#no pressure to like... do any of these!!!!

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Player of the match 1/3

Summary : She’s the most dominant player in women’s volleyball and media favorite known for her killer serves and perfectly styled hair. She’s also a massive Formula 1 fan. More specifically, an Oscar Piastri fan.

Oscar has no idea… until Lando shows him an interview of her revealing her crush.

Pairing : Oscar Piastri x volleyball player!reader

Genre : SMAU, fluff, request

Face claim : Duru Türknas (turkish volleyball player, go check her match)

Series : Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Main Masterlist

The fluorescent lights of the training center buzzed quietly overhead, muffled beneath the thuds of volleyballs smacking the hardwood floor and the high-pitched squeaks of sneakers. The Italian national women's volleyball team was deep into morning practice, but one player stood out not just for her precision, her spikes, or the way her serves danced just over the net with surgical accuracy but because every break, every pause, every moment not filled with drills became a chance for her to talk about Formula 1.

More specifically, to talk about Oscar Piastri.

"You should've seen his overtake in Jeddah. Absolute perfection. Like, it wasn't just the move, it was the confidence, the way he set it up three corners before," she gushed, stretching her arms as she bounced slightly on the balls of her feet.

Her teammates were already grinning. Giulia, the team's youngest member, snorted from the sidelines. "God, here we go again. You know we don’t watch the races just for Oscar like you do, right?"

Marianna, their captain, chimed in, holding back laughter. "You’ve got a folder of his interviews saved on your phone. And that TikTok you posted last night? You were literally lip-syncing to one of his press conferences."

She didn’t even try to deny it. Instead, she flashed a shameless grin, brushing a sweat-dampened strand of hair out of her eyes. "Okay, first of all, I wasn’t lip-syncing. I was appreciating his calm under pressure. There's a difference."

Marianna laughed, tossing her a towel. "You're obsessed."

"He's just, so good! And underrated! Everyone talks about Lando but Oscar's been quietly killing it this season. First in the championship, barely any mistakes..."

Giulia rolled her eyes playfully as she mimed stabbing herself in the heart. "Oscar Piastri, Oscar Piastri, Oscar Piastri. Girl, you’re in love."

She paused only for a second. Her cheeks were flushed, but that could have been from the sprint drills. Probably. "Shut up. I’m just a fan. A very informed, very passionate fan."

The teasing didn’t stop there.

During lunch, when the team piled into the dining hall at their training facility, She was once again scrolling through her F1-filled TikTok feed. Edits of Oscar: him pulling off his helmet, eyes sharp behind the visor; him laughing in press conferences; him walking through the paddock in his McLaren gear like he didn’t just ruin a field of world-class drivers an hour earlier.

She was mid-scroll when Giulia leaned over her shoulder. "You know, your For You page is, like, 90% Piastri content. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was your boyfriend."

She smirked. "I wish."

Later that week, after their victory against Brazil, she found herself at the press table alongside Marianna and Francesca, answering questions from a crowd of international journalists.

"You’ve had a phenomenal season so far," a reporter from the BBC said. "Aside from volleyball, are there any other sports you follow?"

She leaned into the mic with a quick smile. "Definitely Formula 1. I’ve been a fan since I was a kid. I try to watch every race, even if it means setting an alarm at three in the morning."

Francesca snorted quietly beside her.

"Who’s your favorite driver?" another reporter asked, voice tinged with amusement.

She smiled, trying to play it cool. "I think McLaren has an incredible lineup. Both drivers are insanely talented, and this season especially, they’ve been really exciting to watch."

"Especially Oscar," Marianna chimed in under her breath, but just loud enough for the microphones to pick up.

Her eyes widened. She shot Marianna a glare while the press room erupted in light laughter.

"He’s... he’s very composed," she said, clearing her throat. "I admire that."

"She means she has a massive crush on him," Francesca added, not missing a beat.

"That’s not, okay, I’m ending this conversation," she muttered, but the grin on her face gave it away.

Back in the locker room later, the teasing only got worse.

Francesca was the first to pounce. "'He’s very composed,'" she mimicked in a mock-serious tone, holding an imaginary mic. "Girl, you were composed of nothing but blush and nerves."

"I was composed of dignity," she replied dryly, peeling off her jersey. "Something none of you have."

"And you were radiating 'crush caught on camera' energy," Marianna said, wagging a finger. "You do realize the F1 Twitter accounts are going feral over this, right?"

She groaned louder. "You’re all the worst."

Francesca grinned. "And you’re welcome."

@_volley_yn

📍Rome, Italy

Match day mood, 25 points scored 💅

@_user_1

ISN’T THIS THE GIRL WHO'S IN LOVE WITH OSCAR PIASTRI??

@_user_2

yes queen win the match and win his heart while you’re at it 🏎️

@_user_3

She’s literally carrying the entire national team AND fangirling over F1 mid-press conference. My Roman Empire.

@_user_4

Still thinking about her teammates exposing her crush mid-interview 😭

@_user_5

nah bc imagine Oscar seeing this 😳 he better DM you

@_user_6

she got 25 points and still managed to keep her makeup flawless?? she’s unstoppable

@_user_7

@_oscarpiastri if u don’t marry her I will.

@_user_8

Not me watching volleyball now just to follow her updates and see if she pulls Piastri 💀

@_oscarpiastri

That one felt good 🧡 Thanks to the team

@_volley_yn

good one, Piastri.

@_user_1

OH MY GOD SHE COMMENTED

@_user_2

girl you're obsessed with him👀

@_user_3

not her being smooth in front of all of us 😭

@_user_4

this is her soft launch I fear

@_user_5

why did he not reply. OSCAR. EXPLAIN YOURSELF.

@_user_6

girl just won MVP last week and now she’s flirting like a queen. I love her.

@_user_7

Oscar if you don’t reply I’m reporting your account

Oscar Piastri stood outside the VIP entrance of the arena, sunglasses on despite the fading evening light, hands awkwardly shoved in the pockets of his slightly-too-nice shirt. A button-down. Crisp white.

Lando clocked it immediately.

"Okay, are you wearing cologne?" he asked, squinting as Max appeared beside him.

Oscar gave him a tight glare. "No."

"You are. That’s definitely aftershave." Lando sniffed exaggeratedly. "You fancy little simp."

"Shut up. It’s just a shirt. I thought I should look presentable."

"For a volleyball game?" Max raised an eyebrow. "Damn, didn’t know you were trying to get drafted."

"We’re guests. I’m being respectful," Oscar muttered.

"Right. Respectfull..." Lando said with a smirk. "You're shaking. Are you nervous?"

"I’m not shaking."

Lando nudged him. "You like her."

"I’ve never even met her."

"And yet here we are.."

Oscar cleared his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the collar on his neck. "Let’s just sit down."

They made their way to their seats just as the teams entered the court. The crowd roared. Music blared. Italy’s women’s team jogged in, all fire and confidence, ponytails bouncing and arms locked in unity.

Max leaned forward. "Which one is she again?"

"Number twelve," Lando said before Oscar could open his mouth.

Oscar’s eyes found her instantly. Focused. Serious. Hair tied back perfectly. Determination in every line of her face. She didn’t scan the crowd. Didn’t need to. She was here to win.

Francesca burst into the locker room mid-warmup, clutching her phone like it was a piece of sacred scripture.

"Y/N! Y/N, don’t freak out. But. Uh. He’s here."

She blinked. "Who?"

"Who do you think, the love of your life? THE Oscar Piastri."

She froze mid-stretch, her muscles suddenly forgetting how to function.

Marianna peeked around the corner, already grinning. "And he’s dressed nice. Like nice nice."

"You’re lying."

"Max Verstappen’s with him too," Giulia chimed in from the hallway. "And Lando Norris."

She sat back against the wall, heart thundering. "Okay. It’s fine. I’m fine. He’s just, he’s just another spectator. Doesn’t change anything."

Francesca smirked. "Right. Just a world-class driver you’ve had a crush on for two years watching your every move tonight. No big deal."

She shoved her lightly. "Shut up."

"Just make sure you score a point and wink at him after."

She rolled her eyes, but her throat felt dry.

The roar of the crowd outside grew louder. The anthem blared. Lights dimmed.

She took a deep breath.

And walked onto the court.

The first set was electric.

Everything clicked. Her serves found the corners. Her spikes landed clean and brutal. Blocks went up like walls and came down like thunder.

But she didn’t look at the stands.

Not once.

She felt him there. The heat at the back of her neck, the ghost of every interview, every TikTok, every teasing comment. It all boiled into something sharp and focused.

She dominated.

Set one: Italy. Set two: Italy again. Cleaner. Stronger. They are going for the win.

The match ended with a crushing victory from the Italian team. Her teammates lifted her as soon as the match ended, screams and sweat and celebration.

Somewhere in the chaos, she finally glanced up.

And there he was : Oscar Piastri.

Standing. Clapping. Smiling.

And looking only at her.

The crowd was still roaring, still high off Italy’s victory, when Lando elbowed Oscar hard in the ribs.

“There. There she is. Go.”

Oscar blinked, still stuck somewhere between adrenaline and disbelief. “What?”

Lando was already walking toward the tunnel, dragging Oscar by the sleeve. “Come on, before she disappears. She’s literally walking off court. This is your chance.”

“She’s literally sweaty. That’s not...she probably wants to shower, not meet random drivers.”

“You’re not a random driver, Oscar,” Lando hissed. “You’re the one she’s obsessed with. Trust me. You are the moment. Move.”

Oscar tried to plant his feet. “Security’s not just gonna...”

“Watch me.”

He didn’t know how, but within fifteen seconds, Lando had somehow talked and shoulder-tapped his way through a very tired, very done-looking security guard, who gave Oscar a bored wave toward the athlete hallway.

Oscar’s heart nearly stopped.

She was there. Still in her jersey, towel around her neck, hair stuck to her forehead. She was laughing at something one of her teammate had said, cheeks flushed from the game. She hadn’t spotted them yet.

Oscar froze.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

“You can, and you will,” Lando growled, giving him one final shove between the shoulder blades. “Go. Don’t mess it up.”

Oscar stumbled forward, too fast, nearly tripping on the polished floor of the tunnel. And that was the moment she turned.

Her eyes met his.

The second she realized it was him, her whole body shifted, upright, alert, wide-eyed. The laugh dropped from her face and was replaced by pure shock, then something soft. Hesitant.

“Hi,” she said, voice a little breathless.

Oscar had rehearsed exactly zero lines. His mind was a blank, blinking cursor.

But when she looked at him like that, stunned and flushed and radiant even in post-match sweat, he smiled.

“Hi,” he said. “You were… really impressive.”

She let out a quick laugh, hand going to the back of her neck. “Thanks. Uh...sorry I’m, like...” she gestured to her state, “a mess.”

“You’re not,” he said, without thinking.

She looked away, embarrassed, but smiling.

Behind her, Francesca’s mouth had fallen open. Marianna was definitely filming. One of the team physios had stopped walking entirely.

Oscar felt the heat rise in his neck, but he pushed forward. “I know this is… maybe the weirdest possible time to ask. And you’ve probably got a million things going on right now. But…” He fumbled for his phone, suddenly hyper-aware of every breath he took. “Would it be okay if I got your number?”

She blinked.

Then smiled, slow and shy, eyes flicking to the phone, then back up at him. Her cheeks were warm again, not from exertion this time, but from sheer disbelief.

“You want my number?” she said, laughing under her breath like she couldn’t believe he’d just said that out loud. In front of half her team.

“I mean, if you want to,” Oscar said quickly. “If it’s weird, it’s okay...”

“No,” she cut in, biting her lip. “It’s not weird. Just... surreal.”

She took his phone, tapped it quickly, and handed it back. “There. Now you’re officially not a stranger.”

Oscar stared at the name saved in his contacts like it was glowing. Like it wasn’t just digits but coordinates to an entirely different dimension.

“Thanks,” he said, voice low.

“Thanks to you,” she replied.

Lando, thirty feet behind them, pumped his fist into the air like a proud dad.

@_f1gossip

📍Rome, Italy

SPOTTED: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, and Max Verstappen courtside at the Women’s Volleyball World Qualifiers in Rome last night.

Rumor has it they were there to support a certain Player of the Match 👀👀

@_user_1

wait wait WAIT is that THE volleyball girl who’s obsessed with Oscar???? 😭😭😭

@_user_2

oscar dressed nice?? he’s SO into her i’m screaming

@_user_4

i refuse to believe this isn’t staged. how is this real ?

@_user_5

he’s literally watching her like she hung the moon. my god.

@_user_6

the way she played like a DEMON last night and now we know why 💀

@_user_7

HE PUT ON A COLLARED SHIRT FOR HER. THIS IS LOVE.

@_user_8

player of the match and player of oscar’s heart. i said what i said.

@_user_9

lando definitely dragged him there but look at him, man’s invested

@_user_10

just dm her already.

@_user_11

the eye contact they had after the match… I NEED THEM TO DATE

Let me know if you want to be add to the taglist !

taglist : @bunnisplayground, @vampgege, @chocolatemooncoffee, @sashisuslover, @gold66loveblog, @carlando4, @il0vereadingstuff, @lilith-123321, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @h-rtsnana, @anonomano, @guacala, @charlotteking27, @ninass-world, @scarletwidow3000, @taetae-armyyyyy, @mynameisangeloflife, @tsuniio, @sophxxkiss, @teti-menchon0604, @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @dustie-faerie, @madicecream123, @angstynasty, @jolixtreesunn

[applecaviar]

Got reminded of your pillow humping fic, (Which is amazing btw!) and it made me re-read it. It also made me want to ask if you would be willing to do a part 2 to it? 🤔 Or just a continuation of Caleb's part? Because that fic is so hot! And I need more! I feel like especially for Caleb's part you could do a part where Caleb catches her in the act instead. Like her trying to figure out if it feels as good as it looked? But you can do whatever you want!

Honestly, I wouldn't mind you just writing the same concept again. 🤷🏼‍♀️😏 I love pillow humping and yearning, whimpering men.

Enjoy pookies!

TW:Smut

Zayne/Caleb/Xavier/Rafayel/Sylus

Art: omi-resources

When you catch them humping a pillow (here)

✨✨When they catch you humping a pillow✨✨

You squirmed on the bed, the soft cotton sheets rustling beneath your writhing body. Zayne's pillow cradled between your thighs like a secret lover. Its scent, a mix of his cologne and the unique musk that was purely him, filled your nostrils with each breath you took.

Your panties clung to your drenched sex, rubbing deliciously against your swollen clit with every roll of your hips. You gasped as the pillow pushed against your entrance, walls clenching around the pressure.

Beads of sweat gathered on your brow, trickling down the side of your neck to pool in the hollow of your collarbone. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage as if trying to break free. The room, though cool, felt stifling under the heat of your arousal. Your skin flushed, a pretty pink hue spreading across your chest and cheeks like a fever.

You knew he was close, just down the hall in his office. Working. Always working. Even on his day off, he couldn't seem to switch off doctor mode. You had tried to catch his attention earlier, to lure him back to bed with suggestive whispers and teasing caresses. But he had been preoccupied, his brow furrowed in concentration as he barked orders into the phone. So you had left him to it, retreating to the bedroom to tend to your own desperate needs.

Now, with the pillow pressed tight against your cunt and Zayne still out of reach, you couldn't hold back any longer. The pillow was a poor substitute for the real thing, but it was all you had. And as you rutted against it like an animal in heat, you felt your climax built swiftly, the coil of tension in your lower belly winding tighter and tighter.

"Y/N?"

You gasped sharply, eyes flying open wide as Zayne's voice cut through the haze of your lust. Your hips stilled for a moment, the pillow still nestled firmly between your thighs. You turned to face him, cheeks flushed a deep crimson that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

Zayne stood in the doorway, his frame filling the space. He wore only a pair of low slung pajama bottoms, his broad chest bare and on full display. His eyes, usually so sharp and focused, were now dark and hooded as he took in the scene before him.

"Y/N?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble you could feel in your bones. "What are you doing?"

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry despite the dampness between your legs. "I'm... I'm having sex," you managed to gasp out, your voice breathy and strained with need. "With myself...Because someone else didn't want to." Your hands gripped the sheets tighter, knuckles turning white as you braced yourself against the mattress.

As you spoke, you found yourself unable to keep still. Your hips began to move again of their own, grinding down against the pillow. The rough texture caught on your sensitive clit "Fuck," you gasped, your head falling back as you chased that delicious sensation. "That feels so good..."

"Please..." you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for anymore. Release, his touch, his cock... it didn't matter. You just needed more. "Zayne..."

Your thighs trembled, muscles quivering with the effort of holding yourself back from simply throwing yourself at him. Your core clenched, aching, empty, and so very desperate to be filled.

You felt the pillow being abruptly removed from between your thighs, leaving you feeling suddenly exposed and wanting. 

"Touch yourself," he ordered "Use your hand to touch your pretty, needy clit. But do not cum, not until I tell you to. Do you understand?"

You could only nod, your throat too tight to form words. His hands hooked into the waistband of your drenched panties. The fabric clung to your skin, before he peeled them away with agonizing slowness.

With a trembling hand, you reached down, your fingers brushing against your dripping slit. You circled your clit, tracing the sensitive nub with feather light touches. A sharp gasp tore from your throat at the contact, hips bucking up into your own touch. Your legs fell open, spreading wide and baring yourself completely to Zayne's eyes.

"Fuck, look at you," his gaze riveted to your sex. "So wet and desperate. You need to be touched, don't you love?"

You whimpered in response, fingers moving faster, the slick sounds of your arousal filling the room. But you didn't let yourself slip over the edge, not without his permission. 

And when you couldn't hold back any longer, your body screaming with the need for release, you begged, "Please Zayne, I can't... I need... oh god, please let me cum!" Your finger flew from your clit, your hand fisting in the sheets to keep from pushing yourself over the precipice.

In a blink Zayne settled between your splayed thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them even wider. His face hovered scant inches from your dripping sex, his warm breath fanning over your sensitive flesh.

Then you felt it, the first flick of his tongue against your swollen clit. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your body jerking and tensing.

He licked his lips, like he was enjoying your taste on them. "How does that make you feel, y/n?" 

"L-like I never want it to end" you managed to gasp out.

Before you could draw another breath, he sealed his lips around your pussy, his flat tongue dragging slowly up your slit. "Ooohhh!" you moaned, long and low, head thrown back, eyes fluttering shut. Your wetness dripped onto his tongue, coating his lips, his chin, marking him with your scent.

He licked you again, slower this time, his tongue delving deeper. Your hips moved, instinctively seeking more of that friction. Your fingers tangled in his hair, not pushing him closer, but holding on for dear life.

A choked sob of frustration escaped your lips as Zayne suddenly stopped his delicious torment, leaving you aching. 

"Couldn't wait for me to finish work, could you? Now you're shaking and begging me to finish what you started. But brats don't get to cum on command. They earn it."

Tears of frustration pricked at the corners of your eyes as he spread your legs even wider, until you felt a pleasant stretch in your hips. Your sex clenched, empty and aching, as if reaching for something to fill it.

Then his mouth was on you again, his face buried between your thighs, his tongue deep into your dripping core. A scream tore from your throat when he licked you with a ruthless intensity that left you seeing stars.

"Aaahhh! Zayne! Oh god, yes! Don't stop!"

He showed no mercy. His tongue swirled around your clit, flicked over it, sucked it between his lips as he licked and lapped at your sex. Your body bowed off the bed, back arched, breasts thrust out, as pleasure crashed over you in relentless waves.

You felt your climax building, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter and tighter. Your moans escalated, rising in pitch and volume until they bordered on wails. Tears streamed down your cheeks, throat raw from screaming his name over and over again.

Still, he didn't slow down. Even as your orgasm slammed into you, your sex clamping down on his tongue, he kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept fucking you with his mouth until you saw white, until you thought you might pass out from the intensity of your release.

And through it all, you took it. Every last lick, every filthy suck, every devastating thrust of his tongue.

You took it like a good girl.

After a week of awkward silence, you found yourself alone in your bedroom late at night. You couldn't shake the memory of walking in on Caleb in a compromising position, him, naked and lost in pleasure, his face contorted in ecstasy as he thrusted into his pillow, chasing his release. The image was seared into your mind, making your body react in ways you tried to ignore.

You'd heard him before, in the dead of night when he thought everyone was asleep. His muffled grunts and pants igniting a secret curiosity.

Now, you find yourself rubbing your pillow against your clothed sex, seeking the same bliss you saw in Caleb's expression. Your heart races as the fabric of your panties creates delicious friction against your sensitive folds.

You press the pillow harder against your core and your panties dampen as your arousal leaks out, soaking through the material.

Your breath comes in short gasps, each exhale escaping your lips in a soft moan. You let yourself imagine its Caleb's hand between your legs, his fingers stroking your folds, his thumb circling your clit. The thought makes you buck your hips harder and your breathing grows heavier, matching the rhythm of your hips as they undulate against the pillow. The pressure builds, your body tensing, yearning for release.

Suddenly sensing his presence, you freeze. His intense gaze is palpable, even in the dim light. You feel it burning into your back, watching your every move.

Heart pounding, you slowly turn to face him. He's closer than you thought, dark eyes smoldering with unreadable emotions as they rake over your body. Embarrassment colors your cheeks a deep red.

Before you can react, he's right there, looming over you. His large body blocks out the faint light, casting long, shadows across your flushed skin. You tremble slightly, caught in the act, vulnerable and exposed.

"Caleb..." you breathe out, voice barely above a whisper. You try to tug your shirt down, to cover your exposed thighs, but he's too close. You're trapped.

His voice, low and rough, fills the charged space between you. "Are you touching yourself to the thought of me, Pips?" he asks bluntly. There's no judgment, only raw curiosity and something darker.

You can only stare back, mouth agape. Your face burns like the rest of you, core throbbing in time with your racing heart.

"You're not very subtle. You wanted me to know. I could hear your needy little moans all the way from my room." His gaze drops to your soaked panties, and a low, approving groan rumbles in his chest.

"You're fucking soaked, aren't you? Let me help you find relief, sweetheart."

You find yourself surrendering to his dominant aura, your legs parting automatically to grant him access. He doesn't hesitate. He runs a single finger along your panties, collecting your essence, before bringing it to his lips. His eyes flutter shut briefly as he tastes you, sucking your arousal from his skin.

"Mmm, so warm and sweet," he murmurs appreciatively, his eyes burning into yours. "You're fucking gorgeous like this. Lost in pleasure, craving more..."

He hooks his fingers into your panties and tugs them aside, baring your pussy to him. He takes your hand in his, guiding two of your fingers to your entrance. "Push them inside. I want to watch you pleasure yourself"

His presence, his unwavering attention, the blatant desire in his eyes, it's all too much, yet not nearly enough. Your body aches for more, yearning to give him the show he craves.

Your fingers tremble as you slowly push them into your dripping folds, never breaking eye contact with him. The sensation makes you gasp, your walls clenching around your fingers.

He pushes your fingers deeper, his hand enveloping yours, guiding you to explore your own depths. "Like this, princess" he whispers.

His gaze holds yours captive as he continues, "You touch yourself like this, thinking of me because no one else gets you like I do. Every stroke, every thrust of your fingers, you imagine it's my voice in your ear, telling you that you're mine."

Caleb's words make your head spin, dizzy with lust and longing. You pick up the pace, pulling and pushing your fingers in time with his instructions.

"You want me to be proud of how desperately you crave my touch?" he asks as he watches your fingers work over your aching sex. "Show me how much you need me"

He gathers your slick on his fingers, painting your puffy clit with your own arousal. The added stimulation makes you buck against your hand, body crying out for more.

"Please..." Your mind goes blank, focused solely on the pleasure radiating from your core and the man orchestrating it.

As your climax approaches, walls clenching greedily around your fingers, Caleb increases the pressure on your sensitive nub.

"You know my name, moan it for me, princess"

And you do. You scream his name like a prayer, a declaration of belonging.

He's made his point crystal clear, you are his, utterly and completely. And he has every intention of keeping it that way.

You were lost, the morning sun illuminating your passionate frenzy as you rutted against your pillow like a woman possessed. It had been an eternity since you'd last spoken to Xavier, a whole five days of pent up longing and frustration, thanks to that first real fight you'd had. His jealousy, usually a smoldering ember, had erupted into an inferno that day, leaving you both scorched by its intensity.

As you bucked and writhed on the soft fabric, your mind drifted back to the vivid dream that had started this desperate need. In your dream, Xavier was nestled between your thighs, his favorite place to be. You could almost feel his warm breath on your sensitive flesh before the cruel sound of shattering glass jolted you awake. The memory of it left you trembling with want.

Too far gone to care about the noises spilling from your lips, you clung to the pillow like a lifeline as you chased your pleasure. Your shirt was shoved up to expose your heaving breasts, a nipple peeking out as your fingers plucked and rolled the stiff peak.

You imagined it was Xavier's mouth lavishing attention on your dripping sex through the soaked fabric of your panties. His teeth would graze your sensitive nub with the lightest pressure, sending you arching off the bed with a strangled moan. The pillow took the brunt of your need, cushioning your desperate grinding.

You were on the verge of exploding with frustration, your body aching for release that kept slipping through your fingers like sand. Each time you climbed that peak of pleasure, your clit would scream in protest, the sensation becoming too intense too quickly. It was as if you were a runner sprinting towards the finish line, only to have it yanked away at the last second, forcing you to trudge back to the starting line to begin your race again.

You were panting and flushed, your skin glistening with a sheen of sweat as you rutted against the pillow once more. The fabric was damp beneath your touch, bearing witness to your desperate need. Your arousal was a living, breathing thing, coursing through your veins and clouding your mind. You were lost in your own little world, chasing your pleasure, when suddenly...

"Enjoying yourself?" a familiar voice purred, startling you out of your trance.

Your heart leapt into your throat at the sound, and with a gasp, you wrenched the pillow from between your legs to use as a makeshift shield. The fluffy fabric did little to conceal your state of undress or the fact that you had been in the midst of a very intimate moment. Heat flooded your cheeks as embarrassment battled with lingering arousal, leaving you flustered and tongue tied.

"Xavier, what...?"

The idea that he had witnessed your wanton display, heard the obscene sounds of your desperation, made your core clench and your nipples strain against the thin fabric of your shirt.

You felt exposed and yet...a part of you thrilled at the thought of him seeing you this way. Of knowing the depths of your desire, the aching emptiness that only he could fill. Your body was still humming with need, your clit still throbbing and swollen. The interruption had only served to heighten your hunger, leaving you craving his touch with an intensity that bordered on ravenous.

You gazed up at Xavier with hooded eyes, your pleading gaze a silent scream for his touch. Your voice was a needy rasp as you begged, "I need you, Xavi, please..." The desperation in your tone was palpable, every nuance of your longing laid bare before him.

He walked towards you with predatory grace, the look in his eyes was one of pure hunger, the stare of a man possessed, consumed by the need to claim his woman.

"Are you sure?" he asked. It was a challenge, a warning, and a promise all wrapped up in one. He could see the fear in your eyes, the way they widened at his words, and it only spurred him on. He lived for that look, reveled in the knowledge that he could inspire such a visceral reaction in you.

"You know I won't take you gently," he continued "You're afraid because you know I don't just want you..." His hand came down to grip your chin, tilting your head back to force you to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed across your lower lip "I will devour you. I will fuck you until you can't walk, can't think, can't breathe without feeling the ghost of my cock buried inside you. I will ruin you for anyone else."

His other hand slid down the side of your neck, his fingers curling around the delicate column as if he could snap it like a twig. "You are not free," he whispered, his face now inches from yours. "You are not free," he repeated "because you belong to me, mind, body and soul. I will fuck you so hard and so often that the only word you'll remember is my name."

His grip on your chin tightened, forcing you to hold his gaze as he leaned in even closer, his breath hot against your skin. "You are claimed," he breathed, "in every sense of the word. You are mine, now and forever"

His other hand slid down your body, his fingers skimming over the swell of your breast, the curve of your waist, before coming to rest on your hip. He squeezed the tender flesh, his nails digging in just shy of pain "You will be fucked like the goddess you are. Worshipped like the sinful creature I've created you to be. And you will be my sin, my addiction, my reason for living, for as long as I draw breath."

His lips crashed against yours in a kiss, all teeth and tongue. It was a kiss that spoke of possession, of ownership, of a love so deep that it bordered on obsession. It was a kiss that promised pleasure beyond your wildest dreams, but also a kiss that warned of the price you would pay for being the object of such intense devotion.

He made quick work of your remaining clothing, practically tearing the flimsy fabric from your body in his haste to bare you completely. Your panties were the last to go, the scrap of lace and cotton no match for his strength as he ripped them away, baring your sex to the cool air of the room. Your arousal coated your thighs, glistening in the morning light.

He didn't bother with any pretense of gentleness as he freed his cock from the confines of his pants and underwear. The thick length sprang forth, long, hard, and already leaking with desire. He could feel your eyes on him, could sense your gaze drinking in every rigid inch.

Then he pushed your knees up and back, until they were nearly folded against your chest, your body bent in half to accommodate his need. Your pussy was exposed, soft folds glistening and swollen, just begging to be filled. And fill you he would.

He notched the broad head of his cock against your entrance, the thick crown parting your lower lips as if your body was already eager to welcome him home. His hand gripped your hip, fingers sinking into the tender flesh hard enough to leave bruises, a brand of his claim on your flesh. He could feel you trembling beneath his touch, could hear the hitch in your breath as you anticipated his invasion.

With a single thrust, he buried himself inside you to the hilt. His thick length split you open, stretching you wide around his girth as he sank balls deep. The breath was driven from your lungs at the sudden intrusion, your body struggling to adjust to the intense stretch, the delicious burn of being filled.

His teeth sank into the side of your neck branding you as his. The sharp sting of pain mingled with the pleasure and you could feel the hot, wet trail of his saliva on your skin, the way his tongue laved over the reddening flesh, soothing the hurt.

Even as you teetered on the brink of ecstasy, you craved more. More of his touch, more of his possession, more of that exquisite pleasure pain that only he could give you. It was a hunger that could never be sated, a thirst that could never be quenched. You were addicted to him, to the way he made you feel, to the need that burned through your veins like liquid fire.

As if reading your mind, Xavier's hand wrapped around your throat, not squeezing, not hurting, but simply holding you, holding you in place so he could watch your face, could see the way your eyes widened and glazed over with pleasure as he began to move. His long fingers spanned the delicate column, his thumb resting lightly against your racing pulse.

Each thrust drove you closer to the edge, your body coiling tighter and tighter like a bow string pulled back and ready to snap. You could feel the tension building in your core, heat pooling in your belly as he filled you again and again. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines in their wake as you clung to him.

He could feel your pulse pounding beneath his palm, could see the way your throat constricted with each gasping breath. He knew you were close, could sense the telltale flutters of your sex around his cock. And still, he drove into you harder, deeper, his hips slapping against yours with a lewd sound that filled the room.

"Who do you belong to?" he asked, his voice a dark, dangerous rumble that vibrated through your very bones. "Say it," he demanded, punctuating his words with a particularly sharp thrust that had stars exploding behind your eyelids. "Tell me who owns this sweet cunt?

"You Xavi..."

His grip on your throat tightened as he felt your body begin to convulse beneath him, your pussy clenching around him "That's it, bunny," he panted harshly "Cum for me. Show me who owns this pretty pussy and every orgasm it ever has."

He could feel your nails digging into his shoulders, could hear the desperate, keening cries spilling from your lips as he fucked into you with a ferocity that bordered on punishing. The bed creaked and shuddered beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust of his hips.

"Xavier!" you screamed, your voice breaking on a sob as your climax finally crashed over you. Your sex spasmed around him, the rhythmic squeezing of your walls milking his cock for all it was worth. He could feel you gushing around his length, your arousal dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you.

"That's it," he groaned, his rhythm faltering as he felt his own release fast approaching. "Fuck, your cunt feels so good squeezing my cock"

He knew, as he emptied himself inside you, that your body was no longer your own. It belonged to him, now and forever. Every inch of your soft, pliant flesh existed for one purpose only, to be used, to be worshipped, to be claimed by him.

He saw the way your tears leaked from the corners of your eyes. They weren't tears of sorrow or pain, but of overwhelming ecstasy. Each salty droplet was a testament to the intensity of your pleasure, a silent prayer of devotion to the god that had brought you to such heights of rapture.

Your begging and your tears, your soaked thighs and your boneless body, they were all a part of your worship of him, of the divine connection you shared. They were the visible, tangible expressions of a love that transcended the physical, a devotion that knew no bounds and made no apologies.

This was all Rafayel's doing.

You were sprawled on his bed, aching and needy, your body burning up from his dirty texts. It was supposed to be a sweet moment, you told him you finally had time to get your nails done. But then he went and asked for more, demanding a naughty picture to satisfy his hunger.

"Show me how nice they look by sending me a picture of you spreading your 😺 lips with them, cutie."

You obliged, snapping a lewd selfie with your manicured fingers splayed over your folds. The image was sent before you could second guess yourself. Now, you were left high and dry, your core throbbing and desperate for his touch.

Your hips undulated on the mattress, grinding your soaked panties against his pillow.

The damp patch on your underwear grew with each passing second, arousal seeping through the fabric. You ached to be filled, to have Rafayel's cock stretching you open and relieving this intense pressure.

Your clit pulsed, swollen and sensitive as it rubbed against the soaked cotton.

You were wound up so tightly, your body crying out for release. But more than that, you craved him. His touch, his kiss, his filthy words whispered hotly against your ear.

Soft whimpers escaped your parted lips as you writhed on the bed. Your nipples were hard points beneath your shirt, begging to be touched.

Your climax was so close, your lip caught between your teeth as you teetered on the edge.

Just as you were about to tumble over, you heard the unmistakable sound of Rafayel's voice. Your eyes flew open, a gasp escaping your lips as you whipped your head around to face him.

He stood there, arms crossed, with a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. His eyes were fixed on his pillow, the one you'd been grinding against so wantonly just moments before.

In a flash of surprise and embarrassment, you grabbed the pillow and hurled it at him. "It's pretty rude to walk into a room unannounced, Raf," you scolded,trying in vain to cover yourelf.

He caught the pillow easily, his smirk only growing wider as he tossed it aside carelessly.

"Yeah? Well, it's pretty rude to moan someone's name when they are not around to help you make those pretty sounds" 

You felt the blush spreading across your cheeks, he walked closer, looming over you with a predatory gaze that made your heart race.

He reached out, his fingertips grazing your ankle before sliding slowly up your calf. Your breath hitched as he drew closer, until his hand was resting high on your inner thigh.

"I could help you finish, you know," he murmured, his thumb brushing maddeningly close to where you needed him most. "I could make those moans so much louder, cutie."

Desire clouded your judgment, your body aching to be one with his. So you reached out, unzipping his pants with trembling fingers. The bulge in his trousers was unmistakable, proof of his want for you. He gripped your wrists when you tried to stroke him and in a quick motion he moved to sit on the bed, pulling you astride his lap. You hurriedly tugged your drenched panties to the side, the flimsy fabric a barrier no more.

He didn't hesitate. He gripped your hips and thrust up, burying himself inside you. You cried out, your walls clenching tight around his thick length as it filled and stretched you so perfectly.

You clung to his shoulders for support, your nails digging into his shirt as you tried to adjust to his size. His hands slid up your back, his fingers splaying across your shoulder blades as he held you close.

He knew your body's deepest desires, and he indulged them with skillful precision. As he guided your hips to bounce on his cock, you felt yourself surrendering completely to the rhythm he set.

Your mind grew hazy, drunk on the sensation of his hard heat driving into you again and again. It was as if he could see directly into your soul, his intense gaze guiding your every movement, telling your body exactly what it needed.

His muffled grunts and groans against the sensitive skin of your neck sent shockwaves of pleasure through you.

Your thoughts dissolved like mist beneath the scorching heat of your desire. In that moment, your world narrowed down to just your body and his, two halves of a whole unite in ecstasy.

You could feel it, the way your body submitted to him, surrendered itself completely. You were his, heart, body and soul, now and forever. The realization made your heart swell, climax building at the base of your spine.

Lost in a fog of lust and love, you rode him with wild abandon. Your hips seeking that ultimate connection, that perfect union. And as your pleasure crested, your vision went white, your world exploding in a supernova of sensation.

 Your face when you came was the most breathtaking sight Rafayel had ever witnessed. No artist's palette could capture the flush of your cheeks, the parting of your lips on a silent scream, the way your eyelids fluttered and your eyes rolled back in bliss. It was the ultimate masterpiece, one he would forever engrave in his mind.

"One more, give me one more"

"I can't..." you whimpered, too sensitive, too raw from the intensity of your last climax.

"It wasn't a request, cutie" Rafayel murmured, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. "Just one more"

He would take it slow, he promised, but take it he would. Your next orgasm belonged to him, just as you belonged to him.

You were alone, ovulating and craving Sylus's touch. It had been a week since he left, and now you found yourself restless and yearning.

Climbing into his huge bed, you hugged his huge pillow close, inhaling his lingering scent. The silk sheets felt so good against your bare skin, a sensual caress that made you shiver. You couldn't resist the temptation of the luxurious fabric.

That's when you noticed it, the silken texture of the pillowcase, even softer than the sheets. The material felt exquisite, smooth as a whisper against your most intimate places. A daring idea sparked in your lust addled mind. Would it feel like his tongue?  you wondered, cheeks flushing hotly at the notion.

Heart pounding, you made your decision. You couldn't stop yourself now, even as a small voice in the back of your head whispered that this was wrong, that you shouldn't be doing this in his absence. But the temptation was too great. Slowly, tentatively at first, you rubbed the supple silk through your slick folds, gasping at the unfamiliar yet thrilling sensation.

The pillow was soon coated in your arousal as you grew bolder, grinding your hips against the silken surface.

The damp fabric slid deliciously between your folds, mimicking the glide of Sylus's tongue. You couldn't stop, the empty house echoed with your shameless moans and the rustle of silk against naked skin.

You chased your climax, grinding your hips in tight circles, rubbing the pillow where you needed it most. Your breath came in ragged pants as the pressure built inside you, your core clenching around the phantom stimulation.

You were close, so close to finding the release your body craved. The silk, the pillow, your own touch, it was all you had, and it was almost enough. Almost.

"Naughty little kitten"

You froze as you heard Sylus's voice, a jolt of shock and embarrassment coursing through you. In your lustful haze, you hadn't heard him enter the room, too lost in your solitary indulgence. Now, you found yourself exposed, your naked body on full display as you clung to his damp pillow and the silk sheets.

Flushing with shame, you hastily tried to cover yourself, wrapping the sheets around your curves. It was a futile effort, given the state of disarray you were in. The fabric, once cool and smooth, now felt electrifying against your heated skin.

Sylus's evol, a tendril of dark energy, snaked out and lifted the pillow and sheets from the bed. They drifted down to the floor beside him, leaving you bare, your arousal glistening on your inner thighs. 

"You've made quite the mess of my pillowcase."

The pounding of your heart, once a drumbeat in your clit, now echoed in your chest. You were acutely aware of every inch of your naked body, every sensitive nerve ending crying out for his touch

"Don't let me stop you, sweetie," Sylus murmured, his eyes roving over your curves like a physical caress. "You were doing so well, pleasing yourself on my pillow. I could hear every needy moan, every desperate grind. Tell me, does the silk satisfy your greedy little cunt?"

"Sy...Please"

He seemed to sense your urgency, your overwhelming need. He cocked an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Do you need my help, kitten?"

You nodded frantically, too far gone to speak at first. But Sylus waited, his smirk widening, his eyes glinting with wicked delight

"Beg for it," he demanded "Beg for my help"

Your cheeks burned hotter at his words, but the ache between your thighs only intensified. You knew you should feel ashamed, but all you could focus on was the throbbing emptiness inside you, crying out for Sylus's touch.

"Please, Sylus," you gasped out, your voice trembling with desperation. "I need you. I need your hands, your mouth, your... your cock." The last word was a whisper, a naughty plea falling from your lips. 

He moved with purpose, his intentions clear in the dark glint of his crimson eyes. He grabbed the pillow, soaked with your arousal, and placed it beside you on the bed.

"Listen carefully, this is how it's going to go." He reached down, unbuckling his belt with deliberate slowness. Your eyes widened as you watched the process, your mouth already watering in anticipation.

When his cock sprang free, you couldn't help but let out a soft gasp. It was just as you remembered, thick, hard, and heavily veined. Your tongue darted out to wet your suddenly dry lips as you gazed at his impressive length.

"I'm going to fuck your pretty mouth, and you're going to grind your cunt on that pillow until it's absolutely soaked." He nodded towards the pillow, already. marked by your desire. "And you better make a good, messy job of it, kitten, understand?"

You swallowed hard, nodding your agreement. Sylus smirked, satisfied with your compliance.

"Now, be a good girl and open your mouth," he ordered, "Stick your tongue out for me."

Obediently, you moved to straddle the pillow, the cool silk kissed your dripping slit, and you had to stifle a moan, hips already twitching with the urge to grind against it. Then, you opened your mouth wide, your pink tongue lolling out as you gazed up at Sylus with hooded eyes.

He slapped his cock against your outstretched tongue, letting you feel its weight. Your mouth watered with each tap, drool already starting to gather at the corners of your lips. He teased you, letting you sample his musky scent and savor the promise of his taste.

With a low, approving moan, Sylus slowly sank his length into your waiting mouth. He moved with deliberate control, pumping in and out of your mouth with a steady rhythm.

At first, Sylus kept his thrusts shallow and you did your best to keep up, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the tip. Drool dripped down your chin as you moaned and gagged around his cock. You felt like you were doing well, matching his pace with the rolling of your hips on the pillow beneath you.

Just as you started to find a rhythm, Sylus suddenly surged forward, spearing his thick length deep into your throat. You had no choice but to breathe through your nose, inhaling his scent as he began to truly fuck your face.

More of your arousal soaked into the silk fabric as you grinded desperately against it. Drool coated his cock as he used your mouth, fucking into your throat with abandon. You were at his mercy and you loved every second of it.

He buried his cock deep and held you there, nose pressed against his pelvis, as he ground against your face. Your lungs burned, crying out for air, but you gave him the control he craved.

As quickly as he'd claimed your throat, Sylus pulled back, allowing you a gasping breath before plunging in again. His rhythm became erratic, each thrust harder and more desperate than the last. You could feel his cock pulsing and throbbing, growing even thicker in your stretched mouth.

He was just as lost in pleasure as you, his need consuming him. His balls tightened, drawing up close to his body as his orgasm approached. You grinded desperately against the silk pillow beneath you, the fabric finally granting you the release you craved as Sylus fucked you through it, his cock slamming into your throat.

As your scream of ecstasy vibrated around his shaft, Sylus let out a guttural moan. Your mouth flooded with his hot, thick seed, his cum filling you until it dripped down the sides of your stretched lips. There was so much of it, too much for you to handle.

He pulled out abruptly, leaving your mouth dripping with his cum and your own saliva. Before you could catch your breath, he commanded gruffly, "Be a good girl now and show it to me before you swallow."

You hesitated for just a moment before opening your mouth wide, letting the mixture of your fluids pool on your tongue. You stuck out your chin, giving Sylus an unobstructed view.

He reached out and gripped your chin firmly, his fingers digging into your jaw as he forced you to keep your mouth open. You felt the cool air hit your spit slick tongue, the thick drops of his release glistening obscenely.

"Good girl," he praised. "You've done well, kitten." He held you there, making you wait for his permission, a thrill running down your spine at his complete control.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sylus gave a sharp nod. "Now. Swallow it all down like a good girl."

With a bratty grin playing at your lips, you obeyed, tipping your head back and swallowing every last drop. The taste of him coated your throat, marking you from the inside out. You knew, as you licked your lips clean, that you belonged to him completely, body, heart, and soul, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

[rawme-price]

Do you sign the emotional torture rock before you throw it straight at my face?

I gave it a kiss just for u <33

Anyways here's a part 2 to dog shifter!reader :]]

"They fucking what?" soap paces the hospital room. he knew it was serious when gaz called him in the middle of the night, he just didnt expect it to be this serious. ur sat anxiously on the waiting chair next to the bed, hunched over with arms crossed. self-consciously, you try to hide ur scars. a disfigured copy of the ones soap wears.

"thats- that not okay! thats horrible! i mean, staying shifted for long periods of time is already harmful, but- against your will? its deadly!" hes ranting as he paces, and you have to bite back the urge to shift. if you were a dog, he wouldnt be looking at you expectantly, wouldnt want you to make any difficult decisions.

"it wasnt against my will...." you finally mutter out, eyes glued to the floor. even talking back, a small correction, makes the hair at your neck stand up. "i choose to shift. they dont force me."

soap pauses his pacing, looks at you, actually looks at you. you look small, even as a shifter, pressing into urself. you dont look at him, you try not to flinch when his shoes enter ur vision. it feels wrong, monstrous, to be sat in front of a real shifter. unlike you, he is something good, something better. you are just a creature damned from birth, destined to be *this*. soap leans down so you can see his face, and you startle a bit at the kindness you see there, surely meant for someone else. "when you say you choose to shift, is that really true? do they ever...ever make you feel like you should shift? maybe they dont say it, but theyre more rude when you dont, or they praise you when you do?"

you purse your lips, glance away, feeling horribly seen. it feels vulnerable and stupid, like ur a child being lectured about peer pressure and not a grown adult. you dont say anything but you dont need to, soap already knew the answer. he sighs, brows furrowed. "....why dont we get something to eat, yeah? im sure gaz is tired of orange slices and jello."

he wants to tell you not to be scared. he wants to offer help, escape. he doesnt know if you are ready for that.

[kianamaiart]

Is the fame sometimes overwhelming for you? While I would kill that type of follower count,I don't think I could handle that much of an audience lol.(Not the same anon btw)

Definitely. I'm grateful for the audience I have but I do feel a lot of pressure and a lot of eyes. And as positive as the attention can be, it will always bring negative attention as well. Idk where the threshold is but there's a point where people online stop treating you like a person and more like a company or an entity. I don't love being the center of think pieces or coming across random posts from people just openly saying they hate my guts or dislike my work and especially don't like people making assumptions about my character. People suddenly care about my opinion more when I didn't ask to be an authority or public figure of every sort. At the end of the day I am just an artist who happens to have a lot of other people following me and I'm still not sure why that makes my opinion "more valid" or "important" than anyone else's. Then there's the added layer of being Black and Asian and queer AND a woman on the internet with a platform. There's this thing that happens with any minority that becomes a sort of public figure where you're suddenly the spokesperson for entire communities and your successes and failures reflect on the community as a whole.

It's caused me a lot of anxiety over the years and I can't interact with or use social media the same way I used to. Other than on here, I do have a sort of "post and leave" policy which is unfortunate because I really did enjoy talking to friends and interacting with people more. But it scares me knowing that people are screenshotting and archiving EVERYTHING I say.

As happy and excited I am at the success of idwtbamg and how much people liked it, it also really scares me. There was definitely an uptick in the amount of hateful language and posts against me after the pilot came out. Being a highly accessible showrunner on the internet is my nightmare. Seeing the shit people like Dana or Rebecca had to and have to deal with has not inspired a lot of confidence in me. Idk I just can't make art the same way I used to or engage with it in the same way I used to which makes me sad. So it goes I guess.

[jellyfishline]

Sorry for adding unsolicited advice, but one of the most valuable things I've learned as a writer is how to push over this kind of block! So I'm gonna share a few strategies that have helped me, and might help other people too!

Strategy one: skip over it.

Literally don't write a transition. Just skip to the next interesting scene. Promise yourself you'll go back and write a smooth transition later. A shocking amount of the time when I come back to edit I find that I don't even need more of a transition at all. Sometimes, your brain is so stuck in the story that it doesn't want to leave any negative space, but the negative space of a new scene, a new chapter, or a new paragraph is what the story craves.

Strategy two: just describe it.

Don't try to write it nicely, prettily, or well. Write like you're making an instruction manual, or notes for an actor in a screenplay. Write "and then they walked into the room." Write "and the conversation was over." Write "the next day, [blank] happened." Again, a shocking amount of the time for me, writing it in plain language turns out to be what the story needed. And if it does need more detail, you can always add that detail later! It is so much easier to add frills once you've got the bedrock of a scene in place.

Strategy three: just dialogue.

Idk how often this happens to other people, but I often get tripped up trying to juggle dialogue, actions, body language, and internal monologue when writing. When that happens, I switch to writing just the dialogue in short exchanges, no dialogue tags or description, with only paragraph breaks and punctuation to structure it. This both frees me up from the paralysis of trying to write everything at once, and has the added benefit of really honing in on character voices. I love to try to give all my major characters a distinctive enough voice that you can work out who's talking by the cadence of their speech, even without dialogue tags.

Strategy four: outline it.

This is sort of an expanded version of strategy two. If you're really struggling, or if this transition is something you know is going to take a whole scene or a whole chapter and more than just a line or two of description, pause to write out the events in a short, descriptive, beat-by-beat way. "They talked. They argued. No one listened to each other. They all went to bed frustrated." Sometimes this beat-by-beat plotting will transform into something you can really use--fragments of dialogue, a solid description, a realization that you can restructure so an important piece of information doesn't actually have to go here--but if not you still have a workable framework to either propel you into the next scene or start building up into a meatier bit of prose.

Strategy five: just do it.

Putting this strategy at the end because while I think it’s a lot of writers' first instincts when coming up to a roadblock, I also think the inability to force ourselves through the boring miserable bits of writing and "just do it" is a major reason why projects get abandoned. Sometimes, you might find yourself in a position where you really do just have to write your way out of the problem you've made for yourself. In those cases, I think it’s a good idea to take a deep breath, be generous with yourself, and applaud yourself for showing up, even if you're only writing a sentence or two every day. Writing is hard! Even professionals have bad days. You don't have to burn yourself out putting words on a page. Take the pressure to perform off yourself, and just write what you can. Eventually you'll get past it, and the words will flow again.

writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months

[osamucide]

✦ ݁˖ CAN THEY FIND THE CLIT?

. . . ft. select Blue Lock men (sister post here)

wc: ~1k

cw: NSFW—MINORS+AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI, gn+afab!reader

reid: listen. they're silly. check out the sister post by my bestie @seasidefallenangel linked above :)

✦ COULD FIND IT IN THEIR SLEEP—

SAE doesn’t understand why anyone would have trouble finding it in the first place. it’s not even that he’s crazy experienced, it’s just... it’s in the same general area every time, isn’t it? there’s really no finding to do — what’s so difficult? men who can’t must have a skill issue, and that couldn’t be him. insane stroke game with his fingers, too. might leave you feeling like he knows your body better than you do yourself. 

we all know why and how OTOYA knows where it is so we’re not gonna rehash that. fact is, Eita’s not letting up on you — he’s a pleasure seeker, and not just his own! sex is boring for him if his pretty lil’ partner isn’t getting off too. there’s hardly ever a moment where his fingers aren’t mindlessly on the clit, circling, stroking, toying, pressing — tell him what you want and he’ll give it to you, but he’s pretty damn good at just reading your mind and body to begin with. 

KARASU isn’t one of the best gentlemen for no reason. he’s not really known for doing anything half-assed either, so of course he knows how to make you feel good, and of course he knows that the clit is one of the best routes for doing just that. and you know how he has trouble being nice to mediocre people? yeah, Tabito will ruthlessly shame any guy who openly admits to not knowing or caring where the clit is. definitely doesn’t hurt that he has Otoya to give him pointers. 

✦ FINDS IT WITH SOME INSTRUCTION—

ISAGI is, to me, simply the most shining example of a good and diligent boyfriend. wants you to guide his hands, adjust his pressure, tell him up, down, right there and, of course, remind him how good he makes you feel. would be in the above category if it weren’t for the fact that he’s a little under-practiced, but that just means you’re one of his only (if not the only) and he wouldn’t really have that any other way. 

resident freak SHIDOU is many things but shy is not one of them. if he’s fuckin’, he’s doing it right. Ryusei’s incredibly deft with his fingers and tongue — like, remarkably so. he may not be the most precise outside of football and of course he has a chaotic streak, but his drive and confidence certainly translate, so as long as you tell him where you need him, he’ll have you seeing stars.

YUKIMIYA is another member of the good and diligent boyfriend club, and falls in this category purely because I think you need to remind him every once in a while to touch it, or to not stop touching it. precise and accurate, but I think he also loses himself in the moment relatively easily — but do you really mind when it’s just another obvious expression of how much he adores you? 

✦ DOESN’T EVEN REALLY TRY FOR IT—

BACHIRA is busy elsewhere, okay? there’s so much going on. he means well, he really does. Meguru is just so happy to be here — please don’t blame him if he gets distracted by how warm and wet you are and how bad he just wants to be inside you. probably pays it equal attention as anything else — his mouth and hands just have to be everywhere! on your neck, your nipples, your own mouth and hands… please don’t limit his enthusiasm. 

KAISER kind of has the privilege of being so pretty, rich, and popular that he doesn’t really need to know where it is to get bitches. who would pass on hooking up with the Michael Kaiser? crazy people, that’s who. I also think he’s just kind of selfish. not that he’s entirely unconcerned with your pleasure, but his cock is pretty great, isn’t it? please tell him it is so he can get smug about it. 

with CHIGIRI, sorry, you’re just getting fingerblasted. yes, my king is in touch with his feminine side but he is still a MAN. to no one’s surprise, probably, he’s kinda of the impression that fast = good. and sometimes it is! but he’s not always on the mark. I envision him as a relatively passionate lover. like, he just wants up in there. with enough practice he could be a g-spot extraordinaire. 

NAGI probably knows exactly where it is, he’s just lazy and a little one-track minded. if he’s fucking you in missionary, his hands are gripping yours, or the sheets. if you’re riding him, his hands are on the pillow by his head, or grabbing your waist. if he’s eating you out, 99% of the time you’re gonna be sitting on his face, and you can just grind on his tongue or his pretty nose, right? what’s the big deal? 

✦ RUBS YOUR COOCHIE LIP AND ASKS IF YOU CAME—

RIN is a v-i-r-g-i-n with a capital V. pathetic, awkward, tunnel-visioned on football, will not ask for your assistance — he’s just a recipe for disaster. quiet and probably makes super weird and intense eye contact while he does it, too. please make him feel better by moaning a little bit when he’s totally left of center in the crevice between your thigh and your labia. maybe just… pretend it feels so good you just have grab his wrist (and not-so-subtly move him to where you need him). 

as much as I hate to do REO like this, my man is another one accustomed to tearing recklessly through life getting what he wants because of his status (pretty boy status counts here, too, probably double). it’s not that he doesn’t care, he’s just probably not even aware that he’s supposed to care. your best bet with him is to touch yourself — or grind on his thigh, because he’s got a huge thing for dry humping anyway. 

my poor ALEXIS is nothing short of an overexcited puppy when you let him anywhere near your pussy. all does that feel good? am I doing good? when he’s touching you, and he really doesn’t want to hear anything other than a resounding yes or he’ll kinda shut down. don’t get me wrong, he can take constructive criticism, but he’s so desperate to be perfect for you that being anything less has him curling back into his shell. just touch yourself while he fucks you like a good boy, okay?

[moonstruckme]

sobbed at my work today because a higher up basically shot down all my ideas to shadow another department because my reasons weren’t good enough. wanting to learn is good enough thank u. (i have like 5 pages worth of reasons btw. in mla format…). feeling better now cuz his reputation is shit apparently but if you have time, could you write something like this with maybe sirius or remus? ur choice. pls don’t be pressured to write.

on the other note ur fics always cheer me up so thank you for your service! 🫡

I'm sorry you felt so put out lovely! Hope you're feeling a bit better now, thanks for requesting <3

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 748 words

You can tell Remus knows from the moment you get home. He sits up in his chair and watches you with sad eyes as you take off your shoes. You must be radiating defeat. 

“Hi,” he says gently. “How’d it go?” 

“We’re not doing it.” 

“Any of it?” 

You shake your head, sullen. 

Your boyfriend gives you a pitying look. “Oh, lovely. Come here.” 

You’re determined not to cry while you go. Not at Remus’ sympathetic tone, or the concerned little dent between his eyebrows, or the stapled pages of bullet points you leave sitting uselessly on the floor by your bag. You breathe slow and controlled as Remus folds you into his side and ignore the heat in your sinuses. 

He kisses your cheek, rubbing it gently with his thumb. 

“What?”

“Did you have a cry earlier?” Remus murmurs. At your questioning look, he explains, “There’s a bit of makeup on your cheek.” 

Your eyes fill up quick and hot. So much for not crying. “I thought I got it all off.” Your voice comes out a jagged squeak. You bury your face in Remus’ jumper. 

“Dovey, it’s okay. It’s hardly anything.” His hand covers your nape, thumb stroking the baby hairs at the base of your head. “What happened, hm?” 

“It was so—so embarrassing,” you sniffle. The words jolt out of you in short hiccups. “He made me feel stupid for even asking. He said none of my reasons were good enough.” 

“None of them? Did he read them all?” 

“He barely looked.” 

There’s a pause, then a small bounce underneath you. You wait for your boyfriend to respond, presumably with sympathy or some thought about how you might be more persuasive on your next attempt. It takes you a handful of seconds to register that Remus is laughing. Breathy, poorly suppressed little chuckles that shake his frame beneath you. 

You sit up to look at him, bemused and maybe a little wounded. He pulls you back in with a hand on your head. 

“Sorry. God, I’m sorry.” Remus kisses your head, still snickering. “I’m just trying to picture this man—you said he was in his forties, yeah? So a man nearly twice your age, needing to put down the low-ranking employees at his work just to make himself feel big.” 

You frown at him. “What do you mean?” 

“I just…” Remus’ tongue pokes into his cheek, a sure sign that he’s trying to keep a much larger grin at bay. “He’s so clearly jealous of you.” 

You feel your eyebrows shoot up. You sit up again, and this time Remus lets you, his hand dropping to your hip. “Of me,” you repeat. You tend to consider your boyfriend rather insightful for a man, but you think he may have finally lost it. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Remus squeezes your side. His look softens. “I just don’t think your boss’ actions really speak to someone who’s secure and happy with himself, or with his life. He’s a rank above you at a job he’s worked far longer than you have. Meanwhile, you’re younger, and tenacious, and you clearly have all these great ideas. It seems to me like he’s threatened by you.” 

“Oh,” you murmur. “That’s quite sad, actually.” 

“Didn’t you say he was a bellend?” 

Your lips twitch. “I said my coworker said he was a bellend.” 

“Mm, even so. I can’t muster up very much sympathy for him.” Remus kisses the corner of your lips that had moved. “He made my girl cry, so.” 

Your amusement shrivels at the memory. “It really was embarrassing,” you say quietly. Remus looks into your eyes, his own warm and sweet as honey. “I mostly cried in the bathroom, but some people saw.” 

Remus wipes the dampness from your lashes with the tip of his finger. His hand coasts down the slope of your neck to your shoulder and back up again, soothing. “Everyone there knows your boss is an arse,” he tells you. “More importantly, they know you’re smart and that you work hard. I’m sure they riddled out what happened, sweetheart.” 

You press your lips together to keep from crying again. Remus tsks. 

“Even if this bloke is threatened by how good you are, you’re still all those things. It’ll pay off.” 

“You don’t have to say that,” you whisper. 

“I don’t,” Remus agrees. “It will, though. Not every boss you have will be as dense as this one, lovely. It’ll pay off eventually.”

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content, masturbation, edging, whiny sub!nerd Felix, post-orgasm overstim, felix is kind of a creep and he knows it.

notes: (queued post) anon request felix solo smut i hope this is what you wanted 😭😭

His room is dim—just the glow of his laptop screen and the faint hum of his desk fan filling the silence. Felix sits on the edge of his bed, boxers already shoved down to his thighs, cock flushed and twitching in his hand.

He’s pathetic. He knows it. But he can’t stop.

Not when your bikini pic has been burned into his brain since the second you posted it. Not when he’s zooming in on your sun-kissed skin, your thighs, the little glossed pout of your lips like you know what you’re doing to him.

You probably don’t even remember leaving your lip gloss behind after class. Tossed in your rush, left half-open on the desk. But Felix remembers. He saw it. Picked it up before anyone else could.

He’s been keeping it in his drawer ever since. He shouldn’t have. He knows he shouldn’t have. But it smells like you. Strawberries and heat and something sweeter, something you.

And now it’s in his hand. Cap already twisted off. His cock leaks against his fist as he looks from the tiny tube to your photo on his screen. You're smiling—eyes soft, skin glowing—and he groans.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty…” he whispers, voice shaky.

His hand works slow at first, jerking his cock with a rhythm that’s way too familiar, too practiced. He’s done this so many times. Over so many pictures. So many versions of you in his head.

But this one’s different.

Maybe because the bikini shows a little more. Maybe because you liked one of his photos last week and he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.

Or maybe because he’s holding your lip gloss like it’s some kind of relic. Holy. Forbidden.

He pants harder, hips twitching, and his breath catches as he lifts the gloss—just a little smear on his fingertip. Just enough.

Then he’s rubbing it right on the head of his cock, gasping at how slick it is, how good it smells, how fucking wrong it feels.

But god, it’s the closest thing to your lips he’ll ever get.

He moans—sharp and broken—hips bucking as the gloss coats him, thick and shiny, like you kissed him there. Like you licked him. Like you sucked him off with that same pretty mouth and looked up at him all wide-eyed and innocent like you didn’t even know you’d ruin him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he chokes out, fingers flying now, messily dragging more gloss over the length of him. “Gonna come, baby, fuck, please…”

But he doesn’t.

Not yet.

He gets close—so close—hips stuttering, thighs tensed, his whole body begging for it…

And then he pulls his hand away.

“Fuck—” he whines, voice high and cracked, head falling back against the wall. His cock jumps helplessly, drooling onto his stomach like it’s crying for him. “I-I was gonna—fuck—I was right there…”

He blinks up at the ceiling, dazed, sweaty, lip trembling. His free hand fists the sheets while the other hovers midair like he’s scared to touch himself again. Like if he does, he’ll unravel too fast.

But he wants it to hurt. He wants to suffer for it.

It’s what he deserves, right? For being such a fucking creep—jerking off to your Instagram, sniffing your lip gloss, pretending your mouth is on his dick.

He lets his hand fall again, slow strokes, feather-light. Barely any pressure. Just enough to keep him gasping. Teasing himself like you would. In his head, it’s your hand. You’re the one edging him. Sitting pretty in his lap, pouty and sweet while you ruin him on purpose.

He groans, dragging his fist down again, wrist sticky with gloss and precum. His legs spread wider, thighs trembling.

“‘M such a loser,” he whispers. “You’d never—fuck, you’d never touch me…”

But he imagines you would.

He pictures you smirking, dragging your glossed lips over the tip of his cock just to watch him squirm. Maybe you’d coo at how hard he is. Maybe you’d slap it. Maybe you’d tell him he can’t come yet.

“Please…” he chokes, voice barely there now. “Please let me… just wanna come—wanna come so bad…”

He strokes faster, sloppy now. Hips off the bed. The gloss is half gone, smeared down his shaft, slick and shimmering like lube. He can feel how close he is—his balls pulled tight, abs flexing with every twitch.

And then—on instinct—he grabs the gloss tube again.

Twists the cap one-handed.

Smears the rest of it right over his flushed, leaking tip—pressing hard, dragging it down like he’s painting your kiss on him.

And he breaks.

“ffff—fuckfuckfuck—fu-ck—!”

It spills out of him like it’s been caged for hours. Like he’s been holding it back all week, saving it for this exact moment—saving it for you.

His hips shoot up once, twice, stuttering helplessly through the orgasm as thick ropes of cum spill over his fingers, down his wrist, soaking the waistband of his boxers. It’s so much. Too much.

And he’s loud about it, too. Whimpering. Sniffling. Shaking.

He grabs the nearest pillow and shoves it over his face, burying the noise. But it doesn’t help.

His thighs twitch. His toes curl. He’s still leaking, oversensitive and flushed and humiliated by how hard he came. How quick. How he ruined himself to the idea of your mouth, your lip gloss, your bikini picture on Instagram that probably wasn’t even meant for him.

He turns his face to the side, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes now. Guilt mixing with the pleasure, the crash, the ache in his chest.

“‘M such a loser…” he whimpers again, barely audible. “So fucking gross—fuck…”

His voice is wrecked. Throat raw, lips parted and swollen from biting down on them too hard. His heart won’t slow down. His stomach’s sticky. His cock’s still leaking, twitching in the air like it doesn’t get that it’s over.

But his brain—his brain is worse.

Because in the haze of it, you’re still there. Hovering behind his eyes. Not a bikini pic anymore—no, you, in real time, sitting on his lap with your glossed mouth parted and your voice all syrupy and cruel.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” you’d murmur, smiling down at him like he’s nothing. “Touching yourself with my lip gloss like a desperate little perv.”

He whines again into the pillow, hips jerking like he might get hard all over just from that thought alone.

You’d laugh at him. You’d straddle him and not let him inside. You’d slap his hands away every time he begged to come and ride his thigh until he was nearly in tears.

He grinds helplessly into the mattress at the thought, sensitive cock brushing the sheets. It makes him gasp, toes curling.

He’s gonna do it again. He knows he is.

He’ll come again tonight. Probably twice.

He’ll stare at your bikini pic until he’s hard again. He’ll sniff the empty gloss tube like it’s laced with something. He’ll rut against the pillow and pretend it’s your cunt.

Because he’s a loser. Because you’d never touch him. Because this is the closest he’ll ever get.

[originalleftist]

Well, as of now it doesn't look like it will turn into a major war, thank God.

Also, given his age and unhealthy lifestyle, FOTUS will probably be dead in 15 years (a happy thought).

How he is remembered will depend on what happens going forward, when and how his regime is overthrown and what follows it.

As it stands, though, even when he dies he'll be entitled to a state funeral at tax payer expense, so no consequences there.

Also, do NOT kid yourself that he is a problem we can just wait for the country to move on from. Because there is a crucial difference between him and George W. Bush, and between him and every President before him, however awful or corrupt or war-mongering.

They respected term limits.

He does not.

And while they might try to cheat (ie Bush 2000), they were generally unwilling to openly overturn an election by force. He is not. And he will be waaaay more entrenched next time, with far fewer people who will tell him no left in government, AND legal immunity from SCOTUS plus the precedent of mass pardons for those who helped him commit treason.

Even if by some miracle election turnout is enough to overwhelm his efforts to cheat in 2028, and he doesn't try to outright cancel elections (unConstitutional, but when has that ever stopped him?), he WILL NOT leave willingly. Nor would a popular uprising be likely to succeed, at least not quickly or without immense cost. Jan. 6th only went as far as it did because he held back reinforcements from the Capitol. Mobs and militias don't beat professional troops. Not in the modern world, at least not without a decades-long insurgency.

To put it bluntly, he stays until and unless enough of the armed forces turn on him to remove him.

I'm not sure what would cause that. Electoral defeat might, if he hasn't removed all the officers who still take their oath to the Constitution seriously by then. Him getting us into a prolonged, highly costly war might, though that's obviously a horrible outcome. Mass protests and strikes could put some pressure on them, and make it more difficult for the Regime to operate.

But that's what we all need to understand about what's happening now. It's not "the next four years" any more.

It's "Until he's overthrown."

(Also don't put your hopes on him dying- he just gets succeeded by JD Vance, we trade an old fascist for a young one, and Vance has the exact same views on the peaceful transfer of power as his boss.)

What consequences will Trump face for his false claims of a WOMD in Iran and starting a completely avoidable war, potentially causing hundreds of thousands of deaths?

Even 10-15 years from now, when the political machine has chugged along and left him behind — will he be punished? Will anyone in America hold him accountable for his claims?

George Bush Jr. is drinking lemonade and doing oil paintings somewhere and neoliberals are still applauding him for being a “moderate” Republican

So I dunno. Probably none? Which sucks because these men don’t deserve to have skin.

[anbaisai]

idol au 2.0 jamimayu starts with jamil wondering who is this pathetic wet cat here to waste his time (more AU details under the cut)

Mayu: Member of an up-and-coming fresh new girl group, voluntold to be the rapper because nobody volunteered and management decided to just Pick Someone 💀 (they also refused to let her decline)

Jamil: Solo artist under the same management company. Talented singer, rapper, and dancer. Left home to pursue his career because he wasn’t happy with the life his parents had planned for him. Refused to join any group because he either makes it on his own, or not at all. Writes & produces his own songs and is extremely perfectionistic. Later on has help assigned to him by management, but is known to be difficult to work with because of his strict standards. On a bit of a break right now.

Has a Vil-Neige like situation with Kalim, who is also from the same company but more popular and well-liked despite being less skilled than him and Jamil hates it. (Also because Kalim’s kind of a nepo baby that the company often allocates more resources to.)

Overall premise

Mayu gets voluntold to be the rapper but, unfortunately, has very little experience and urgently needs to be trained before her group releases more music.

Management calls on Jamil to assign him as Mayu’s mentor (to humble him), which he very much declines immediately, but some way or another they pressure him into doing it. Probably holds something in his contract over his head. To say he's displeased would be an understatement.

Not the best impression of each other at their first meeting. Mayu very awkwardly politely bows to her senpai while Jamil lifts his sunglasses to stare/half glare at her before responding, thinking she looks like such a pathetic wet cat. Mayu thinks this guy absolutely hates that he needs to help her (she would be correct). Management refuses to pick someone else for the job so they're essentially stuck together.

Jamil deliberately puts her through Merciless Training From Hell as an attempt to pressure her so hard that she asks for someone else or gives up, because he genuinely didn't want this job, he has other better stuff to do.

Somehow, however, she manages to keep up with his demands and does all the assigned homework, and is overall very diligent and hardworking. She's trying so hard under the assumption that he’s being tough on her for her own sake, but in reality he uh... literally just hates “babysitting duty" 💀

After a while he feels kinda guilty about it. And maybe a teensy bit impressed that she’s been keeping up with demands. (And later unfortunately just a bit proud to watch her improve under his instruction). But he’s too prideful to back down now so he just… keeps doing the same thing. 

Mayu has like a mini sulking episode at some point bc she thinks it’s her problem that she's slow and can't do everything he asks and he’s like 🧍‍♂️

He ends up making her something as like "reward for the hard work" (bro feels bad but can't admit it) and she sniffles and says “This is surprisingly good, I didn’t know you could cook” to which he responds "What, you thought I had no life skills just because I’m an idol?"

The mentorship continues, but interspersed between training sessions are more moments where he’s actually… kinda nice to her and gives encouraging feedback, and also some treats here and there. It’s actually kind of nice to work with each other now. Jamil Viper, have you gotten soft 🤨

[kosmogrl]

No offence but that other anon is right.

I had no idea about your personal life/romantic life for the longest time and you give off seriously straight energy here. Maybe it because you never post about anything relating to queer people except maybe reblogging a big viral post a couple times a year? Maybe it's because you seem to have a long term boyfriend that you don't care or think about women anymore, or issues related to queer people since you effectively do not live as one. I don't know. But it's surprising because you post so much about your intimate feelings and life and reblog all sorts of quotes and posts of all kinds... and anything about being into women is never mentioned. Nor do you ever seem to reblog posts explicitly about queer people, or even quotes by famous ones when you reblog such things. Just an idea why maybe people think you're straight. Your blog is incredibly heteronormative, and so is the picture you have painted of your offline life. Nothing here at all even hints at your bisexuality.

And that's fine if people want to keep it a secret for safety or something. But considering how much you share about everything else, I would assume your feelings and thoughts about being queer in this world would come up more frequently. So...

I don't think it's right to assume that just because someone doesn't suspect you (a stranger online) might secretly be bisexual, they're biphobic. You never talk about it. The vast majority of the human population is straight, so for better or worse that is the default assumption unless you come out and say/behave otherwise.

There is nothing wrong with being straight. It's not an insult. Nobody can control their sexuality and if you're straight, it's okay. I know tumblr likes to be edgy and talk shit about "hets" but most of the world is, and you don't need to be ashamed of feel pressured to ID as bisexual just to be cool on tumblr.

Since we're on the topic ...finally! Maybe a get to know you? The real you? Then people can't pretend anymore.

Who was your first crush? Who are your current ones? How old were you when you realized you were romantically and sexually attracted to women? How many girlfriends have you had? Were any serious? Has a girl ever broken your heart? Which do you prefer boys or girls, if either? Do you find they kiss differently? This is juicy info inquiring fellow bisexual minds want to know! Is your queerness why you left the USA? How do you feel living as an immigrant as a queer woman? Does it make it more difficult? Does your boyfriend know or are you in the closet irl? If you are in the closet, why? Society? Family?

Sorry it seems like a lot but you dropped a bombshell and this feels like a whole new you, and i think we all want to meet her! <3

hey so I wasn’t even gonna reply but i’ll just let you know this is insane. have a nice day

[so-writing]

Off Season - Quinn Hughes

Normally, summer is Quinn’s favorite time of the year. He gets to stop being the captain of the Canucks and the face of Vancouver hockey. He gets to leave the pressure of his on season behind, while he basks in the sun on the boat sipping his beverage of choice during his off. Summer is when he feels he’s at his most peaceful. 

This year is different.

The upcoming season could be his last hard push at leading the Canucks out of the regular season. If he wants to, he can walk freely to damn near any team he’d like. Everyone, if you’re not living under a rock, thinks he wants to. Quinn isn’t so sure though.

So, he’s determined not to let this summer slide easily by like those in the past. Quinn has been with the Canucks since he was drafted and there’s never been any real thought to giving himself entirely to anyone but the Canucks. There still isn’t, as long and he’s concerned, but the thought of leaving lingers in the back of his mind and weighs heavier than he’d like on his summer plans.

That’s why he decided to get into running. It isn’t the best idea he’s ever had, because he doesn’t fuck with running, at all. 

It’s not his thing but he’s come to find that the peace and quiet of the early mornings keep his hatred at bay for at least a little while. Every morning around 5:45 he pushes out the door with a water bottle and his thoughts and runs until it hurts his lungs. It’s a new development, one he doesn’t love but is slowly warming up to. 

At first, he’s sweating almost immediately but as the days of summer tick by, Quinn falls in love with the adrenaline rush that running gives, for the first time in a long time, he feels in control of himself completely.

He isn’t sure when he started noticing you. 

Someone he’s never met, never even seen before, runs his route around the same time he does. Quinn is jealous of your ability to make running look like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He watches you, trailing behind, as your hair whips back and forth and your arms pump through the run. He sees other things too but he tries not to look. 

It’s embarrassing that he notices because he’s not a creep at all, just a people watcher. One morning, early July, he gets ahead of himself and plows right into you. 

“Oh shit!” 

You tumble forward, barely catching yourself on the pavement and he follows, falling on top of you in an awkward mess. 

“What the fuck, man? Watch where the fuck you’re going!”

Heat springs into his cheeks immediately but he can’t help the smile that graces his lips as the two of you stand and dust yourselves off. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying much attention. I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, you weren’t paying attention? Could’ve fooled me.”

He’s caught. Yikes.

“Sorry, sorry about that,” he wants to collapse into himself. You’ve obviously noticed him and called him on it and he feels nothing but shame because of it. 

“It’s fine, I’m mostly kidding,” you extend your hand to shake, “nice to finally meet you running buddy.”

“Yeah, good to meet you,” he shakes your hand with a little too much force and gives you a small smile, “I’m not a creep I promise.”

“I know, I’ve seen you around enough to gather that.”

Quinn searches your face, hoping it’ll click and he’ll recognize you before this gets any more awkward than it already is. When nothing comes to him and then silence goes on too long, you laugh uneasily. 

“Damn Quinn, you really don’t know do you? We’ve only been living next door to each other since you and your brothers bought the place. I’ve introduced myself at least twice.” 

Holy shit, you’re the fucking neighbor? And you’ve met? And he couldn’t place your face or remember your name if his life depended on it?

“I’m really sorry, this is so shitty of me. I’m Quinn.”

You laugh at the situation, you’re a bit deflated and more than a little humiliated. You play it cool though, can’t let the hot, rich, pro athlete neighbor see you sweat. 

“Yeah,” you turn away from him and put your earbuds back in, “I know.”

Leaving Quinn behind, you break into damn near a sprint. The sooner you get away from him, the better. Holy shit, how fucking embarrassing and humbling at the same time. You don’t look at his house as you pass it and run up your driveway.

[puck-luck]

heya Andy! I’m so so so happy for you and proud of all that you’ve reached within your one year!!! I’m especially happy that we’ve gotten to know each other🥹 I absolutely adore YOU.❤️

could I please get a chai latte with peppermint (frat!quinn) with a little bit of cold foam!

maybe something like: frat!quinn steals the it girl from his rival fraternity president when he sees him not treating her right. (talking down to her, ignoring her, talking to other girls?) she’s stand offish at first with his rep as being the quiet yet cocky one but when he gets her alone? pics that inspo my thots⇩

got carried away but what can you do... when frat!quinn is helping you cheat on your toxic older frat boyfriend matthew tkachuk...... well. it's an appealing offer. we'll see where these two go in the future ;)

thank you cay (@rowdyluv) for sending this request and thank you for all of the support you've shown me over this past year :) i am thankful for you!! it's always nice to make friends on tumblr dot com <3

It’s homecoming week and you’re just about fed up with your boyfriend, Matthew. He, his brother Brady, and his father are somewhere in the Chi Phi house, leaving you stranded on the lawn. His mom is at the hotel with Taryn, since she’s not old enough to drink yet and Matthew didn’t want to bring his younger sister to the frat. You shouldn’t be upset with him, really– it’s his senior year. It’s his final football season, his final homecoming game. You’ve still got a whole year ahead of you, a junior to Matthew’s senior.

You’re nursing your drink, shaking the ice from the edges of your glass. You like the brothers, but you’re not close with them. None of your friends are here because Matthew doesn’t like them. They’re over at Xi Chi, the frat next door who’s also having a homecoming pregame. 

Despite having been elected sweetheart of Chi Phi just a few weeks ago, with heavy campaigning on Matthew’s part, you cross the invisible boundary between frat houses and make your way into the Xi Chi backyard. A brunet boy materializes at your side, cradling a solo cup in his hand.

“You’re Matt’s girlfriend,” he says. “Y/N.”

When you look over, you recognize him too. This is Brady’s friend. He went to Brady’s birthday dinner and sat at the other end of the table, quiet but quippy. He always had something to say at just the right time and Matthew elbowed you when you blatantly laughed at… Quincy?... ‘s joke.

“Yeah, and you’re… I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name,” you apologize genuinely, touching the boy’s hand. Brady is a year younger than you, so this guy must be a sophomore. Matthew threw a fit when he got home from that birthday dinner full of sophomores, declaring that he needed a night out with his boys– and he went. It was too late for you to make plans with your friends and you had to paint a cooler for Matthew for formal anyway, so you stayed in that night.

Luckily, this guy doesn’t seem offended. He chuckles. “Quinn,” he says. “What are you doing over here? Chucky’s not wondering where you are?”

“No, not today,” you reply. “He’s with his dad.”

Quinn nods. “Oh, yeah, Brady said Keith was coming into town for homecoming. Where are your friends?”

“Around here somewhere.” You continue on, describing what your friends were wearing in the picture they sent you this morning.

Quinn cringes. “I think they left a little while ago,” he says, breaking the news gently.

“Oh.” You don’t know what else to say.

“Here, hang with me,” Quinn offers. “I was just going to play pong with Petey and Demmer. Matt knows them. He likes them. We’ll keep you from talking to any of the guys he doesn’t fuck with, yeah?”

Just the mention of talking to guys Matthew doesn’t like makes your blood pressure spike. He’s gotten in one too many drunken brawls with your male friends and acquaintances, his jealousy tainting his vision red. You hate seeing him fighting, especially when you’re the one who has to drag him away. There have been a couple of times that people from your classes have stopped talking to you after Matthew threatens them. It’s just easier to avoid.

You agree to play pong with the boys, laughing with slim Petey and sweet Demmer. Quinn stands beside you, chuckling and jabbing back at the boys– and you– when they make cutting jokes. You feel comfortable next to him, laughing and growing more loose as you consume more beer.

You and Quinn lose the game, which would be sad enough without the tall boy you’re required to shotgun after losing. You’ve got a pleasant buzz afterward and Quinn offers to accompany you while you get another drink from the kitchen, his own tipsy smile convincing you that it’s a good idea to end up alone with him.

He talks with you as you fill a cup with jungle juice, the sharp taste of vodka mixing with the somewhat chemical flavor of cheap Hawaiian Punch. You drink one cup and make Quinn his own when you fix up your second, talking with him all the while.

His lips are stained red and his eyes are bright when he crushes his cup and tosses it into the messy frat sink. His hair falls messily forward as he fixes his backwards cap, the smile on his face stunning you.

You make either the worst mistake or best decision of your life in a split second, driven by the drinks and the genuine attention Quinn has given you. You kiss him right there, in the Xi Chi kitchen, with your boyfriend and his family just next door.

Better yet, Quinn kisses you back. He cups your butt with both hands, pulling you close and keeping you flush with him. He kisses messily, lazy and hungry at the same time. You feel yourself growing dizzy from his touch and his taste, tongue working into Quinn’s mouth to chase the thrill of desire. 

He’s greedy with you, lifting you up onto the counter and continuing to kiss you. Quinn grinds against your core, standing between your legs and running his hands all along your body. It’s good and you can feel how badly he wants you, how badly you want him, from the tension pulsing where your bodies connect. 

“Are you going to the game?” Quinn asks between breathless kisses.

You snap out of the moment. You forgot– actually forgot– you weren’t kissing Matthew. Quinn’s voice startles you, then the guilt sets in. “Oh my God,” you think aloud. “Oh my God.”

Quinn lifts his hands from your body immediately. 

“You can’t tell Matthew,” you instruct, hopping down from the counter and fixing your outfit. “You can’t tell Brady.”

“I swear,” Quinn promises, extending his pinkie to you. “I won’t tell them.”

You go to leave, pushing past Quinn, but he catches your arm.

“Look– Matthew’s not good to you,” Quinn says in a low voice. “You know it. I know it. If any part of you enjoyed what we just did… you know where to find me.” 

He releases your arm, freeing you to flee, but you feel rooted in place. After a moment, you shake the feeling away. You can’t deal with this right now– there’s no time to process that you just kissed another boy, another boy who affirmed that your boyfriend isn’t good for you, not when that boyfriend is probably wondering where you are next door. You need to appear before he gets suspicious and thinks something is happening, something exactly like this.

“Just–” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “I can’t do this right now. I have to go.”

A small smile appears on Quinn’s red lips. “Okay,” he says. “Good luck, Y/N. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

You run back to the Chi Phi party, back to Matthew, but there’s a niggling voice in the back of your head for the rest of the night: you liked kissing Quinn. A LOT more than kissing Matthew.

[vanillaxbambi]

+•#behind the camera || lee heesung.

+•pairing: childhood crush-> idol!heeseung x make-up artist!reader

+* wc: 5.5k

+•contains: eventual smut, mature content. mdni. will add more contents in later chapters.

synopsis: Ten years ago, you broke a boy’s heart with a single sentence on a moving bus. Now he’s a global idol, and you’re the makeup artist assigned to his face for a vampire-themed concept shoot. The moment he sits in your chair—long legs, lazy smirk, fangs and all—you feel it: tension. History. Trouble. Heeseung remembers you. All of you. And worse—he’s not letting you forget. He flirts effortlessly. Teases you in front of cameras. Asks about the past with too much familiarity and not enough mercy. You keep your brush steady, your voice calm, but behind the scenes? He’s unraveling you thread by thread. You swore you were over it. You swore he wouldn’t matter. But now, under the bright lights and his sharper-than-ever gaze, you’re starting to wonder— did you reject a boy…or just delay a man who was far too confident?

m i k a🌷: sooo because of felix flirting with Risabae as she does his make up and making her all flustered…. i thought, hmm 🤔that’s lowkey sooo heeseung coded. (i’m also on a heeseung trip rn so don’t at me okay) reblog and comment so i know that i’m not just here alone losing my mind.

🎀taglist: No pressure to you beautiful flowers to read at all! I love youuuu🌷💝 @heegyukeluv @fatherwound @str8ykids @twancingyunhao @nctrenjunie @allygator-98 @jay-scenarios @hansungie01 @jadedxfemme (let me know if you want to be tagged for future chapters)

chapter one.

when you enter the building, even though you were warned a week prior that you’d be doing some content work with a very popular boy group idol, you’re still overwhelmed by the halted stampede of fans screaming for the member who you’ll be collaborating with.

there’s colorful handmade signs of enhypen and you’re able to narrow down that you’re probably going to work with one of the english speaking members. considering that you’re a mua from overseas, your audience is geared towards the international audience anyways. assuming that you’ll work on either jay or jake was not far from likely.

as your staff continues to adjust and set up, you hurry to the mirror to check if your makeup looks decent enough to face an idol. you figured that this one would be slightly more challenging considering that you’ve only filmed makeup videos with female celebrities… a male idol was going to be… different to say the very least.

on cue, as soon as you finish touching up the natural wing on the corner of your eyes. a group of staff begin to enter and crowd around the entrance. You could basically hear the wall of high pitched roars coming from outside the building.

someone on the phone with a black mask strides through the room looking around before his eyes meet yours. they light up and he quickly races towards you. his outfit is quite bland and his hair is severly bare of any product so you assume that this is the manager.

“y/n! So sorry that we’re late!” The man with the mask greets apologetically.

“no worries. we aren’t broadcasting live or anything like that. if it means anything, I was also running behind.” Your voice is calm and smooth which visibly calms the neurotic manager.

then he walks in.

not jake.

not even jay.

heeseung.

lee heeseung.

the lee heeseung.

your heart drops. your childhood crush has walked into the building and is now going to be seated in front of you for the next few hours. while you touch their face and make him look more and more perfect

it’s insane how attractive he’s gotten over the decade that you’ve last seen him. any makeup that you could add onto his face would only be adding to perfection. now you’re running through all the techniques and shades that would match his warm toned skin.

his soft tenor greets all the other mua’s before finally landing in front of you. you doubt that he even remembers you, his facial expression makes no distinction of any recognition.

“Hello. It’s a pleasure to get to work with you y/n. I watch your videos all the time.” He compliments smoothly.

you pass off your thoughts as a thing of the past as soon as he greets you and immediately slip into your youtube personality. “Oh, i’m so honored! I’m a huge fan of enhypen and it’s such an honor to meet you! i look forward to working on you~”

his brow twitches up as you speak and the smile that slowly spreads on his face makes your body take a visceral screenshot.

“i can’t wait.” his voice is deeper than you remember.

he tilts one side of his lips up into what looks like a smirk before strolling off. you instantly make yourself busy and begin to gather all the skin care products and the make up supplies that you’re planning on using for the video.

“We are going for a dark vampire concept for this makeup look to match with the theme of enhypen’s new comeback in a few months. if we like the outcome of today, we’ll pay to higher you as temporary staff if you would like to join for their usa tour.” one of the important looking women from his team starts to inform you while you roll in all the skincare and makeup. “We just ask that for this video, you make it seem like the vampire concept is purely your idea.”

you oblige and nod. “Of course. I will do my best to show you what i can do.”

heeseung is seated in front of his manager as he washes his face clean.

you nearly drop the brushes that you’re organizing when he makes eye contact with you from all the way across the room. It’s the fact that when you drop your gaze, you don’t notice heeseung chuckling from your transparent reactions.

pull yourself together. you’re the charming makeup artist that men constantly fall for! it can’t be the other way around!

you suck in a breath to gather your composure.

“Cameras and lights ready… roll!”

you start your intro and smile brightly at the camera.

heeseung’s leaned up against the table right behind the tripod, waiting intently for you to introduce him.

heeseung’s eyes bore into you as you speed through your video intro and sponsorships. your hands fly up and gesture through your words. not knowing that heeseung could tell just from your erratic movements that you look more nervous here than you do in your usual videos.

he presence was clearly making you nervous.

“and soo…. I was contemplating on what makeup look I would like to show you all today. after a few pinterest boards later… I decided that i’ll be teaching you a sexy vampire look! And our special guest today will steal a million hearts with this look —will be none other than Enhypen's most charming and talented Heeseung!”

and right on cue, heeseung slowly slides into frame and waves. “hello, y/n.” he bows his head slightly towards you then turns to the camera. “Hello subcribers and engene! i hope you enjoy the video today!”

“Thank you for coming Heeseung-ssi. I can—”

“Just Heeseung is fine.” He interjects with those bambi eyes staring straight into your soul. Those same innocent looking eyes that once stared into yours a few years ago have only matured with age.

Your mouth is still hung open from having been interrupted by him. “Ah, no, no. Engene will flood the comments asking why I’m being so rude!”

He smiles gently before gazing toward the camera. “Engene, will understand… Won’t you? Engene has been requesting for so long that I appear on y/n’s channel for a collab, so I hope we can give you the content you’ve been waiting for.” For some reason his gaze directly toward the camera is mesmerizing. So mesmerizing that when he flits his eyes your way, you feel how intense his gaze was. It’s a good thing you're angled away from the camera so your facial expressions are somewhat hidden. “Plus, didn’t you tell me that you’re also my Engene when we saw each other earlier?”

A few gasps from the staff off camera and one also escaping you as well. He doesn’t take back his words even after the room’s reaction.

My Engene…

His eyes stay glued to yours. Expecting you to say something.

“Oh wow. put me on blast, huh? I uh, yes. I did.” You press your lips together before inhaling through your nose. You take this moment to rip your eyes from his gaze and face the camera with a smile. “I am a very big fan of enhypen, so this is also very exciting for me~”

“Well then, y/n.” He adjusts back into his chair. “I’m all yours.”

Another set of gasps but this time more excited giggles in between.

You quickly gaze over your products and start explaining how you’re going to work on his skincare base. While you do so, because of the way you film your content, you start to talk to your special guest. “So I hear that you enjoy producing and directing your team while recording your songs… Tell me about that.”

For the first time today, Hesseung looks shocked but still maintains the same unreadable smile on his face. “Ha, I didn’t think you knew much about me.”

“I do my research and like to keep up.” You interject playfully.

He doesnt seem to be interested in answering your question which throws you off but not as much as when he asks this. “Who’s your favorite?”

You.

“Um, I can’t choose! All of you are so talented.”

Heeseung narrows his eyes knowingly. “Don’t lie.”

“Well, if you’re asking me..” But you lie anyway. “Jay is kinda…”

Heeseung takes a moment to stare at you while scanning your eyes before he scoffs. His tongue pokes the side of his cheek as he chuckles. “Huh. I see. How do you know so much about me then if your so-called favorite is my friend Jay?”

Two female staff members hit each other on the arm as they don’t even try to contain their facial expressions.

“Uh,” You smile nervously. He’s coming on so strong that you aren’t even sure how to combat it… “You never answered my question...”

“I like watching people improve and the process of how songs come together.” He doesn’t miss a beat.

“I can imagine you’re more interested in how every little piece in creating a song works together, considering you were basically teaching and leading everyone during I-land.”

Heeseung’s brow twitches up again. Unable to hide the amusement on his face. “Wow. You’re good, y/n.”

“May I?” You ask while rubbing your fingers together to spread the serum around your fingers. Trying to cut the intense atmosphere between the two of you.

“Go ahead.” Rather than leaning forward or even sitting up straight, Heeseung leans back slightly into the chair not even bothering breaking eye contact with you.

Your upper thigh inadvertently brushes up against his knee. Immediately sending butterflies through your stomach while your fingers smooth the product into his plump, bare skin. “So Jay, huh?”

Does this guy not know how to move on???

“I uh-“

“I technically wanted to be on your channel first.” He interrupts again. “That must count for something, no?”

really. what was this dude trying to do?? make your heart stop and completely jump out of your chest?

“It just means that I’m doing my job well.” You smile in return. Doing your best at this point to counter any other approach he attempts in making you falter in 4k. In front of the staff. In front of your thousands of your followers.

After applying the cooler toned foundation for the vampire base you turn to the camera and in youtuber-esque fashion, you instruct the audience as you’ve always done. “Since I associate vampires as synonymous to the grunge/goth look, we’re applying a little bit of those techniques onto a blended and natural base.”

“So… when are you going to mention our history?” Heeseung blindsides you again for the nth time today.

Your producer almost spits out her coffee. Now the entire studio is watching with serious amusement. Most of the other makeup artists have stopped to observe.

“Our what?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember me.”

You, in fact, did.

What floors you more is, the entire time while you were trying to maintain professionalism, He was fishing for any sign that you recognized him.

What a cocky asshole.

You inadvertently recall your last interactions with him.

*** 10 years prior***

The bus buckles with every bump and pothole.

Your heart has been racing ever since the most attractive boy in school plopped into the seat next to you. You knew the bus ride would take quite a bit, so you mentally hype yourself up in your head to speak the best korean that’s ever left your mouth.

To your surprise, He speaks English fairly well. “Hi y/n. You don’t mind that I sit here next to you?”

“No, not at all.” You manage to squeak out before turning to press yourself into the window. So much for showing off your Korean skills.

“Cool.” He takes one earbud out of his ear and holds it out to you. “Want to listen?”

“Oh, um sure.” You pluck the earbud from his fingers and smile shyly. Trying not to tangle the earbud wires.

“Have you always been this quiet?” He curiously asks after the song ends. “You always hang out with a lot of people so I figured that you talked a lot.”

You did. With people that you were comfortable with. Not with people that you were completely head over heels for.

Yes. You were popular. But you could only accredit the international student status for that.

Your entire time here has been secretly admiring Lee Heeseung from afar.

Just like all the other girls that have admired him. You were just one of the many names and faces that are lined up on that imaginary list.

“We haven’t exactly talked before. So it’s hard to be myself if I don’t know you.”

“Good point.” Heeseung lifts a brow and then sticks his hand out the ol’ american way. “I’m Heeseung. Lee Heeseung.”

“I’m-“

“I know who you are, Miss Popular.” Heeseung smiles, enthusiastically. “Every boy here has a crush on you.”

“Not every boy—“ You start to feel your face get warm while your hands start to sweat. Because the only boy that would matter in that statement is speaking to you right now.

“No. Every boy.” Heeseung scrolls on his phone to find another song. He isn’t even looking up when he adds: “Including me.”

Is the emergency exit near by?

*** back to present time ***

“I didn’t think you remembered…” You blink at him as the smug look that creeps onto his face–continuing to give you heart palpitations. “That was soo long ago, Heeseung.”

Heeseung turns his head to the camera while pressing his lips into a line. Only holding your gaze for another hour long second before his eyes follow. “For those who are confused, y/n and i go wayyy back.” He claps his hands together and tilts his head. “She rejected me 10 years ago when she was an exchange student at my school for our liberal arts program.”

“I didn’t- I didn’t reject you.” A familiar warmth meets your cheeks and you want to crawl under a rock.

“You told me and I quote: “You aren’t exactly my type, I’m sorry.” While we sat together, on the bus ride for a museum field trip.” Heeseung snaps his head back to the audience, deadpanning the camera. “Longest 2 hours of my life.”

Your manager, Rose, has the biggest smile on her face. This was definitely going to pull in the viewers.

“Well after all these years… I suppose Jay being more your type is a better explanation over nothing.” Heeseung tilts his head in your direction with what seems like a bored expression. “Still, doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Far from that. “We weren’t going to work out if I had accepted your confession, I was leaving Korea one week from that point.”

“So if you had stayed longer, you might’ve had a different answer?” He leans forward a bit more intrigued. Someone grab the noose. “What I’m hearing is, you do remember and that you only rejected me because you were leaving?”

“I didn’t think the possibility of long distance would work out…” You stop blending out the rouge eye shadow from the corner of his lid. “Plus. We were 13…”

“Okay then. That’s fair.” Heeseung sits back into the chair. “What about now?”

”What do you mean “now”?” Your brow furrows with confusion. Consider your entire youtube personality dropped at this point.

“The possibility.”

“Of long distance?”

“Of being my girlfriend.”

Jaw? Passed the floor— In the center of the earth. Does this man have no filter?

His manager, of all times that he could’ve cut in, chooses now to cause a ruckus. “Woah woah! Aha! Let's pause right here for now!” He laughs nervously while moving his shoulder into the frame to ruin the shot.

Already, your coworkers have their phones in hand while rapidly blowing up the group chat. You knew that you’d probably never hear the end of it.

Heeseung’s unfinished makeup look and facial expression hasn’t changed considering he’s still looking evenly at you for your answer. “Well?”

“I can’t say.” You put the eyeshadow brush down. Now more frustrated that the attention has shifted from the content of the video to the content of your personal life. Which was already nonexistent to begin with. “I don’t know you personally. Nor do I even have the desire to get to know you now.”

“Oh?” He blinks into a shocked expression, his lips slightly tilting up into a half amused smirk. The corner of his brow curving in question. “Not even after you specifically told me that you’re a huge fan of enhypen?”

How dare he? You weren’t going to let this be out of your control. This was your channel. Your content was what made you so successful now.

“What—”You take a huge step back. You aren’t counting the seconds of silence that you take before making sure to round your shoulders to face the entire team. “….I need 20 minutes, please.”

The restroom is only a short reprieve.

You aren’t sure if it was the loud fans in the ceilings or if it was simply the hum of your heart racing. One thing was for sure. You would rather hide away in a hole now that Heeseung has put you on blast in front of your entire work place.

Your head wardrobe woman— also your best friend, Olive—rushes in to find you propped over the sink with your fingers brushing through your hair.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew Heeseung from Enhypen??? AND WHY IS HE FLIRTING WITH YOU IN FRONT OF EVERYONE?!?” Olive hushes out with complete fantic excitement before she, like a good friend should; acknowledges how stressed you look. “Did you just throw up?”

“ THERE WAS NOTHING TO KNOW OR TELL ABOUT. I DONT KNOW. AND I’M ABOUT TO. SO PLEASE LEAVE.” You hush yell back in the order of her questions. Sort of grounding yourself as Olive places a supportive hand over your lower back. Not actually throwing up but on the verge of a small anxiety attack.

Olive knows better than to listen to you while you try to push her away. “I saw pictures from the group chat. Do you even notice how this man is looking at you?”

Your friend swipes into the group chat and shows you the screen.

It’s a stolen shot from earlier when you were applying skincare onto his face. Heeseung’s deep brown eyes gaze so intensely into yours that you can't believe you’re seeing it in 3rd person. The image doesn’t even capture how nervous you were feeling on the inside.

“Why he kinda….” Olive takes the screen back and looks over the image again with her bottom lip caught in her teeth. “He looks like he wants to eat you up and—”

“Olive. Stop. talking.” You say in a way that makes her laugh from your reaction.

“You are totally into it.” Olive stabs at your side. “You got this way with Wooyoung when he was coming onto you hella strong after that one video you did with ATEEZ.”

“That’s different. He was flirting because he didn’t know me. This?” You point to her phone. “is coming from a man that I rejected when he was a boy.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Like 10 years ago.”

“Oh… He needs to build a bridge and get over it.” Olive slides the phone into her pocket while shaking her head. “Well, if it’s any consolation girl, I cleared the room to limited staff. I don’t want you to have prying eyes when you finish out this shoot.”

You couldn’t be more grateful for the kind of friendship that you and Olive have developed over the years of working together. “You’re the best.”

“Is it alright if I ask how exactly you rejected the Enhypen’s, Lee Heeseung?”

“Honestly… He hasn’t changed much since we went to school together.” You shake your head. “He’s just gotten better at it…anyway, I only rejected him because I knew that if I said anything about my crush on him… I’d be heartbroken on my way back home to America. At the time, I thought it was better that I told him that he wasn’t my type. It was the first excuse that I could think of.”

“Don’t tell me that you lied to that man again about how you feel.”

You had two routes to pick from. The serious one. Or the brain rot tik tok one.

“And I’d do it again!” You quote.

Olive rolls her eyes while laughing then aids you to move, patting your hip. “Girl, get back in there. Heeseung’s waiting.”

You glare at her playfully before gazing at the mirror to check your appearance. Your face has restored to its natural color and you can see that having a moment to yourself has done wonders to your nerves. “Fine. But this time. No more breaks..”

Your new resolve is to complete this video without any more hitches to the process.

By the time you make it back into the studio. You can see that most staff that weren’t directly involved in the process of this video have magically cleared the room. Leaving Heeseung’s staff and your closely trusted staff behind. Olive has joined the production team in making sure that things are in order, more so for your mental health, and in support of her best friend.

Heeseung is propped against a wall as his manager seemingly looks like a complete wreck. No doubt caused by Heeseung’s unhinged behavior.

You stride confidently toward the two men and address them with the same professional, youtuber tone. “Ready to continue shooting?”

“Back for me so soon?” Heeseung’s eyes flicker with amusement, somewhat always laced with a smug smirk that hides underneath his neutral expression. “Are you ready, y/n?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good.” Heeseung brushes past you and makes his way over to his designated chair.

Olive makes eye contact with you as a playful twitch of her brow gives you a bit more courage now that she was there in support.

His makeup look is halfway done and even with its imperfections you can see the vision coming together. This was going to be the best look you’ve done so far.

Heeseung has seemed to tone down his approach. Not sure if you’re exactly comfortable with his lack of brazenness. Though, you’re able to complete the eye look. You admit to yourself that it was easier this time with his eyes being closed for about 10 minutes.

In between explaining how you’re going about the look and what products to use. You find small opportunities to really analyze each curve of his face and how much has changed in his features in the past 10 years.

The small, skinny boy that you once remembered during your short time as an exchange student, has become a man. An attractive and insanely flirtatious one, at that.

“Alright. Let's get a good look at your eyes.” You prompt after brushing on some highlight right against his brow bone.

His eyes are still closed. It takes another beat to realize that he’s drifted off to sleep. A new feeling bubbles in your chest when you start to worry about how much sleep this man has gotten. You witness all the time in this industry, the reality of how little rest an idol gets despite how much they are required to perform and appear on live media.

“Heeseung…” You call gently before you hear a loud clap that startles you and the sleeping idol.

He shudders and his eyes droop a bit from how tired he is. “My bad.” For the first time he looks slightly embarrassed. “You have a very gentle hand. I was completely relaxed.”

“Happens. That’s alright.” Even you’re surprised with the gentle tone that you take on. With a slight hesitation. Then a moment for Heeseung to sit up and shake himself awake. Your hands gesture toward the main camera.

You take a step back to admire your work and move from the frame to allow your team to take multiple angled shots of your detailed eye look. The deep reds effortlessly blend into the espresso brown crease. The liner is complemented well against the shape of his full eyes. The colored contacts add to the fantasy effect that you were looking for. Only the slightest brushes of highlight over the higher points of his face.

The last thing to do, if not done tastefully — his lips.

“Now that we have the vampy eye look on...” You hold the products that you’ll be using up to the camera. “No vampire look is complete without wine red lips to match!”

You go in with a deep wine red and dab the product skillfully towards the center of his lips and slightly blend out to create almost a freshly sipped wine effect. “Like a vampire drinking fresh blood from a helpless victim!” You comically add to the camera.

This whole time Heeseung is quietly observing you and scanning your features as well. His lips bounce with every tap and you can’t help but feel a shudder through your spine when the tip of your pinky brushes slightly against his soft skin.

How would it feel to kiss his lips— Oh my god.

His eyes follow yours. He’s caught you staring at his lips.

Yet. He doesn’t say anything.

If eyes could speak. His eyes would tell you a million reasons why you should lean forward and steal a kiss right here, right now. In front of your entire team. In front of a million subscribers to view once everything’s edited.

He looks enchanting. An actual vampire waiting to pounce and take from you what belongs to him. His eyes scan from your lips then slowly right back to your eyes.

You aren’t sure why but you’re holding your breath.

The moment breaks - someone from the production team comes into the frame holding up a dark outfit to complete the look.

Your manager, Rose, who’s somehow managed to remain quiet this entire time with Olive whispering into her ear, brushes her shoulder against you as Heeseung takes the top and moves to the changing room. “They want to hire you to be enhypen’s lead makeup artist for their US tour.”

Her tone is coated in hushed excitement which causes your heart to race. This was a huge deal especially for a youtube makeup enthusiast who started out in her dorm, recording on her iphone propped up by her english textbooks. Something as incredible as a lead kpop idol makeup artist to add to your portfolio. For Enhypen to be exact.

Just one problem.

On the long list of problems that don’t even start with make up.

One named: Lee Heeseung.

“Why aren’t you excited?” Rose frowns, nudging your arm with her elbow. “You have been such a self made and well liked youtuber for the past 4 years! Your subscribers would love to watch you take on a new adventure.”

“I know.” You sigh. Shifting your weight between your feet while fidgeting with a lip tint that’s still in your grasp. “It’s just… spending so much time with…”

“With Heeseung?” Rose sighs with a knowing smile on her face. “I wasn’t aware that you still liked him.”

“What?” Immediately you dial back and stare at her in complete offense. “I don’t.”

“Girl, you wouldn’t react like that unless you did.” Olive butts in, on the other side of you.

“You can say no.” Rose chimes.

“Yeah, You can totally say no to doing the job.” Olive agrees.

“You say no, and lose the opportunity of a lifetime though.” Rose counters.

“And would be on you, Boo.” Olive nods. Nudging your arm again once Heeseung comes out of the changing room.

Fully clothed and perfect.

His tall frame almost brings his head to touch the top of the doorway. Broad shoulders filling out the tailored jacket around his torso paired with long slender legs clad in form fitting slacks. His larger hands move up to adjust his hair that's now slicked back and styled to suit the look. Silver jewelry adorns his gently tanned neck and wrists. The rings— oh god. The rings. Adorned beautifully over his long, slender fingers- emphasizing his veiny hands...

“Wow.” You find yourself vocalizing quietly to yourself. “I might consider.”

“Get used to that.” Rose whistles, while pulling Olive away so that you can have space to move around the camera.

Heeseung makes his way toward you. You’re not sure how the hour transformed Heeseung into someone more gentle… But he seems more tentative and cooperative with you during these final shots.

You grab a blending sponge and go to dab some spots of concealer that hasn’t entirely blurred into his skin. Up close and personal with his body, you can practically drown in his cologne. The smell of a musky, sweet ocean invades your senses and you can’t stop yourself from taking long breaths in.

“Will you accept?” Heeseung interrupts your thoughts.

“Huh?” You blink, still drunk from his scent.

Heeseung chuckles, turning his head away to seemingly hide his smile from you. “Will you join us for the tour or are you that uninterested in me to actually decline the offer?”

“I wouldn’t use you as an excuse to say no.” You point out, moving your hand back and tossing the sponge back into your tray. “I know a great opportunity when I see one.”

“Good. Your talent should be seen by everyone.” Heeseung tilts his head, getting to your level. “Especially on a face that’s seen everywhere.”

He winks before striding back over to his chair. You’re almost impressed by how braisen he is but you can’t find yourself to be shocked anymore. if you were going to get used to seeing his face you were going to have to desensitize yourself to his charm. despite how attracted you are to him.

The last part of the shoot didn’t require much effort now considering Heeseung’s a literal natural in front of the camera. Yet, you didn’t expect any less.

Even while knowing him from primary school, he shined the brightest amongst the most talented students. You are almost proud of him for getting as far as he has. You would catch him working hard in the practice rooms, playing piano and singing along to all the new songs. Determination at its finest. The fruit of his labor. The success of enhypen. He came such a long way.

“Last closing remarks and we should be good to end the shoot!” Your lead director throws out for the room to hear.

Heeseung, somehow ends up next to you. You weren’t sure he got there but you imagine that thinking about your intertwined past might have caused you to space out a little.

His arm brushes yours. “You have an iphone?.” He mutters barely loud enough for you to hear..

“What?” You don’t believe you heard him correctly.

“For facetime.” He doesn’t explain. “Take my number. This is my personal phone.”

You look down and see that he’s passed you a small piece of paper.

“Aren’t you a Samsung ambassador?” You remember seeing videos of all the members only accepting Samsung phones to hold from their fans.

He chuckles, bringing a finger up to his lips. “Shh.”

This makes you laugh. Pocketing the piece of paper into your small jean pocket.

“You know,” Heeseung tilts his body down so you could hear him better above the noise of your staff moving things around. “I’m proud of what you made for yourself. I knew you'd make a name for yourself.”

His words are flattering and almost nostalgic. You try to slow your breathing in order to sound calm when you say,

“I could say the same and even more for you, Ace.”

* * *

He smiles at his long lasting nickname. He was called Ace long before he had joined the company as a trainee.

Yet, coming from you?

His heart begins to race as it floods with the memories of his juvenile crush.

To him. You didn't just change. You evolved into someone he could match. Someone who would understand his world.

And even though he only saw it on screen these past years, he wasn't going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers-again.

* * *

chapter 2 coming soon...

m i k a 🌷: AHHH! after such a huge slump in writing and actually posting on this account, I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing this! let me know what you think lovelies!!

[livvymd]

✶ ࣪˖࿐ *best friends.

꣑ৎrequest: heyyy i love you’re writing!! i was wondering if you could do a story about george and reader being best friends but unusually close like REALLY touchy and flirty but deny everything?first time asking anything so sorry if this is bad don’t feel any pressure to actually do it 😭😭. but yeah that would be amazing!! wouldn’t mind smut btw 🙈🙈

You and George were best friends. Everyone knew that.

Or, well, that’s what you both said while you were curled up in his lap during movie nights, your legs thrown over his, your head tucked under his chin while he scrolled tiktok with one hand resting on your bare thigh, his thumb absentmindedly tracing slow, warm lines over your skin as the blue light flickered across both of your faces. His chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, steady and comforting, the faint scent of his body wash clinging to the soft fabric of his hoodie where your nose was pressed, your breath warming the spot through the cotton. His other hand occasionally lifted to swipe the screen, the faint sound of videos layered beneath the hum of the heating and the occasional creak of the sofa as you adjusted yourself, pressing closer into him without thinking.

“That’s literally my best friend,” you’d comment under those tiktok edits people made of you two, clips from vlogs where he hugged you from behind, arms locking tight around your waist, your laugh ringing out as you nearly dropped your coffee, or when he pulled you into him when you were laughing too hard to stand straight, burying your face in his chest while his hand slid down to rest low on your waist, his fingers splayed and pressing in a way that felt a little too intimate if you thought about it for longer than a second. The way he pressed his nose into your hair when you weren’t looking, inhaling softly before pulling away with a small, private smile, was captured in shaky phone camera quality, frozen in a single frame that people would slow down to point out in the comments, but you’d just roll your eyes, screen warm in your hand as you scrolled past.

Just friends, obviously.

It was even funnier when George would stitch those clips saying, “Internets mad, she’s just my mate,” while you were literally sitting on his lap, your arms around his neck, your fingers absently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, both of you trying not to laugh as he pressed his cheek against yours for comedic effect, the soft bristle of his stubble brushing your skin, your smile wide enough that your cheeks ached. You could feel the vibration of his laugh against your chest where you pressed into him, feel the way his hands squeezed around your waist when you wiggled, trying to get comfortable.

Yyou didn’t even notice it anymore, the way you’d put your feet on his thighs when you sat across from him, pressing your cold toes against him while he pretended to scowl before covering your feet with his warm hands, thumbs rubbing absent, comforting circles into your ankle bones. The way he’d slip a hand under your hoodie to rub circles into your hip when you were cold, the pads of his fingers hot against the thin material of your pyjama shorts, sending a quiet shiver across your skin as you kept your eyes on the TV, pretending you didn’t notice the way his fingertips pressed gently, grounding you. The way you’d call him baby by accident, your voice coming out soft and warm as you asked him to pass your phone or remind you what the plan was for tomorrow, so often that it wasnt even an accident anymore, slipping out with the same easy familiarity as his name.

You’d changed in front of him countless times, usually while he lay on your bed, phone in hand, sprawled out with his socked feet hanging off the edge, giving commentary between scrolls, the glow of the screen lighting up the soft smirk on his lips.

“Bit of a dead outfit that,” he’d say, eyes flicking up at you from under his lashes, that teasing glint there as he watched you pull a hoodie over your head, your hair sticking up with static, making him snort.

Then grin when you threw a sock at him, the fabric hitting him in the chest before bouncing onto the duvet, his low chuckle filling the room, warm and close.

“Shut up, you’re literally wearing the same grey joggers for the third day in a row,” you’d shoot back, rolling your eyes as you adjusted your top, catching his gaze in the mirror across the room.

“Yeah, but I look good in them,” he’d shoot back, smirking, his voice dropping just a touch, eyes flicking down your body in a way that made your stomach do a weird, warm flip you always ignored, the heat creeping up your neck as you turned away, your pulse quick in your ears as you tried to keep your expression neutral, pretending it didn’t feel like the room had gotten smaller, closer, quieter, just for a second.

Just friends.

One evening, it was raining, and George didn’t want to go home.

He’d sprawled himself across your bed, one arm tucked under his head, the other lazily holding his phone above him, hoodie half off his shoulder, the soft stretch of his collarbone peeking out against the dark fabric. His hair was a mess, curls sticking damp to his forehead, the scent of rain and the cold air clinging to him as droplets dripped from the ends of his fringe onto the pillow. Every so often, he’d swipe up on a video, that stupid little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he held back a laugh, his thumb tapping idly against the screen in a rhythm that matched the soft drumming of the rain against your window.

You were fresh out of the shower, towel wrapped around you, warm steam still clinging to your skin, leaving your hair damp and sticking to your shoulders as you padded back into your bedroom, the floor cool beneath your bare feet. The scent of your body wash mixed with the crisp scent of rain filtering in through the open crack in the window, the chill in the air brushing against your heated skin, making goosebumps rise along your arms as you stepped further into the room.

George glanced up, pushing his curls off his forehead with a flick of his fingers, grinning lazily as his eyes flicked over you, “Didn’t even dry your hair properly, did ya?”

You rolled your eyes, shifting the towel higher on your chest as you walked past him to your dresser, droplets of water sliding down your legs in thin, glistening trails. “Didn’t even take off your shoes, did ya?” you mimicked back, letting your voice carry that soft, playful bite you always used with him.

He lifted his foot, showing you the socked sole, his ankle flexing as he wiggled it at you, smirk widening, his eyes bright with amusement. “Took ‘em off at the door, actually,” he shot back, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Dickhead,” you muttered under your breath, but your lips tugged upwards despite yourself, the word coming out softer than you intended.

George just chuckled, low and easy, the sound rumbling in the quiet room, eyes flicking back to his phone, though you could feel the way they lingered for a moment, a beat too long, before he looked down.

You didn’t think twice as you unwrapped your towel, the soft fabric falling in a heavy heap at your feet, warm air ghosting across your freshly showered skin, leaving tiny goosebumps in its wake. Your back was turned, hair dripping water down your spine as you rummaged through your top drawer, fingers brushing over soft cotton and lace as you searched for a bra, the quiet rustle of fabric loud in the stillness.

You’d done it before. He’d seen you in bikinis, your skin slick with sunscreen and saltwater, towels wrapped low around your hips as you pulled on hoodies over your swimsuits, laughter spilling from your lips as he rushed you to leave. You’d stood in your little matching sets, one sock on, one sock off, pulling on jeans while he lay sprawled out complaining, “Hurry up, we’re gonna miss our train,” his voice muffled into your pillow.

But this time, the room was quiet.

You could feel his eyes on you, heavy, hot, dragging over the curve of your hips where they dipped into your waist, over the faint shimmer of water droplets gliding down your back, following the trail along your spine until they disappeared beneath the soft swell of your hips. You coudl feel the heat prickling at your neck as you bent to grab a bra from the drawer, the cool air brushing against the soft swell of your chest, your hair swinging over your shoulder as you glanced down, pretending you didn’t notice the way the air had changed, how the silence felt thick, pressing, like the moment was stretching out, waiting for one of you to breathe.

And you could feel it, the way his gaze traced every inch of you, warm and unblinking, your skin tightening under the weight of it, your heart thumping loud in your ears, a soft, slow heat pooling low in your stomach that you tried, desperately, to ignore.

Just friends.

Obviously.

You caught it in the mirror, the way his phone was frozen in his hand, the screen’s glow lighting up the stillness of his features, the way his jaw tensed so subtly, the muscle feathering beneath his skin, lips parting just slightly like he’d forgotten how to keep them closed.

You saw the way his joggers shifted, the unmistakable twitch of fabric over the outline of him, the small, involuntary jerk that betrayed everything, and the way his hand immediately moved, fingers pressing down as if adjusting himself subtly, like he thought you wouldn’t notice, like he thought you’d still believe the easy lie of best friends.

Your heart thundered, a heavy, pulsing thud that echoed in your ears, heat flooding between your legs before you could even process it, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes stayed fixed on his reflection, on the soft flush crawling up the column of his throat.

“George..” you said softly, pulling your arms through your bra straps, the clasp still undone, the fabric resting against your skin as you turned around to face him, your hair dripping water down your chest, catching in the lace.

His eyes flicked up, wide, dark, like a guilty teenager caught stealing glances, his adams apple bobbing hard as he swallowed, fingers twitching against the phone still resting limply in his hand. “What?”

You smirked, letting the corner of your mouth curl as you took your time to clasp your bra, fingers moving slow, deliberately fumbling with the hooks, letting your chest shift subtly as you adjusted the straps, your eyes locked on his, watching them dip down before he forced them back up to your face, pink blooming across his cheeks.

“Oh, nothing,” you teased, your voice light, feigning nonchalance as you stepped into your shorts, tugging them up slowly over your damp thighs, the soft cotton catching on your skin before you pulled them higher, letting the waistband snap lightly against your hips with a quiet, sharp sound that made his eyes widen, the flush creeping all the way up to his ears.

His eyes dragged down, helpless, hungry, before they snapped back up to your face, cheeks flushed pink, lips pressing together as he tried to control his expression.

“Shut up,” he muttered, but his voice was hoarse, strained around the edges, the words soft, cracking slightly as they left him, and he couldn’t stop looking at you, eyes darting down and up, down and up, breath coming a little faster.

You padded over, bare feet silent on the floor, stepping between his knees where he sat on the edge of your bed, the fabric of his joggers brushing softly against your shins as you stood close, so close that you could feel the warmth rolling off him, the scent of rain and the faint trace of his cologne drifting up to meet you.

Your hand reached out, fingers sliding gently through his messy curls, the strands soft and damp under your touch as you pushed them off his forehead, your thumb brushing across his temple, down to his cheekbone, feeling the heat there, the way his skin burned beneath your fingertips.

“You’re so red,” you teased gently, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone, catching the edge of the flush spreading across his skin, the softness in your voice belying the sharp, quick thrum in your chest, the heat pooling low in your stomach as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment under your touch, breath catching as you traced your thumb down to the edge of his jaw.

“am not,” he shot back, but his voice was soft, nearly breaking, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes, dark and desperate, his breathing uneven. His hands hovered at your sides like he didn’t know where to put them, fingers twitching, clenching and unclenching against the fabric of his joggers, knuckles pale.

You tilted your head, letting your thumb trace the corner of his mouth, your skin brushing over the soft prickle of stubble on his jaw, the faint scratch of it sending sparks down your spine. His lips were warm under your touch, parted slightly, breath hot against the pad of your thumb as you traced along the edge, your stomach flipping, tightening with a warmth that settled low, heavy and wanting, the air in the room suddenly thick, hard to swallow.

“George,” you whispered, softer this time, your voice catching around the syllables like it was the first time you were really saying his name, letting it mean everything it always had, everything you’d tried to hide.

His hands lifted, fingers finally finding you, gripping your hips, thumbs pressing into the dip of your waist, hard enough that you felt the imprint of them through your shorts. His fingers dug in, pulling you closer, dragging you flush between his knees until your thighs brushed his, the heat of him radiating against your bare skin.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he breathed, voice rough, ragged at the edges, eyes pinned to yours, wide and pleading.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me,” he muttered, jaw tightening, the muscles feathering under his skin, his eyes dropping to your lips again before flicking back up, voice low and strained, “Don’t, if you dont-”

“I do,” you said, before you could stop yourself, your voice soft but steady, the truth breaking free, raw and heavy in the charged silence.

The air cracked between you, the denial you’d both wrapped around yourselves like a blanket for so long finally tearing, the weight of it falling away, leaving only the thrum of your heartbeat in your ears, the sharp inhale he took as the words sank in.

His eyes darkened, his grip tightening on your hips as he tugged you forward, pulling you down into him with a desperate, helpless force. You fell into his lap, your legs moving to straddle him instinctively, the fabric of your thin shorts riding up as you settled over him, your knees bracketing his hips, your hands bracing on his shoulders, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his hoodie.

You could feel him, hard beneath you, pressing up through the soft grey fabric of his joggers, thick and unmistakable, the heat of him searing through the layers between you, pushing against the thin, damp cotton of your shorts. Your breath caught, a sharp, shaky gasp slipping out as your hips shifted, the movement sending a spark of heat through your core, your thighs tightening around him, pressing closer.

His breath hitched, loud in the quiet room, his hands flexing on your hips, pulling you down harder against him as you felt the full length of him pressing up, hard and heavy, trapped between your bodies. You could feel the way he twitched beneath you, the subtle, desperate jerk of his hips upward meeting the involuntary roll of yours, your clit catching against the seam of your shorts, sending a sharp, aching pleasure through you that made your stomach tighten, your lips part on a quiet, shaky breath.

His eyes were locked on yours, dark and hungry, his chest rising and falling rapidly, breath mingling with yours in the scant inches between your faces, the scent of rain and him wrapping around you as you felt every inch of his hardness straining against you, so close, so hot, so impossible to ignore now that you’d felt it, pressed directly against the aching heat between your thighs.

“Fuck,” he whispered, breath shaky, eyes fluttering shut as the word slipped out, rough and raw against the silence.

You leaned in, slow and deliberate, pressing your forehead gently to his, the warmth of your skin radiating between you, your nose brushing his in the faintest, teasing touch. Your lips hovered, barely touching his, close enough to feel the tremble of his breath mingling with yours, electric and tight.

“Say it,” you whispered, voice low and urgent, like a secret only the two of you shared, like the whole world had shrunk to this fragile, trembling moment.

“What?” His voice was thick, unsteady, barely above a breath, like he was afraid to speak the truth aloud.

“Say you want me too.”

His hands clenched your waist tighter, fingers pressing under the hem of your shorts, skin warm and trembling beneath his touch. His eyes snapped up to meet yours, burning, dark, fierce, raw vulnerability flickering there, a desperate need.

“I want you,” he said, voice breaking as if admitting it cost him something deep, like he’d been holding it inside, aching to say it for longer than he could remember, the words catching in his throat but finally, finally free.

You smiled, breathless, a soft laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep, trembling and light as you finally closed the last inch between you, lips meeting his in a kiss that was gentle at first, a feather-light brush, tentative and searching.

But then George’s hand slid up your back, warm and insistent, pulling you impossibly closer until your bodies were flush, every nerve alight. The kiss deepened, his tongue slipping past your lips, tasting you, hungry and raw, as if he was devouring every part of you in that moment.

You moaned softly, the sound low and breathy against his mouth, fingers tangling in the thick curls at the nape of his neck, tugging lightly as if to anchor yourself. He groaned, so so deep,guttural even, and pulled you even closer, crushing you against him so your chest pressed to his, heart pounding, hips grinding slowly down against the undeniable hardness pressing up beneath you.

The kiss was messy, desperate, years and years of stolen glances, quiet touches, denied feelings crashing down between you like a storm breaking free. You kissed him like you were starving, like every second without this was a lie, like you were finally, irrevocably allowed to want him the way you always had, raw, aching, and utterly relentless.

Your lips were swollen, tender and tingling, your breathing ragged, each inhale shaky as it filled your chest, your exhales brushing warm across George’s throat. Strands of your hair clung to your damp skin, sticking to your cheeks and collarbone, your flushed chest rising and falling as you sat straddling him, the heat between you so thick it was almost suffocating, both of you barely holding it together.

Your bare chest pressed flush against him, skin to cotton, your nipples dragging across the soft fabric of his t-shirt with every shaky breath and tiny movement, sending sparks of sensation down your spine, your thighs tightening around his hips. You barely registered the way his hands had moved, angelic in their gentleness, tugging your bra off and letting it fall to the floor without a word, his touch so light you barely felt it, lost in the haze of want clouding your mind.

But you felt the way your nipples brushed and caught against him, dragging over the soft, worn cotton stretched across his chest, each movement shooting a sharp, delicious ache through you, leaving your skin pebbled, sensitive, desperate for more.

You rocked your hips down, a slow, deliberate grind, dragging yourself over the hard, thick line of him pressing up through the soft fabric of his grey joggers. Even through the layers, you could feel the heat of him, the way he filled out the fabric, thick and hot, pressing perfectly against the soaked material of your thin shorts, your wetness clinging to the cotton, sticking to you with every drag of your hips as you ground down harder, chasing the friction.

“Fuck..” he groaned, head tipping back against the wall, curls brushing against it as his eyes fluttered shut, lips parting around a shaky breath. His hands gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging into your skin, thumbs pressing into the curve of your waist, trying to hold you still, trying to control himself, but the way you rolled your hips again had a broken, needy sound tearing from his throat, a sound you felt vibrate where your chest pressed against him.

“Don’t-” he choked, voice hoarse, breathless, jaw tightening as he clenched it hard, trying to suppress another moan that threatened to slip out as you rocked down, dragging your wetness over him, the pressure building with each slow grind.

“Don’t what?” you teased softly, your voice low, breathy, warm against his ear as you leaned in, your lips brushing the sharp line of his jaw, pressing a soft kiss there before trailing down, finding that sensitive spot just under his ear, the one you’d always noticed made him shiver when you hugged him from behind. You kissed it softly, then let your teeth graze it just slightly, feeling him gasp beneath you, his hips jerking up involuntarily.

You rocked down harder, letting your hips press and roll, your clit catching perfectly on the ridge of him beneath the fabric, the pressure hitting just right, making your breath stutter, your eyes fluttering shut as a soft, broken moan slipped from your lips against his skin, the heat between your legs pulsing, throbbing, desperate for more.

“Don’t do that unless you’re gonna-”

His voice broke, cutting off in a strangled, desperate moan when you rolled your hips again, slow, deliberate, your soaked heat dragging perfectly over the thick, hard ridge of him beneath his joggers, darkening the soft grey fabric where your bodies pressed together. The wetness was obvious now, sticking the cotton of your shorts to your folds, leaving nothing hidden, every slow grind sending a sharp ache through you, your breath catching, your thighs trembling from the slow, dirty friction.

You pulled back, just enough to see his face, needing to see him, needing to watch him fall apart beneath you.

His brows were pinched together, that soft furrow of pleasure and restraint, trying so hard to hold on, to keep himself together. His mouth was parted, lips swollen and red from your kisses, slick with spit, a small shine catching in the low light as his breaths stuttered out in shaky, uneven pants. His jaw was tense, sharp lines shifting as he clenched and unclenched, trying to keep quiet, trying to stay composed, but failing with every slow drag of your hips over him.

His eyes. God, his eyes. they were glazed, heavy-lidded, pupils blown so wide the blue was nearly swallowed up, only a thin ring remaining, dark and glassy as they tried, desperately, to stay on yours. They flickered down helplessly, dropping to where your bodies met, the sight of your hips rolling down, your wet shorts dragging across the thick, obvious outline of him, making his breath hitch, his lashes fluttering before he forced them back up, meeting your gaze with a dazed, wrecked look that made your stomach flip.

He looked drunk on you. Ccompletely gone, the soft pink flush creeping high on his cheeks, spreading down his throat, sweat gathering at his hairline, dampening the messy curls that clung to his forehead. His lips trembled, a small, breathy sound escaping as you rolled your hips again, a whimper that he tried to swallow down but couldn’t.

“You like this, baby?” you whispered, voice low, teasing, letting it drip warmth between you as your hips rolled again, slow, controlled, making sure he felt every slick drag, every press of your clit catching on him, the pressure perfect.

Your hands slid up his chest, dragging lightly over the fabric of his t-shirt, your nails scratching lightly, feeling the heat of him underneath, the way his chest rose and fell rapidly, the way his muscles twitched under your touch as you moved.

His eyes flickered down, glazed and dark, watching where your hips moved, where your body pressed down against him, the fabric of your shorts soaked and sticking to your folds, dragging over him in slow, filthy circles, leaving a dark patch of wetness on his joggers that spread with every roll, every grind.

“Fuck, yeah, I- fuck, don’t stop,” he groaned, voice breaking, so wrecked it made your thighs clench, your core pulsing with need. His hands flexed on your hips, gripping tighter, dragging you down harder, guiding you into him, his own hips bucking up just slightly, a desperate, uncontrolled jerk before he caught himself, chest heaving as he tried to slow down, to savour the way you felt, the way the moment stretched hot and thick between you.

You smirked, leaning in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, open-mouthed kiss, your tongue brushing against his, tasting the soft, helpless whimpers he let out against your mouth. You rolled your hips again as you kissed him, the friction building, slow and delicious, making your thighs tremble around him, the pressure between your legs coiling tighter, sharper, with every grind, every shaky breath, every soft, broken sound he made beneath you, drunk on you, completely undone in your hands.

“Lay back,” you murmured against his lips, your breath warm and shaky, your mouth brushing his with each word.

“What?” he asked, dazed, pupils blown wide, eyes unfocused for a moment as if the words weren’t sinking in, too lost in the heat of you.

“Lay back for me,” you repeated, your voice soft but firm, your hands sliding up to his chest, pushing gently, feeling the hard thump of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

He let you, like he couldn’t even think to resist, falling back onto your pillows with a soft, breathy sound, his curls splaying out across your sheets, dark strands catching the glow of the lamp, haloing around his flushed face. His hands stayed on your hips, fingers gripping softly as you stayed straddling him, sitting up fully so he could see you.

The way his eyes darkened made your breath catch, your chest tightening as his gaze dragged over you, slow and hungry, tracing every line of your body, the curve of your waist, the soft swell of your breasts, your nipples tight in the cool air, the way your hair stuck to your damp skin. His eyes dropped lower, following the movement of your hips as you rolled down on him again, slow and deliberate, leaving another dark, soaked patch on the grey fabric of his joggers where your wetness spread across him, dragging heat through your core with each shift.

“Jesus Christ…” he whispered, voice rough, breaking around the edges as his chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath warm and uneven, lips parted. His hands slid up your waist, warm and trembling, callused fingertips dragging across your ribs before cupping your breasts, the heat of his palms sinking into your skin. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, the touch soft but sparking sharp pleasure through you, making you gasp, your back arching into his hands, your thighs tightening around his hips.

“You like watching me like this?” you teased, your voice breathy, laced with the warmth curling low in your stomach as you rocked your hips down again, slow, letting him feel every inch of you, the thick, hard line of him pressing perfectly against your soaked folds through the thin fabric, catching on your clit with every drag, sending a sharp, delicious jolt of pleasure through you that made your eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“Yeah,” he admitted, breathless, his voice soft but desperate, as if the words were being pulled from him, “Fuck, I love it. Love seeing you on top of me, baby.”

His eyes were fixed on you, dark and blown wide, the green swallowed up by black, his gaze dragging down to where your hips moved, the way your wetness stained his joggers, the fabric clinging to him, outlining the hard, thick length of him pressing up against you with every slow grind. His hands moved, thumbs circling over your nipples again, making your breath stutter, your hips grinding down harder, the friction perfect, your wetness slicking the fabric, the heat building with every drag.

You whimpered, a soft, broken sound tearing from your throat as your hips moved faster, the rhythm picking up without conscious thought, driven by the sharp, desperate need building inside you. Your hands braced against his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his t-shirt, feeling the heat of him beneath, the steady, frantic thump of his heartbeat matching the pounding of yours.

You rode him through his joggers, each roll of your hips sending jolts of pleasure shooting through you, your clit throbbing with every grind against the thick, hard line of him straining against the damp fabric, the friction slick, dirty, perfect. You could feel every ridge, every twitch, every desperate throb of him pressing up against you, hot and heavy, dragging over your soaked shorts, your wetness spreading, sticking the fabric to you as you rocked down harder.

“Feels so good…” you moaned softly, your voice breathless, catching on the end as your head tipped back, your hair falling down your back in messy waves, sticking to the sweat gathering along your spine. Your back arched, your chest pressing forward, your nipples dragging across the fabric of his shirt with every bounce, sending sharp, electric sparks through you as you moved faster, chasing the high coiling tight in your stomach.

“Yeah? Feels good?” he panted, his voice rough, wrecked, every word punched out around shaky breaths. His hands slid back down to your hips, gripping tight, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he guided you, helping you move exactly how you needed, pulling you down harder, grinding you against him. His own hips lifted just slightly to meet you, tiny thrusts that made the friction sharper, deeper, pulling a groan from his lips that made your core tighten, your clit pulsing.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he praised, voice low, reverent, his eyes glued to you, pupils blown wide, dark and hungry as they followed every movement. He watched the way your breasts bounced with each roll of your hips, the way your stomach tightened, the way your face twisted in pleasure, your lips parted, your brows furrowed, your eyes glassy with want.

“George…” you whimpered, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, rolling your hips down harder, dragging your clit against him with each grind, the friction hitting that perfect spot that made your thighs start to tremble, your breath catching in your throat as the pressure built higher, sharper, your orgasm creeping closer with each desperate rock of your hips.

“That’s it, baby, just like that,” he encouraged, his voice low, ragged, the words slipping out between soft, helpless moans, “Ride me, yeah? Ride me just how you like it.”

Your eyes snapped open, locking onto his, and the moment hit you like a wave. the intimacy of it, the way he was looking at you, the heat, the softness, the pure need in his eyes as he watched you fall apart on top of him. It made your stomach tighten, your hips stuttering as you ground down harder, chasing the edge you were dangling over.

“Fuck, George, I’m gonna- ” you gasped, the words breaking as your hips stuttered again, the pleasure cresting, washing over you in a hot, sharp wave that left you trembling, your thighs shaking around his hips as you came, grinding down hard, your clit catching on him again and again as you rode out your high. Your nails dug into his chest through the fabric of his shirt, your breath coming in quick, broken gasps as you whimpered his name, your vision blurring with the force of it.

“Good girl, fuck, that’s it, baby, that’s it,” he praised, voice low and warm, eyes fixed on you, full of so much raw, open want it made your heart stutter. His own hips lifted to meet yours, letting himself get lost in the moment, chasing the friction, the heat, as his hands slid up your back, holding you tight, pulling you down.

He kissed you, hard and deep, his tongue sliding into your mouth as you whimpered against him, your body still trembling, every nerve alight, the taste of him, the feel of him, anchoring you as you rode out every last wave of your orgasm in his lap, your hips moving slow, desperate, grinding against the thick, hot length of him pressed up between you, the wet, messy drag of it sending aftershocks pulsing through you as you kissed him, letting him swallow your soft, breathless moans.

You rolled off him, your thighs still trembling, breath coming in soft, uneven puffs as you lay down next to him, the warmth of him radiating beside you. Your hair fanned out on the pillow, strands sticking to your damp skin, your body still humming, oversensitive in the best way.

You turned your head, looking at him, and he turned too, his curls messy, sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed pink, lips parted as he caught his breath. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his in a soft, slow kiss, tasting the warmth of him, the softness of his lips, letting it ground you in the quiet after the storm.

But you paused, your eyes flicking down, catching the dark, wet patch spreading across the front of his grey joggers, the fabric clinging to him, a puddle visible, the dampness unmistakable.

“Wait, when did you- ” you started, your eyes wide, blinking in confusion, your brain trying to catch up.

“I finished really close to the start,” he admitted, his voice low, still breathless, the words slipping out on a sheepish exhale. Then a grin spread across his face, that stupid, boyish grin that made your heart ache, eyes crinkling, curls bouncing as he let out a small, breathless laugh. “That was fucking hot.”

You stared at him in disbelief, your lips parting, a soft, incredulous laugh bubbling up, unable to process it as you glanced back down at the obvious wetness staining his joggers.

“How didn’t i notice?” you asked, blinking, your voice soft, teasing, your heart still thudding in your chest as you looked back at his flushed, happy face.

“I tried not to show it so you could keep going,” he confessed, his voice softer now, more vulnerable, eyes flicking up to meet yours, warm and earnest, “I just wanted to make you feel good. I didn’t even mean to, it just.. fuck, I couldn’t help it.”

The sincerity in his voice, the soft, pink flush on his cheeks, the way his eyes were shining, made your heart swell, warmth blooming in your chest so suddenly it almost hurt, your lips curving into a small, fond smile as you reached out, brushing a curl from his forehead, your thumb tracing over the soft skin of his temple.

You leaned in, pressing another gentle kiss to his lips, lingering there, feeling him smile against your mouth, the moment quiet and warm, the air between you soft and intimate, the afterglow wrapping around you both as you lay there, tangled together, unable to stop smiling."

[sunsetmade]

fic idea.

Reader who was originally a pouge but started dating rafe, the pouges all ignore her and fast forward to whenever she’s married and preggers with rafe idk lol?

Love this idea!! I’m going to do a part two so that will posted tomorrow!

His Pouge

Rafe Cameron x Pouge! Reader

Everyone had something to say about it—about them.

And honestly? She got it.

It wasn’t like she’d planned to fall for Rafe Cameron. Not even close. Growing up on The Cut, the Camerons were more cautionary tale than reality—like whispers in the dark about what happened when you trusted the wrong people. Everyone had a story. Everyone had a warning. And Rafe? He was the one they all swore was too far gone to come back.

So no, falling for him had never been part of the plan.

But plans didn’t mean much when he looked at her like she hung the moon. Like the chaos of the world went quiet when she walked into the room. And when he said her name low and teasing, with that barely-there grin like it was just for her… the edge he wore around everyone else faded into something almost gentle.

Especially when he reached out with that careful touch, like brushing a strand of hair from her face was sacred somehow. Like he was afraid she’d slip through his fingers if he wasn’t soft with her.

And now, curled up in the back of his truck—her legs tucked over his, her cheek resting against the worn fabric of his hoodie—it almost didn’t hurt so much. Almost.

“You’re quiet,” Rafe murmured, his fingers grazing lazy patterns against her thigh, just under the hem of her cutoff shorts. “Too quiet. You only get this quiet when you’re either spiraling or trying not to cry. Which is it?”

She didn’t answer right away. The steady drag of his fingertips, the warmth of his chest beneath her cheek—it made it harder to say out loud.

“Pope won’t even look at me,” she whispered eventually, voice barely audible over the crickets in the woods behind them.

Rafe exhaled slowly through his nose. “Yeah.”

“JJ called me a traitor,” she continued, throat tightening. “And Kiara just… walked off. Like I wasn’t even standing there.”

She felt it then—his whole body go taut. The subtle way his arm firmed around her back, the shift of his jaw against the top of her head. He didn’t like her feeling this way. And he definitely didn’t like anyone else making her feel this way.

“They don’t know us,” he said after a beat, voice low, a little rough. “Don’t get it.”

She sat with that for a moment, blinking up at the stars peeking through the tree branches overhead. Her heart ached, not just from the distance between her and the Pogues, but from knowing how easy it was for them to walk away.

“That’s the hardest part,” she said softly. “They don’t want to understand. They’ve already decided I’m wrong for loving you. That you haven’t really changed. But… I know you have.”

Rafe didn’t respond right away. He didn’t have to. She knew what he was thinking. What he was carrying. They both knew the version of him people remembered wasn’t easy to forget. Or forgive.

But she also knew the version of him who made her laugh when she didn’t want to smile. The one who checked her tire pressure because he “didn’t trust that rust bucket” she drove, and who kissed her forehead like it was a promise. He wasn’t perfect. But he was trying. And with her, he was someone softer. Calmer. Safer.

He held her tighter, tucking her closer into his chest like she was something breakable. His nose brushed her hair, his breath steady against her skin.

“You want me to talk to them?” he asked quietly, like he was already ready to go to war for her. “Tell ‘em to back off? Not that it’s any of their damn business—”

“No.” She cut him off gently, leaning back just enough to look up at him. “I don’t want this to be a fight. I don’t want us to feel like we can’t enjoy being together. I don’t want to have to defend us. ”

Rafe frowned, brows pulling together as his eyes searched hers. “You’re hurting,” he said, like it offended him on some deep, personal level. “You shouldn’t be hurting.”

A soft, sad smile tugged at her lips. “I just… I feel like I’m stuck between two worlds. Like I don’t really belong anywhere right now.”

He didn’t speak. Just shifted her fully into his lap, arms wrapped around her waist now, his body shielding her from the world like he could protect her from every sharp word ever thrown her way. One hand reached over to the glove compartment, pulling out the beat-up old lighter he always fidgeted with. He turned it over in his fingers for a second before placing it gently in her palm.

“Here,” Rafe said, his voice quiet as he pressed something small and familiar into her hand. “Click it. You like doing that.”

She glanced down, blinking. It was his lighter—the old beat-up one he always had in his pocket, the one he flicked open and shut whenever he was thinking too hard.

“Rafe…” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“You always mess with it when you’re nervous,” he said gently, eyes locked on hers. “Figured it might help.”

Her throat tightened instantly. There it was again—that way he saw her. Not just the parts everyone else noticed. But the quieter things. The little habits. The flickers of anxiety she never spoke out loud.

She took it with careful fingers, the metal cool against her skin. Her thumb slid over the hinge and she clicked it open. Then shut. Then open again. The soft snap echoed in the stillness of the truck cab. And slowly—like turning down the volume on all her noise—the motion started to calm her.

Rafe let her settle into the rhythm for a moment before his nose brushed hers in a soft nudge that made her look up.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” he murmured.

She blinked. “For what?”

“For being brave enough to want what you want.” His lips twitched into the faintest, crooked smile. “Even if it’s complicated. Even if it’s… me.”

Something caught in her chest. Like her heart had hiccupped. The kind of ache that came when someone said the exact right thing at the exact right time and meant every word of it.

Her fingers squeezed around the lighter. “You make it easy to want you.”

His eyes darkened at that—just a little. Enough to make her stomach flip. “Don’t say stuff like that unless you want me to kiss you.”

“I do.” She whispered with a small smile rested on her face.

That was all he needed.

His lips met hers, slow and certain, like he’d been thinking about this moment all day. There was no rush. No frenzy. Just the kind of kiss that felt like a secret—soft, sure, and full of something real.

She melted into him, arms wrapping around his neck like she was afraid he’d slip away. The world outside—the broken friendships, the whispers, the judgment—it all fell away. This didn’t feel like taking. This didn’t feel like a rebellion.

It felt like home.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead stayed resting against hers, breath mingling with hers in the quiet.

“They’ll come around,” he whispered. “And if they don’t, fuck ‘em. I’ve got you.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks before she even realized they were coming. Rafe caught them gently, wiping each one with the pad of his thumb like they mattered. Like she mattered.

“You’re not alone,” he said, barely louder than the wind outside the window. “Not while I’m around. You hear me?”

She nodded, unable to speak through the knot in her throat.

“And I know I’ve messed up. I know what they say about me.” His hand came up to cradle her jaw, thumb grazing the edge of her cheek. “But with you? I’d never mess that up. I swear I’d never let anyone hurt you. Not even your friends.”

She swallowed hard. “What if they never forgive me?”

“They don’t have to,” he said, without hesitation. “You don’t need to apologize for being happy. You don’t need to feel guilty because your heart picked somethin’ messy. But this?” His voice softened. “You and me? That’s not somethin’ you should be ashamed of.”

Her fingers threaded through his, her grip firm like she finally believed him.

For a long while, neither of them said anything. They just sat in the cab of his truck with the windows cracked, the summer air rustling the trees around them. Her head rested against his shoulder, and his arm held her like he didn’t plan to let go.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple, the softest one yet.

Then he whispered, “Let me take you home.”

She turned her face toward him, brushing her nose against his cheek. “Will you stay?”

His answer was a smile so tender it made her chest ache all over again.

“You don’t even have to ask.”

⸻

The ride to her house was quiet. Music carefully spilling through the radio creating a calming effect.

She leaned against the passenger door, one of his hoodies drowning her frame. It still smelled like him—cologne and campfire and something vaguely like pine. Her fingers were tangled with his across the console the whole time, and neither of them let go, even when he parked.

“You sure you don’t mind staying?” she asked once they were inside, locking the door behind them.

Rafe didn’t answer right away. Just dropped his keys on the counter, kicked off his boots, and gave her that slow half-smile she’d come to recognize as his you’re cute when you worry face.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said simply. And meant it.

She offered a small nod and padded toward the bathroom, tugging her hair down from where it had been tied up. He watched her disappear, then looked around the room.

It was small. A little cluttered. A blanket on the couch, half a pack of gum on the coffee table, a mug with a chipped handle by the sink. Her world was lived-in. Warm. So her. No matter how many times he had been in her house it always had the same effect on him.

Rafe had been in hundreds of houses—too big, too polished, too cold—but hers made his chest loosen in a way none of them ever had.

From down the hall, he could hear the soft sounds of her getting ready for bed: the quiet squeak of the faucet, the muffled hum of her toothbrush, the rustle of drawers opening and closing.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching with an easy fondness as she moved through her routine. There was something calming about the way she went through each step—methodical, familiar. She didn’t rush. She was just herself. And for once, she wasn’t trying to be okay. She was just being.

She glanced up mid-moisturizer, catching his reflection in the mirror. “You’re staring,” she mumbled through a sleepy smile.

Rafe shrugged. “I like watching you.”

She blinked, cheeks warming. “Doing what? Brushing my teeth?”

“Just being you.” He said it like it was obvious.

She rolled her eyes, but the smile lingered on her lips.

When she was finished, she turned off the bathroom light and walked past him in an oversized t-shirt that hung off one shoulder. Rafe caught her hand before she could pass, tugging her back into him for a second.

“I like this version of you,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “The sleepy, makeup-off, extra-cute version.”

She hummed a quiet laugh against his chest. “You’re dangerously close to being sweet again.”

“Shhh.” He grinned. “Don’t ruin my street cred.”

They crawled into bed a few minutes later. She pulled the blankets up around them while he kicked off his jeans, leaving only his t-shirt and boxers before climbing in beside her.

She was still settling when he reached out and pulled her into him—her back against his chest, his arm slipping around her waist. His nose nuzzled into the space behind her ear, warm breath against her skin.

“You always cuddle like you’re afraid I’ll disappear,” she murmured, teasing.

“That’s because I might wake up and find out this was a dream.”

She turned in his arms at that, enough to face him in the dim light spilling through her curtains. His hair was messy, eyes half-lidded, expression softer than anyone else had ever seen on him. She reached up, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead.

“You’re not dreaming.”

He leaned in and kissed her again—just once. Slow. Certain.

She tucked herself against his chest, her legs tangled with his, and his arms wrapped around her like they belonged there.

And when her breathing finally evened out, when she was warm and tucked into his chest, he let his own eyes close—pressing one last kiss to the crown of her head.

She didn’t know it, but that night, Rafe Cameron slept better than he had in years.

Part two is posted!