he makes sure to hide it in his bag so nobody can see it. Can't have people thinking he reads and especially not something like that. That would be too fucking embarrassing to actually admit it.

He hurries to his car to make sure no one will talk to him and is quick to peel out of the parking lot, driving faster than he definitely should have, but everyone is used to it by now. Well, they should be.

You arrive home just in time to make dinner. you head to El's room to tell her that you're back from the pool only to find her and Max on the floor, giggling while reading magazines. You're surprised to find someone who's not Mike, but you love that she actually has friend who's a girl. She definitely needs more female presences in her life and having one who's actually her age makes you nothing but happy for her.

"Oh, hello," you greet, still caught off guard by your guests.

"Hi," El responds, then gestures to the re4d head to the right of her. "This is Max. She's sleeping over."

"Did dad say this was okay?" You ask, suddenly taking on your older sister role as you put your hands on your hips.

"Yep," she nods, and you glare at her, staring into her eyes because you know how terrible of liar she is and she always cracks if you lean into her just a bit. Once you decide she's telling the truth, you ease up and go back to being her friend again.

You had met Max briefly over the years with giving El rides different places and such, but you've never actually been able to have a full-on conversation with her. Now you think you might have a chance. She actually seems normal compared to her gross step-brother.

"Hi," Max gives you a little wave.

"I'm y/n," you introduce yourself with a smile. "Well, dinner's ready if you guys are ready to eat." You leave the door open then head back towards the table.

The girls follow you and the three of you sit at the table, chewing on your waffles between conversation and your heart warms at hearing your sisters laughs. Just from what you've seen, you really like Max and the influence she has on El. That she's letting her be her own person which you've been so hard to do ever since she became your sister.

You really hope this friendship lasts, really hoping that doesn't mean that you have to talk to Billy. But anything for El. If her having a friend that actually cares about her interests means you have to actually speak to Billy Hargrove, then so be it.

After dinner, the three of you gather around the tv and watch some cartoons. The girls are giggling about something while whispering to each other and you hate that you're suddenly feeling left out, jealous. El would often call you her best friend and now you're just her older sister.

There's a knock on the door and you're grateful for something to distract you from your silly feelings. You excuse yourself and hurry to answer the door, not even thinking about who could be on the other side. You step back as Billy Hargrove comes into view. You're sure that this is all just a very vivid nightmare and hate that this man keeps taking over your thoughts. It isn't fair. It's your mind so you should have a say in what goes on in it, right?

You can't help but let your eyes rake over his body, taking in his very cropped tank top and very very short cut offs that have you feeling dizzy. How fucking dare he look so good when you're trying so hard to hate him?

"Hopper," he says with a smile and you feel gross that you actually like the way his last name sounds coming out of his mouth.

"Hargrove," you mutter, wanting him to get on with whatever he's going to say so he'll leave your property. You keep blinking and he's not going away. You even go as far pinching yourself just to be sure that this is real life.

"It's not a dream," he winks. "I'm actually here. I'm sure you've imagined this a lot, haven't you?"

"Not even once," you grimace at the thought. "Now what do you want? I'm kind of busy."

"Yeah, doing what? Getting off to the thought of me?" He's got on his signature smug smirk and you just so desperately want to smack him, but decide against it because you're sure that he would like it.

"Not even close. Now tell me what you're doing here before I grab my dad's shotgun." You're getting even more angry and Billy's feeling himself getting hard. He almost wants to say something even worse so you'll yell at him. That always makes him so fucking hard.

The girls are now off the couch, making their way to stand on either side of you, feeling the need to protect you from whoever you're threatening to shoot.

"What are you doing here?" Max asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well, Maxine," he smiles, reaching into the back pocket of his shorts, pulling out the book that you left at the pool, so close to asking if you have another one he can borrow because now he's obsessed.

You snatch the book out of his hands and quickly flipping through the pages because there's no telling what he's done to it. Billy just stands there, amused by whatever you're doing with his arms crossed over his chest.

"What are you doing there, Hopper?" He asks, trying his best to bite back a laugh.

"Making sure none of the pages are stuck together," you glare and hand the book to El once you've flipping through every page. Max giggles at your joke but El just stares at you in confusion. You then step out on the porch and give Billy a shove, which catches him off guard.

"Now get lost, Hargrove," you glare and he knows he's got to get out of there before you see his hard on. He turns on his heel and descends the stairs and you definitely do not check out his ass as he heads to his car.

Once he's speeding away, you slam the door and swipe the book from El's hands, storming off to your room, letting your anger the best of you. The girls invite themselves inside and the three of you sit on your bed, the two of them waiting for you to tell the story of why you hate Billy so much. Too bad there isn't one.

"I fucking hate your brother," you tell Max and she just laughs because it's very obvious just by the way you speak to him.

"Join the club," she sighs. "Did he-did he do something to you?" She asks, suddenly concerned about your wellbeing.

"No," you shake your head. "He's just a pig but what else is new?"

"So you haven't-" she doesn't even need to finish her sentence and you don't want her to because you're grimacing now, images of Billy on top of your naked body pounding into you flash across your mind and you're concerned that your waffles aren't climbing up your throat. That you maybe, kind of actually like what you're seeing?

"No," you reply quickly, shaking your head. "I mean, c'mon, Max. And no offense, but I don't want to be discussing my sex life with a couple of thirteen year olds."

"Fair enough," Max nods.

"Do you like him?" El asks and you turn to her, confused by her question. Did she not see how you were talking to him? That's not how you treat people you like.

"Yeah, do you?" Max asks, genuinely curious. "It's okay if you do. A lot of girls do."

"Absolutely not."

"But you were checking out his ass," Max points out and you hadn't realized you were that obvious about it.

"He has a nice ass, sue me. Alright, let's put it this way since you guys don't seem to understand. If Billy were on fire and I had a glass of water, I'd drink it."

"Noted. So who do you like?"

"Nobody," you reply, which is true. "I mean, I used to have a huge crush on Steve Harrington in high school, but there hasn't been anyone since."

"Steve's your best friend," El tells you, almost as if she's confused.

"Right," you nod. "But I don't have feelings for him anymore." and you don't. The two of you kissed once at a party and it was too weird so you just went back to being friends.

"Well, he's a lot better than Billy," Max points out. He's actually a guy that Hopper would approve of. Steve's the kind of guy you can take to meet your parents and Billy's the kind of guy who you sneak in through your window."

You really wish you were with Steve because maybe then you wouldn't still be thinking about Billy and his slutty outfit. Well, maybe you'd be thinking about it, but then you could just go and to Steve's where he'd fuck you until you forgot Billy's name.

"No offense, but I don't need my little sister and her friend setting me up. I can get a date by myself, thank you very much." It's not that El doesn't believe you, but she hasn't seen you go on a single date since she's known you. You've always been independent, but she can see that you're lonely, that you crave companionship like she has with Mike.

She doesn't know what you do when you're away at school, but she hopes that if you did have a boyfriend that you'd tell her about it. The two of you are close, you share everything with each other, so she really hopes that there's nothing that you're keeping from her.

"I just want you to be happy," she says, grabbing hold of your hand.

"I am happy," you reply, giving her hand a squeeze. "I've got you and dad and that's all I need. I don't need some stupid boy getting in my way."

Max watches the two of you with admiration. She loves that Eleven has you in her life, that she has you to guide her through life. It really makes her wish that she had a sister of her own and not her stupid brother who doesn't even seem to care about her in any way, shape, or form. Sure, she has her mom who she wouldn't trade for anything, but it's not the same.

You notice her looking at you and you hold out her hand for her to take. She's hesitant, but she eventually takes your hand and you give hers a squeeze with a warm smile.

"You're one of us now," you tell her and she decides that's exactly what she wants to be, finally feeling she's apart of a family.

You can't sleep. You're tossing and turning, constantly seeing the minutes pass by on the clock on your nightstand. You look over on the floor where the girls are sleeping in their sleeping bags because they insisted on staying the night in your room.

You can't seem to get the image of those damn shorts Billy was wearing out of your head and you really wished you had pulled him inside and had your way with him when you had the chance. You're convinced that he did it on purpose, offering up his best asset up on a platter and you almost took the bait.

If you had the option do it over, you would have pegged him the way that you were convinced that he was silently begging for. Why else would he have worn such short shorts for?

Or maybe you're just overthinking it. You have to be delusional because why the fuck would he have worn those for you? He should know that you wouldn't fuck him if he were the last man on earth, but do you kind of want to now?

Why do you suddenly want to see what the hype is about? You want to know if his dick is really as big as they say, to know if he's as good in bed as you've heard he is. You're just curious, you try to convince yourself. You're actually just wanting to see if they're right. If you'd like it. You're not attracted to him, no fucking way. This would purely be for research purposes.

You spend the rest of the night thinking about nothing but stupid Billy and his stupid great ass. You think about the two of you in all sorts of positions as you beg and plead for him to do more, to go harder, faster, and he listens, nothing but dirty words falling from his pretty lips as he pins you down to the counter in your kitchen. He's pressing your face into the countertop, thrusting in and out of your ass as one of his hands kneads your tit, making you moan so loud, but he's got your underwear stuffed into your mouth because he doesn't want you waking anyone up.

You wake up in disappointment, your dream so vivid that it almost felt real. You can't believe that you had sex dream about Billy of all people. and you liked it. How the fuck is it that just seeing him in those stupid shorts somehow rewired your brain and made you actually interested in him? You're pretty sure that you've actually gone mad.

You sit up in your bed and notice that the once occupied sleeping bags in the floor are now empty. You then look and see that it's already eleven in the morning. Even during the summer this is the latest you've slept in. You try to shake your thought from the night before and head out of your room to see your dad, El, and Max at the table, eating what looks like breakfast from McDonald's.

"Hey, sleepy head," Your dad greets you with a smile, pulling out the chair next to him that he's saved for you. You plop down and he shoves the bag over to you and upon opening it, you realize that it's your usual order.

"Sleep well?" He asks, reaching over to ruffle your hair and you slap his hand away. "Somebody's grumpy," he laughs then goes back to his biscuit.

"No, I didn't sleep well because somebody was snoring," you glare at El. It's not a total lie since she was snoring loudly, but you can't exactly tell your father of all people that you were thinking about Billy Hargrove in an inappropriate manner. In fact, you can't tell anyone at this table so you're just going to take it to the grave.

You're surprisingly quiet during the rest of breakfast and as soon as Jim and El leave to take Max home, you race to your room and grab your phone, feverishly dialing the number you know by heart as your heart beats rapidly in your chest.

You feel like your going to throw up as it rings for what feels like forever. You never call Steve about boy problems, but now you feel like you have to, to get confirmation that you're not actually going crazy. Steve is the person you feel like you can go to for anything, so why are you so nervous to tell him that you might be interested in Billy?

Maybe it's because you know he'll be grossed out or maybe it's because you're afraid he'll be jealous even though it's very clear that he's not even remotely interested in you romantically.

"Hello?" The familiar voice rings through the phone.

"Steve, hey," you greet. "Do you have time to talk?"

"Yeah, of course. What's up?" So you tell him everything and he listens like the great friend he is, only offering his opinion when he's asked for it. And that's why you always like talking to him. Because he genuinely listens and offers good advice and never judges you for what you have to say.

"You know how I said you can tell me anything?" He asks as soon as you finish speaking.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I changed my mind." Well, so much for him not judging you.

"I spared you the details."

"And thank god for that. So what exactly is the reason you're telling me all of this?"

"Because I want to know if I'm totally crazy for wanting to go for it."

"Why should my opinion matter? If you want to fuck Billy, y/n, then fuck Billy. What do I care?" He genuinely doesn't care about your sex life and just wants to do what you want to do. He doesn't know why you're asking his permission to fuck Billy Hargrove.

"So I'm not crazy?" You're feeling even more nervous even though calling Steve was supposed to calm you down.

"Look, I'm not blind. The guy's hot, alright? And I think if you want go for it, you should."

"Thanks Steve."

"Anytime. And if you do go for it, please, please spare me the details."

"Will do," you nod even though he can't see you then hang up. You then hurry out of the room and head out to your car, preparing to head to the pool where you know Billy will be. If you're going to make this proposition, you want to do it face to face.

Billy hasn't been able to stop thinking about you since he showed up at your house yesterday. Seeing you in that large t-shirt made his brain short circuit, immediately wondering what you've got going on under it.

He wants you so bad and the fact that you don’t want anything to do with him makes his want even stronger. He sees it as a challenge. He thinks needs to flirt with you just a little more to get you to crack. He saw the way you were checking him out and now he’s thinking of cutting the shorts even shorter to give you a little taste of what you seem to want so badly.

He ended up buying another “bodice ripper” as he found out the novels are called at the book store and he just can’t fucking put it down. He’s even more interested in the story now since he’s cast you and him as the leads.

Sebastian has got his hand up Juliette’s dress and Billy’s just imagining what it would be like to get his fingers inside you. He’d tease you about how wet you are then got to town, fucking you with his fingers, making you come over and over, until you’re begging for his massive cock.

He’s thinking about you so much that he swears that he sees you out of the corner of his eye, making your way over to him in a hurry. God, he’s really got to stop thinking with his dick.

But you’re calling his name, so it must be real, right? He looks down and from this angle, he’s got the perfect view of your cleavage. He’s so distracted by it that he’s not even paying attention to what you’re saying. He sees your lips moving-god, your lips. He doesn’t usually kiss during sex, but he suddenly wants to kiss you stupid. He wants to kiss you while he grinds against you, making you beg for his-

“Billy?” You ask and he finally snaps out of his dirty fantasy, his eyes snapping up to your face.

“Hm?”

“Can we talk for a second?” Is that code for you wanting to hook up? Whatever you want, he’s in. He climbs down the ladder then comes to meet you face to face.

“What is it, doll?” He asks, his voice so smug because he’s finally able to read you like a book. You’re nervous, guard completely down and he’s loving that he’s finally gotten through to you.

“Can we talk…in private?” You’re picking at the skin around your thumb nail and he’s wondering why you just won’t just come right out and ask him. Yeah, you definitely want his cock.

He blows his whistle and you cover your ears as checks his watch. It’s time for his break anyway so he calls for an adult swim before grabbing you by the hand and taking you into the locker room. This isn’t the first hookup he’s had during his break and it definitely won’t be the last.

He’s not going to give in right away, though. He wants you to beg. He wants you to be whining for him before he even lays a hand on you. He’s certain that he’s so powerful that he could make you come just with his words. And that’s exactly what he intends to do.

“So you finally want me to fuck you, huh, doll?” He asks as he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, removing one from the pack, then lighting up.

Normally, you find smoking to be disgusting, but when Billy does it, he’s so fucking hot that it’s unfair. The way he puts it between his lips-god, his pretty pink lips-and blows the smoke out like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

You don’t admit it like you were intending, you just take his hand and a pen from your purse before scribbling down an address then fleeing the locker room. He looks down at your pretty, neat handwriting and realizes that he recognizes the address. It’s the Motel 6 on Cornwallis where he was supposed to meet Karen Wheeler before she bailed.

He smiles to himself as he’s finally gotten another one then spends the rest of his break thinking about all the ways he’s going to make an absolute mess of you.

Billy is already at the motel when you get there. He’s leaning against the fence of the pool, with his back facing you, smoking yet another cigarette. He’s wearing the same outfit from when he showed up at your house, but this time, the shorts are even shorter. So short, in fact, that his ass is hanging out. God, what you would give to give it a squeeze. To use it as your personal stress ball as he fucks you. What you would give to give it a much needed spanking.

You approach him and pluck the cigarette from his lips, putting it between your own and taking a drag, only to cough immediately.

“Jesus, take it easy, Hopper,” he says as he takes the cigarette back from you.

You’re still coughing and Billy doesn’t know why he’s so worried, lightly patting your back to help you out, suddenly wishing he had some sort of beverage to make it all go away. He doesn't know when his hands started rubbing smooth circles along your back, but you’re stepping closer to him, feeling much more brave than he is. 

“I’m good, I’m good,” you tell him. “Sorry.” 

“Why are you apologizing?” You actually don’t know why, but feel like you should.

“I don’t know. Now c’mon,” you lift the latch of the gate that leads to the pool and open it slowly before taking Billy by the hand, leading him through the gate. His fingers are rough but somehow soft and you can’t wait to have them roaming all over your body. 

The lights that are lining the inside of the pool somehow make the dingy coloring even more so, but the heat of the night is making it look inviting despite how gross it looks. You just want to dive right in and take a swim. You don’t care if it looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years, you just need to feel the cool water against your skin. 

So, you begin to strip. It’s not by any means sexy like you wanted it to be as you’re just desperate to just get out of your clothes. And Billy doesn’t even seem to be phased by this, just checking you out as you pull off your shirt and shorts so you’re just left in your bra and panties. He barely even gets the chance to look at your body before diving into the water, just staring at you, confused as your head pops up from the water. 

Apparently Billy didn’t get the swimming memo since he’s still standing there, fully clothed. So, he’s quick to get down to his underwear and follow you, diving into the water, probably (definitely) not looking nearly as graceful as you. 

“Never pegged you for a bad girl Hopper,” he says as he surfaces, pushing his hair out of his face. You’re over by the shallow end, sitting on one of the steps, running your fingers through your hair, trying to get the knots out. 

“That just goes to show how little you know about me, Hargrove,” you reply as he sits next to you. The lights in the pool usually make people look not so great, but you look absolutely beautiful in the blue-green hue. He really wishes he had a camera so he could capture this moment, you looking at him with that sweet smile. 

You scoot closer to him, so that your bare thighs are touching. You wrap your arms around his neck, twirling a piece of his hair around your pointer finger. Your face is inching your face towards his. His hands wrap around his waist as his lips find yours in a gentle kiss. Billy doesn’t think he’s ever been this gentle with a woman, and just as he’s starting to enjoy it, you kick it up a notch, tilting your head to the side as your tongue slides into his mouth. He hasn’t kissed anyone in so long and it feels so good. 

Your lips are soft and you taste sweet, but he can’t quite make out what it is. He could do just this for hours and be satisfied. He doesn’t why he always denies this part of sex, but he thinks he’s just enjoying it because it’s you. He lets out a moan as you tug on his hair, now straddling his lap. 

“Fuck,” he whines into your mouth as your fingers wind into his hair, giving it a tug at his scalp as you bite down on his bottom lip. You’re now grinding against him and his nails dig into your hips, his head falling backwards, giving you the perfect opportunity to kiss his neck. 

They start out soft and gentle, but then you’re using your tongue, licking and sucking on his skin, driving him absolutely crazy. He’s hard beyond belief and he swears he’s going to come right there just because of what you’re doing with your mouth, your wonderful talented mouth. 

He’s seeing stars, whining and moaning as you work on his neck, giving him a hickey. As nice as this is, as much as he’s enjoying it, he needs to get inside you because he’s about to bust. You bite down on the skin and he moans again, your name slipping from his lips. You’ve got him right where you want him and you’re sure that he’s ready now. 

Your lips find his again, desperate and hungry, still grinding against him and he’s getting harder by the second. His hip buck against yours and you move so he can get his underwear off and you remove your own before settling yourself onto his cock. 

“You’re so big,” you tell him and his eyes light up at your observation. He’s very well aware of this, but hearing it from you is a huge compliment. He loves seeing you like this, on top of him in nothing but your bra. This is something he could only dream about, something he has dreamed about even though he’d never admit it. 

You watch him come undone as you begin to ride him, eating up how quickly you were able to dominate him. It’s clear that you have the control here and he’s loving it. He’s always on top, but letting you take the lead is much more fun. He wants you to boss him around, to make him your bitch. 

“Yeah? You like that?” You ask and he nods, feeling fucked out already and you’ve barely even done anything. Maybe it’s because he never engages in foreplay so he has more energy for the main event. “Look at you. Already tired, baby?” God, he really wants you to call him that again. 

“No,” he replies through a deep breath, bucking his hips against yours. “Keep going.”

You continue, moving faster as his hands move up to remove your bra as he continues to buck his hips against yours, trying his best to keep up with you. As soon as your chest is bare, he can’t help but stare, watching your tits bounce up and down. And just when he thought you couldn’t get any hotter. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” you moan as you pick up your pace, and Billy’s pretty sure that it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard. You moan again and again as his hips buck against yours, wanting to make you feel as good as you’ve made him feel.

There’s no way he can fuck anyone else after this. It’s like someone mediocre going on stage to perform right after Prince. This is easily the best sex he’s ever had and it’s not even over. He’s got to have you every night for the rest of his life now. And if this night is all you’re wanting from him, then maybe he’ll just refrain from ever sleeping with anyone ever again. 

Although, he’d never admit any of this to you. His ego won’t allow it. He likes being complimented, but he’s never one to do so unless it directly benefits him. Well, except for him telling you how pretty you looked. That was just because he wanted to. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, doll,” he moans as he comes and you don’t even care if he pulls out. You just help him ride his high and you’re close, your eyes shut tight as his name rolls off your lips. And fuck does it feel good to hear you scream it. 

“Billy, oh my god. His name tumbles out of your mouth as you reach your peak reached and fuck does it feel good for him to hear you scream it. 

Once you’ve come down, you climb off him and hurry to retrieve your underwear, Billy quickly following behind even though he’s not as in a rush as you are. He wants to stay here for a little longer, just to hold you in his arms and shower you with compliments. He might even actually tell you that you’re the best he’s ever had. 

“If I’m not home by ten, I’m going to be dead,” you tell him and now he understands, because of course Jim Hopper would still have his daughter under curfew even though she’s an adult now. 

He doesn’t know what time it is, but doesn’t want to be the reason why you’re late so he lets you go, not getting dressed nearly as quickly as you, but he’s still trying to keep up. He’s wondering how you don’t completely hate the wet clothes against your skin and how you’re going to explain that to your dad, but he supposes that isn’t any of his business. 

So he watches you slip on your flip flops as he gets out of the pool with his underwear on. He’s pulling on his shorts which is proving to be a struggle, but he eventually gets them on and throws on his shirt as he’s hurrying to catch up with you, following you to your car. 

“Well, this was fun,” you tell him with a bright smile. “We should do it again sometime. You can get the house number from Max, right? I’m sure he has it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Great. Don’t be a stranger, alright?” You ask, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek before you get into your car. You start it up and Billy watches you back out of the parking lot, knowing that he’s going to be giving you a call very soon.

[casssmalefantasy]

FIVE DAYS IN MINNESOTA

PAIGE BUECKERS X READER!

| synopsis: you haven’t seen paige bueckers in two years, despite your families being close friends since forever. your dad and hers go way back, so when you're invited to a barbecue at the bueckers’ house, you don’t think much of it—until you see paige again, taller, hotter, cockier, and she can’t stop staring at you. five days in minnesota might not be enough.

| warnings: family friends to something more, suggestive tension, heavy flirting, smut (18+), fingering (f!receiving), teasing, confident!paige, dom!paige, waist grabbing, kissing, dry humping, soft but filthy

| word count: 5.6k

your dad’s voice is casual when he brings it up, like he’s not dropping a bomb on your week.

“we’re heading to minnesota for a few days,” he says, leaning on your bedroom doorframe. “the bueckers are having a barbecue. whole family’s gonna be there.”

you pause mid-scroll. “like… their whole family?”

he nods, like it’s obvious. “including paige.”

and just like that, your stomach flips.

you haven’t seen paige in two years. it’s not like she was dodging you—you’ve both just been busy. school, schedules, sports. still, it’s strange how time passes like that. the last time your families hung out, she wasn’t even there. and the time before that, you weren’t.

you think back to the only clear memory you have of her when you were kids.

a backyard fourth of july cookout, sweaty and loud, you two around nine years old. she had a red gatorade in her hand and a streak of popsicle juice on her shirt when she tripped over a sprinkler and spilled the whole thing all over you.

“shit—i mean, sorry!” she squeaked, panicking.

you had blinked down at your soaked sundress, then at her wide eyes. “it’s okay,” you said, even though your face was already burning.

your dads laughed. hers handed her another gatorade. yours handed you a towel.

now she’s… paige bueckers. uconn legend. all over your tiktok fyp, all over espn, all over your head for the last few days, even if you won’t admit it out loud. she’s still got you on instagram. liked your recent post. even dm’d you a short but sweet “happy birthday. hope it’s a good one.”

you had to pretend like that wasn’t a big deal. even when some of your college friends freaked out when they saw that she followed you.

“oh, we’re family friends,” you’d shrugged, like it wasn’t weird. like you didn’t save the message. like you didn’t check if she still followed you the next day.

you pack a bag for five days. you convince yourself it’s not a big deal. just a cookout. just a trip.

—

when you get to the bueckers house, the heat that rises under your skin says otherwise.

you barely get out of the car before you’re wrapped up in a hug—drew, paige’s little brother, crashing into your side like he’s been waiting years.

“you’re finally here!” he shouts.

“you’ve grown like a foot,” you laugh, hugging him back.

then bob—paige’s dad—is right there, grinning, and his wife katie is telling you how gorgeous you look.

“college suits you,” she says, touching your arm.

“look at you,” bob adds. “all grown up.”

you don’t see her right away. but you feel her.

your eyes drift to the porch and there she is—paige, leaning against the railing with a bottle of water, watching the scene unfold with a slow smile tugging at her lips.

she’s in a uconn long sleeve, grey sweats hanging low on her hips, messy bun perched effortlessly. she looks like summer. like home. like danger.

she walks up to you with that same half-smile, eyes scanning you like she’s checking for something.

“hey,” she says, low and warm.

“hey,” you reply, suddenly very aware of her hand on your waist when she hugs you briefly.

then she moves on to your family, greeting everyone else, but you can still feel the imprint of her fingers.

her dad starts pulling out grill tools, and your dad joins him. your mom and katie disappear into the kitchen, talking about salads or sides or something domestic.

which leaves you and paige.

“come up to my room?” she asks, casual.

you nod, trying to ignore the way your pulse jumps.

her room’s bigger than you remember. cleaner, too. some trophies on shelves, a wnba hoodie on the back of her desk chair. she kicks off her slides and sits on the bed while you hover near the doorway.

“you can sit, you know,” she says, smirking.

you raise a brow. “didn’t want to assume i’m still welcome in the bueckers castle.”

“always,” she says. “especially now that you’re not nine and covered in gatorade.”

you laugh, remembering the spill. “that was your fault.”

“that was gravity’s fault,” she grins. “i was just the vessel.”

conversation eases into small talk—college, classes, plans. she asks about your major. you ask about rehab, basketball, uconn.

“how was your birthday?” she asks eventually.

you glance at her. “you told me happy birthday, remember?”

“i know,” she shrugs. “but texts don’t count.”

you feel her looking at you again. not just looking—watching.

“you look different,” she says finally. “in a good way.”

“it’s been two years,” you say. “people change.”

“yeah,” she murmurs. “glow up kind of change.”

you snort, flopping back on her bed. “don’t act like you’re not all over my fyp. i can’t open tiktok without your face popping up in some slo-mo edit.”

“so you do keep up with me.”

you turn your head, grinning. “i never said that.”

“you didn’t have to.”

before she can say more, drew and your little brother jax burst in yelling that the food’s ready.

—

the barbecue is exactly what it should be—laughs, plates full of ribs and burgers, old hip hop playing over speakers, cousins and kids running around. you sit next to paige at the long picnic table. her thigh brushes yours more than once. she doesn’t move.

there’s a moment where you catch her staring—again—and she doesn’t look away when you meet her eyes.

“you always this obvious?” you tease under your breath.

she leans closer. “only when someone’s worth it.”

someone brings out a cooler of drinks and a few people grab beers. the sun starts to dip. the music shifts to more bass. paige’s cousin tries to get a dance circle going.

you find yourself back inside at some point, barefoot on the cool kitchen tiles, cup in hand, paige right next to you.

“you always been this cocky?” you ask her.

“not always,” she says. “just when i’m talking to someone who makes it easy.”

the air changes.

you’re leaning on the counter, and she steps between your legs like it’s nothing. like it’s natural.

her hand grazes your bare thigh and you swallow hard.

“can i kiss you?” she asks.

you don’t answer. you just pull her in.

she kisses like she plays—confident, smooth, dominant. her hands find your waist and grip tight. your own fingers wind into her shirt and pull her closer.

—

somehow you end up in the hallway. then her room. door closed. lips still on yours.

“tell me if you want me to stop,” she mutters against your skin.

you don’t. not even close.

her hand slips under your shirt, hot and slow. her fingers trail your waistband.

“so fucking pretty,” she breathes.

you arch into her, gasping when her fingers dip beneath your shorts.

she starts playing with your pussy like she's done this a hundred times—pressing, curling, teasing until your legs are shaking and her name is the only thing you can think to say.

"fuck, paige."

"you like that?" she whispers. "you're so wet for me."

you whimper, nodding, burying your face in her neck.

her fingers fuck into you deep, slow, then faster—like she’s trying to memorize every sound you make. her thumb circles your clit, and your whole body jolts. she shushes you gently, but her smirk betrays the way she loves pulling you apart.

"that's it," she murmurs. "let me feel you. let me take care of you."

you moan into her hoodie, clutching her tight, thighs trembling as you cum all over her fingers.

but she doesn’t stop.

she keeps her fingers moving, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from you until you're squirming, overstimulated and panting into her neck. her other hand cups your jaw, tilts your face up so she can kiss you through the aftershocks—slow and messy and deep.

"you don’t know how long i’ve wanted this," she whispers against your mouth. "wanted you."

she pulls back just long enough to tug your shirt off, eyes raking over your chest like she’s starving. her hoodie comes off next. then she’s on you again—skin on skin, warm and solid and hers.

her mouth finds your nipple, tongue flicking slow and wet as her fingers start circling your clit again. you gasp, hips jerking.

"one more," she says softly. "give me one more, baby."

and you do.

you cum again, harder this time, thighs clenched around her waist as you cry out her name. she holds you through it, kissing your collarbone, your cheek, your lips, until you’re limp in her arms.

and when you finally catch your breath, she kisses your forehead and says,

"this isn't just a one-time thing. not if i have anything to say about it."

you believe her.

and by the end of five days in minnesota, you're already thinking about what comes next—because now that she’s touched you like this, there’s no going back.

[samkerrworshipper]

trouble in paradise

slow paced/slow burn fics fear me. i wrote this in like 4 hours so lets be kind guys and ignore how spirally thsi is. hopefully another fic coming sometime in the next week xo

williamson!sister x alexia putellas

warnings: light angst, mentions of alcohol

You have mixed emotions as soon as the whistle blows.

You’re ecstatic, obviously. Who wouldn’t be after winning the biggest accolade your club has had in 18 years, especially considering just how much time and effort you’ve devoted to

them in those 18 years.

Arsenal has won, your one and only club has managed to win the champions league in what can only be described as probably the biggest underdog win in champions league history.

It’s exhilarating, it doesn’t feel real. But as your eyes lock onto Alexia, on the other side of the pitch, doubled over on herself like she’s experiencing a pain that is non-human.

Then your eyes move to Leah, your sister who bleeds even more red than you do.

She’s running straight for you, like you’re the only person in the world she wants to share this moment with, and you feel the same, she’s the most important part of your world. But as she blocks your view of Alexia your heart drops in a way that it shouldn’t at this moment.

You don’t have much time to think about it before your sister is barreling straight into you, knocking all the air out of your lungs as the two of you fall to the ground.

“We fucking did it.”

She collapses directly on you like a golden lab who has just spotted its owner and wants the biggest hug a person can give. Her whole body buries itself into yours, and then about five more as the dog pile starts.

You are just as Arsenal and Leah and Lotte, every single part of your body and soul belongs to the club. But you have this underlying feeling that you shouldn’t at this moment. It’s weird to consciously know it but not be able to change it.

You’ve gotten so used to Barcelona winning, sitting in the stands for the last two finals watching your girlfriend win everything and anything that she sets her eyes on. It’s annoying how easy it all is for her, but it’s also what you love about her.

Leah says you're a puppy dog, she’s never quite gotten used to Alexia. Like any older sibling she’s protective, but Leah takes it to another level. She’s never made anything easy for Alexia, ruthless to a point that you’ve never seen her be with anybody else and yet Alexia takes it all, never complains, if anything she gives ten times more in an attempt to seek some kind of approval from your sister. She never quite gets it, but she likes the challenge, you know it.

The dog pile eventually falls off and you're left to look up at the sky. You think that it’s perfect, and that truly if you could stay staring up at the bright Lisbon blue for the rest of your life you would.

But you're brutally taken from that as a set of arms tug you off the ground. Suddenly the 90+ minutes of playing time hit you, or maybe the nausea, or guilt and you feel wobbly. Like your whole body could collapse if your teammates weren’t holding you up.

Leah kisses your head, over and over again until she moves onto having a moment with Kim and you've got Kyra plastered to your side telling you how you’re her idol and some other spur of words that don’t quite process in your brain.

It’s probably easily played off as shock due to the win, but in reality you actually are experiencing the worst guilt you’ve ever felt.

The shaking hands is worse, specifically because you have spent the last three summers with this team and have never in your life seen them all completely gutted. You try to keep it quick, but when Ingrid starts crying into you shoulder you legitimately feel like you might vomit.

Alexia is the worst, because of course she is.

It’s hard enough to approach her, sitting on the ground with Mapi squatted down next to her.

Mapi spots you first, your Spanish isn’t bad but you certainly can’t lip read it. She says something to Alexia though, because she looks up at you for a split second. You watch the hope fade into something else that looks like disgust and then she says something to Mapi which prompts Mapi to stand up.

The frown on her face tells you everything.

“She-She just needs a few minutes.”

You try not to let it show on your face, not to show the complete rejection you feel at being blocked from the one person who can probably solve your problem.

Mapi must see it though, she’s good at that you’ve learnt, good at reading people who don’t want to be.

“She’ll call you later, or come see you, I’ll make sure of it. She just needs a little bit.”

You try and convince yourself that it isn’t the worst pain you’ve ever felt.

The guard of honour is probably the worst part, she reaches out for Mariona a few steps in front of you, and then her eyes lock on you and you have hope. But she walks past, as if you’re nothing. As if you haven’t been in a public relationship for two years now and as if she isn’t the love of your life like she’s told you.

You feel Leah’s glare from beside you, her hand tightening in its place on your shoulder in a silent question. Her head ducks down, resting in your ear as if she’s going to say something.

“Leave it. Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. If you want me to keep smiling for the cameras, stay silent.”

You’re the quieter out of you and Leah, less bossy, generally more in the shadows. But your relationship is quite the opposite, it kind of has to be when you’re dating the best player in the world. You already know how many tik tok edits are already going to be made about this moment and how many rogue messages you’ll receive from people who know nothing about your life.

Leah gets the message, she’s smart enough not to prod when there are quite literally cameras at every angle recording every moment right now. She has her own relationship that she’s trying to preserve from all of the media. She knows what it means to keep some parts of a public life hidden.

Barcelona collect their medals and you try to keep a tight smile on your face as you watch Alexia walk across the stage and take her medal. She’s not used to having a silver one, it’s the first thought in your mind, not for a long time at least. All she ever does is win, she was literally the poster girl for nikes ‘just win’ campaign.

Then it’s your turn, your turn to walk through Barca’s guard of honour. Most of the girls who you’ve spent summers with open up for a hug, or a handshake at least. But Alexia looks so spaced out and out of the moment that she doesn’t even flinch when Frido elbows her in the ribs. She looks at you, like a kicked puppy and then looks at the fucking ground of all places.

It’s the twisting of the knife already lodged in your gut.

You try to smile as the confetti goes off and the trophy is lifted. You try and think about how much more upset you’ll be when you look at the pictures afterwards just for you to look upset in all of them. It does nothing though, not when the trophy is offered to you to lift, not when Lotte has her arms around your shoulders humming to ‘North London Forever’ , not when your sister tries to dance with you.

Even when your family comes down to the pitch. Even the sight of your Spurs father in an Arsenal jersey does nothing.

Mariona is the first person to bring you in for a proper hug.

“It doesn’t feel good doing it, wishing that other people would win so much that you’d rather lose.”

You’re off to the side, far enough away that you don’t feel suffocated by red. A different shade of red to the Barcelona one you were expecting to see.

“Is it bad that I was so certain they were going to win that this wasn’t a possibility?”

Mariona shakes her head, although you highly doubt she agrees. She’s as invested in this belief as everybody else, you were too. You believed that your team could win, you just somehow didn’t believe it was actually going to happen.

“Not at all, there is nothing bad about being surprised about an outcome you didn’t expect. How about you go and talk to Ale?”

You feel sick thinking about her. She’s your favourite person and yet it feels like you’re the last person she wants to see.

“She doesn’t want to see me. She’s made that very clear.”

Mariona frowns and brings you in for another hug.

“She’s never been a very good loser, give her an hour and she’ll warm back up. She’ll want to celebrate with you when she’s gotten over this.”

You hope for the love of god that Mariona is right.

You put yourself through the hell of post-game celebrations and media. Take every photo and every interview that you have to and then you’re heading straight back to the hotel.

Alexia’s hotel is the one next to yours, and you make the decision that you can’t go to the celebrations until you’ve sorted it all out. Once you get to the celebrations you’re inevitably going to drink, in the company of Katie McCabe and your sister you’ll probably drink a lot. You tend to have a pattern of your anger when you're drunk turning into a very ugly person and you’re determined to not let it happen right now. You also want to see your girlfriend.

Leah moans the whole walk over, groaning about how she could be partying and about how she could be drinking and celebration and a whole other slew of complaints that your depressed brain isn’t ready to hear.

You make it into the lobby without encountering anybody, but Alexia’s hotel hallway is full of Barcelona staff and players who look like they're ready to spit and yours and your sisters game jerseys that you’re still wearing.

“I don’t get why we have to bloody search for Putellas when she’s having a pity party, we should be partying.”

You hiss at Leah, she’s slightly tipsy on the heineken cans from the locker room and is bordering on your last nerve.

“I didn’t ask you to come Leah, I am here because I want to be, I didn’t tell you to accompany me.”

She groans again but you’re too focused as your eyes lock onto Patri at the end of the hallway.

“Oi, Patri, Patri.”

She turns quickly, her eyes downcast and puffy as if she’s been crying for hours, which your figure she probably could have.

“Williamson one, Williamson two.”

Leah laughs, as if it’s the funniest joke that could have been made.

“Glad to see that I haven’t lost my sense of humour.”

Then Leah giggles, the same way she does when she’s plastered at the pub on a Sunday night and is two steps away from forgetting everything.

“I need to see Alexia.”

Patri swallows, in the same way people tend to when they’re nervous.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

Leah’s giggling seizes. She steps out in front of you.

“Tell Putellas to stop sulking and come and congratulate my sister the same way she has the last two years. She can get over herself for five minutes and be gracious.”

Suddenly the possibility of a fight in this hallway doesn’t seem impossible.

“Patri, please, just let me see her. She doesn’t need to talk, I just want to see her.”

Patri shakes her head, but you assume Leah does the scary thing where she frowns and tilts her head like an animal about to strike because Patri relents.

“I will try, but I can’t promise you anything.”

Patri disappears down the hallway until she gets to a room a few doors down, she must have Alexia’s keycard because the door opens immediately and she slips in.

“Seriously, why are we here? This is your night and Putellas is ruining it. Her sob story is seriously killing the buzz.”

You’re sick of everybody else telling you what to do and what to feel.

“Leah I didn’t fucking ask you to be here, shut up or leave. This is my problem and I’m happy to fix it on my own.”

Leah mutters something under her breath and you swear you might strangle her, it wouldn’t be the first time the two of you had gotten into a tussle. Then you spot Mapi down the end of the hallway and your focus switches again. This time you don’t have to yell, she spots you immediately and pivots in your direction.

“Chica, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be partying, no? Or at least doing something better than this.”

Your strangling intention pivots to Mapi.

“This is what I’m saying, why are we here?”

Strangling back to Leah.

“Leah, final time I tell you to shut up before I throat punch you.”

You might not be as intense as your sister but when you get worked up you’d argue you’re ten times more terrifying.

“I just need Ale, okay? Five seconds is all I need.”

Mapi grimaces and it feels like you’re missing something and you hate it.

Just as you’re about to say something, Patri emerges. With no Alexia and a deep frown etched into her face.

“How about you come back tomorrow, or she’ll call you sometime tomorrow.”

You use all of your willpower to shake your head.

“No, tell her that it’s urgent, that I need her right now.”

Leah’s back behind you like a guard dog who's ready to attack at any minute.

“Look, she’s not, she can’t see you right now.”

You feel all the tears building up, all the guilt and anger from today finally coming to fruition.

“Patri, Mapi, please.”

It’s the wobble in your words that do it you think, or at least it does it for Leah.

“You two need to talk to your captain and give her thirty seconds to see my sister whilst she still has some dignity. This is fucking embarassing. She’s stood by her for all of her wins even when it’s been hard for her, she has been there for literally everything.”

Neither of the women move and it’s probably the part that breaks you the most, that these people who you have known for years now don’t have the respect to give you this.

Leah pushes past them, walking to the door Patri had walked in and out of and banging on it so loudly the sound reverberates.

“Putellas I swear to god, or dios or whatever the fuck you call it in Catalan that if you don’t open this door right now to give my sister the congratulations she fucking deserves then I will make sure that she never comes and sees you again. You think that you already have it tough with me? I will make you so miserable that you’d wish to be in hell. Open the fucking door.”

Leah keeps banging, until your ears are ringing and multiple staff members peek their heads out of their bedroom doors to see what all the commotion is.

“Leah.”

It seems like the adrenaline has gotten to her head.

“Leah, let’s go.”

Leah looks like she’s about to say something else, like she’s going to argue but your face must say it all.

“Tell Putellas she can go and get fucked and that if she ever wants to see my baby sister again she better have a pretty good apology lined up and some serious grovelling. In England. No more flying out to Spain because it’s easier for her. She wants anything to do with her she can come talk to me first.”

You don’t wait to see if Leah is following behind you, you just start walking. Down the hallway and into the elevator where Leah does join you.

She doesn’t talk even though it seems like she wants to. She brings you into a hug as soon as the doors close and you don’t even attempt to stifle your sobs.

Leah hugs you until the doors to the elevator open and then she helps you to wipe your face as you exit the hotel and make the walk two blocks back to your own hotel.

The party in the function room is in full swing. Leah forces you through the door like she knows that you’re considering bolting.

“You’re going to regret it if you leave, hate me for it now but I’m right.”

You definitely hate her for it but you don’t run away either. You let your sister tug you through the crowd of people until she finds your mom and then you're gone all over again. Leah walks off in search of Elle and you're left standing in front of your mum with new tears streaming down your face. It takes all of five seconds for her to wrap her arms around you and bring her into you.

“I don’t get why she doesn’t want to see me, I just want to see her.”

You don’t know whether or not you want to hear anything. You want to be able to celebrate with your teammates like a normal person and not be so attached to your fucking girlfriend that when shit like this happens you fall apart.

You’ve always loved hard though, loyal to the point it’s kind of concerning. It’s the one thing you do beat Leah at.

“Just give her a little bit, yeah, she’s struggling. Give her some room to breathe and then punch her a bit for being a dick and get over it. You two will get over it together.”

You want to believe your mum, she’s generally right with most things. You’re a bit hurt right now though to think straight.

“Go enjoy yourself, I promise you that if you don’t then you’ll regret it. Enjoy yourself and worry about Alexia later.”

You would say that the three tequila shots that Katie feeds you are probably what makes you start to enjoy yourself. There’s an unspoken assumption that you’re clearly not okay but everybody is decent enough not to ask. You’re given pretty much every alcoholic beverage that your teammates can find and it helps, slightly. You forget about Alexia for a little bit, for long enough for it to hurt a little bit less.

Until Vic comes up to you telling you that there is somebody from Barcelona waiting for you outside.

Your heart soars, and you all but try to stumble as quickly as you can out of the function room in search of the one person you want to be.

Your heart plummets as soon as you make it out of the doors and Jana is the one waiting for you.

Your mind is significantly more foggy than it was when you were talking to Patri and Mapi.

“She’s sorry.”

Sorry seems to be the worst thing you could be told.

“Sorry?”

Jana shrugs like she has more to say but doesn’t know how to.

“She just needs a bit of a break right now.”

You feel every positive feeling that had been starting to reintroduce itself to your body completely leave.

“A break from our relationship, or me or just life?”

Jana looks like she really doesn’t know what to say.

“So she loses one game, the first game shes ever fucking played against me for club and decides she’s just done? That she can’t stomach perfect fucking barcelona losing? Nice, love that her pride comes before me. You’d think after three years that would maybe pass but I suppose the time doesn’ matter as much to her as it matters to me.”

Jana is left speechless and that’s all the answers you need.

You drink. You drink a lot. Going toe to toe with Katie is no small feat but you manage to do pretty well. You drink until you can’t think anymore and are legless and then you drink some more.

You don’t know what time somebody takes you to bed but you do know that you wake up with Leah snoring beside you and your head so sore that it feels like your brain doesn’t belong inside of it.

“Oi, stop fucking snoring. No wonder Elle complains.”

Leah rouses next to you, a lopsided smile on her face as she blinks away the sleep. She put an arm out to hug you and you give her a shove that almost pushes her off of the bed.

“Glad to see that your charm doesn’t disappear when you’re nursing the hangover of the century. I was supposed to spend the night with Elle but you were so blind I genuinely thought you were going to choke on your own vomit in your sleep.”

You try to shove her again but she’s far away now that she’s out of the shoving vicinity.

“You’re supposed to be nice to me, y’know, little sister care or something.”

Leah rolls her eyes.

“Yeah right I’ve seen Putellas fight on the floor with her sister.”

As soon as the words leave Leah’s mouth she knows what she's done, everything you’d almost forgotten comes flooding straight back and the sickness washes over you all over again.

“Shit-I’m-Shit.”

You shake your head, it's already been said.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. We should start packing, early flight and everything.”

Leah seems to get the message, rolling out of your bed in a thud and dragging herself out of your room with a little smile on the corner of her lips.

You have peace for about five minutes, enough peace to silence the pain in your head every time you blink or move. Until your door unlocks and Kyra comes barreling in.

“So trouble in paradise?”

She’s got a lot more energy than you think anybody else does. As if she never drank to begin with.

“You can either leave or be quiet and help me pack my bag.”

Kyra wasn’t the person you thought you’d bond with. When she’d come to Arsenal you’d already cemented pretty solid relationships with girls in the team like Lotte and Kim. You all were on the quieter side. Then Kyra had come along and everything you’d heard about her and seen of her was loud and rambunctious and chaotic. Then you got to know her, got to know about how she was an extroverted introvert and 80% of the time was a lot calmer than everyone made her out to be. The two of you found a balance together.

“I’ll do your toiletries, you sort out luggage.”

You're sick of the little sorry smile people keep giving you.

Kyra battles in your ensuite whilst you throw the very small amounts of your things into your suitcase. It’s a quick process and by the time you check your phone you’re running perfectly on time. You try not to feel hurt by the lack of texts, calls or signs of life from Alexia. You’re fine, none of it really matters.

Kyra and you manage to get your things out of your room right as some of the staff are coming down and knocking on peoples door to meet down at the bus transfers to the airport. You try not to think about the fact that as soon as you get on the plane that’s another two weeks before you play Alexia again. Two more weeks without seeing her that you didn’t think you’d have.

You help Kyra pack up her own things before the two of you head down to the lobby to wait.

The lobby is already pretty full, full of teammates who look like they’re in desperate need of a bucket or some serious anti-nausea pills before they hop on a flight.

You dump your luggage with everybody else’s and find a seat mostly away from everybody else. Although nobody seems to be in an overly sociable mood.

You’re wallowing in your own depression, really. It’s a little bit pathetic but you don’t really care. You’re past the point of caring what anybody thinks of you after you pretty much confessed all of your relationship problems to half of your teammates last night and possibly coaching staff as well.

You should be embarrassed but in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t really matter. It feels like your relationship is imploding in front of you and you literally can’t do anything to stop it.

“Mini Williamson, you’re wanted.”

Beth’s voice is completely gone, raw and stringy but you hear it all the same.

“I don’t want a photo or anything else, Beth.”

Suddenly you wish that you’d gotten your sunglasses from your bag because as the sun shines in through the windows in the lobby your head hurts at a whole other level.

“I think you’ll want to see this.”

You look up at Beth and then at the direction she’s pointing in and choke on whatever air you’d been inhaling.

“Oh god.”

Alexia looks like she hasn’t slept, less than you. The part that is the most horrific about her appearance though is the arsenal jersey that she’s wearing. You’ve never seen Alexia in a jersey of yours that hasn’t been an English one, there was a weird contingency between the two of you that club jerseys were just a no. You both were one club players, and you wanted it to stay that way. Yet here Alexia is, standing in the lobby of the hotel with a bright red Arsenal jersey.

The only thought you have is that as you sister locks eyes with her that she is going to punch her. It’s the only thing that crosses your mind.

“Leah. No.”

Leah doesn’t listen, it was a hopeless attempt. She flys full force towards Alexia at a rate that you could never catch up with.

Alexia doesn’t flinch as Leah comes face to face with her, her hands digging into the stupid jersey as Leah starts to yell something that you can’t understand because your too focused on getting in between the two of them without passing out from hangover symptoms.

You manage to cross the room before Leah throws hands. Thankfully.

“Leah, no. Not here.”

You try to ignore the fifty eyes of your teammates on you.

Leah looks like an animal about to tear into her prey.

“Leah. No. Not here.”

You drag the two of them into the nearest handicapped bathroom you can find.

“You think you can just dick around my sister and show up here the next morning and be forgiven, huh? God Putellas you should be worshipping her fucking feet right now, you should be grateful that she hasn’t broken up with you ass for your dumbass behaviour. Do you realise how out of your league she is? How any person in London would break their own leg to have her, and yet you just get to have her and fuck her around however you want?”

Alexia just nods along with everything Leah says.

“Are you done, Leah? Can I talk to my partner now without my sister talking for me?”

Leah is staring down Alexia with such intensity that you think she might combust.

“Leah, out, let me talk to her, please.”

Leah relents, but then gives up.

“I will be waiting outside and if I hear anything leave your mouth Putellas besides an apology I will be back.”

The older sister act has happened your whole life, to every girlfriend, fling, one night stand and partner. Apparently it’s unavoidable.

The room is silent for a few seconds, Alexia doesn’t look like she’s going to say anything so you fill the silence.

“I’ve never seen you in an Arsenal top before.”

With the busy schedule you hardly manage to make it to any of Alexia’s club matches and vice versa. Although you do have a Barca top buried in the bottom of your dresser that you pull out when you have time to watch Alexia’s games. You never wear it but you bring it out anyways.

“You won, you deserve to be represented.”

You can’t tell how authentic it is and that hurts.

“I just didn’t deserve it last night.”

Alexia looks so broken that you almost fold, almost give up the tough persona but you’re still hurt, even as you look at Alexia’s pouty features and empty eyes.

“I-I there’s no excuse. You deserved to celebrate how you pleased last night and I ruined it for you. I was selfish and too consumed in my own emotions to see that. I don’t have anything to say but I’m sorry. You deserved better and I didn’t give it to you.”

Alexia’s lip quivers, properly quivers.

“That’s all you have? That you were too worried about yourself to care about me? Do you understand that to be in a relationship it's 50/50, you don’t get to choose when you care about me and when you don’t. You’re supposed to love me unconditionally.”

A tear rolls down Alexia’s face and you feel horrible, but you know you’re doing the right thing by not going easy.

“I’ve never lost to somebody I loved. I’ve never played on a field and wanted another person to win simply because I love them. I’ve never felt worse than I did when I was happy that you won. I was supposed to be upset about us losing and yet I was more upset about the fact that I was happy that you won. I didn’t want to ruin your celebrations by being upset, you deserved to be surrounded by people who were going to appreciate you fully instead of distract you. I wanted you to be free of me burdening you.”

It’s the relatability, the fact that you can say that everything Alexia is describing you also felt.

“I want to share everything with you. I don’t spend every spare minute on the phone with you and every other minute thinking about you to not want to spend the ups and downs with you. I would have rather sat in your hotel room all of last night crying then gone to stupid celebrations not knowing how you felt about me.”

The silence hangs for a few seconds.

“They were great celebrations, not stupid and Putellas this is when you actually apologise so I don’t kill you.”

You bang your head against the wall of the bathroom.

“Leah, Fuck off.”

Alexia shakes her head.

“I am sorry. I did not give you wanted on the night of your life. You deserved to be celebrated and I did the complete opposite. I never want that to happen again, I love your more than anything, you are my life and you are my soul. Please, let me make it iup to you. I’ll come to London, I’ll do anything. I just want you, I want to make it up to you.”

You suppose she’s the love of your life, and you aren’t quite ready for this to be the end of that.

“You’ll come to London and you’ll wear my jersey all weekend and you’ll go out for dinner with Leah and make things up and you’ll deal with me when I’m wasted or so hungover I can’t move until you have to go to Spain. Understood.”

Alexia nods dutifully.

“And she’ll take you shopping, both of us shopping, and I want the new oakley drop.”

You roll your eyes and reach out for Alexia, letting her press the most respectable of kisses to your cheek before parting.

“Leah if you aren’t gone by the time I exit I will make it so you can never play football again.”

You wait for the scamper of her feet before you fall into Alexia with the whole weight of your body, relaxing against the person you’ve needed most,

[luviestarz]

lee haechan fic recs! part 2 ❤︎

note! : used all the old fics i could find that i enjoyed

❤︎ Love at First Bite…literally!? - @huangberryyy (Wherein Haechan finally gets the chick flick moment he dreamt of. Or wherein Haechan finally understands the appeal of being bitten by bitches.)

❤︎ the bet - @tyonfs (you and lee donghyuck created a bet that stated you two would have sex if he made the winning shot. now, you’re pinned up against the lockers, about to do the one thing best friends don’t do, and you definitely shouldn’t be wanting more.)

❤︎ Babe Watch [M]  - @milfgyuu (You and Haechan both have big plans this summer. You’re going to earn yourself a spot on the infamous Baywatch team and Haechan’s deadset on getting the girl. It just so happens that both your plans intersect quite nicely.)

❤︎ [8:02pm] - @nctsworld (in which a spontaneous dance in the kitchen with donghyuck sparks a revelation about how you feel about him.)

❤︎ beware the panty perv ♡ ldh x reader - @guanana (there’s a mystery at hand! it seems like your panties have been vanishing into thin air whenever you need them most? angry that your favorite pairs of panties are going missing, you decide to put on your detective hat in hopes of finding the mysterious lingerie bandit. but between all of the guys that you sleep with— you can’t seem to pinpoint who the culprit could be. it couldn’t possibly be your absolute geek of a tutor for calculus, right? nah.)

❤︎ september 19. - @hyucks-archive

❤︎ SURE THING (L.DH) - @domjaehyun

❤︎ young gods (l.dh) - @606fm (in the midst of committing felonies in the dark, lee donghyuck—your literal partner in crime and ride or die for life—manages to snag your heart in the process without you even realizing it. i mean, what the hell did you expect from seoul city’s most notorious robber?)

❤︎ [7:43am] - @aesthyuckic

❤︎ haechan is obsessed with you. - @haechurch

❤︎ the right one. (m) - @starryhyuck (donghyuck doesn’t like you going on dates with anyone else, especially lee jeno. you’re supposed to be his. and only his.)

❤︎ meow haechan using a lot of tongue meow meow  - @ofjunemoment (or: you’re thinking of getting a tongue piercing, but you’re not sure how haechan feels)

❤︎ attention - @pinkynana (gamer boys are the easiest target for you. they barely interact with any other woman so the moment you find out haechan was a gamer boy, you promised to sit on his lap any time he wanted to.)

❤︎ free falling - @sunpopz (your friend haechan has been acting kinda weird lately.. does it have anything to do with you? maybe it does, considering he keeps looking at you like you're gonna kill him any second. well, that and he randomly liked a three month old picture of you.)

❤︎ haechan — just for you (m) - @hyuckmov (because haechan thought you were irresistible when you were clever, if only because he knew he was the only one who could make your brain go empty.)

❤︎ Started With A Kiss - @sundaysundaes (Rookie actor, Lee Haechan, desperately wants to get the lead role in the highly anticipated upcoming TV drama. He’s sure he has what it takes to fill the part. Acting as a hero? No problem. Pretending to overcome his traumatic experience? Consider it done. A bed scene? Easy—wait, no. That might be a problem. But he should be fine as long as he gets to rehearse, right?)

❤︎ if I lose my mind - @slightlymore (you’ve never cared much for your dreams. they were always confusing nonsense you forgot in the morning. this until you started to have the same dream again and again and again: a lobby, pleasant elevator music in the background, many golden doors, a handsome young man welcoming you and asking where you wanted to go that night. his name was haechan and apparently you weren’t supposed to know that, let alone fall in love with him.)

❤︎ this is the story of how we fell in love, apparently. - @navyhyuck (running a youtube channel with your best friend isn’t easy, not when he’s like a ticking time bomb that’s constantly bubbling up something new. what’s worse is that you’ve had a crush on him for the past three years.)

❤︎ face sitting - @haetkeeper

❤︎ pervert (M) - @haechannielove (you confront haechan on his disgusting and constant objectification of you.)

❤︎ Pearlescent - @d-nghy-ck (A shoreline sunset spent cozied up against Hyuck dives deep past surface level. His lips profess his heart’s intent; his eyes reflect waves dancing in iridescent glimmers; his love whispered into your skin evokes heated passion.) 

❤︎ i love it, starboy - @staargirlblog (slight yandere! idol! haechan x fangirl! reader)

❤︎ college boyfriend!haechan - @lvlyynim

❤︎ perv!haechan - @4everhyucks

❤︎ My Boy. - @prodbymaui (A series of failed relationships and you were this near of giving up on love. But then here comes little Donghyuck and his persistence. Maybe-- he was the one fated to you, after all.)

[lupinqs]

CRUSH CULTURE ━━ paige bueckers x reader

☆ ━ summary: paige has a hopeless crush on you, a cheerleader

☆ ━ word count: 5.4K

☆ ━ warnings: alcohol consumption, kissing, this one’s tame

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, inspired by this request (lol i know this was forever ago)

☆ ━ author’s note: hiii i hope y’all enjoy—lemme know if you guys want a part 2 and if so send in ideas for it!!! i have been hopelessly uncreative recently!!! also yes i have been writing tmtc and safe and sound i promise—new chapter of tmtc should be out sometime this weekend, no idea on safe and sound because goddamn that fic takes me forever to write

PAIGE HAS ALWAYS noticed you—though, funny enough, at first it wasn’t because you cheered. That part didn’t even register until her junior year, when she started paying attention to things off the court. But she’d first noticed you back in her sophomore year, in that one class she didn’t feel like she needed at all. She’d often zone out, either doodling in the margins of her notebook or letting her eyes drift around the room as she let her mind wander. Her gaze would skip over classmates until, one day, it stopped on you.

And, God, she remembers that moment. The way she’d blinked, like she needed to reset her brain for a second because… well, you. It wasn’t anything specific, nothing she could even name at the time. But there was this something about you that made her stomach flip. From then on, whenever she zoned out, her eyes would find you before she even realized it. You’d be focused on your notes or lost in thought, completely unaware, and Paige would catch herself staring just a little too long.

She’d think about talking to you, but for some reason, you made her nervous. And that wasn’t something Paige was used to feeling—not with girls. She’d been confident her whole life, even a little cocky when it came to flirting, and her reputation certainly proceeded her. But with you, all of that confidence vanished. Her brain would go blank, her hands would fidget, and her heart would pound just watching you, sitting across the room. The idea of walking up to you, striking up a conversation, felt almost laughable. You’d somehow managed to turn her, Paige Bueckers, into a stammering mess with just a look.

And then there was the other part—the part that kept her from making a move even when she managed to work up the nerve. You looked so…straight. She knows it’s a stupid assumption, but something about the way you carried yourself—she’d convinced herself that you had to be straight. Maybe it was the way you fit in with the other girls, how they flocked around you like they were all in some effortlessly straight, picture-perfect group. Whatever it was, Paige felt certain you’d never look at her the way she looked at you.

So she let it go, or at least, she tried to. But you kept slipping into her thoughts, distracting her in that class, making her mind wander back to you when she least expected it. Her silly little crush on you lingered all through sophomore year, and even when summer rolled around, she found herself thinking of you every now and then, imagining what it might have been like to know you outside of that class.

Then junior year rolled around, and her whole world changed with that ACL tear. Benched for the season, her focus shifted in ways she never anticipated. Instead of charging down the court, she found herself sitting on the sidelines, watching, observing things she normally wouldn’t have noticed. And it was during one of those games, one of those long, frustrating nights when she just wanted to play, that she saw you again—this time, on the court as one of the cheerleaders.

At first, she couldn’t believe it. She actually had to blink a few times, like her brain was trying to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. This was her third year at UConn, and she hadn’t noticed you were a cheerleader ever. Maybe she really was just unobservant, but it truly shocked her. You looked completely different from how you did in class—more animated, more alive, like you were in your element. And when you started that long, impressive tumbling pass down the court, her jaw dropped. She didn’t even know you could do that, and it left her staring, heart hammering in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. (And maybe the tiny little uniform helped speed it up, too.)

From then on, Paige couldn’t keep her eyes off you during games. She’d always find herself watching you, wondering if you’d somehow feel her gaze, hoping that maybe, just once, you’d look her way. She spent so many games like that—sneaking glances, letting her mind wander, imagining what it might be like to finally work up the nerve to talk to you. But game after game, you never seemed to notice her, too focused on your routines, your teammates, and the cheering crowd around you.

And Paige? She knew she was hopelessly stuck. She’d sit there on the sidelines, feeling ridiculous, pining after a girl she couldn’t even talk to, a girl she thought she’d never really have a chance with. It was her worst crush yet—the kind that left her feeling off-balance, stumbling over her own thoughts, trying to convince herself that it didn’t matter—and she’d never even spoken to you. But each time she saw you out there, smiling, moving with that same effortless grace, she’d feel that same pull, that same quiet, persistent ache.

It’s senior year now, and Paige has one thing on her mind: basketball. It’s been more than a year since she’s played, and she’s determined to make this season count. All summer, she told herself the same thing over and over: Stay focused. Don’t get distracted. No more drifting thoughts, no more daydreams, and absolutely no more pointless crushes on girls she can’t have. And especially no crushes on you.

You, the cheerleader she’d spent too many junior year games staring at from the sidelines. You, the girl she still thought about when her mind wandered late at night, even though she knew better. No, this year, she was locking in. She’d worked too hard, too long, to let her head get all twisted up over you again. She was here to play basketball, not to chase after some unattainable crush.

But as she jogs onto the court for warm-ups, trying to ignore the butterflies that come with her first game back, her eyes somehow find you anyway. Just like they always do. And it’s like no time has passed at all. You’re laughing with the other cheerleaders, your hair perfectly styled in a half-up-half-down, a bow nestled in it, your uniform hugging you just right. The lights catch on your skin, giving you this soft glow, and your smile—God, that smile, so open and sweet and painfully distracting—has her heart skipping a beat before she even realizes it. Paige quickly snaps her eyes away, reminding herself she’s here to play, not to get lost in some imaginary world where she has a chance with you. This is her first game back, and even if it’s just an exhibition against Dayton, she’s got to make it count.

With a deep breath, she manages to brush you off. The pregame excitement kicks in, and her focus sharpens as the game begins. And it’s everything she’s been waiting for—the sounds of the court, the rush of the crowd, the thrill of moving with the ball in her hands again. She’s finally back, and for the first quarter, she’s locked in, feeling the rhythm of the game, feeling unstoppable.

Then it happens. KK makes a bad pass, and Paige is already in motion, chasing down the ball to save it from going out of bounds. She dives, stretching to reach it, but it’s just out of reach. Before she can stop herself, she’s crashing full speed into the sidelines—right into the cheerleaders.

Right into you.

The impact is quick and jarring, and she scrambles to her feet as fast as she can, heart hammering in her chest. She’s prepared to rattle off an apology when she realizes who she’s just barreled into. You’re significantly smaller than her, and her stomach drops as she takes in your wide eyes and the faint wince that flickers across your face. But you handle it with the same grace she’d always admired from afar, waving her off with a laugh and saying, “It’s fine! You’re good!” Your smile is easy, casual, and she’s even more mortified by how sweet you’re being about it.

She tries to apologize again, but you’re already brushing it off with that smile, and she feels her face heating up as she mumbles something unintelligible before hurrying back onto the court. But now her head’s a mess, all her carefully built-up focus gone, replaced by the embarrassing replay of what just happened. She tells herself to get it together, but it’s no use. Her mind keeps drifting back to the look on your face, to the sound of your laugh, to the softness in your smile when you waved her off.

The rest of the game passes in a frustrating blur. She’s off her rhythm, missing open shots she’d normally sink with ease, getting caught in rotations she usually anticipates. By the end, she’s only scored eight points—a painfully low number, especially for her—and she feels the weight of it like a stone in her stomach. She should be thinking about the game, her missed shots, how to get her focus back. But as she sits on the bench, watching the last few minutes tick away, all she can think about is you standing there, laughing off her clumsy collision, looking up at her with that easy, unbothered smile.

So much for not getting distracted.

After the game, Paige is still kicking herself over how sloppy her performance was. She lingers in the locker room, hoping to avoid any unwanted run-ins. But finally, when she’s convinced she’s given it enough time for everyone to clear out, she heads out into the quiet halls of Gampel Pavilion.

Except, of course, her luck isn’t that great. Just as she’s walking out, she spots you—still in your cheer uniform but with a UConn sweatshirt thrown over it, heading down the hall, cheer bag on your back. Her first instinct is to turn around, bolt back into the locker room, and hope to avoid any more humiliation, but it’s already too late. You look up, and your eyes meet, and suddenly she’s frozen in place, panicking because she’s actually staring straight into your eyes.

And then you smile at her. That smile, the one that sends her brain into a meltdown every time. But it’s so much worse now because your smile is directed at her. And, suddenly, you’re walking up to her and saying, “Hey, good game tonight,” and Paige is pretty sure her heart has stopped.

She tries to seem casual, to play it cool, but all she can manage is a shrug and a half-hearted, “Eh, wasn’t my best.” She’s hoping you don’t notice her stutter, but her cheeks are burning, giving her away.

You just wave it off, your dimple showing as you grin up at her. “Nah, this was just your warm-up. You haven’t played in, like, over a year. Next game you’ll drop thirty.”

Paige blinks, and the fact that you know she’s good at basketball—even though everyone knows she’s good at basketball—is enough to send her into a coma, she thinks. “Oh, gosh,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck, struggling to find words. “Gonna have to now, just for you.” The second it’s out of her mouth, she mentally facepalms. That totally sounds like she’s trying to flirt with you.

But you just laugh, eyes crinkling as you look at her, completely unfazed. “I’ll hold you to it,” you say, and that smile doesn’t waver.

There’s a pause, and Paige knows this is where you’re about to say goodbye, and she panics because, after two years of thinking and practically obsessing over you, she’s finally talking to you, and it feels too short, too fleeting. Before she can second-guess herself, she blurts, “Oh—uh, hey, about earlier… when I ran into you. I’m… really sorry about that.”

You shake your head, smiling even wider, brushing it off with an easy laugh. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time; more than you’d think.”

There’s something so casual and warm about the way you say it, and she feels herself relax a little, caught up in the fact that you’re looking right at her, not at all bothered, almost… endeared? And for some reason, seeing your dimpled smile has her stammering like she’s never done before.

“So… uh…” Paige stumbles, her words failing, her confidence gone. “Are you, um, going to Ted’s tonight?” She bites her lip the moment it’s out, but she presses on. “You know, a lot of people go there after the first game—it’s kinda, like, a…thing. Which, y’know, I guess you probably already know about because… you’re, like, not a freshman…” She sounds so stupid. God.

You tilt your head slightly, considering, before you smile at her again. “I wasn’t really planning on going, but…” You pause, looking at her with a bit of a spark in your eyes, and for a second, she feels like she might actually combust. “Should I?”

Paige’s eyes widen, and she’s nodding before she can stop herself. “Y-yes! I—I think you’d have a good time.” She mentally scolds herself for the stutter, but you’re just nodding, still smiling, still looking so effortlessly at ease while she’s a nervous mess.

You laugh softly, a sound she’s sure she’ll replay in her head all night, and say, “Alright. I’ll think about it. And if I do decide to go, I’ll see you there, Bueckers.”

And with one last smile, you turn and walk away, leaving her standing there in shock, her heart racing and her mind replaying every word you just said. She’s tempted to pinch herself, convinced this has to be some elaborate daydream because there’s no way she actually just talked to you.

She doesn’t move for a long moment, replaying the way you said her name, the sound of your laugh, and the chance that she might actually see you tonight.

IT’S LATER in the night at Ted’s, and Paige is doing her best to stay composed, talking with one of the guys from the men’s team. Dirty Shirley in hand, she’s feeling just the faintest buzz, not enough to loosen her grip on reality but just enough to feel the edges of her confidence soften. She’s nodding along to something the guy’s saying when, over his shoulder, she spots you walking in.

Paige’s attention falters as she takes you in. You’re in baggy jeans that hang low on your hips, and a leather tube top that clings in all the right places, dipping enough to make her gaze lower slightly. She can barely tear her gaze away as you head over to the bar with a couple of friends, both of whom Paige recognizes from the cheer team. You’re laughing, leaning into one of them, completely at ease, and she can’t stop watching.

She realizes she’s staring a little too long, so she quickly excuses herself, not to talk to you—God, no, she can’t even think straight around you—but to hide by her teammates before she does something stupid. Her teammates notice her the moment she approaches, grinning as they watch her flustered expression.

“You see who just walked in, P?” Azzi teases, nudging her.

Paige groans, cheeks burning. “Don’t start.”

But they’re all laughing, and Ice is elbowing KK with a smirk. Nika, who’s been listening with a barely disguised grin, rolls her eyes. “Okay, this is ridiculous. You’ve had a crush on this girl since, like, forever. Go talk to her.”

“Are you kidding? I can’t. She’s—” Paige doesn’t even finish the sentence, glancing over her shoulder just in time to see you at the bar, waiting for your drink. She’d be lying if she said her confidence hadn’t evaporated the moment you walked in, looking like that.

“Girl boo,” KK sighs dramatically, before grabbing Paige’s wrist and dragging her toward the bar. Paige stumbles after her, mumbling weak protests, but KK is determined, practically hauling her across the crowded floor until they’re standing right next to you. KK orders a Sprite, leaning casually on the bar and glancing over at you with a grin. “Hey, girly pop! You cheer, right?”

You smile, looking more at Paige than at KK, and Paige’s heart thuds against her ribs. “Yeah, I do,” you say, introducing yourself and holding out a hand to KK, but your gaze flickers right back to Paige, who’s half-hiding behind her friend, cheeks pink and looking slightly caught. “Hi, Paige.”

Paige’s voice comes out a little sheepish. “Hey.”

KK smirks, clearly satisfied, and gives Paige a quick wink before excusing herself, leaving Paige standing there alone with you.

There’s a beat of awkward silence as Paige shifts on her feet, trying to keep herself from looking like an idiot, which is hard considering how aware she is of every single thing about you—your posture, your smile, the way you’re leaning in just close enough that she can catch a faint hint of your perfume.

“So,” Paige says, trying for casual. “You glad you came?”

You tilt your head, your lips quirking up. “Hmm, not sure yet. I’m not too impressed so far.”

She nods, stifling a wince, feeling more awkward than she can ever remember. And yet, her mind’s racing, urging her to just go for it, because this is her moment. She’s Paige Bueckers—she’s supposed to be confident. She always is. Besides, if you’re not interested, at least she’ll know. And if you are…

She hesitates, then swallows, trying to keep her voice steady as she says, “Um… can I buy you a drink?”

There’s a flicker of something in your eyes—maybe amusement, maybe surprise—and she’s mentally bracing herself for you to say no when you glance at the bar and say, “Actually, I just ordered one.” Her heart sinks a little, but she forces a smile, trying to play it off. Of course you’re not interested; she should have known better—

Then you’re leaning closer, nudging her elbow with yours, and you smirk, your voice soft and playful. “But you can buy my next one, if you want.”

Paige’s brain short-circuits as your words settle in, her mouth going dry as she realizes what you just said. “Uh, y-yeah, totally,” she manages, trying to keep from looking as giddy as she feels. “I…I’d love to.”

Your smirk turns into a grin, and you’re looking at her like she’s the only person in the room. She’s trying to come up with something smooth to say when, suddenly, one of your friends pops ups beside you and Paige, tugging on your arm, pulling you off the barstool and towards the crowd with a teasing, “Come on!”

Paige opens her mouth to protest, but before she knows it, you’re being swallowed up into the throng of people—not before you send her a quick, apologetic look over your shoulder, your friend still dragging you. Paige frowns, a little disappointed, but quickly catches herself. It’s fine, she thinks, though a twinge of regret lingers. She pushes it aside, grabbing her drink from the bar and returning back to her table, telling herself to focus on celebrating. She’s finally back on the court, and after such a long, difficult recovery, tonight is meant to be about unwinding. So she does, letting her team hype her up as they cheer and clink their drinks in her honor, pulling her deeper into the night.

As the time passes, Paige’s frustration eases, replaced by a warm buzz that dulls everything except the elation of being surrounded by her friends. But even as she sips her drink, she can’t help but think about where you’ve disappeared to, if you’re still here, still laughing with your friends somewhere across the bar. She finds herself scanning the crowd more than once, looking for a glimpse of you. She tries to push it down, laugh it off with another round, but every time she looks around, her gaze seems to search for you.

Eventually, the heat of the crowded bar gets to her. She feels flushed, dizzy from the alcohol and the mass of people, so she slips out the back door for some air. The cool breeze hits her face, and she closes her eyes for a second, sighing as the sounds of the bar fade behind her. She barely has a moment to herself before she notices a figure sitting just a few feet away.

It’s you, sitting on the curb, looking down at your hands as if lost in thought. Paige blinks, unsure if she’s seeing things. But then you look up at the sound of the door closing and smile, that familiar, gentle smile that makes her heart stutter. You seem just as surprised to see her, but your expression softens, like you’re genuinely happy she’s there. And that’s all the encouragement Paige needs.

“You care if I join?” she asks, trying to sound casual, even though her heart’s racing.

“Not at all,” you reply, and she takes a seat beside you, a bit closer than she planned. She feels your warmth even in the night air, and it makes her head spin in a way she can’t blame on the alcohol.

There’s a pause, a comfortable silence stretching between you. Paige watches as you draw patterns in the gravel with your fingers, the lights from the bar casting a soft glow over your face. She swallows, summoning up the nerve to say something—anything that might keep you sitting here with her.

“Why you out here?” she starts, genuinely curious.

You shrug, glancing back toward the bar. “Got a little claustrophobic in there,” you say, voice soft.

“Yeah… me too,” Paige nods, grateful for the fresh air and this quiet moment with you. The silence returns, but this time, it’s charged, heavy with something she can’t quite put into words.

Finally, Paige finds her voice again, her words slipping out before she can think them over. “You’re a good cheerleader, y’know. You do all those flips and shit—it’s impressive.”

You let out a small laugh, looking away for a second as if flattered. Paige is almost certain she sees a faint blush on your cheeks, and the sight makes her smile a little, lips curving upward. “Didn’t know you really paid attention to the cheerleaders,” you respond, teasing.

Paige scoffs, shrugging as if it isn’t a big deal, even though she feels like she’s been caught in some sort of confession—which, she kinda has. “Well, I did sit out for a year, so… I had to find something to watch.”

You tilt your head, smirking as you ask, “So you chose to watch me?”

Paige’s cheeks warm, and she silently thanks the alcohol for the courage that lets her meet your gaze. “Yeah,” she murmurs, watching as you look away, biting your lip as if trying to hide a smile. The sight makes her heart skip in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

After a moment, Paige adds, “I think we… had a class together, couple years ago?”

You nod, eyes lighting up at the memory. “Yeah, we did. Sociology, right?” you reaffirm, nodding in tandem with her. “’M surprised you remember that—you always seemed so disinterested.”

Paige nearly blanches, genuinely surprised you’d noticed her too. She didn’t think you’d have remembered her, much less noticed her back then. The notion gives her some of her usual confidence beck and she manages a chuckle, shaking her head and tilting it slightly toward you as she murmurs, “Ah, so you were watching me too, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you as you nudge her shoulder. “Shut up,” you mutter, but the blush on your face doesn’t go unnoticed.

There’s another pause, the two of you sitting side by side in the quiet, both of you lingering on the edge of something unsaid. Finally, you break the silence, voice soft and hesitant. “How come you never said anything before?”

Paige swallows, the question catching her off guard. She doesn’t know how to answer without giving herself away, without admitting the way her stomach twists every time she sees you around campus. So instead, she asks, turning the question back on you, “How come you never did?”

You don’t seem to mind that she didn’t really give you an answer. Instead, you just shrug, looking down at your hands. “I don’t know… you make me kinda nervous.”

The confession makes Paige’s heart alight, feeling like it’s on fire and might spread throughout her whole body. She’s used to people being in awe of her for basketball, for her skills on the court. But hearing you say that you feel that way too, like she’s someone more than just her reputation, shakes her. Besides, you’ve always seemed so incredibly at ease around her, never even bothering to look her way. So, almost incredulously, she asks, “Why?”

You scoff, looking at her like she’s missing something obvious. “Um, because you’re Paige Bueckers. Basketball prodigy, campus celebrity.” You raise your eyebrows at her. “I think most people would be.”

Paige feels a rush of warmth at your words, the way you say her name like it means something special. She searches your face, feeling the air grow thick around you, heavy with something she couldn’t quite name. And maybe it’s the alcohol in her system, maybe it’s the way you’re looking at her like she’s somehow both intimidating and endearing at the same time, but she’s feeling bold. Bold enough to keep this conversation going, to see where this moment might lead.

She clears her throat, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Well, if it helps… you make me nervous.”

You laugh, a little breathless, clearly surprised. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” Paige insists. “You ain’t see the way I stuttered around you earlier? Ion know, ma, you just kinda fuck with my head.”

She watches, grin widening, as you blush at her words, the color blooming across your cheeks. It’s addictive, seeing you react like that—because of her. She doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when you ask, gaze set out in front of you instead of on her, “Why would I fuck with your head?”

It’s a good question, one Paige asked herself for a long time. It never took her long to figure out the answer. Though, she’s a little nervous to explain herself.

And she gets even more nervous when your gaze slides back onto hers, your head turning towards her. Paige’s smile falters, just slightly, at the eye contact. It’s intense, the kind that feels like it’s holding the world still for a second. Paige’s heart is a drum in her chest, each beat vibrating through her veins. Her eyes slide across your face, your features, tracing the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the faint shimmer glitter swiped along your eyelids. She catalogues every detail as if she’s never going to get this close again—a very real possibility if she doesn’t up her game.

Finally, she leans in—just slightly—her voice low and steady as she answers you. “You got this positive energy that makes you just… stand out in front of a crowd. Big smile. Bright eyes. Mm, I just… like seeing that in people.”

The words settle in the space between you, warm and lingering. Paige hesitates, letting them wrap around you both before adding, her voice dipping lower, her boldness shooting upward, “And it doesn’t help that you’re too beautiful for your own good.”

You blush deeper this time, cheeks tinted more red than pink, and it makes Paige’s heart skip. She can’t help the way her lips twitch into a grin. She’s waited so long to see this—see you flustered because of her. It’s everything she imagined and more.

“Stop,” you protest, fighting a smile as you push at her hands, your tone not carrying any weight behind the word. Paige just laughs, soft and easy, catching your hand in hers before you can pull away. She lifts it slightly, letting her thumb brush over your knuckles as she murmurs, “Nah, really.”

It’s then that the air changes—shifting into something heavier. The space between the two of you is practically nonexistent at this point, your sides tucked right into each other. You’re staring at one another, and Paige can’t help it when her gaze flickers down to your lips, just for a second. But it turns out to be enough. Because then she sees your eyes dart to her mouth in return, lingering there. And that’s when Paige knows.

Still holding your hand, she locks her gaze on yours, her voice firm but soft when she repeats, “Really.”

It’s like that word unlocks something between you because suddenly you’re leaning in, and Paige is doing the same, her breath catching the moment your lips touch hers. It’s soft, tentative at first, like neither of you are quite sure if this is real. But then you press into her just slightly, and Paige swears the whole world tilts on its axis.

The kiss deepens, slow but deliberate, and Paige feels her whole body light up. Your lips are warm, soft, and you taste faintly of tequila and strawberry chapstick. It’s intoxicating, the way you move against her, gentle but with enough purpose to make her head spin. Paige’s hand slides up to cradle your jaw, her thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

Your fingers grab at her bicep, holding on like you don’t want to let go, and it sends a thrill through her. Paige’s lips part slightly, and when you follow, letting her slip her tongue into your mouth, it’s like a fire ignites somewhere deep inside her. The kiss isn’t frantic or messy—it’s unhurried, like the two of you have all the time in the world to explore this. She can feel the heat of your skin where her hand cups your face, and she wants to memorize every second, every sensation.

The way you tilt your head just a little, giving her more access, nearly undoes her. Paige tilts her own in response, deepening the kiss further, her fingers slipping from your jaw to the back of your neck. The touch is light, almost reverent, but the closeness makes her heart race.

Your other hand moves, grazing against her side before resting lightly on her hip. Paige’s stomach flips at the contact, her body leaning instinctively closer to yours. She swears she can feel the warmth of your breath between kisses, the subtle hitch when she nips at your bottom lip.

It’s slow, it’s sweet, but it’s intoxicating. Paige swears she’s never kissed anyone like this before, never felt this much just from simple lip-locking. When you pull back slightly—not breaking the kiss entirely, just catching your breath—she can’t help herself. She follows you instinctively, her mouth chasing yours in a way that feels both vulnerable and utterly fearless. You allow her to, tongues half entwined between your swollen lips.

When you finally part, Paige keeps close, her forehead gently pressing against yours, her hand still cradling your neck. Neither of you moves far, the space between you so small your breaths still mingle, soft and warm against each other’s lips. Paige’s eyes flutter open, but she doesn’t look away from you, her gaze locked on yours like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—which, right now, you might as well be.

Her voice comes out lower than she intends, husky and laced with something she can’t quite hide as she murmurs, “You gonna let me buy you that drink now?”

Your lips curve into a slow, easy grin, and Paige feels her chest tighten, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of it. You’re so close she can see the faint glimmer of mischief in your eyes, the way they soften as you look at her.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice soft but sure, “I’d like that.”

The way you say it, the way your smile widens just slightly after, makes Paige’s heart race all over again. She can’t help the small, satisfied smile that spreads across her face. Paige leans back just enough to take in the sight of you—your flushed cheeks, the way your hair’s slightly mussed, and that lingering, breathtaking smile she knows will haunt her in the best way.

“Good,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing your jaw lightly one last time before she pulls away completely, standing up and offering you her hand. When you take it, she holds on a little longer than necessary, leading you back into the bar, already planning how she’s going to keep you smiling for the rest of the night—and, hopefully, much longer afterwards.

[littlcdarlin]

let you wash all over me

summary: you spend a well earned day of rest at a lake with Joel, away from Jackson and your responsibilities. warnings: age gap (unspecified), my attempt at southern slang, unprotected p in v, I'm too tired to tag this properly but it's mellow and sweet

note: for the lovely anon who requested this – I hope it's what you imagined <3 inspired by Ethel Cain's Family Tree

"C’mon, sweetheart, gotta get there early."

You don’t argue with Joel, because you know he’s doing this for you – well, and for Tommy. You haven’t been in Jackson long, and with summer on the brink of arriving this trip is long overdue. So you let Joel help you onto the back of the horse and run your fingers through its satiny fur, so white in the rising morning sun it almost hurts your eyes. Joel hands you a backpack and you put it on, then scooch to make room for him. Perhaps another day he will teach you how to ride, too, so you don’t have to burden the poor animal with both your weights in this heat.

The sound of the hooves on the soil is soothing as Joel guides the mare trough the woods with steady hands. You’re both quiet, not because there’s nothing to talk about, but because that’s the sort of effect these morning hours always have – everything is waking up, still sluggish from the dark, fresh and new. You close your eyes, the flecks of sunlight painting a mosaic of color on the insides of your eyelids, and rest your cheek against Joel’s back. Here, away from prying eyes and judgmental stares it’s easy as breathing, and from time to time you feel Joel’s fingers ghost over your knee, as if to check you haven’t fallen off.

It’s still cool enough to enjoy the ride, the breeze and shade of the trees offering solace from the heat. You sleep with your windows wide open each night to let the house cool down. You get to do that now. It took a while to sink in, but after a couple of months you didn’t fear the immediate outside anymore, only what lies behind the wall. But even now, even outside of Jackson, you can’t bring yourself to be afraid, not with your arms wrapped so tightly around the body you trust the most in the world. Perhaps you should be more alert, but there haven’t been a lot raider attacks recently. With the weather always comes an abundance of food, so even the most unfriendly of people in the woods don’t need to cause trouble right now. You’re protected by the seasons, at least until this new luxury of food practically running right into your mouths loses its effect. They’ll want something again, weaponry for instance, but if you’re lucky you get to spend this day with Joel in peace.

You press a kiss against his plaid-covered back, hear him hum contentedly in response. Even grumpy Joel Miller melts a little bit in the sunshine. You smile to yourself, open your eyes again and watch the blackbirds in the trees, singing to announce the start of a new day that doesn’t include a fight for survival.

"I’m happy," you whisper, aware that Joel can’t hear you over the sound of the woods. Your face is turned to his bad side, the one he always tilts just slightly away from you when you speak, so as to hear you better. Your happiness feels like a secret, like something you’re not entitled to in his world, but it’s real and glowing and warm and wears Joel’s scent and colors.

"Won’t take much longer now," Joel tells you, his voice softened by the peace of the past hour, and although you’re not particularly looking forward to learning how to fish, any time spent alone with Joel is precious to you.

He was right – after ten minutes you arrive at a little clearing and when you peer past Joel, you see the lake Tommy described to you, fed by a small river glittering in the sun. It’s so untouched by humans you feel almost guilty for disturbing it with your clumsy limbs and too loud voices. But when you slide off the horse, you spot a squirrel and its marble eyes are unafraid. You might be clumsy and human and loud, but you’re a part of this earth, however much humanity tried to rebel against it.

Joel guides the horse towards the lake, lets it drink languidly and ties it to a nearby tree so it can rest in the shadow. He pats its neck gently, a quiet thank you for getting you two here safely, and turns around to look at you.

"What?" he asks when he finds you already looking at him with a smile on your face.

"You like that horse."

Joel doesn’t seem embarrassed anymore when you notice these things about him, just turns towards the animal again and runs his big palm over its fur.

"Yeah, I do. I like you, don’t I? You’re a good girl," he mumbles, watching as the mare starts sniffing the ground in search of something edible. 

The two of you sit down by the lakeside for a couple of minutes and you get out your water bottle, offering it to Joel, but as always he lets you have the first sip. It’s not yet warm from the day as you let it run down your throat. Joel watches you quietly.

"You ready to fulfill your duty to Jackson?"

 At his question you shrug, eyes drifting over the lake.

"I’m not overly fond of hunting," you admit. Joel chuckles.

"You’re the only girl still alive who has a problem with killin’ animals."

He’s right and you know it makes you soft. But you just can’t imagine running an arrow through that squirrel you saw, not when animals are so much better than people these days. You aren’t above violence, wouldn’t be here if you were, but living in Jackson means you have the luxury of morals again, and you’d rather work in the greenhouses or kitchen than hunt or fish, though you you’d never turn down a hot meal. It might be hypocritical to eat but not want to kill them, but you don’t care. Joel’s hand finds your waist, and he presses a kiss to your temple.

"I like that about you, honey lamb."

That nickname he started calling you not too long ago, when your relationship turned into what it is now. It reminds you of where he’s from, his life in the south before the world turned cruel, and you know it takes a lot for him to bare that side of him so incidentally. You rest your forehead on his shoulder, inhale his sweat and soap, let him pull you close to him.

"How about we spend the day just swimmin’, hm?"

At that you look up and into his kind whiskey-eyes.

"Tommy would kill us."

"Ain’t no need for Tommy to know. I’ll take you again next week, tell him you need a bit more practice."

A whole day in the sunshine with Joel, swimming and eating the food he packed, without worrying about fishing or food or raiders or patrols. It seems too good to be true, but you won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, you press yours against Joel’s, his graying beard scratching your skin softly, and run your fingers through his hair.

"Alright, hoss."

Joel laughs, cups your face in his hands and kisses your forehead.

"Take off your clothes, then, little lady."

You raise an eyebrow, cheeks pulled taut with your smile, and Joel shakes his head.

"You got a dirty head on your shoulders. Can’t go swimmin’ in jeans, can you?"

"Can’t go swimming at all," you admit, "I don’t know how."

For a beat, Joel just stares at you. Then he gets up, joints cracking, and crosses his arms I front of his body.

"You tellin’ me nobody’s ever taught you how to swim?"

You shrug, then shake your head. Joel holds out his hand to you and pulls you to your feet.

"We can’t have that," he says decidedly, and runs his finger over your cheek. "Can’t have my girl drownin’ on me."

***

"Alright now. First thing, you ain’t gonna sink. I gotcha."

Joel’s hands are on your waist, you’re in the water to your bellybutton. It’s cold, but not cold enough to drown out the heat of his skin on yours.

"Don’t let me go," you mutter, your torso tense with anticipation, and Joel squeezes you just once.

"Not gonna let go, I promise. You don’t gotta trust the water if you trust me. Just ease on in, I’m here."

You breathe in and focus on the warm feeling for Joel you harbor in your chest, then let yourself sink into the water. It’s shallow, you know you could always touch the ground with your feet, and Joel’s hands hold you steadily, dependably. But suddenly something slimy touches your foot and you flinch, your arms and legs paddling wildly. Joel wraps a strong arm around your middle and pulls you towards him, until you’re upright again, your back against his front, though you won’t let your feet touch the ground.

"’S just a weed, sweetheart."

"It – it wrapped around my leg!"

"Might be a fish tryin’ to flirt."

The amusement is evident in his voice and you aim a kick at his shin, which earns you a rumbling laugh in response.

"Easy, baby, you’re okay. Ain’t nothin’ down there that wants a piece of you, I promise."

Slowly you extend your legs again until your toes dig into the soft sand. You breathe out shakily and Joel paints soothing circles into your skin with his thumb. You try again, now reassured that Joel will catch you if you panic, and this time you stay afloat for a couple of seconds with Joel still holding you securely.

"Good, that’s good. Now kick them legs, baby, and sweep your hands through the water. That’s it, easy does it."

It works – you’re moving through the water on your own, Joel still holding onto you and walking next to you, but more for reassurance than to help you stay afloat. It’s an exhilarating feeling to glide through the water like a fish, to trust that you will float.

"See? You got it."

He doesn’t let go just like he promised, and when you kick your legs towards the ground and turn towards him, he pulls you close to his naked chest. His eyes flicker downwards and he thumbs the strap of your bra.

"That thing turns see-through in the water," he informs you, his eyes light and twinkling with pride and something else.

"Does it now?" you breathe, legs still kicking with the effort of staying afloat. Joel hums, then pulls you up and towards him so you’re half lifted out of the water. His lips touch yours, and he tastes like lake water and sunshine and so distinctly like home. You melt against him, trust that he will hold you, and go still in his arms. Joel moves his mouth over your cheek to the point right below your earlobe, over your neck up to the soft part beneath your chin so you crane your neck for him.

"Wanna have you right here," he mutters, "give the fish something to talk about."

You chuckle, but his words barely register with how quickly Joel’s mood changed, how quickly he has you unravelling in his arms.

"Please," you mumble, and Joel moves his hand towards your crotch, pushes the fabric of your panties to the side, and runs his thick fingers through your folds. He prods at your entrance softly, rubs your clit lazily until you’re pliant and relaxed for him, then pushes two of his thick digits inside of you. You put your forehead on his shoulder and wrap your arms around his neck, panting into his wet skin. As always he’s slow with it, and for once you really are unhurried, even though it’s the middle of the day. Your fingernails dig into his neck when he curls his fingers against that spot inside of you, your wet chest pressing against his.

"There we go," Joel mumbles, working his fingers relentlessly until you barely register coming, your orgasm an easy flutter deep in your stomach. You whine when he slips his fingers out of you, and instead reaches inside his boxershorts.

"You ready to come like you oughta?"

"Yes," you answer breathily and feel him align himself with your entrance. There’s no slippery mess between your legs like usually, not while you’re in the water, but it only hurts for the first couple of seconds. He pushes into you slowly and you ease your hips towards him until he’s fully sheathed inside of you, letting you breathe for a moment. It’s quiet around you, the only sound the water whenever you move and the birds in the trees.

Joel fucks you slowly, and your eyes fall closed after a couple of thrusts, the sensation of the cooling water on your skin and his cock deep inside of you relaxing you completely. He’s soft with you, letting you go limp in his arms and doing almost all of the work, his hold on you secure.

"Hm, honey lamb? You gonna come for me again?"

His voice is so close to your ear you shudder and he presses a kiss to the shell, little groans floating right out of his mouth and into your ear.

"Yes," you moan softly, angling your hips as Joel’s thrusts hit your spot every time, and he reaches down to rub at your clit with one hand, holding you up with his other arm.

It doesn’t take you long, and you bite into his shoulder when you do.

"I love you," you mutter into his skin, and as always those three words are what gets Joel there. His hips stutter and he pumps his load deep inside of you, cock twitching and throbbing and not pulling out.

"I love you too, my darlin’."

***

The rest of the day you lie around on the sun-warmed flat rocks at the edge of the water, letting your underwear dry and Joel ogle you freely, not another soul in sight except for your horse. He feeds you slices of apple and bread, traces the little flecks of sunlight on your bare skin, kisses your eyelids when you drift off some time in the afternoon.

When you wake up again, he is swimming, his strong shoulders and legs moving through the water and exuding power the way a big cat does. You watch him dive, come up again and shake his head like a dog, then float on his back for a while. He’s enjoying this day just as much as you are, you can tell. Head of patrol, brother to Tommy, partner to you – he has got a lot of responsibility. You’re glad he gets this day to relax and in the quiet of the afternoon you think he might be humming to himself, though he’s too far away for you to be sure.

He gets out of the water when he notices you’re awake, dripping all over the rocks, and you shriek when he reaches you.

"No – no, Joel, I just dr-"

But he’s already on top of you, his full body weight pressing into yours the way you like it, and his lips find yours. Your protests are muffled and even though you shiver from the cold water, you melt under his mouth. He kisses you for what feels like hours, drags his mouth over your shoulders and collarbone down to your ribcage and stomach. You let him, close your eyes again and are half asleep when his mouth finds your core.

It’s not really about coming, more about closeness, as he sucks on your clit, your brain halfway between pleasure and sleep. It’s lazy, indulgent, slow. He nips at your inner thighs, spreads one big palm over your stomach. You sigh, and weave your fingers through his locks of hair.

When you’re done, he kisses you again, and you taste yourself on him, as he slowly pushes his tongue into your mouth. You spend ages like this, perhaps years or millennia, you aren’t sure.

"I love you," he mumbles into your mouth. "Gonna take you here every year."

You smile.

"Gonna tell Tommy I forgot how to fish each year?"

Joel hums and drags his nose over your neck.

"Gonna tell Tommy to fuck off and let me have a day with my girl."

You chuckle and kiss his cheek.

"Alright, hoss," you say again, just to hear him laugh at your impression of a southern girl.

"Alright, honey lamb," he answers.

[halfmoonaria]

not like this

pairing: tara carpenter & reader

summary: you knew tara could be cruel when she was drunk, but you didn’t know she could be this cruel.

wordcount: 9.5k

author’s note: i’m not the biggest fan of this one since i wrote it a while back, but i’m only posting because i haven’t posted in forever and feel really bad about it. my motivation is super low right now, so i don’t know what else to do.

Trauma changes people.

Everyone says that like it's obvious — like it's just something you're supposed to know, the way you know fire burns and knives cut.

But there's a difference between knowing something and watching it happen.

There's a difference between hearing the words and feeling them lodge somewhere deep inside you, where you can't ever really shake them loose.

You learned that earlier than most.

You learned it when you watched your dad fall apart after his mother died.

It didn't happen all at once.

There wasn't some big, cinematic moment where he dropped his coffee mug or broke down crying at the kitchen table.

It was quieter than that. Slower.

It was in the way he started coming home from work later and later, sitting out in the driveway with the engine running, like he couldn't make himself walk through the front door.

It was in the way he stopped laughing at the dumb TV shows you used to watch together.

Stopped making jokes under his breath while you did the dishes.

Stopped planning camping trips in the summer like he always used to, talking about them for months beforehand even though half the time you didn't even end up going.

It was like watching someone you loved slowly drift out to sea, farther and farther, until you couldn't hear them call back anymore.

And the worst part was, he didn't even seem to notice.

It was just the way life moved now.

Back then, you didn't have words for it.

You just knew it hurt in a way you couldn't explain.

That it made you feel small and helpless, standing there with empty hands, not knowing how to pull him back.

You told yourself it was something that only happened to adults.

That you'd never have to feel it happen again, at least not for a long time.

You were wrong.

Because then there was Tara.

And Woodsboro.

And everything that came after.

And you got to learn it all over again —how fast someone could slip away right in front of you, how loud silence could be when it started stretching between you, how a person could still look like themselves and feel like a stranger all at once.

Tara was still Tara.

She still laughed at stupid videos you showed her.

Still kicked her feet up onto your lap when you sat too close on the couch.

Still looked at you, sometimes, with a softness that made your chest ache.

But it was different now.

It lived in the small things, the sharp edges she hadn't had before.

The way she snapped at you when you asked if she was okay —quick, defensive, like you were accusing her of something she couldn't explain.

The way she pulled away from your touch on bad days, shaking you off without even meaning to.

The way she seemed to run hotter, angrier, like everything you said was one wrong word away from setting her off.

At first, you told yourself it was normal.

That it was part of healing.

That if you had gone through what she had, you might lash out too.

And besides, she always apologized.

Sometimes hours later, sometimes with her face buried in your shoulder, mumbling about how she didn't mean it, how it wasn't about you.

You always said it was fine.

You always said you understood — even when you didn't, not really.

Because what else could you say?

You loved her.

You were supposed to love her through the hard parts too, right?

And maybe it would've been okay.

Maybe it would've stayed manageable — just a few harsh words, a few apologies, a few moments you could both move past —if she hadn't found something else to lean on.

Something easier than talking about it.

Something that blurred the edges faster than time ever could.

Tara turned to drinking.

Not all at once — not enough for anyone to call it a problem in the beginning.

At first, it was just parties.

Just nights she said she needed to blow off steam, to feel normal, to feel young.

You never tried to stop her.

After everything she'd been through, she deserved a little normalcy, didn't she?

Even if it meant sitting alone in her room on Saturday nights, refreshing your phone every two minutes, staring at the door like it might swing open if you wished hard enough.

You stayed up for her.

Every time.

Sometimes until three, four in the morning — heart pounding louder with every hour she didn't call.

And when she finally stumbled back through the door, half-drunk and half-smiling, you were always there.

You'd help her out of her clothes when her fingers fumbled with the buttons.

Swap her jeans for soft pajama pants, pull the hoodie over her head when she couldn't get her arms through right.

You'd get her water, Advil, a trash can by the bed just in case.

You'd tuck her in like a child even when she swatted you away, mumbling rude, slurred things under her breath.

"You're so clingy."

"God, I'm not a baby, get off."

"Go take care of your own pathetic life for once."

You told yourself she didn't mean it.

That it was just the alcohol talking.

And maybe it was.

Maybe that was why it hurt so much and why you let it go all the same.

It stayed like that for a while.

Her out at parties.

You at home, waiting.

Until eventually, you started going with her.

It wasn't because she needed a babysitter — even though sometimes, when the drinks started kicking in and her patience started thinning, she made little comments about how it felt that way.

You didn't care.

You weren't there to control her.

You just wanted to make sure she was okay.

Make sure no one slipped something into her drink.

Make sure no one dragged her upstairs when she was too drunk to say no.

Make sure she made it home in one piece.

And maybe — though you wouldn't have admitted it even to yourself — you wanted to see for yourself how bad it was getting.

You wanted to believe it wasn't as bad as it sometimes sounded through the cracked speaker of a drunken 3 a.m. phone call.

You wanted to believe you still knew her.

That you could still reach her, even through the noise, even through the fog.

You wanted to believe you still knew her.

That you could still reach her, even through the noise, even through the fog.

But eventually, it stopped feeling like a phase.

It became a routine.

A pattern you could've mapped out with your eyes closed.

Every weekend — Friday or Saturday, sometimes both — there was another party.

Another friend's birthday, another "small get-together," another reason she had to go. HAD

It didn't matter if it was freezing cold or pouring rain or if she had an essay due at midnight — there was always an excuse.

Always a party just big enough, just loud enough, to drown everything else out.

And you always followed.

You didn't really drink, not like she did.

But you drank when she was watching.

You threw back shots with her while getting ready in your shared apartment, laughing a little too loudly, pretending it tasted better than it did.

You let her drag you into dance circles, let her shove plastic cups into your hands, let her kiss your mouth rough and messy when she was two beers in and her walls started to crumble.

You did everything you could to stay on her side.

To keep the night easy, to keep her smiling — or at least not snapping.

But it didn't always work.

It never always worked.

There were nights she got mad over nothing.

Nights where you said the wrong thing — like asking if she wanted to slow down, or if she needed water — and she'd look at you like you ruined everything.

"Stop treating me like a kid."

"If you don't like it, leave."

"You're such a fucking buzzkill sometimes, you know that?"

You got used to smoothing things over.

To pretending you didn't hear it.

To laughing it off when people looked at you strangely, wondering why you weren't leaving, why you weren't fighting back.

Because it was just the alcohol.

It wasn't really her.

It wasn't really Tara.

And if you stayed long enough, if you held on tight enough, you kept thinking maybe the girl you fell in love with would come back.

You told yourself that again when another party came up.

Tara had brought it up a few days before — casually, like it was just another night, just another plan you were supposed to nod along to.

You tried, for once, not to.

You tried everything you could think of to stop her from going.

You suggested a movie night — said you could pick up snacks, pull the couch cushions onto the floor like you used to.

You threw out other ideas too, desperate and a little frantic by the end — ordering takeout from that Chinese place she loved, playing Mario Kart until sunrise, even just staying in bed and doing nothing together.

But she barely even listened.

Brushed it all off with a quick shrug and a mumbled, "We can do that tomorrow," like it was no big deal.

But you knew better.

Tomorrow, she'd be too hungover to even smile at you properly, let alone spend a whole night tangled up under a blanket.

And next week, there'd just be another party.

Another excuse.

Another night of standing in the corner of some stranger's living room, pretending not to notice the way she slipped further and further away from you.

Still, you agreed to go with her.

Not because she asked — because she never asked.

You asked her.

You asked if she wanted you to come.

And she gave the kind of shrug that said she didn't care either way.

The kind that hurt more than any no could have.

But you told yourself it was better to be there than not.

Better to be part of the wreckage than left behind by it.

So now you were sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her get ready.

The room around you was dim, lit mostly by the soft orange glow of the lamp on her nightstand.

Her speaker sat on the dresser, humming low with some song you didn't recognize — fast and heavy, the kind of beat that was meant to make you move.

It buzzed in the walls, in the floor, under your skin.

You tried not to let it get to you.

Tara moved through the room like she always did — quick, focused, pulling open drawers and tossing clothes onto the bed beside you without a second thought.

She was still sober, close to it at least.

You could tell by the way she didn't sway when she bent to dig through the bottom drawer, by the way her hands didn't fumble with the buttons on her jeans.

It was one small thing.

One small reason to breathe a little easier, even if the knot in your stomach didn't loosen much.

You sat quietly, your fingers fidgeting in your lap, picking absently at the frayed edge of your jeans.

The thread unraveled a little more each time you twisted it between your fingers, but you couldn't make yourself stop.

It was something to do.

Something to keep you from staring too obviously at her.

Something to keep you from saying something too early, before the night had even started.

Tara barely glanced at you at first — just kept moving, pulling a black top out from the pile and holding it up against herself, then tossing it back with a small frown.

She was beautiful, even when she was annoyed.

Even when she was somewhere else, already halfway gone in her head.

You watched her carefully, almost nervously, feeling every second stretch out between you like a thread pulled too tight.

The air in the room felt heavier with every song that bled through the speaker.

It didn't matter that she hadn't had anything to drink yet.

It didn't matter that she hadn't snapped at you yet.

The night already felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

Maybe she felt it too.

Because after a few minutes, she finally broke the silence — her voice just loud enough to be heard over the thumping bass.

"You don't have to come if you're too nervous you know."

It was so casual you almost didn't catch the weight of it.

Almost.

You looked up at her — still bent over the dresser, not even facing you fully — and felt something sink low in your chest.

Nervous.

That's what she thought this was.

Like you hadn't been doing this — following her into party after party, night after night — for months now.

Like you hadn't seen her at her worst and still chosen to stay anyway.

You swallowed it down.

Forced a soft laugh, one you hoped sounded real enough, and leaned back on your palms to make it seem like you were relaxed.

"I'm not nervous," you said lightly.

"I've been to, like, a million of these with you."

You smiled, even if it felt tight.

Even if you hated that you had to reassure her — hated that somewhere along the line, it had become your job to make her feel okay about all of this.

Tara didn't turn around.

She just gave a short, breathy laugh — more a puff of air than anything else — and muttered, "Right."

The word was so soft you almost missed the way it caught in the back of her throat.

Almost.

It wasn't sharp, wasn't said cruelly, but it still sat wrong between you.

Still made something cold settle low in your stomach.

You didn't know what to say after that.

So you didn't say anything at all.

Just went back to picking at the thread on your jeans, pulling it tighter and tighter until it finally snapped off between your fingers.

The way she walked a few steps ahead without looking back.

The way her arms stayed crossed even when the wind picked up, even when you hurried to catch up beside her.

It was obvious she didn't even want you to come.

Maybe she hadn't said it out loud — she never did — but you could feel it all the same.

You knew her too well not to.

You could guarantee that if you stopped right now, if you said you'd changed your mind — that you were going home instead — she wouldn't fight you on it.

She wouldn't ask you to stay.

She wouldn't even frown or argue or try to pretend she was disappointed.

No.

She would just shrug, maybe toss out a lazy "whatever," and keep walking.

And if you stayed frozen long enough, you'd catch it — the tiny, satisfied smile she wouldn't be able to hide fast enough.

Because the truth was...

she didn't want you there.

Not tonight.

Not any night, lately.

She didn't want you hovering close while she drank, didn't want you keeping count of her shots or pulling her back when she started getting sloppy.

She didn't want you slowing her down.

And if you were honest with yourself — really honest — a part of you wished you had just gone home.

Wished you'd turned around at the corner and let her go by herself.

Because Tara was already in a mood.

You could feel it radiating off her even without a word.

That restless, tight energy she got sometimes — like she was vibrating under her skin, like she was already looking for a fight she hadn't even picked yet.

Her jaw was set, her hands jammed deep into her jacket pockets, her steps quick and clipped against the pavement.

Every once in a while she'd kick a stray rock a little too hard out of her way, muttering something you couldn't catch under her breath.

You knew that mood.

You'd lived through it enough times now to recognize the signs.

And you knew exactly what was waiting for you at the end of this walk —loud music, cheap drinks, too many people.

And Tara, disappearing from you one shot at a time.

The party wasn't far — maybe just a few blocks away — but every step felt heavier.

Like it wasn't your feet carrying you forward, but something else.

Something stupid and stubborn and hopeful in you that refused to let go.

You kept your head down, letting Tara lead, letting the night swallow the distance between you.

You kept your head down, letting Tara lead, letting the night swallow the distance between you.

Five minutes later, you reached the house.

It looked the same as every other party house you'd been dragged to — sagging front porch packed with people, music already thudding loud enough to rattle the cracked windows, a warm, sticky breeze carrying the sour mix of spilled beer, weed, and sweat across the sidewalk.

There were bodies everywhere — clustered on the lawn, perched on the porch railing, slumped together on the front steps.

Someone you didn't recognize was throwing up in the bushes by the door, and nobody even spared them a glance.

You almost lost Tara before you even made it inside.

The second her feet hit the porch, she was pulled into a wave of greetings — people calling her name, pulling her into hugs, laughing too loud in her ear.

You recognized some of them — people who seemed to float through every party, like they lived there — but most were still strangers to you.

You stuck as close as you could, half a step behind Tara's shoulder, weaving through the crush of bodies like you were tied to her by an invisible thread.

It was too loud to say anything, and even if you could, you weren't sure she'd hear you.

Or listen.

The house was even worse inside.

The second the door swung open, you were hit by a wave of heat and noise.

The living room was crammed wall to wall with people — some dancing, some drinking, some leaning into each other like they didn't even notice the crowd around them.

Someone was making out against the stair banister like they hadn't even tried to find a bedroom.

A guy you vaguely recognized from one of Tara's classes was chugging straight from a vodka bottle, surrounded by a circle of people egging him on.

It was chaos.

The kind of chaos you knew Tara loved now — the kind where nobody was looking too closely at anyone else.

Where you could be sloppy and stupid and reckless, and it would all just blend into the noise.

You barely had time to register it all before Tara was moving again, cutting a path through the crowd without looking back.

You followed quickly, your hand brushing her jacket once but she didn't slow down.

She made a beeline for the first drink table she could find — a battered folding table sagging under the weight of cheap liquor bottles, red Solo cups, half-empty mixers, and sticky puddles of spilled drinks.

Without hesitating, she grabbed a cup, sloshed something dark into it, and knocked it back in seconds.

No flinch, no wince.

Like water.

She poured herself another one immediately, barely glancing at what she was mixing.

Then, almost as an afterthought, she filled a second cup and shoved it toward you.

You took it without thinking.

Without looking.

Because that's just what you did now — you took whatever she handed you and told yourself it was fine.

You tightened your fingers around the sticky plastic cup and forced a smile you knew she wouldn't even see.

From there, it all just spiraled.

Tara barely slowed down, drink after drink, shot after shot, the line between sober and gone blurring faster than you could even try to keep up.

At one point, you thought you saw her lean into someone — a guy you didn't recognize — laughing too hard at something he said, her hand steadying herself on his shoulder while she tipped back another shot he offered.

Another moment, you caught a glimpse of her slipping outside onto the porch, and when she came back, you were almost certain you could smell the sharp, skunky edge of weed clinging to her jacket.

You were pretty sure you even caught her taking a drag from someone's joint, eyes glassy, smile too wide.

And the worst part was — you didn't even try to stop her.

You didn't know how anymore.

Every time you opened your mouth, the words died somewhere between your throat and your tongue.

The fear of saying the wrong thing — of setting her off — was enough to glue your feet to the sticky floor, to wrap invisible hands around your voice and keep it trapped there.

So you just watched.

You watched her slip further away from you with every laugh that wasn't meant for you, every drink slammed back without a second thought, every careless, reckless moment she chose to chase instead of you.

You followed her around the house like a shadow, cup still clutched in your hand, pretending you were part of it.

Pretending you belonged there the way she did now.

And every time you thought about grabbing her wrist, pulling her aside, saying something —

You remembered the look she'd given you the last time you'd tried.

Sharp. Embarrassed.

Like you were the one ruining the fun.

So you stayed quiet.

You stayed scared.

But eventually, you couldn't keep standing there doing nothing

You watched her tip another half-full bottle toward the red cup in her hand, wrist wobbling just slightly — and before you could even think it through, your legs were moving.

You weaved through the crowd, heart thudding against your ribs, until you were standing at her side.

She didn't even look at you at first — just kept pouring, humming off-key to the thudding bass rattling the walls.

You set your own cup down behind you, feeling the alcohol in your blood but still sharp enough to know you needed to do something.

You leaned in, kept your voice soft — calm, careful — like you were trying not to spook a wild animal.

"Hey," you said, your hand brushing lightly against her elbow. "Let's go get food or something. Yeah?"

For a second, you almost let yourself hope.

That maybe she'd hear the way you said it — not nagging, not accusing — just offering.

Just wanting to take care of her.

But Tara only exhaled a short, sharp breath through her nose and pulled her arm out of your reach.

"Stop being boring," she muttered, tossing her head back and swallowing half her cup in one go.

You blinked, feeling the words slap across your face harder than they should have.

Still, you tried again — a little gentler, a little closer.

"You're gonna feel like shit tomorrow, Tara," you said, managing a small laugh like you were trying to joke with her, not fight her.

She finally looked at you then — really looked — and you wished she hadn't.

Because there was nothing soft in her expression.

Just the flat, dull shine of anger she hadn't bothered to hide anymore.

"God, you're so fucking annoying sometimes," she said, loud enough that a few people nearby glanced over.

Your stomach twisted.

You opened your mouth — to defend yourself, to apologize, you didn't even know — but she was already turning away from you, already reaching for another drink like you weren't even there.

You stood there for a second, frozen, every instinct screaming at you to leave.

To just turn around, walk out the door, and save whatever was left of yourself before she could chip away at it even more.

But you didn't move.

You couldn't.

So you just picked your cup back up, and followed her deeper into the party — even as every step made you feel smaller.

So you just picked your cup back up and followed her deeper into the party — even as every step made you feel smaller.

Tara stumbled ahead of you through the crowd, barely bothering to look where she was going.

Every few steps, she bumped into someone — muttering a messy, half-slurred apology before moving on like nothing happened.

You kept close, close enough that if she tripped or fell, you'd be right there.

Because you knew her — you knew how quickly this could get bad.

You reminded yourself — over and over again — that you weren't here to babysit her.

You were here because you loved her.

Because you didn't trust anyone else to care if something happened to her.

Because you wanted her to be safe, even if she didn't make it easy.

You were threading your way through the crowd after her when she glanced back at you — her eyes, glassy and heavy-lidded, rolled so hard you could practically hear it.

"You're hovering," she said, voice raised just enough to be heard over the bass-heavy music, the words slurring together. "'M not a baby, y'know."

Before you could even get a word out, she turned back around — and stumbled straight into another girl, hitting her shoulder hard enough to spill part of the girl's drink.

You immediately stepped forward, instinct taking over.

"I'm so sorry," you blurted quickly to the girl, reaching out to steady Tara at the same time.

Tara swayed against you, unsteady and disoriented, and you kept your hands gentle on her arms, helping her straighten up without making a big deal out of it.

You could feel how hot her skin was, how tense she was under your touch.

But the second she was upright again, she shook you off with a frustrated little shrug, muttering under her breath, "M'fine."

You let go immediately.

The girl shot you a dirty look before disappearing back into the crowd.

You stayed standing there for a second, your heart pounding against your ribs, trying to pretend your hands weren't shaking.

You hated that this was getting normal.

You hated how much you still wanted to reach for her anyway.

You picked up Tara's cup from where she'd dropped it and followed her again — not because you didn't know better, but because you loved her too much not to.

She wove her way through the crowd, barely steady on her feet, until she finally ended up by the kitchen island.

It was cluttered with bottles and cans — some half-finished, some completely full, others abandoned and sticky from who knew how many hands.

The lights in the kitchen were a little brighter, but they only made it worse — made the glassy shine in Tara's eyes more obvious, made the deep flush along her cheekbones stand out like a warning.

She barely paused before grabbing for the first unopened beer she could find.

Her fingers fumbled over it, picking at the tab without finding the grip, squinting like the can itself was moving around just to mess with her.

You got there just in time.

Without thinking, you reached forward and slid it out of her hands.

Your fingers brushed against hers for a second — warm and clumsy and tense — before you backed off, the unopened can now sitting heavy in your palm.

Tara blinked at you, slow and confused, like she couldn't quite register what you were doing.

You gave her the smallest smile you could manage, trying to make it look like a joke.

"Maybe you've had enough of those for now," you said, voice gentle, almost teasing, like if you were soft enough she wouldn't get mad.

For a second — one fragile second — she just stared at you.

And you let yourself hope, stupidly, that she might laugh.

That she might roll her eyes and shove your shoulder and say fine, you're right, let's just chill for a bit.

But then she snorted — low and mean — and shoved a different cup off the counter into her hand instead.

"This one's half empty anyway," she muttered, already tipping it back.

You felt something pull tight in your chest.

You didn't say anything.

You didn't have to.

The ache in your chest said enough, clawing up higher with every passing second — because it wasn't just the drink anymore, wasn't just the party or the music or the noise.

It was her — this way she was standing there in front of you, swaying even though her feet weren't moving, like gravity itself had started working differently around her.

She blinked slow, heavy-lidded, barely catching herself before tilting too far to the side.

You watched her fingers slip a little on the plastic cup, her wrist buckling for just a second before she corrected it.

Her whole body was fighting to stay upright — and losing.

You could see it — how close she was to crumpling right there on the kitchen floor.

The kind of drunk where even the air seemed too heavy for her to hold up anymore.

You tightened your grip around the unopened beer still in your hand, your thumb digging so hard into the aluminum it left a shallow dent.

She'd definitely passed double digits.

You were sure of it.

And you didn't even want to think about whatever she'd smoked — some kid from her psych class had passed her a joint earlier in the night, and you had seen her tip her head back and take a deep drag without even asking what was in it.

It was more than any other night you'd ever tagged along.

More shots.

More drinks.

More everything.

And less of her.

Less of the girl who used to hold your hand under the table, who used to sneak kisses when no one was looking, who used to beg you not to leave her side for even five minutes.

You swallowed hard against the lump rising in your throat.

You shifted on your feet, chewing the inside of your cheek, then leaned a little closer to her — careful, like she was a skittish animal you didn't want to scare off.

"Hey," you said, keeping your voice soft, too soft to even carry over the music without you practically whispering it into her ear. "Maybe we should go home? It's past midnight."

It wasn't.

You weren't even sure it was eleven yet.

But you said it anyway, hoping she'd be too out of it to question it, hoping it would be enough to nudge her back toward the door without a fight.

For a second, she just blinked at you.

Long and slow, her pupils blown so wide you could barely see the brown anymore.

Her lips parted a little, her breath hot with the smell of cheap vodka and something sour you didn't want to think about.

And you could see it happening — the way the words you said hit her ears but didn't seem to land in her brain right away.

Like there was a delay between hearing and understanding.

You held your breath, waiting for something.

Anything.

Then she snorted — sharp and humorless — and tipped the cup in her hand dangerously toward her own chest before she caught herself.

"You're such a... a buzzkill, y'know that?" she muttered, voice slurring so badly you almost didn't catch it all.

It didn't have the same sharpness it usually did when she snapped at you.

No real teeth behind it.

Just a tired, messy kind of bitterness, slipping out between heavy breaths and glassy eyes.

You flinched anyway.

You wanted to argue — wanted to tell her you weren't trying to kill her buzz, you were trying to keep her from collapsing in the middle of a stranger's kitchen — but you didn't.

You just nodded, once, tightly, and looked down at the sticky floor instead.

Because arguing with her like this didn't work.

Because no matter what you said, no matter how carefully you said it, she wouldn't hear you tonight.

She didn't want to hear you.

And the worst part — the part that burned the back of your throat worse than any shot ever could — was that you knew it.

___

An hour passed. Maybe longer.

You weren't really keeping track anymore.

At some point, you stopped trying to pull her away.

Not because you didn't care — but because it was obvious she wasn't going to listen.

Nothing you said tonight would change her mind.

If anything, you were only making her angrier.

You hadn't walked away, though.

You stayed close — close enough to catch her if she fell, close enough to step in if something went really wrong — but you gave up on asking her to leave. You didn't want to make a scene. You didn't want to embarrass her in front of everyone like she claimed you always did.

You just sat yourself down at a kitchen chair tucked against the wall and tried to make yourself as small as possible.

Your plastic cup was still half full in your hand. You weren't really drinking it — just letting it sit there, something to do with your hands, something to pretend made you blend in.

You leaned your head back against the wall behind you and watched the chaos unfold around the kitchen.

Someone spilled beer across the counter. Someone else was trying to make shots out of whatever was left in the half-empty bottles scattered across the floor.

A group of guys were yelling over a beer pong table. A couple was making out against the fridge like they didn't even know anyone else was there.

You caught glimpses of Tara now and then — always at the edge of the crowd, always laughing too loudly, always reaching for another drink.

Every time you spotted her, you felt the same sharp stab of worry — but you stayed where you were.

Hovering around her wasn't helping anything.

You just kept telling yourself that the sooner she burned herself out, the sooner you could finally take her home.

You just had to wait it out.

Stay close.

Be ready.

Still — it didn't stop that awful, restless feeling from gnawing at you.

The feeling that you were waiting for something bad to happen.

The feeling that you wouldn't be fast enough when it did.

You hadn't seen Tara in fifteen minutes. Maybe more.

The last glimpse you caught of her was her weaving into the throng of people toward the living room, laughing too loudly at something someone said, tipping her body too far into people's arms to stay upright.

You stayed put, your leg bouncing restlessly under the kitchen chair, heart thudding harder with every second she didn't reappear.

You tried not to let your mind run wild — but it did anyway.

You kept picturing her sprawled across a couch somewhere, half-conscious and surrounded by strangers who wouldn't think twice about taking advantage of someone who couldn't fight back.

You imagined her crumpled on the floor, passed out cold, while the whole party just stepped over her.

You twisted the cup in your hands until the plastic nearly split in half.

You hated being here.

You hated feeling like this — helpless and scared and absolutely useless.

You had told yourself there was no point trying to drag her home anymore, that it would only make her dig her heels in harder.

You had told yourself it was better to just wait her out. That the best thing you could do was stick close, stay alert, and get her home when she was finally too tired or sick to argue.

You had meant it when you said it.

You had believed it, for a little while.

But all that careful logic shattered the second you caught sight of her again.

You barely noticed her at first — just a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye, up near the staircase by the living room.

You turned your head — and your stomach dropped straight through the floor.

There she was.

Tara.

Clutching the railing for dear life as she tried to make it up the narrow stairs without falling over.

And right behind her — walking too close, smiling too much — was Chase.

You froze for half a second, the sound of the party collapsing into a dull roar in your ears.

Because you knew Chase.

Everybody knew Chase.

Your stomach dropped so fast you thought you might actually be sick.

You knew Chase — and Tara did too.

You were sure of it.

Sober, she would have known better than to even look at him.

But tonight... she probably couldn't even tell his face from anyone else's.

Tonight, she was drunk enough — desperate enough — to follow him wherever he led her.

And he was leading her upstairs.

Away from the noise.

Away from the crowd.

Away from anyone who might notice if something went wrong.

You didn't even realize you were moving until your chair screeched loudly across the kitchen floor.

You didn't stop to think.

You didn't care if you looked crazy.

You shoved through the crowd, heart hammering harder with every step, cutting between sweaty bodies and sloshing drinks without even an apology.

All you knew was that you had to get to her.

You had to stop her.

Because you could sit quietly through a lot of things.

You could take a lot of hurt.

But this — this was where you drew the line.

You loved her too much to just sit there and watch her ruin herself.

Not like this.

You shoved through the kitchen first — the thickest part of the crowd — brushing past sweaty shoulders and half-spilled drinks.

Someone cursed at you when you clipped their elbow, but you barely muttered out a rushed "sorry" before you were moving again.

You ducked under someone's arm where they leaned lazily against a doorframe, squeezed past a girl laughing so hard she doubled over without noticing you.

Your heart was thudding so hard you could barely hear the music anymore.

You could still see them — Tara and Chase — a few steps ahead, moving slower than you would have liked, but still moving.

Tara's hand was gripping the railing so tightly her knuckles looked white under the flashing party lights.

Chase stayed close behind her, one hand reaching out once to steady her lower back when she stumbled.

You grit your teeth and pushed harder through the bodies packed near the base of the stairs.

It was even worse there — people sitting on the steps, couples making out halfway up, guys shouting over the music to their friends leaning over the banister.

You caught the edge of someone's knee with your hip as you wedged past — mumbled another "sorry" without slowing down.

A guy sitting two steps up didn't move when you tapped his shoulder, so you just climbed over him instead, your hand bracing against the sticky wood of the banister.

Someone laughed behind you, but you didn't look back.

You couldn't afford to.

You made it halfway up before you glanced up again — and your heart stuttered.

Tara and Chase had just reached the top.

She wobbled hard to one side, nearly crashing into the wall, but Chase caught her and pulled her straight again — too close, too familiar — before nudging her down the hallway to the left.

And just like that, they were almost out of your sight.

Almost gone.

You didn't think.

You didn't care if you looked desperate.

You shoved through the last few people on the stairs, ignoring the annoyed looks, ignoring the guy who shouted after you when you stepped on his shoe.

You just pushed forward, one hand tight around the railing, the other practically dragging yourself up step after step.

Because whatever happened tonight — whatever Tara wanted to believe she could handle — you weren't going to let it happen like this.

You finally hit the landing, breathless and burning.

Your head whipped side to side, scanning the mess of people spilling out of open doors, leaning against walls, laughing too loud.

And then you saw her.

Tara.

At the end of the hall.

Chase's hand was pressed against her lower back, steering her clumsily toward a half-open bedroom door.

You knew it wasn't what it probably looked like to most people — the way Chase hovered too close, the way he kept glancing over his shoulder.

This wasn't about hooking up.

It wasn't about anything like that.

It was about something far worse.

Chase wasn't stupid.

And he wasn't harmless either.

Your heart jammed itself up into your throat as you watched him murmur something into Tara's ear — too quiet for anyone else to hear — and Tara, drunk and blinking slow, just nodded.

Already slipping out of reach.

You didn't think.

You just called her name.

"Tara!"

It came out sharper than you intended — loud enough to make a few people nearby turn their heads — but you didn't care.

Chase's head snapped toward you first — fast, alert — his eyes narrowing when he saw you marching down the hall.

Tara, slower, more sluggish, turned a beat after him.

And when her blurry gaze found yours, something almost sweet crossed her face — a lazy, drunken little smile tugging at her lips.

It almost made you stumble.

Almost made you forget why you were even there.

But then Chase's hand tightened on her arm.

And he tried to pull her faster through the door.

You didn't let him.

You crossed the distance in a handful of fast, heavy steps, not even caring how many people you shoved past, not caring who was staring.

You reached out — grabbed Tara's wrist firmly — and tugged her back toward you.

She stumbled a little from the force, her body tipping clumsily into your side.

You steadied her immediately, keeping a firm but gentle grip on her arm, feeling how boneless and unbalanced she was even standing still.

Chase scowled — muttered something under his breath you couldn't hear over the thudding bass.

But you didn't look at him.

You only looked at Tara — her flushed cheeks, her glassy eyes, the confusion pulling at her features.

"Come on," you said lowly, just for her.

"Let's go."

Tara frowned when you pulled her closer, her body going stiff under your hand.

Then, clumsily, she tried to twist herself free.

"No," she mumbled, slurring the word into two messy syllables.

"I'm—I'm fine," she added, blinking slowly like the hallway was spinning around her.

Before you could even respond, Chase's voice cut in — lazy and casual, like he thought this was all some stupid misunderstanding.

"Yeah, it's all good. Chill out a bit."

He had the audacity to laugh under his breath, like you were the problem.

Like you were being dramatic for not wanting Tara dragged off into some room where no one would be able to hear her.

You felt your jaw tighten, your fingers curling harder around Tara's wrist — but not enough to hurt her, never that — just enough to keep her close.

Just enough to tell her you weren't letting go.

You turned to Chase, heart pounding, every part of you burning hotter by the second.

And you didn't even think before spitting out, sharp and low,

"Why don't you just fuck off?"

That wiped the smirk off his face.

You didn't stop there.

"Go back to selling dime bags to high schoolers behind the gas station."

You tilted your head, smiling sweetly — all fake — as you added,

"Or does your probation officer have a curfew you're supposed to be following?"

Chase's mouth opened slightly — stunned for a second.

Then he shook his head with a bitter laugh and spat out,

"Fuck you."

He gave Tara one last glance — something dark and annoyed flashing across his face — before finally shoving his way past you, disappearing back down the hall.

You didn't even look after him.

Your hand was still on Tara's wrist, feeling her pulse fluttering unsteadily under your fingers.

Tara yanked her arm free from your grip with a sharp, stumbling pull.

You instinctively reached out again — not grabbing, just reacting — but she was already moving, her boots scuffing clumsily against the floorboards as she veered farther down the narrow hallway lined with bedroom doors.

You stood frozen for a second, your heart hammering.

Then, halfway to the end of the hall, Tara spun around.

Her hair was a mess around her face, her cheeks flushed and eyes dark with something angry and reckless.

For a second, the way she glared at you almost made her look sober — like she was choosing to hurt you.

"Why do you always have to ruin everything?" she bit out, her voice slurring slightly at the edges, betraying the drunken haze she was fighting to stay sharp through.

You stayed where you were, jaw tightening, breathing carefully through your nose.

You felt the headache already blooming between your temples — the kind that came from clenching your teeth too hard for too long.

You exhaled slowly, closing your eyes for a beat before opening them again.

Trying to stay calm. Trying not to make this worse.

"I'm not going to let you take drugs from Chase, Tara," you said — low, even, the words leaving your mouth heavier than you meant them to.

You saw it the second it flashed across her face — the sour, irritated twist in her features that always came when you tried to help her after she'd already decided she didn't want it.

It showed in the narrowing of her drunk, glassy eyes, in the stubborn jut of her chin as she swayed where she stood.

"Why do you even care what I do?" Tara slurred, her words spilling out loose and uneven.

At first, you didn't even register what she said.

It hit your ears all wrong — messy, half-swallowed — and you just blinked at her, the noise of the party downstairs buzzing distantly behind you.

"What?" you asked, stepping closer without even realizing it. "Why do I care?"

You said it back slowly, disbelievingly — like you needed her to hear how ridiculous it sounded coming out of your mouth.

The question itself felt like a mockery.

Like a slap to the face from someone you'd spent the whole night — the whole year — trying to protect.

It felt so backward, so ugly, so wrong that for a second you couldn't even summon an answer.

Tara was staring at you — leaning slightly to one side like she couldn't stay balanced, but her gaze still locked stubbornly on yours.

There was a sharpness to it, a meanness she didn't usually show you unless she was drunk enough to forget who you were to her.

And then she laughed under her breath — low and almost mean — and shrugged one sloppy shoulder.

"Yeah, why?" she said again, her voice heavier now, her mouth twisting into something cruel.

"It's not like you have anything better going for you anyway."

It stung — sharper and deeper than you ever should've let it.

You knew better.

She was drunk. She didn't mean it.

That was what you tried to tell yourself.

That was what you always tried to tell yourself when she got like this — mean and reckless, saying whatever would get her the quickest win in the moment. ALWAYS

But still, you felt yourself swallow hard, your throat dry and scratchy like you'd just been choked by the words instead of hearing them.

You shifted your weight, feeling suddenly too heavy, too full of everything you didn't know how to say.

You forced your voice out before you could stop yourself — low, a little shaky:

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The words barely made it over the thudding bass still leaking up from the party below.

You hated how small you sounded — how defensive — but you couldn't help it.

Not when she was looking at you like that.

Not when it felt like everything you'd spent the whole night trying to do for her was being twisted into something pathetic.

Tara just stood there, swaying slightly, her eyes glassy and unfocused — but she didn't take it back.

She didn't even blink.

Her mouth twisted — like even she had to think about it for a second before her brain caught up with her tongue.

And then she said it — carelessly, coldly.

"It means that nobody gave a shit about you before I got with you."

The words hung between you, so sharp and cutting you could almost hear them slicing through the haze of the hallway.

But she wasn't done — she stumbled a half-step closer, her boots dragging on the carpet, her balance off.

"If it wasn't for me," she slurred, "you wouldn't even have any friends. You wouldn't even be here. You wouldn't get to step a foot into parties like this."

Her voice pitched up slightly like she thought she was doing you a favor by saying it. Like she thought it was some obvious fact you needed reminding of.

And the way she wobbled toward you — arms loose at her sides, head lolling slightly — almost made it worse.

Because even like this, drunk and bitter and mean, she was still trying to square up to you.

Still trying to win something.

You just stood there — frozen — feeling the words sink in deeper with every heartbeat.

They settled somewhere heavy in your chest, in that small, bruised place you'd been trying to protect all night.

Because the thing was — you knew Tara.

You knew she could be cruel when she was like this. You knew she said shit she didn't mean.

But there was something about the way she said this — so casually, so easily — that made it feel less like a drunken mistake and more like some quiet truth she'd been sitting on.

Like maybe she'd thought it before.

Like maybe she'd meant it more than she even realized.

You didn't say anything at first.

You didn't trust yourself to.

Because what were you supposed to say? That it wasn't true? That you didn't care?

Both would've been lies, and she would've seen right through them.

Instead, you just blinked at her — feeling like the floor had dropped out under your feet — and swallowed against the rising lump in your throat.

You didn't cry.

You weren't going to give her that.

But God, you wanted to.

You started to shake your head — slowly at first, almost in disbelief — scrambling for something to say.

Something that would cut through this, that would make her see you.

"I don't—" you started, voice catching.

But Tara cut you off before you could even finish.

"I have stuff going for me, you know?" she snapped — the words messy, her tongue thick with alcohol but her voice still carrying sharpness underneath.

"I have... I have a future," she said, waving one hand vaguely toward nothing, as if it were something she could physically point to.

"Things I wanna do. Places I wanna go. People I could—" she cut herself off for half a second, her mouth pressing into a thin line before she forced it open again — "People I could be with if I wanted."

She wobbled a little where she stood, but it didn't stop her.

If anything, it just made the rambling worse — made her voice louder, made the bitterness drip out faster.

"But you're always there," she said, almost whining now. "Asking me things. Making everything harder than it has to be. Always hogging me. Always needing something."

Her hands moved again, clumsy and too fast for her body to catch up, like she was trying to bat away the invisible weight of you.

The words tumbled out of her like they had been waiting for the right drunken moment to spill — messy, ugly, half-truths stitched together by all the things she didn't have the decency to hold back anymore.

And you just stood there, taking it — blinking through the sting of it, feeling it dig in deeper with every slurred accusation.

Because even if she didn't mean it — even if you could excuse it later by blaming the alcohol — it didn't make it hurt any less right now.

You opened your mouth again, swallowing down the thickness in your throat, trying to get the words out — trying to tell her that she wasn't the only one with plans, that you had dreams too, that you weren't just—

"I have—" you started, voice low and shaking slightly.

But it was almost like she couldn't let you speak.

Like the sight of you standing there, trying so hard to explain yourself, only fueled the ugly, drunk thing curling in her chest.

She cut you off again — sharper this time, meaner somehow, even though her words were still sloppy and drunkenly stitched together.

"I guess it's understandable though," she slurred, shrugging one shoulder lazily. "I guess when you don't have anything going for you... you wanna hog someone who actually does."

She let out a breath of a laugh — a humorless, biting little sound that hit harder than if she'd screamed.

"You got nothing," she said, voice dropping lower now, almost confidential, almost cruel in the way drunken people could be without even realizing. NOTHING

"No future. No goals. No anything."

"It's like you don't have a future," she said, almost scoffing, throwing her hand out clumsily like she was tossing the words right at you.

"You don't have plans, or—or goals or dreams or whatever. You just... hang around."

Another humorless, broken little laugh.

"You just exist. That's it."

Your heart thudded painfully hard against your ribs.

Still, she didn't stop.

"I mean, what else would you even do?" she rambled, blinking at you like she genuinely didn't know.

"Without me, you'd be... you'd be no one. You'd be...

She trailed off into a sloppy shrug, shaking her head like the idea wasn't even worth finishing.

You stood there, your brain struggling to keep up — like every word out of her mouth was another sharp blow you couldn't defend yourself against fast enough.

You didn't even realize you were shaking until you looked down at your hands.

The world around you — the hallway, the faint noise of music and voices downstairs — faded into a low, meaningless roar.

You blinked hard, willing the sting in your eyes to back off.

You couldn't cry. Not here. Not now.

Not in front of her.

But it was too late.

Because even if she was drunk — even if you knew she wouldn't remember half of this tomorrow — it didn't change what she was saying.

It didn't change how easily she was tearing you apart, how little she seemed to care.

You sucked in a sharp breath through your nose, your chest tightening painfully.

And still — you couldn't find the words to say back.

Because what were you supposed to say to someone who looked at you like you were nothing?

Your mouth opened — you didn't even know what you were going to say — but what came out wasn't strong or sharp or anything you wished it would be.

It was small. Weak.

"That's not true," you said quietly, the words catching on the tight, burning knot in your throat.

But Tara just scoffed — a bitter, drunken sound that felt like another slap across the face.

She shook her head, messy hair falling into her eyes as she stumbled back a step.

"Yes, it is," she muttered, almost under her breath, like she couldn't even be bothered to argue it properly.

Like it was just an accepted fact. Like you were the delusional one for thinking otherwise.

You didn't move.

You just stood there, feeling everything inside you scream at once.

To yell back. To reach for her. To do something.

But before you could even try, Tara spoke again — and this time, she didn't mumble.

Her voice was louder, clearer, like she wanted you to hear this one.

"You're just... a leech," she said, her lip curling in something almost cruel.

"Always hanging on. Always needing something. It's pathetic."

For a second, you forgot how to breathe.

She didn't even seem to realize what she'd said — not really — just stood there, swaying slightly, her drunken glare still pinned lazily on you like she was waiting for you to snap back.

Waiting for you to make it a fight she could win.

But you didn't.

You just stared at her.

At the girl you loved.

The one you'd spent the entire night trying to protect.

The one who, right now, couldn't even see you clearly enough to know how much she was breaking you apart.

You felt your chest hollow out.

Something in you flickered — small, tired, defeated.

But you couldn't just accept it.

You couldn't let yourself believe she meant it — not really.

She was drunk.

Of course she didn't mean it.

Why would she? She was just drunk. She didn't know what she was saying.

You swallowed hard, your voice cracking under the weight of it all as you tried — almost panicked — to force the words out.

"You don't mean that," you said, your hands half-raising like you could somehow catch the words before they stuck.

"You're— you're drunk, Tara. You've had too much to drink."

You sounded desperate. Even you could hear it

Tara just blinked at you for a second, like she was trying to process what you said — like the world was tilting under her feet and she couldn't find her balance.

And then she let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

It scraped in your ears like nails on glass.

"So what?" she slurred out, her arms thrown out slightly at her sides.

"I'm always drunk. You think that makes it any less true?"

She was smiling — but it wasn't happy.

It was ugly.

Twisted with hurt and anger and something worse — something almost mean.

And for the first time that night, you realized:

It didn't matter if she was drunk.

It didn't matter if she was sober.

Right now, she wanted to hurt you.

And she was doing a damn good job.

A single blink — that was all it took.

When your eyes opened again, the first tear broke free, carving a hot, silent path down your cheek.

You sucked in a shaky breath, reaching up almost automatically, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Your hand trembled as you did it — barely, but enough.

Enough that Tara saw it.

And somehow — somehow — that was what made something shift.

It was like a crack split through her whole face.

The twisted, mocking smile she wore faltered.

And then it was just gone — like it had never been there at all.

Her drunken, glassy eyes widened slightly, and suddenly she didn't look angry anymore.

She didn't look smug or superior or mean.

She just looked... guilty.

Like she was waking up from a dream she hadn't even realized she was trapped inside.

Like she finally saw what she had done.

The hallway around you blurred at the edges.

Everything felt so quiet now — so much quieter than before.

You nodded slowly, almost absently, as everything she said sank in — like stones being dropped one after another into your chest, weighing you down until it hurt just to stand there.

The worst part wasn't even the words themselves.

It was how easily she said them.

Like they didn't matter.

Like you didn't matter.

Your throat burned as you turned around, blinking hard against the hot sting gathering behind your eyes.

You didn't wait for her to call after you — you didn't expect her to.

You just started walking.

One step, then another, and another — until you were far enough down the hallway that she was nothing but a shadow behind you.

It wasn't until then — until you knew she couldn't see you anymore — that the sob finally broke loose from your chest.

Silent, shaking, splintering you open from the inside out.

You kept walking anyway.

Because if you stopped — if you looked back even once — you weren't sure you'd be able to start again.

[womshame]

The Quiet Cage

Synopsis: When Y/N becomes the nanny to a widowed child, she slowly finds herself drawn into a life she never chose — one of quiet control, emotional dependency, and subtle isolation. As years pass, the lines between care, love, and possession blur beyond recognition. In Liam’s perfect home, escape is never violent — it’s simply… forgotten.

⸻

You never expected the job to change your life.

It was supposed to be a summer gig. Something temporary while you figured things out — while you tried to find purpose again after dropping out of grad school. The ad had been simple: “Single father seeking part-time nanny for weekday afternoons. Competitive pay. Must be kind, reliable, and patient.”

You sent your resume on a whim.

The next day, you received a response. A man named Liam Rivers invited you to his home for an interview. The address was in an affluent neighborhood you’d only seen from the bus window. You showed up in your nicest blouse, heart pounding, and were greeted by a tall man with neatly combed dark hair and tired green eyes.

“This is Noah,” he introduced his son, a quiet five-year-old who clung to his leg and peeked at you with wide, unsure eyes.

You crouched and smiled. “Hi, Noah. I’m Y/N. I like your dinosaur shirt.”

The boy’s face lit up.

And just like that, you were hired.

⸻

The first few weeks passed in a blur of puzzles, snack times, and storybooks. Noah was shy but sweet. He had a soft spot for plush toys and made you re-read The Very Hungry Caterpillar every evening before Liam came home.

Liam was always courteous. Soft-spoken. He thanked you religiously and paid you at the end of each week with crisp bills in a white envelope. You learned that he was a structural engineer, often working remotely but swamped with meetings and reports. His wife had died three years ago in a car accident, and since then, it had been just him and Noah.

He didn’t smile much, but when he did, it was sincere. Grounding. There was something magnetic about the quiet way he observed everything — how he watched you read to Noah from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.

You started staying late sometimes. Not because he asked — you just felt bad leaving when Noah begged for “five more minutes.”

“You don’t have to,” Liam said once, when you carried a sleeping Noah to his room after your shift ended.

“I don’t mind,” you replied.

He looked at you for a long time before nodding. “Thank you.”

⸻

By month two, you were spending more time in the house than your own apartment.

Liam had upgraded your hourly rate without you asking. He stocked the fridge with your favorite drinks. One night, when it stormed, he insisted you sleep in the guest room rather than risk driving home in the rain.

“It’s really okay,” you’d said.

“I’d feel better knowing you’re safe,” he replied.

You stayed.

The next morning, you woke to pancakes and Noah wrapped around your waist, babbling about how you should move in so you could always be there when he woke up. Liam didn’t laugh at his son’s comment — he just looked at you, thoughtful.

“I should be going,” you said, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“I packed you breakfast,” Liam said quietly. “It’s on the counter.”

⸻

It got harder to say no.

Liam never asked for much. But when he did, it felt less like a request and more like something inevitable — like gravity. You started skipping plans with your friends. They stopped inviting you out after a while, tired of the unanswered texts.

“You’re always with that kid,” one of them snapped over the phone.

You bit your lip. “He’s not just a kid. He needs me.”

“Liam has money,” your friend said. “He could hire a dozen nannies.”

But he hadn’t.

He’d hired you.

And when you canceled on dinner that Friday, he looked at you across the table — just the two of you, Noah already asleep — and said, “I know this might sound strange, but I feel like you were meant to be here.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Liam leaned forward. “You bring light into this house, Y/N. Into Noah’s life. Into mine.”

You flushed, unsure how to respond.

“You’re not just his nanny. You’re part of this family now.”

⸻

He started buying you things — little gifts at first. A necklace. A soft scarf. A new pair of flats when yours wore out.

You protested, but he shook his head. “You take care of us. Let me take care of you.”

He called it “us.” Like you belonged.

Noah clung to you constantly. He cried when you left, even if it was only for a few hours. Liam never stopped him.

“He’s sensitive,” he’d say. “And he loves you. You’re like a mother to him.”

That word caught in your chest.

Mother.

⸻

One evening, you told Liam you were considering going back to school part-time. You missed learning. Missed doing something.

His expression shifted, just slightly.

“You’d be gone a lot,” he said carefully.

“Not too much. I could still help in the evenings. Maybe weekends—”

“Noah wouldn’t understand.”

You paused. “He’d adjust.”

Liam’s jaw tensed. “He’s already lost his mother. If you pull away now, it’ll break him.”

The guilt hit you like a punch. “I’m not trying to leave him. I just—”

“I know,” he said softly. “You’re trying to grow. But just… think about it, okay? He needs stability. And so do you.”

⸻

He made sure you felt needed.

Every day brought some new crisis only you could solve. Noah wouldn’t eat unless you made his plate. He wouldn’t sleep unless you tucked him in. He cried when Liam tried to take over. Cried so hard that Liam stopped trying.

You felt tethered.

But that’s what families were, right?

⸻

One night, you found a framed photo of yourself on Liam’s desk.

It was candid — from last month, holding Noah at the park. You didn’t remember anyone taking it.

Your stomach twisted. When you asked, Liam said, “It helps me through the day. Reminds me what I’m working for.”

There was no malice in his tone. Just quiet reverence.

You should’ve been alarmed.

But you weren’t.

You were tired.

And no one else called anymore.

⸻

You stopped going home.

Eventually, it felt natural to sleep in the guest room. Then in Liam’s bed, after too much wine and not enough protest. He was gentle. Careful. Devoted.

You told yourself it was just temporary.

That lie unraveled when you woke to Noah crawling into bed beside you, wrapping an arm around your stomach.

“Morning, Mommy.”

You froze.

Liam just smiled.

⸻

He proposed a month later.

There was no ring. No grand gesture.

Just him, holding Noah’s hand, saying, “Let’s make this official.”

You stared at him. “Liam—”

“I know you’re scared,” he said. “But this isn’t new. We’ve already built a life together. This just makes it real.”

You wanted to say no. You tried to say no.

But Noah looked up at you with such hope.

And there was no one left to call.

⸻

The wedding was small. Just the three of you and a civil officer Liam knew through work.

You didn’t wear white.

That night, Liam whispered, “You saved us. I’ll never let anything take you away.”

⸻

You didn’t see the slow erasure of your old life until it was too late.

Your phone stopped working. Liam said he’d get it fixed — then never did. Your social media accounts vanished, “to protect your privacy.” You never renewed your driver’s license. Your bank card expired. He handled all the groceries now, all the bills. You hadn’t touched cash in months.

You were safe.

You were loved.

You were caged.

And the bars looked like bedtime stories and warm pancakes.

⸻

The last time you tried to leave, Noah screamed so hard he vomited. Liam held him while he cried, meeting your eyes over his shoulder with something cold and final.

“You’ve broken his heart,” he said.

You dropped your bag.

And never packed again.

⸻

Somewhere deep down, you knew you weren’t free.

But freedom had started to feel like a cruel thing — a sharp wind that would rip you from the only hands still holding on.

So you stayed.

You smiled.

You read the books.

You kissed the boy.

You let the man who loved you too much believe it was love at all.

And when he wrapped his arms around you at night, whispering, “We’re perfect now,”

you didn’t say a word.

Because maybe, just maybe, you were.

⸻

⸻

Five Years Later

The garden was in full bloom.

You stood barefoot in the grass, the morning dew cold against your skin as you clipped lavender stems into a basket. The sun hadn’t fully risen, casting a pale gold over the hedges Liam insisted on trimming himself every weekend. Everything in the yard was manicured, gentle, precise — like your life.

Inside the house, you could hear the faint clatter of dishes. Liam was making breakfast. He always did on Sundays. He said it was a ritual — something to keep the family grounded.

You didn’t argue.

Noah was twelve now. Tall for his age. Quiet, like his father. He rarely asked questions anymore — he didn’t need to. He already knew the rhythms of your days. He knew you’d be there when he woke up, that you’d pack his lunch just the way he liked it, that you’d be waiting at the gate after school, smile ready, heart carefully measured.

When you stepped back inside, Liam was at the stove.

He glanced over his shoulder. “There you are.”

You offered a faint smile. “Lavender was getting wild.”

He walked over and kissed your cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear like he always did. The basket slipped from your fingers onto the counter.

“I scheduled your dentist appointment,” he said casually. “And your prescription’s ready for pickup.”

You nodded, letting the words pass through you.

“You’ll take Noah this afternoon, right?” he asked, handing you your tea — perfect temperature, just the way you liked it.

“Yes.”

“I’ll be working late. Board meeting.”

“Okay.”

He looked at you then — truly looked at you. His gaze was still as intense as the day you met. Still that same fire, tempered now into something softer. Less volatile. But more permanent. Unshakable.

“You’re happy,” he said, not as a question.

You paused.

He set the tea down and took your face in his hands. “Aren’t you?”

The world held its breath.

And you said the only answer that made sense — the only answer that would keep the house standing, the boy safe, the garden blooming:

“Yes.”

His eyes softened.

He kissed you like a vow, like a claim, and when he pulled back, he whispered, “I knew you would be.”

⸻

Later that night, after dinner and dishes and stories read aloud in dim yellow light, you sat at the edge of your bed while Liam undressed beside you.

Outside, the wind moved through the trees. Peaceful. Controlled.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror — hair neatly braided, face unlined, voice long buried.

Somewhere far away, the version of you who once dreamed of cities and libraries and laughter was gone. Dismantled piece by piece and replaced by this: wife, mother, anchor. The perfect woman for a perfect world built entirely by someone else’s hands.

You crawled under the covers.

Liam pulled you close, kissed your forehead, and murmured, “Sleep, my love. You’re safe.”

And as your eyes drifted closed, you realized something terrifying.

You believed him.

⸻