#t: <i don’t know. not my name> <not my name> | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uncuredturkeybacon · 2 days ago

Text

𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you go to your first basketball game and didn't expect something more

You were exhausted. Not in the tired of life way, just the overwhelmed by glamour kind of way. The Formula 1 movie premiere had been a blur of flashbulbs, champagne flutes, and glimmering gowns. You weren’t a driver, but you may as well have been with the way the cameras hounded you and Charles from the moment you stepped onto the red carpet.

It never really stopped, that attention. Not when you were the younger sister of Charles Leclerc and one of the very few women working as a Formula One race engineer—let alone one who’d made it onto the Ferrari team by twenty-three. People were interested. People always had questions. And your face? Apparently marketable enough for every tabloid to want it next to your brother’s whenever you were in the same city.

So, yeah. You were exhausted.

Which is why the idea of going to a basketball game sounded... almost rebellious in its normalcy.

You leaned your head on Charles’s shoulder as the car rolled through Manhattan traffic, humming under your breath. “I still can’t believe you dragged me into that afterparty last night.”

Charles snorted, relaxed in his seat with Alexandra curled up against his other side. “You say that, but you were the one doing shots with Lando.”

“I did one shot with Lando,” you corrected, “because he said I was too uptight.”

Alex laughed softly. “He also said you should be in front of the camera instead of hiding behind pit walls.”

You groaned. “He says that every time. I fix your telemetry one time during qualifying and suddenly I’m Angelina Jolie.”

Charles grinned and gave your hand a squeeze. “You just hate being famous.”

“I don’t hate it,” you murmured, lips quirking. “I just hate not being able to disappear.”

And that was really it. You hadn’t told anyone outside your inner circle about your plan for today. A quiet trip to the Barclays Center. Just you, Charles, and Alex.

You’d mentioned it in passing after breakfast this morning, still sipping your iced coffee, eyes puffy with sleep.

“I’ve never seen a basketball game in person,” you said, squinting at your phone. “New York Liberty’s playing tonight.”

Charles blinked at you across the kitchen island. “You want to go?”

You shrugged. “Kind of curious. I know nothing about it, but the atmosphere seems cool when I googled it.”

“You google everything,” Alex teased you, whited you just shrugged at.

“Alright.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll text my manager. We’ll sort it.”

And of course, being Charles, he sorted it within half an hour. Three courtside seats. No fanfare or sponsor ties. Just you three, sitting down to watch women throw a ball around and, hopefully, scream at each other with intense athleticism. It sounded oddly soothing.

Now the black SUV pulled up to the Barclays Center and the street buzzed with energy. The pre-game crowd was thicker than you expected. People in teal and sea foam green jerseys stood in clumps on the sidewalk, others in navy and silver.

You read a few of the names on the backs of shirts. Jones. Ionescu. Bueckers. That last one you pronounced in your head like “Buckers” before second-guessing yourself.

As the door opened, Charles stepped out first, always the gentleman, offering a hand to help Alex out next. You slid out after them, a little disoriented by the shift in atmosphere. Less polished than the premiere, but more alive somehow. No tuxedos or gowns—just sneakers, t-shirts, music blasting from speakers along the entryway.

You adjusted your sunglasses, even though it was nearly evening, and tugged your denim jacket tighter around you. The press hadn’t followed. No one here really cared mush about who you were. A few teenagers glanced at Charles—probably Formula 1 fans—but no cameras. No interviews. No one asking how Charles thinks of the season so far, how no one asks you about updates on the cars.

Just... peace.

“Didn’t think there’d be this many people,” you said under your breath as you approached the VIP entrance.

“Basketball’s apparently big here,” Alex replied, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “The Liberty are kind of a big deal.”

You tilted your head. “Do you know anything about it?”

“Enough to pretend,” she said with a grin.

“Perfect. I’ll follow your lead.”

Security ushered you in quickly once credentials were checked—Charles’s manager had arranged everything—and the cool of the arena swallowed you whole. Air conditioning, the sharp scent of popcorn and floor polish, and the distant thud of basketballs echoed in your ears.

You followed a staff member through the lower tunnels, emerging out into the blinding brightness of the court.

And just like that, you were courtside.

It was... closer than you expected.

You could see the lights glaring off the court. Hear the rubber of sneakers squeaking with warmup drills. Players darted up and down the court, long-limbed and agile, even just jogging. You didn’t know who was who, but one team was in blue warm-ups and the other in black.

Someone was shooting three-pointers with precision. Another sprinted from baseline to half court and back, ponytail whipping behind her like a comet trail.

“Bloody hell,” Charles muttered beside you, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. “They’re fast.”

“Mmhm,” you said, barely hearing him.

One of the players jogged past, close enough to see the tiny bead of sweat trickling down the side of her face. She didn’t look over, too focused on her footwork. Her jersey read BUECKERS in crisp blue letters across the back.

You blinked.

Oh. That name again.

You leaned toward Alex. “Is that... Buckers? Like the jersey we saw outside?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah. She’s really famous, I think. Played for UConn. Supposed to be a big deal for the Wings this year.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “How do you know that?”

“Google is a wonderful tool, hermana.”

You studied the woman as she slowed to a jog near the bench, catching a water bottle and tipping it up with ease. Blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail, pale skin, strong arms that flexed easily with every movement. She had a kind of presence. Not in the way F1 drivers did—loud, cocky—but... quietly intense.

You tilted your head. “She looks like she could stare through someone’s soul.”

Charles chuckled. “Don’t let her stare at you like that. You’ll explode.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it.

The arena began to fill. The crowd’s energy ramped up with every minute closer to tip-off. Announcers boomed over the speakers. Lights dimmed, and spotlights painted patterns across the hardwood.

You settled into your seat, tucking one ankle over your knee and balancing a bottle of water between your palms. The back of your neck buzzed with anticipation, though you couldn’t say why. Maybe it was just the unknown—this whole world of sport you knew nothing about. Maybe it was the air conditioning. Or maybe it was the fact that Bueckers, whoever she really was, had just glanced toward your row like she knew exactly who you were.

But she didn’t. Did she?

It started with a tap.

A quiet one, like the soft thud of a butterfly wing against your skin. You were distracted by the sweep of pregame lights moving across the ceiling, the slight back and forth between Charles and Alex beside you and by the rhythmic sound of basketballs echoing like thunder on the court.

You didn’t notice the two players breaking away from warmups at first, not until you caught a shift in the atmosphere. Like energy moving in a new direction.

And then, there it was. A gentle, almost tentative voice near your shoulder.

“Hi. Um. Are you—are you Charles’s sister?”

You turned and blinked.

It was her.

Bueckers. The name you’d only just learned a few minutes ago. She was taller than you’d expected up close, but not by much. Her cheeks were flushed from warmups, blonde hair tied in a tight ponytail. Her jersey was still partially tucked in, and she was holding her water bottle in both hands like it might anchor her to the moment.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your mouth. “Depends who’s asking.”

She let out a soft breath, something between a chuckle and a sigh of relief. “Just a fan.”

That surprised you. “You’re a fan of me?”

Paige shook her head, then immediately nodded, then looked like she regretted both. “No, I mean—yes. Not like in a weird way. Just... I’ve seen you on the screen sometimes during races. You always looked beaut—uh, I mean—focused and serious.”

You blinked again. “You follow Formula 1?”

“Arike’s girlfriend is obsessed,” Paige replied, glancing quickly over her shoulder. “She’s a huge Ferrari fan. So Arike’s always hearing about your brother. And I guess I kind of got sucked up in it once I moved to Dallas.”

You glanced past her. Sure enough, one of her teammates—the one with the wicked jumper during warmups, now confirmed as Arike—was enthusiastically talking to Charles. She looked slightly overwhelmed, and very excited, holding her phone in one hand as she grinned up at him like he’d just won her a car.

Your eyebrows lifted. “Wow. That’s not something I expected today.”

“Yeah,” Paige murmured, and when you turned back to her, she was already looking at you again. “Me neither.”

You didn’t know what it was, exactly. Maybe the nerves in her voice, maybe the way she rocked slightly on her feet like she was resisting the urge to bolt—but it made you soften.

You held out your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

Her smile grew. “Paige.”

You nodded. “Ah, Paige. It’s nice to finally know the first name.”

She laughed. “You didn’t know?”

“Nope,” you said, tipping your head. “Just kept seeing Buckers jerseys everywhere.”

Paige’s ears went a little pink, and she tucked a loose piece of hair behind one ear, fingers fidgeting with the elastic of her jersey. “Um, it’s Bueckers actually. The ‘u’ is silent.”

“Bueckers. I apologize,” you said.

“It’s okay,” she gave a shy smile. “You, um. You’re really here for a game?”

You glance back out to the court, where the rest of the Wings and Liberty were still running drills. “First one ever. Thought I’d see what all the hype is about.”

She grinned. “You picked a good one. Liberty versus Wings is never boring.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you said lightly. “I’ve never watched basketball before. Been surrounded by race cars all my life.”

Paige laughed again, lighter this time. “That’s okay. I know nothing about racing except that I can’t even go-kart without spinning out.”

You smiled. “Maybe we can teach each other.”

The words hung in the air, light but charged. Paige’s eyes flickered to your mouth before quickly darting away again. You didn’t miss it.

“So,” you said, shifting in your seat so you were angled slightly more toward her, “are you just saying hi, or are you here on official wingwoman duty for Arike?”

She groaned softly, but she was smiling. “She begged me to come over. She got too nervous and didn’t want to go alone.”

“Too nervous?” you asked, genuinely curious. “Charles is like... a walking golden retriever. He’s the least intimidating person I know.”

“I think that’s why she’s nervous,” Paige said, leaning slightly closer. “She wants to make a good impression. Her girlfriend’s always saying how cool he is. Especially his girlfriend. Plus, Arike’s not great with... subtlety.”

You snorted. “I can tell. She’s practically vibrating.”

Paige’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer before she pulled back slightly, clearing her throat. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t be bothering you before the game.”

“You’re not bothering me,” you said easily. “I feel like I’m the one that’s bothering you. But this is already more fun than I expected.”

She grinned. “What did you expect?”

You shrugged. “To sit here awkwardly while everyone screamed around me. To not understand what was happening. To check my phone halfway through the second quarter.”

“And now?”

You looked at her, really looked, and smiled softly. “Now I kind of want to stay until the very end.”

Her blush returned, stronger this time.

The crowd began to rise in volume as the clock above the court ticked closer to tip-off. Music pulsed through the speakers. A Liberty player dunked during layup lines and the crowd roared. Paige glanced toward the bench.

“I should probably get back,” she said, sounding reluctant.

You tilted your head. “Are you starting?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “But I’ll—um. I’ll try not to trip in front of you.”

You smirked. “No promises from me. I might cheer for the other team just to keep you on your toes.”

Her mouth parted like she didn’t know whether to laugh or challenge you. “You wouldn’t.”

You lifted a brow. “Wouldn’t I?”

She bit her lip. “Well... if you change your mind, I’ll be number five. Wings jersey. You know. Just in case you decide you want to cheer for the right side.”

You leaned back, eyes gleaming. “We’ll see how you play.”

She took a few steps back, still facing you, then finally turned around just as Arike finished her impromptu photo with Charles and bounded after her.

You watched her go—watched the easy way she moved, the subtle glance she cast over her shoulder before disappearing behind the bench.

Alex elbowed you gently. “So. That was a very long conversation for someone who only came over because of Arike.”

You tried for casual. “She was being polite.”

Charles snorted. “Mon dieu. She was flirting and she was terrible at it.”

“She was sweet,” you corrected, still smiling faintly.

Alex leaned in. “And you liked it.”

You didn’t say anything. Just sipped your water, eyes trailing back to where Paige now stood with her teammates, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, gaze already scanning the court—but every now and then, flickering right back to you.

And each time it did, your heart fluttered a little faster than it had on any starting grid.

It wasn’t obvious at first.

You weren’t sure what to watch during a basketball game—when to focus on the ball, when to look at the off-ball movement or when to just follow the flow of the players gliding across the court like it was muscle memory. The speed surprised you. The precision. The sheer athleticism of it all.

But what surprised you most was how often your eyes were drawn back to her.

She moved like she didn’t need to think, like the court was just an extension of her breath. One second, she was at the top of the arc calling for the ball, the next, she was slashing into the paint, drawing a defender with her before dishing out a no-look pass that made the crowd gasp and a teammate drain a three.

You leaned forward unconsciously. “She’s really good,” you murmured.

Charles glanced sideways. “You mean Paige?”

“Mhm,” you said without looking away. “She plays like she’s solving a puzzle no one else can solve.”

“She has vision,” Alex added. “Like a driver who sees the apex before the turn.”

You nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as Paige picked off a lazy pass and darted up court in transition. She didn’t rush, didn’t force anything—just read the defender’s body language and timed her steps perfectly before finishing with a layup that rolled off her fingers like silk.

The scoreboard ticked up in the Wings’ favor.

And Paige—oh, Paige—jogged back on defense with a half-smirk tugging at her mouth. Her eyes scanned the front row, just briefly, but when they landed on yours, they didn’t move.

You didn’t either.

Her gaze lingered a second too long. She gave the smallest shrug of her shoulders—barely noticeable—but it said everything. That one was for you.

You blinked. A beat passed. And you smiled, just a little.

Timeout.

The coaches called for a break, and both teams huddled by their benches. Paige wiped her face with her towel, bouncing on her toes, sipping from her water bottle, listening with half an ear to what her coach was saying.

But her eyes found you again.

You didn’t pretend not to notice.

She raised a hand and waved—quick, subtle, a flick of fingers from low by her waist like she didn’t want anyone else to see.

You lifted your brows, amused.

She smiled again—shy, still—but different now. Confident in a way that felt like a quiet dare.

“She’s waving at you,” Charles said, practically choking on his soda.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, thank you, Cha.”

“I’m just saying,” he replied, grinning like an idiot. “You’re distracting a professional athlete in the middle of a game. That’s impressive.”

“I’m not trying to distract her,” you muttered.

Alex smirked. “You’re not not trying.”

You crossed one leg over the other, resting your elbow on the armrest between you and Charles. Paige was back in the game now, standing on the wing waiting for the inbound pass. She glanced toward you again.

You didn’t wave, didn’t smile. You just raised one brow and tilted your head like Alright, Bueckers. Show me something.

And she did.

She moved off the ball like she was built for it—cutting, darting, changing direction so fast the Liberty defender couldn’t keep up. She caught the pass mid-motion, turned, and let it fly from just beyond the arc.

Swish.

The net barely moved.

Half the crowd screamed.

The Wings bench stood up, cheering.

And Paige? She jogged back, biting her bottom lip like she was trying to hide a grin—but didn’t try that hard. Her eyes met yours again, and this time she winked.

Winked.

You could feel Charles and Alex practically vibrating next to you.

“Ay dios mío” Alex said under her breath. “You’re in so deep already.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly. “I just met her. I didn’t even know how to say her last name.”

“You know,” Charles said, “I always imagined you’d fall for someone complicated. Mysterious. Dangerous.”

“She plays basketball,” you said flatly.

“She’s clearly dangerous to your self-control.”

You ignored him. Sort of.

Because you were watching her again. Watching the way she locked in when she played. The way her teammates looked to her instinctively. The way she trusted her first move—no hesitation, no overthinking. Paige Bueckers played basketball the way you did data analysis mid-race… fast, decisive, and like the margin for error was nonexistent.

And every time she made a big play, her eyes flicked back to you.

Like she wanted to know if you’d seen.

Like she needed you to.

By halftime, your heart was pounding harder than it had in any garage on race day.

You’d come here for something simple. A distraction. A break from being Charles Leclerc’s little sister or Ferrari’s engineering prodigy. Monaco’s Princess.

Instead, you got Paige Bueckers.

And every time she looked at you, it felt like she saw right through the noise.

The final buzzer sounded like a sigh.

The game had been close—closer than anyone had predicted from what you gathered in the crowd chatter around you. Liberty fans were loud, but by the fourth quarter, you started to hear more Wings chants pick up momentum. You didn’t understand every foul or call or play, but you understood Paige.

You understood how her team trusted her. You understood how she handled pressure like it was gravity. You understood how, after every big moment, her eyes found you.

And now, it was over. Scoreboard locked. Jerseys drenched in sweat. Fans buzzing in that familiar post-sport high.

You stayed seated as most of the arena stood to leave. Charles was scrolling through his phone, nodding occasionally at a fan who called his name but otherwise keeping low-key. Alex sipped the last of her drink, curled comfortably against his arm, while you just… watched.

The court was still alive.

Paige was surrounded—first by teammates, then reporters, then fans pressed against the rails. She was gracious with each person, smiling wide in photos, laughing at something a little girl said, holding her sharpie with care as she signed the backs of posters, jerseys, and phones.

“She’s got that same energy you do after a podium,” Alex said gently.

You glanced at her. “Huh?”

Alex nodded toward Paige. “A little exhausted, a little adrenaline high, kind of glowing but pretending not to notice.”

You looked back. Paige was crouched to take a photo with a kid in a Wings jersey two sizes too big for him. She gave the camera a thumbs up. Her pony was messy now, strands of blonde hair falling loose around her face.

She glanced toward you. Saw you still there.

And smiled like it meant something.

You felt it like a pull.

Paige whispered something to a staffer and took a final photo, then jogged toward the bench. Her teammates were heading back to the locker room, but she lingered. You stood as she approached, not sure what you were expecting.

“Hey,” she said, a little breathless. “You’re still here.”

You smiled. “I said I’d stay until the end.”

Her eyes flicked to Charles and Alex, who were now standing just behind you, watching quietly. Paige’s cheeks flushed, but she held her ground.

“I, uh—I have to do post-game interviews,” she said, almost apologetically. “Media stuff. Probably fifteen, twenty minutes. But I was wondering…” She shifted, bouncing slightly on her toes. Her voice was softer now, meant only for you. “Would you wait?”

You blinked. “Wait for you?”

She nodded. “I just— I’d really like to talk more. If you want. I don’t know if you’re going somewhere after or flying out soon or—”

“I’m here tonight,” you said, cutting gently through her nerves. “We’re in New York for another day.”

“Oh. Good. Okay.” Her smile was so honest it made your chest feel warm. “So... would you?”

You could feel Charles and Alex still watching, but they didn’t say a word. You tucked your hands in your jacket pockets and tilted your head.

“You want me to wait around in an empty arena just so you can talk to me again?”

Paige met your gaze. Didn’t back down. “Yes.”

The answer was so simple it made you grin.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll wait.”

Relief bloomed across her face. “Cool. I won’t be long. Promise.”

She started to turn, paused, then hesitated before glancing at Charles.

“I’m a big fan of yours, by the way,” she added quickly, cheeks turning red. “Both of you. You guys looked really good in Monaco.”

Charles lit up. “Merci. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear most of that conversation earlier.”

Paige laughed nervously. “Noted.” Then she looked back at you. “Be right back.”

You watched her disappear into the tunnel, every bit of her confidence lingering behind in the way she glanced at you over her shoulder one last time.

When she was gone, Charles bumped his shoulder lightly into yours.

“Does she always look at people like that?”

You raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing.”

You shrugged. “Maybe she just appreciates a challenge.”

Alex grinned. “You’re such a liar. You’re already gone for her.”

You didn’t answer. Just sat back down and stared at the empty court where she’d just been.

And waited.

It was quiet by the time she returned.

The kind of quiet that only settles in after the world has exhaled. Most of the crowd had gone home. Security lingered by the exits, sweeping the rows. Staffers rolled carts of used towels and half-empty water bottles down the tunnel. The court was bare now. Just the hushed hum of the arena winding down.

You were still there. Sitting courtside. Jacket draped over your shoulders, fingers absently spinning the cap of your water bottle. Charles and Alex had wandered off somewhere to give you space. You hadn’t asked, but they just knew.

And then you heard footsteps again—softer now, not game shoes. Slides against the polished concrete.

You looked up.

There she was.

She was fresh from the locker room, face clean, blonde hair damp and tied loosely now. A W hoodie, oversized, sleeves pulled down over her hands. She wore simple black shorts and Nike socks pushed halfway down her ankles.

She looked like herself in a way that tugged at you—like all the edges were finally rounded off now that the lights were dim and the cameras were gone.

“You waited,” she said, quiet.

You gave her a small smile. “I said I would.”

She sat beside you, one seat in-between, giving you space but close enough for your knees to brush if you shifted.

Neither of you moved.

For a while, you just sat there like that. Silence stretching between you like a breath held, but not tense. Not awkward. Just... present.

She finally spoke. “So… be honest. What’d you think?”

You looked at her. “Of the game?”

Paige nodded.

You took your time. “It was like hearing a language I don’t speak, but still knowing exactly what everyone meant.”

She blinked at that. “That’s... really poetic.”

You shrugged. “I’m around fast cars all day. I don’t get to be poetic very often.”

Paige smiled to herself. “You said you’d never seen a basketball game before?”

“Never.” You glanced out at the now-empty court. “I came in expecting to get bored halfway through. I thought I’d be checking my notes on my phone by the second quarter.”

“And instead?”

“I forgot I even had a phone.”

She turned her head toward you, expression soft. “Because of the game, or...”

You looked back at her. “Do I need to answer that?”

She didn’t blush this time. But her eyes dropped for a second, and when they lifted again, they held something steadier. More certain.

“I’m glad you came,” she said.

You studied her. “You mean that?”

“Yeah. I—” she hesitated, exhaling through her nose. “I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes when you play so many games, they all blur together. It becomes muscle memory. You forget what it feels like to want someone in the crowd to see you. Like, actually see you.”

You didn’t speak, not right away. Because that hit somewhere you weren’t ready for.

“Does it get lonely?” you asked softly.

Paige blinked. “What?”

You looked down at your hands. “Being known. By everyone. But not really known by anyone who isn’t part of the circle.”

She was quiet. You risked a glance at her. She was already watching you.

“It does,” she said. “It really does.”

You nodded. “I get it.”

“I figured you would.” She shifted in her seat, angling toward you more. “You know what it felt like tonight?”

“What?”

She paused. “It felt like you weren’t here for the show. You weren’t waiting to be impressed. You were just... there. Watching. Like it was already enough.”

You held her gaze. “That’s because it was.”

You saw the breath catch in her chest before she tried to play it off with a quiet laugh. “You’re really dangerous, you know that?”

“Because I said something kind?”

“No. Because you meant it.”

That silenced you both for a long moment. You let it happen. Let the silence linger and swell and settle. Eventually, Paige leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, looking out at the court.

“Do you think you’ll come to another game?” she asked.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you mirrored her posture, your shoulders touching ever so slightly. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’ll be there.”

She let out a small breath of a laugh, low and fond. “God, you’re gonna wreck me.”

You smiled. “That’s not my intention.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why it’s worse.”

The lights overhead dimmed a little more as the staff shut down sections row by row. A janitor passed with a sweeping broom. You didn’t care. You had nowhere else to be. Not in that moment.

She looked at you again. “Can I give you my number?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That was inevitable.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” she said, grinning now, eyes crinkling. “You could’ve been not interested. Or just—”

“Paige,” you cut in gently. “I waited for you.”

She smiled slowly.

You reached into your jacket and pulled out your phone, unlocking it and holding it out. She entered her number carefully, then hesitated before handing it back.

“What?” you asked.

She looked slightly sheepish. “Just thought my contact name should pay tribute to our first interaction to each other.”

You checked it.

Buckers

You laughed. “Wow. You’re not gonna let that go, huh?”

“Nope. It’s part of you now. You gonna change it?”

You didn’t. You saved it as is.

“I like it,” you said. “It’s us.”

You both stood when security finally made a quiet gesture that the arena was closing up. Paige stretched her arms above her head and gave you a look like she didn’t quite want to leave.

You didn’t either.

“Hey,” she said, more serious now. “Can I call you tomorrow? Or tonight? Or whenever it’s not weird? I just... I’d like to talk more. Without a clock running.”

You nodded, heart softening. “I’d like that.”

And then you leaned in—just slightly—and kissed her cheek. Slow. Intentional. Close enough that your lips brushed the corner of her mouth.

She froze. Exhaling softly.

When you pulled back, her face was pink, her eyes shining.

You whispered, “I’ll be waiting for that call.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #pb5 #paige bueckers uconn #paige bueckers fanfic #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige x reader #paige buckets #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #dallas wings #wnba x reader #wlw #lesbian #wuh luh wuh

402 notes · View notes

rainrot4me · 2 days ago

Note

Girl dad Toby and my life is yours, PLEASE 🙏🏽

Totally panics when he finds out he’s having a girl. Like deer-in-headlights, thousand-yard-stare, muttering “I’m gonna screw this up, I know I’m gonna screw this up.”

“Wh-What if she ends up dating so-someone like me?” Cue him spiraling while you’re still holding the ultrasound picture.

Turns into an absolute marshmallow once she’s born. All that panic? Gone the second he holds her. His hands are shaky, jaw clenched—but when she curls her tiny fingers around one of his, he goes still. Quiet. Reverent. “She’s so… s-small. God, she’s mi-mine?”

Loves giving her piggyback rides because it makes her laugh so hard she snorts. Toby never thought laughter could be holy until he heard his daughter’s. She tugs his hoodie strings and calls him “daddyo” like it’s a superhero name.

Has zero patience for tea parties or dolls at first. He’s awkward, uncomfortable, and way too impatient to sit still and pretend the pink stuffed bunny is a queen. But the moment she says, “Daddy, will you be the dragon?” he drops to all fours and growls like a beast from hell. She shrieks with delight. It becomes their thing.

Teaches her to throw a punch. He’s gruff about it—“Fingers in, wrist straight, n-no weak shit”—but he’s also lowkey proud when she decks a punching bag with her tiny fist. He’s the kind of dad who will absolutely be at every self-defense session with Kate like: “She’s gonna kick eve-everyone’s ass, I’m so proud.”

Protective doesn’t even cover it. When she’s older and mentions a crush, Toby just glares. “A w-what? You like who? Wh-Who the fuck is that?” He’s a nightmare to her prom dates. Hoodie has to physically drag him away from the front door before he interrogates them with a hunting knife in hand.

But he’s not toxic protective—he wants her strong, not sheltered. He teaches her how to stand up for herself, how to use her voice, how to survive when the world’s mean. He just… also sharpens his hatchets more often when she starts high school.

Carries pictures of her everywhere—in his wallet, his phone, an old polaroid tucked in his gear. Won’t admit it, but sometimes he looks at them when he’s having a bad day. She’s his anchor.

Always wears the bracelets she makes him. Neon rubber, friendship bands, braided yarn with plastic beads that say “D-A-D.” Wears them like they’re war medals.

“If anyone makes fun of t-them, I’ll punch their teeth in.”

She’s the only one who can calm him down when he’s overstimulated. When the buzzing gets too loud and his brain won’t quiet down, she crawls into his lap and puts her little head on his chest and whines, “Breathe, daddy.”

And he does.

Does her hair like he’s disarming a bomb. It always ends up crooked, but she beams when he does it, so he keeps trying. He gets better. He watches YouTube tutorials. Eventually he starts adding little braids or ribbons, and he acts like it’s no big deal—but he’s so proud of himself he shows Hoodie the finished look every time.

Curses the first time she says she wants to be like him. Not because he’s mad—because it breaks him. “You don’t want that, girlie. Be be-better than me.”

“But you’re strong, and you never let anyone mess with you. That’s what I wanna be.”

He hugs her so tight he almost forgets he used to think he’d be a bad dad.

꩜ .ᐟ

#rainspastathoughts #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x you #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #slenderverse #ticci toby #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby x y/n #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x you #ticci toby creepypasta #creepypasta ticci toby #tobias erin rogers

231 notes · View notes

wendichester · 2 days ago

Text

⋆˚✿˖° say my name,

summary. sam has you captive. or a resemble of who sam used to be. he's not in his right mind. and neither are you.

pairing. demon!sam winchester x gn!reader genre. dark, weird, nsfw

wordcount. 1569

notes / warnings. captivity (reader is restrained), dubiously consensual vibes (very much a tension-based fantasy setup), morally grey dynamics, corrupted!sam, powerplay, heavy tension, implied dom/sub energy, degradation (light), reader is conflicted and into it, seriously filthy in a twisted kind of way — reader is fully into it, even if they hate themselves for it

You don’t know how long it’s been. Days, maybe. Or maybe it’s only been hours. Time feels weird in this place—too quiet, too dark. You're tied to the bed with soft leather straps that look expensive and feel… weirdly personal. Like they were picked out just for you.

Which, knowing him, they probably were.

The door creaks open and your breath catches before you even see him.

There’s a heaviness that hits the room first. That twisted sort of energy that makes your spine straighten and your lungs forget how to work. The air gets hotter. The space gets smaller.

And then he walks in.

Sam. Or… the thing wearing Sam.

You used to be able to tell the difference. You think.

But now? God, it’s hard. It’s so hard.

He still looks like him—tall, broad, hands in his jacket pockets, that slow walk like he’s got all the time in the world and nothing to fear. His hair falls into his eyes, and his lips curve in that little smirk that used to mean he was about to kiss you. Or pin you down.

Only now, it means something else entirely.

“Well,” he purrs, voice like velvet and smoke, “someone’s awake.”

You don’t say anything. Not right away. You try not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how fast your pulse kicks up.

He stalks closer, lazy. Controlled. A predator with nothing better to do than play with his food.

“You've been so quiet,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch is gentle. Too gentle. It hurts.

“I miss your voice, sweetheart.”

You glare, but your throat’s dry. You’re too warm. The way he looks at you—like he wants to ruin you, like he already has—is making it hard to hold your ground.

“Not gonna say anything?” he tilts his head. “Not even a ‘screw you, Sam’?”

“You’re not him,” you manage to whisper.

That earns you a grin. Full teeth. Sinister.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He leans in closer, breath ghosting your jaw. “That’s the fun part.”

He drags a finger along your collarbone, slow and deliberate, like he’s tracing his name there. “You think you can tell where I end and he begins?”

You hate how your stomach flutters.

He’s too close now. And you can smell him—Sam—earthy and warm and familiar, like he just stepped out of your memories and twisted them into something filthy.

“Maybe I’m just pulling what was already inside him to the surface,” the demon muses, fingers sliding down your arm. “Maybe he likes this. Maybe he’s been waiting for a reason to stop being the good guy.”

Your breath hitches.

Because deep down, you’ve wondered that too.

You’ve seen the fire in Sam’s eyes before, the hunger he tried to pretend wasn’t there. The way his grip would tighten on your hips, on your waist, like he was barely keeping something chained.

What if this is just… him, unfiltered?

No guilt. No leash. Just raw want.

“Poor thing,” the demon says, tilting your chin up. “You can’t even decide if you want to fight me or fuck me.”

You flinch. But only a little.

He smiles.

“You know what the best part is?” he says, almost giddy. “He can feel all of it. Every sound you make. Every little whimper. Every time your thighs press together.”

He runs a knuckle down your sternum. “He likes how much you want this.”

“Shut up,” you breathe, but your voice is barely a whisper.

He just laughs. “Why would I, when I’m finally getting the truth out of you?”

He climbs onto the bed, straddling you, moving with that maddening grace. Like he owns you. Like he’s entitled to this.

His face dips lower, lips ghosting your ear.

“Say my name.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re not him.”

A pause. Then a soft, dangerous hum.

“Maybe not.” He traces your jaw with his mouth, barely touching. “But I sound like him. I taste like him. And if you let me…” He presses his lips just below your ear. “I’ll make you come harder than he ever did.”

Your body shudders. You hate him. You hate how much you want him.

“Say it,” he whispers. “Say my name, and I’ll let you scream.”

You bite your lip. You try not to let the moan escape—but it does. Just a tiny one. His grin sharpens.

“That’s what I thought.”

You look up at him, breathless. Torn. Thrumming with need and shame and something far too dark to name.

“Sam,” you whisper.

He stills.

Then he smiles. Slow. Sinister. Triumphant.

And you swear you see the glint of something real—not just the demon. Him.

You don’t know who you’re begging for anymore.

And honestly?

You’re not sure it matters.

Your wrists ache, but you’re barely aware of it. Not with him hovering over you like that—his weight caging you in, mouth dragging heat and ruin down your neck, breath warm against your skin. You can’t tell where the demon ends and Sam begins anymore. It’s all tangled up: the voice, the touch, the hunger.

And worst of all? It feels good. Too good.

You don’t know what you were expecting when you said his name—Sam—but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t the way he stilled, like you’d yanked on a leash. It wasn’t the way his hands trembled, like he was fighting something off… or fighting to stay in control.

But now?

Now he’s kissing you like he’s starving.

And not just the demon. Him.

“Sam,” you breathe again, dazed.

He groans into your mouth like it hurts to hear his name in your voice. Like it’s pulling him back up through the black sludge of whatever’s holding him under.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he rasps against your lips. His voice is rough, strained. His voice.

“Then tell me to stop,” you whisper.

He kisses you harder.

You can feel it—feel him clawing through the surface. His hands tremble where they grip your hips, and when he pulls back to look at you, something flickers in his eyes.

That softness. That guilt.

But underneath it, still there, still hungry—the demon.

You don’t know who’s kissing you anymore.

Sam’s mouth crashes into yours again, deeper this time. Like he’s trying to memorize you, consume you. He groans against your tongue like he’s just found air after drowning.

“God, you’re so—” he breaks off, panting. His forehead drops to yours, his grip on your body bruising.

“I shouldn’t,” he says. But his hips are grinding down against yours and he’s not stopping.

“You already are,” you whisper.

He snarls, half-demon, half-man. “You think I don’t know what this is doing to you? The way you squirm when I get close? The way your thighs press together when I speak?”

You gasp, but he doesn’t stop.

“You like this. You like me like this.”

“Sam—”

“I’m still me, sweetheart,” he says, dragging his mouth down to your throat. “Still the one who fucked you in the back of the Impala. Still the one who made you cry on my tongue.”

Your whole body shudders.

“I’m just... better now.”

You shake your head, chest heaving. “This isn’t right.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good,” he growls, biting down gently on your pulse. “Tell me you don’t want it. Lie to me. I dare you.”

You open your mouth. You try. But nothing comes out.

Because you do want it. Want him.

Whatever this version of Sam is—drenched in darkness, wild and unfiltered—it’s him. Just more. Less rules. Less hesitation.

Still the same hands. Still the same mouth.

Still the same ache he’s always pulled from you like it was his.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

He laughs, dark and dangerous. “No, baby. You hate how much you want me.”

His fingers wrap around your jaw, tilting your face up so you’re forced to look at him.

“I could let go,” he murmurs, eyes boring into you. “Let him come fully back. Let just Sam fuck you. Let him be soft.”

Your lips part. Heat coils deep in your stomach.

“Or,” he adds, voice dipping into a snarl, “I could stay right here and break you open myself.”

You whimper.

“Yeah,” he purrs. “That’s what I thought.”

But then—suddenly—his grip falters. His expression changes. Something in his eyes shifts. Softens. Flares.

And then, just like that, he’s Sam again.

Fully.

Panting. Shaking. His hands are still on you. His mouth is still red from kissing you.

And his eyes are horrified.

“I—I didn’t mean to…” he breathes, looking down at your restrained form like it’s the first time he’s really seen you. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never—fuck, I didn’t want this.”

You stare up at him, chest rising and falling. Your lips are red. Your wrists are raw. And you’ve never wanted him more.

“Then don’t stop,” you say, voice low. “Do it as you.”

Sam blinks.

You tug on the restraints. “You’re already in this deep. Might as well make me yours.”

His jaw clenches. “I’ve always been yours.”

And just like that, his mouth is on you again—desperate, messy, real. No demon. Just Sam.

But god help you, it’s worse. Because it’s better.

Because it’s him—and you’re still tied up, and you’re still wrecked, and now you’re crying out his name like a prayer.

And he’s answering every single one.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester fic #supernatural #spn #.docx #d : say my name

175 notes · View notes

sirenontheloose · 2 days ago

Text

Please Don't Clip This

Crushes are just little heart attacks you enjoy

The livestream wasn’t planned. No announcement, no fancy setup. Just Y/N in her studio, sleeves pushed up, hair pulled into a loose bun, a mug sitting beside her laptop as Rosé’s new album played quietly in the background. She leaned forward to adjust the screen, face lit softly by the glow of the monitor.

"Hi," she started. "Was gonna listen to this alone, but figured I might as well have a little listening party with you guys."

The chat lit up instantly. Some fans welcomed her back, others teased her for ghosting them again. She skimmed the comments, eyes flicking left to right as a small smile tugged at her lips.

"Water," she said, lifting her mug. "No snacks sadly. This wasn’t planned," she pouted.

She let a few tracks play without interruption, swaying slightly to the beat, reading comments here and there while the music filled the room.Then someone asked about LA.

"When am I going back? Next week, actually. For about two weeks." She paused, then lowered her voice. "I don’t know if I can say this but... I’ll start working on my solo."

The comments instantly exploded. She didn’t elaborate, just smirked a little and took a sip like she hadn’t just dropped major news.

Then the tone of the chat shifted. Some fans asked what the solo would sound like, while others started suggesting people she should hang out with in LA. At first, it was casual. But then one name kept popping up.

KATSEYE.

And more specifically, Lara.

"Lara?" Y/N leaned forward again, squinting slightly to keep up with the flood of messages. "From KATSEYE?"

The comments answered immediately.

"Yeah, she’s in LA." "She said you’re her bias." "She mentioned she likes your tone and stage presence." "@lararaj, just look."

Y/N didn’t say anything. She just grabbed her phone and started typing.

A few seconds of silence passed. Her eyes locked onto the screen. Then she started scrolling, slowly.

For a good five minutes, there was nothing. No commentary. Just Y/N, completely locked in, quietly staring at her phone.

Her lips parted slightly. She blinked once. Then a quiet, almost breathless whisper escaped before she could stop it.

"Wow. She’s gorgeous."

The chat instantly lost it.

"She’s gone." "We’re watching her fall in real time." "HELLO???" "Down bad but respectfully." "This is the softest spiral ever." "She forgot we’re here."

Her mouth curved into a small, helpless smile. She tapped into a video post, watched it more than once probably, and only then did it seem to hit her that she wasn’t alone.

She set her phone down on the desk, screen facing down, and leaned back in her chair with a quiet, guilty sigh. One glance at the chat told her it was already too late.

"I hate you guys," she mumbled, tugging the sleeve of her hoodie over her hand and dragging it across her mouth like she could erase the past five minutes.

The teasing came fast.

"You’ve been quiet for three whole songs." "Are you okay? Blink twice if you’re in love." "Would you DM her?" "You’re smiling again."

Y/N laughed softly, sinking lower in her seat.

"I was just... looking."

More comments scrolled past.

"What if she sees this?" "Someone tag her." "It’s over for you, girl."

"Y’all..." she started, then stopped mid-sentence.

Her eyes froze on one comment.

hey?

The username next to it is @lararaj

She blinked. Once. Then again.

Silence.

The chat exploded.

"OH MY GOD." "NO WAY." "LARA ENTERED THE CHAT." "SHE’S HERE." "EVERYBODY STAY CALM." "SHE SAW EVERYTHING."

Y/N didn’t move. Her hands flew up to her face as she let out a soft, horrified laugh. Then she hunched forward over her desk like she could disappear into it, muttering,

"Nope. Nope. I’m ending this. I’m ending this right now."

She fumbled for her mouse, keeping her head low as her other hand stayed half-covering her face. Her ears were visibly pink. Her embarrassment was so real, it radiated through the screen.

"Thanks for hanging out," she said quickly. "Please don’t clip this. And Lara..." she hesitated, groaning softly, "if you’re here, I promise I’m not weird."

Then the screen cuts to black.

And the next morning, #ynra was trending in eight countries.

Pt.2

divider - @v6que

a/n - can you tell I'm obsessed with Rosé?, can't wait for "On My Mind" this Friday OMG. I’ve also been working on a few other one-shots, but none of them feel "fun" enough imo. Sooo if there’s anything you’d love to read or maybe tropes you’re into right now, let me know!

#katseye #katseye x reader #lara raj x reader #lara raj #daniela avanzini #manon bannerman #megan skiendiel #jeong yoonchae #katseye imagines #sophia laforteza #wlw #sirenontheloose

315 notes · View notes

tywrites · 1 day ago

Text

secrets that you keep (talking in your sleep) pt 2 | mateo manta

requests: “hello . please consider and part two to your Mateo fic . thank you very Much ❤️ . Idont know if i should format this as a request or suggestion— but if you take it the first way then Mateo submissive top maybe… Or just Very whiny and the Like.” + “Steamy make out sesh with Mateo PLEASE(maybe more if ur up to it🤭)"

word count: 2.1k

warnings: minors dni!! smut, riding, creampie

a/n: i had so many mateo reqs in my inbox after the last fic hehe, not complaining at all. hope you guys enjoy this filth <33 i also don't speak spanish so apologies if it's used entirely wrong ;-;

part 1

“Anyone ever tell you that you talk in your sleep?”

Mateo’s head was spinning and he had no idea where to put his hands. I mean, what exactly are you supposed to do when there’s a gorgeous human on top of you, looking like they’re ready to eat you for dinner?

After his teasing question, you’d wasted no time in straddling the man, seemingly determined to make him pay for the embarrassment you were feeling. With a leg either side of his lap, you locked your lips with his, kissing him like your life depended on it. Your hands found his, moving them up so they laid on your waist.

God, his lips were so soft – makes sense for a blanket, you thought.

Your hands soon found their way to his hair, tangling into the locks and pulling him even closer to you. You couldn’t help but notice the most adorable breathy sounds coming from Mateo with every tug of his hair, every movement of your tongue. You wanted to drown in him.

“Ay dios mío, corazón… ah, you’re perfect,” he panted out, a dark red coating his cheeks. You took this moment to catch your breath before attaching your lips to his neck, focusing on the sensitive spot right under his ear. He made the most delicious noises.

“Ayy… mmh, mi amor please- ah!” He let out a loud moan when his hips bucked up into your own, the hardness evident in his sweatpants.

Your hands were all over him, taking in every inch of his soft skin. You were ecstatic to finally be able to leave your mark on him, taking this time to make sure the others knew exactly who Mateo belonged to. Your lips trailed over his neck and chest, nipping and sucking at the skin to leave crimson marks behind. It was clear that Mateo was getting impatient – you could feel his hips desperately humping into your own, an almost humiliated expression on his face.

“Aw, my love… Are you that desperate for me?” you whispered sweetly into his ear, your hand trailing down to lay over his bulge teasingly. He whined, bucking up into your hand, attempting to get any kind of friction possible.

“Sí, sí… please don’t tease,”

You smirked. “Hmm? But I thought you wanted to know what my dream was about? You do wanna know… right?”

His mouth dropped agape slightly, his mind barely able to process your words. Fuck, he really did want to know. He needed to know what made you make those noises, why you were pleading his name so insistently… what he was doing to make you moan so sweetly.

“T-tell me,” he said quietly, sweaty strands of his hair falling into his eyes as he gazed at you.

“Say please,”

He groaned, his cock bouncing at your words. He never knew he’d be into this kind of thing. You on top of him, taking full control of the situation – entirely different than it had been just half an hour ago. The picture of you leaning over him, desire in your eyes… He would give you anything you asked of him.

“Please, amor… please tell me,”

You reached out to cup his cheek as you leaned into him, stopping inches away from his face. You looked directly in his eyes as you told him exactly what had made you so hot.

“It’s funny… we were actually in opposite positions to now,” you began, glancing down at your bodies on the sofa, your legs straddling his. “You were on top of me, saying the dirtiest things I could think of. I couldn’t move – not with my hands tied so tightly with your blanket. And god, you were being such a tease…”

He bit his lip, trying in vain to hold back a moan.

“You were telling me all of the things you wanted to do to me. I was begging for it so hard, so desperately, and you were being so mean,” you pouted, your hands moving to your shirt as you began to unbutton it. Slowly.

Mateo’s eyes locked onto your movements, unable to tear his vision away as inch by anticipated inch of your soft skin was revealed to him. He gulped down a mouthful of saliva, thanking the universe that he wasn’t literally drooling right now. The same couldn’t be said for his poor, neglected cock; a small stain now soaked through the front of his sweatpants.

“Mi vida, please…”

“Uh uh, I’m not finished yet,” you say, grinning devilishly. You only received a broken whine in response.

“When you finally touched me… God, I could have finished right there and then. You were amazing, ‘Teo. Made me feel so fucking good, so sexy-”

“You are,”

Your face flushed. You were finally on the last button. As you undid it, you looked Mateo in the eyes. You’d never seen his big brown eyes look so… needy. You finally pushed your shirt off, revealing your body to your boyfriend for the very first time. There’s a thought in the back of your head, a vague one – if it had been anyone but Mateo seeing you right now, you wouldn’t be feeling half as comfortable and safe.

But trusting Mateo came so easily to you.

“Fuck, corazón… such a beauty. How did I get so lucky?” His voice and face were so sincere, looking at you with genuine amazement in his eyes. His hands twitched, desperate to reach out and touch you. You finally decided to be nice, mostly due to how eager you were becoming yourself.

“Mateo?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Please touch me,”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands were on you in a second, roaming over your top half as he kissed you deeply. He was definitely becoming more confident now that he had an obvious place to put his hands. They slid smoothly over the expanse of your back, up to your hair as he pulled you against him, moaning needily into the kiss. You pushed down onto his lap, earning you a wrecked whine from Mateo.

You started to claw at his clothing, needing him to be wearing decidedly less right about now. He shrugged off his puffy duvet jacket, his lips still locked with your own the entire time. You were forced to part, however, for him to rip off his vest. His soft stomach was revealed to you, along with a visible path of white hairs leading down to the main event.

You were going to wreck this man.

Blanket.

You wasted no time in peeling off your bottoms, your hole aching for something, anything to fill it up. Mateo was fixated on your naked form, his eyes glazing over with desire.

“You’re still wearing far too many clothes…”

He chuckled at your eagerness, reaching down to untie the blanket around his waist. When he was finally able to liberate himself from his sweatpants, he let out a quiet groan of relief. His cock was throbbing and everything you were hoping for. Mateo was definitely thicker than he was long, but still a pretty sizeable length. He wrapped a hand around the base, giving it a few quick strokes, his face almost looking as flushed as the tip.

“I… I need you, mi vida…” he said softly, looking at you with sweet, hopeful eyes.

Fuck.

You crawled over to him, laying a hand on his chest and pushing him back to lay against the arm of the couch. “Don’t worry, my love,” you said, giving him a chaste kiss before taking a hold of his aching cock. “I’ll take care of you,”

He whined as you slowly stroked his length, paying special attention to the very tip, your thumb teasingly spreading the pre-cum over the head. His eyes closed, his mouth left agape as you continued your ministrations. He was gorgeous, some of his white locks stuck to his forehead from the heat of the situation, a rosy hue to his skin as he tried to hold back the sweet noises he was making.

You needed him inside you. Now.

You lifted your left hand to his mouth (your right still continuing to bring him the pleasure he so needed), presenting him with three fingers. He looked at you, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Open your mouth, love,”

His eyes widened when he realised what you meant. He obeyed quickly, his mouth falling open for you as you pressed your fingers inside. His tongue worked itself around them, getting them nice and wet for you. He was nothing if not thorough. What you didn’t expect, was the satisfied whine that left him as he sucked on your fingers.

Holy shit. It went straight to your head, your mind getting fuzzy as you watched him be so eager to listen, so eager to please. Once your fingers were suitably wet, you pulled them out of his mouth – Mateo seeming almost disappointed at the absence.

You moved your hand down to your hole, starting with one digit as you slowly began to prep yourself. As eager as you were, one look at Mateo’s thick cock told you that you needed to be stretched out before taking it.

“Ayy… fuck mi amor, are you touching yourself?”

You blushed, adding a second finger. “Need to… open myself up for you,”

He groaned, his head falling forward onto your shoulder as you continued to stroke his cock and touch your own hole. You added a third finger, spreading them wide as you fucked yourself, stretching yourself as best you could in this position. At a certain point you stopped. This would do.

You lifted yourself up so you were up on your knees, placing your hands on his shoulders as you hovered over his cock. Mateo’s hands quickly found your waist and he looked up at you like you’d hung the very stars in the sky. As you slowly lowered yourself down onto his length and felt that initial stretch, you couldn’t hold back the sharp inhale you took. Fuck, he was big.

“Ohh… you feel amazing. Fuckkkk, taking me so well,” he whined, his head falling back onto the sofa as you sank down onto him. “Perfect, so perfect, baby…”

You ignored the slight pain at the stretch, focusing on his sweet words whispered into your ear. Soon, he was completely bottomed out inside you, your thighs shaking from exertion. You couldn’t help but collapse against his chest for a moment, taking a few deep breaths as you tried to get used to the feeling of him inside you.

“Shh, I’ve got you amor… So sweet for me, always taking such good care of me,” he breathed out, placing soft kisses all over your face and neck. “Take your time,”

Once the dull ache had faded away, you braced your hands against his shoulders, looking directly in his eyes as you lifted yourself as far as you could off of his cock. He whined at the loss before letting out a loud groan as you dropped yourself back down onto him. You began to ride him, hard and fast, moaning as he hit that perfect spot inside of you. His hands gripped at your ass, pulling himself deeper into you as you rode him.

“Fuckkk, ‘Teo… Ah!”

“Te amo! Ayyy, mi vida, so good!”

“I love you too, mmh- fuck!”

His hips started to meet yours as he thrusted up, his head falling back and his eyes closing. Your arms wrapped themselves around his neck, holding on for dear life as he took over, driving into you with as much force as he could muster.

“I- I’m close…” you whimpered, clinging to him as you felt the knot in your stomach forming with each hard thrust.

“Me too, corazón. Fuck, where can I…” he trailed off, a desperate look on his face as his thrusts became sloppy.

“Inside, ‘Teo… please come inside me,”

He groaned at your words. You really were gonna be the death of him. He drove into you, determined to get you there first – he had always been a giver. It didn’t take long for you to come undone on his cock, your body convulsing as you let out a loud mewl, your eyes rolling back from the pleasure.

He thrusted once, twice, three times more before finally pulling your hips firmly down onto his own. He released inside you, his hot, thick come flooding your hole. He kept you there as he fully emptied himself inside, his head flopped forward into the crook of your neck. You held him, stroking your hand through his sweaty mop of hair.

There was a comfortable silence as you both came back to reality, the scent of sweat and sex heavy in the air. Mateo’s hands stroked over your back soothingly, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“So…

“So?”

He smiled teasingly at you. “Was it everything you dreamed of?”

You gave his shoulder a gentle slap as you both devolved into giggles, wrapped around each other comfortably in the living room. You could only hope and pray that the others had… vacated the room much earlier.

#mateo manta #mateo manta x reader #mateo manta smut #date everything #date everything x reader #date everything smut

198 notes · View notes

whenstarsundress · 11 hours ago

Text

— t is for tattoo

zayne

he doesn’t speak for a long time. just stares at the tattoo. then you notice his hands shaking.

you came home tipsy, hair messy, lips glossy with someone else’s lipstick.

“zaaayne,” you sang sweetly, swaying into his arms. “i did something… really dumb. but, like. cute.”

he blinked, gently holding your waist. “what kind of dumb?”

you pulled the waistband of your skirt down just enough and turned your hip. a tiny, clean tattoo, his name, showed. zayne, inked like a secret. his breath hitched.

you smiled. “do you like it?”

he didn’t answer. just slowly dropped to his knees. pressed a kiss to the ink, then another. then his lips lingered like he was whispering prayers into your skin.

“i love it,” he murmured. “too much. you don’t know what you’ve done to me, angel.”

he pulled you closer, burying his face in your hip with a low groan. “you’re never going out without me again.”

caleb

he looks like you just gave him the stars. and then he panics a little because he loves you too much.

“i… got you a present,” you hiccuped. “kind of. it’s on me.”

caleb blinked. you were glowing, laughing into his hoodie, fingers tugging down your waistband. and then—

“…is that—my name?”

you nodded proudly. “so now it’s permanent.”

he stared, utterly still. then his eyes glassed over. “you… really did that?” he asked, soft with disbelief.

“do you hate it?”

“hate it?” he grabbed you so gently, like you were fragile porcelain. “i love you. i love you. you really… you’re mine?”

you nuzzled him. “always was.”

his mouth trembled as he kissed you. not hot, or rushed. just deep.

“you have no idea,” he whispered, forehead against yours, “how long i’ve wanted something like this.”

xavier

he grins. then he growls. then he decides you’re not leaving the house for a week.

you were drunk and giggly, stumbling into the apartment at 2 am. “don’t yell. it was my idea, okay?”

he blinked. “you smell like tequila and sin. what did you do?”

you bit your lip and walked up to him. and in one motion, tugged your shorts down to show the ink. xavier. right on your hip.

his jaw dropped. “you’re kidding.”

“nope.”

a beat of silence, before he grabbed you by the hips.

“fuck,” he hissed, eyes dark. “you got my name? baby, do you even understand what that does to me?” he kissed it and bit the skin next to it. “you’re not going out for a month. i’m serious.”

you giggled, drunk and smug. “why?”

“because now i need to leave matching marks. on your neck. your thighs. everywhere.”

#zayne #zayne x you #zayne x reader #zayne fluff #caleb #caleb x you #caleb x reader #xavier #xavier x you #xavier x reader #lads x reader #lads x you #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads x non!mc reader #caleb x non!mc reader #caleb x fem reader #zayne x non mc #xavier x non mc

223 notes · View notes

r-memberme · 3 days ago

Text

happy birthday | k.m

⎯⎯ Happy birthday, my darling. I have loved you in every century. I will love you in every one still to come.

warnings: its ma birthday, he's the best man ever, proposal?????

It begins like a secret.

You wake slowly—no sunlight, no alarm, only the soft brush of your name in Klaus’ voice against your shoulder, lower than usual. Reverent.

“Love,” he says gently, lips warm at your neck. “Happy birthday.”

You murmur something unintelligible, already aware of how close he is, how quiet the world feels. And when you open your eyes—candles. Dozens of them. A slow golden glow painting the walls, flickering across his face like it’s always belonged there.

There’s no one else.

Just you, him, and the hush of morning wrapped in warmth and devotion.

“I told you not to make a fuss,” you whisper, half-laughing, half-melting under his gaze.

He hums. “And yet you look so radiant when fussed over.”

He kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then your shoulder, where the blanket slips just enough for his lips to find skin.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, eyes wide at the quiet opulence around the room: a breakfast tray at the foot of the bed with croissants from that café in Paris you once mentioned in passing. Coffee, hot and perfectly brewed. A single rose laid across the plate like a signature.

“But I did,” Klaus murmurs. “I always will.”

༊*·˚

Later, he walks you to the sitting room. You don’t notice it right away—he keeps the lights dim, the candles still glowing in little crystal holders. But then you turn. And see them.

Paintings.

Portraits.

Dozens of them.

You. Sleeping. Smiling. Laughing. Holding a book, sitting beneath a tree, brushing your fingers along the edge of a window, unaware you were being watched.

You cover your mouth with your hand. “Klaus…”

“I’ve been painting you since the moment I knew I loved you,” he says simply.

You blink hard, suddenly shy under the weight of it all. “I didn’t know…”

He steps closer, hands gentle at your waist, steadying you. “You never had to. You exist, and that alone is gift enough for me.”

And then he shows you the letter.

Folded and hidden beneath your coffee cup. Inked by hand. His handwriting. Sincere and steady.

My love,

Today the world was given you, and I thank whatever gods still listen that it was. That you found me. That you stayed.

You are the brushstroke in my madness, the breath in my silence, the fire in a heart I thought long frozen.

Happy birthday, my darling. I have loved you in every century. I will love you in every one still to come.

Ever yours. Ever mine.

— Klaus

Your fingers tremble as you read it, breath catching in your throat.

“Klaus,” you whisper, undone, entirely and fully.

He brushes your cheek with the back of his hand. “You are worth every century of waiting.”

You don’t speak—not at first. There’s too much in your chest, swelling and soft, aching in that way that only love can ache. Instead, you look at him like the stars bent down and whispered his name first. Like the whole world has always been leading you here.

He watches you with a quiet sort of pride, like he can feel your heart beating from across the inches between you. And then, without a word, he steps back and offers his hand.

You blink. “What are you doing?”

A faint smile, crooked and sweet. “Asking the birthday girl for a dance.”

You glance around instinctively—there’s no music. Just candles. Silence. The soft crackle of firelight from the hearth.

But he doesn’t falter.

“I can hear the waltz in my head,” he says softly, hand still outstretched. “It’s yours. If you’ll have it.”

Your fingers meet his like gravity itself decided for you.

He pulls you close, one hand resting at your back, the other guiding your joined hands up gently, reverently. His touch is so careful you almost want to cry. He looks down at you like the very act of swaying with you is sacred.

And slowly, so slowly, you begin to move.

There’s no orchestra. No polished ballroom. Just the warm hush of candlelight, the faint scent of bergamot tea and paint, and the quiet shuffle of bare feet on old floorboards.

Klaus doesn’t take his eyes off you. Not once.

He holds you like you might vanish. Like you’ve already saved him more times than he’ll ever say. Like there is no past, no future—only this moment, this dance, this breath.

You lay your head against his chest, eyes fluttering shut.

“Did you do this in your mind?” you murmur. “Paint this moment before it happened?”

“Every day since I met you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your hairline. “And still it doesn’t compare.”

You smile against his collarbone, that ache in your chest curling warm now.

“Don’t let go,” you say, voice nearly gone with how much you feel.

“Never,” he promises. And you believe it.

You dance long after the candles burn low.

You dance until the world forgets there’s anything else but you and him.

And later, when you’re tangled together on the floor in laughter, dizzy and glowing, he says,

“This is how forever begins, love.”

༊*·˚

It’s well past midnight when he pulls a coat over your shoulders and leads you to the door.

“No more surprises,” you say, smiling sleepily, the kind of warm exhaustion that only comes from being so full of love you don’t know where to put it all.

“No more surprises,” he promises. Then leans down, kisses the tip of your nose, and lies: “Just one more.”

The air is cold. Crisp in that clean, silver way only a quiet night can be. Stars scatter overhead like candle sparks, a soft wind curling through your hair. The streets are empty. The world is asleep.

But Klaus?

He walks like the night was made just for this. Just for you.

“Tell me something,” you say, fingers laced with his. “What did you do on your last birthday?”

He hums. “I think I killed someone.”

You snort. “Of course you did.”

“But then I painted,” he adds softly. “Something you inspired before I ever knew you.”

Your steps slow. “You really mean that?”

“I never say anything I don’t mean to you.”

༊*·˚

The path winds past trees still heavy with dew. Somewhere nearby, a river hums low, quiet like a secret. And then he stops.

A single lantern glows ahead, dim and flickering—hung above a small stone bench in a clearing where the moonlight gathers.

He’s pacing.

Not dramatically. Not like he wants to be seen. Just pacing—restless, almost boyish, hands in his pockets, muttering things under his breath that are likely 40% curses and 60% pure nerves.

You sit on the old wooden bench, wrapped in the coat he forced on you earlier, legs tucked under you as you watch him wear a path into the earth beneath the trees.

“Klaus,” you say softly, tilting your head, “you’re terrifying the wildlife.”

He freezes. Blinks. Turns slowly, like he’s remembering you’re here—like he’s remembering this is real.

Then he walks toward you. Stops. Hesitates.

“I had something rehearsed,” he mutters. “It sounded better in my head. Less…pathetic.”

You smile. “I already like this version better.”

He exhales through a shaky laugh, like you’ve just handed him a lifeline.

And then—he kneels. Right there in the dirt beside the bench. Not for show, not for spectacle. Just because something in him still knows what it means to kneel for what he worships.

The box he pulls from his coat is small. Worn. No shine or flash, just old wood etched with runes, like a secret meant to be kept.

He opens it slowly.

And the ring inside?

It isn’t beautiful in any traditional way. It’s strange. Quietly wild. As if it was shaped from starlight and carved bone and old blood spilled during something sacred. Not just metal—memory. A single deep green gem in the center, the color of moss after a storm.

Klaus doesn’t look at the ring. He looks at you.

“This,” he says gently, “belonged to a woman I once loved. A very long time ago.”

You feel your heart stumble. “Klaus, you don’t—”

“I never gave it to her.”

His voice isn’t cold. Just honest. Raw and real and trembling slightly.

“I kept it,” he continues. “Through wars and cities falling and centuries of grief. I kept it—not out of love. Out of guilt. Because I thought no one would ever deserve it. No one should.”

He pauses. Swallows.

“But then I met you.”

Your breath catches.

“I met you and suddenly… eternity didn’t feel like a punishment. Suddenly I wanted things. Morning things. Your voice from the kitchen. Your shoes in the hallway. Your hands smacking mine when I eat from your plate.”

You laugh through the sudden ache in your chest.

“I have seen kingdoms fall and stars collapse. I have held this ring through rage and regret. But tonight,” he says, lifting it—offering it— “I give it to you. Not as a promise. Not as a cage. But as truth.”

You don’t even notice you’re crying until the stars blur.

“And,” he adds in a quiet rush, “I want to marry you. That’s—that’s the part I forgot to say. That’s what this is for.”

Your laugh bursts out wet and joyful. “You’re a disaster.”

“Yes,” he agrees solemnly. “But I’m your disaster. If you’ll have me.”

You nod, too overwhelmed to form real words. “Yes. Yes.”

He slips the ring onto your finger. So gently. Like the air around your skin might tear.

You lean forward and kiss him before he can stand, one hand in his hair, the other already curled against his chest. He kisses you back like he’s finally remembered what it means to belong to something other than sorrow.

You press your face into the curve of his neck, arms tight around him like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you let go. Your breath trembles with everything you can’t put into words.

“I love you,” you whisper again, and again, and again. As if the words alone can stitch him into the fabric of your life. “I love you, Klaus. I love you so much.”

He doesn’t answer at first.

He just holds you.

Like you're something breakable and holy. Like the night might end if he breathes too loud.

And then—quietly, so quietly it nearly gets lost in the hush of the stars above and the sound of your heartbeat against his chest—he says:

“But I loved you first.”

Your breath catches.

His voice is soft. Not playful, not teasing—just full of that hushed wonder he always gets when he’s near you. As if he’s still surprised you’re real. As if saying it aloud might unravel him.

“I loved you,” he murmurs, “before I knew I was allowed to. Before you ever looked at me like this. Before you ever smiled at me like I wasn’t some ancient, cursed thing.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing your hair behind your ear with fingers that tremble slightly. His eyes are lit with something deep and fragile—like the boy he used to be still lives in there, tucked beneath centuries of ruin.

“I think I loved you the second you told me off in that bookstore,” he adds, smiling crookedly. “Or maybe when you called me a pompous arse and didn’t mean it.”

You laugh, even as tears cling to your lashes.

“And I’ve loved you every version of the way since,” he says. “In silence. In secret. In every shattered moment I thought I’d ruined any chance of deserving you.”

You reach up and cup his cheek. His breath stutters under your palm.

“You do deserve me,” you say, quietly. “You always did.”

His eyes close for a heartbeat, like the words physically undo him.

Then he leans in and presses his forehead to yours, the space between you full of everything no language has ever managed to say properly.

“But I loved you first,” he repeats, barely above a whisper.

Like a prayer. Like a truth carved in bone.

And this time, you don’t answer. You just hold him tighter.

Because some things are too big for words.

And this—this is one of them.

thank you anon for the request and remembering my birthday <3 And happy either late or early birthday to you as well🤍

122 notes · View notes

daddynovck · 3 days ago

Text

Phone Sex w/ Casey

casey novak x female reader

WARNINGS praise kink, dom!casey, masterbaiting, teasing

—————————————————————

“hey. you’re still at the office, right?”

“guilty. the DA wants this file cross referenced with everything from this case and—“ she pauses, the smile evident on her face. “wait. that tone. what are you up to?”

you shift on the couch, playing with the hem of your t-shirt — her shirt, technically.

“nothing….i just miss you.”

there’s a beat of silence on the other end. then, her voice drops, playful.

“oh? and are you missing me, or missing what i do to you?”

you grin, hooked.

“both. but i’ve been thinking about the last time you had me against the kitchen counter. you remember?”

casey exhales — slowly.

“oh yeah i remember. you were so loud i was sure the neighbors were going to hear.”

“i know…i wanted them to,” you murmur again, softer this time, fingers brushing lower beneath the hem of her t-shirt, your skin burning, the ache between your thighs impossible to ignore now. you bite your lip, hips shifting restlessly on the couch.

casey’s breath catches. you hear it, that sharp little inhale on the other end of the line. her voice is lower when she speaks, velvet-drenched and dangerous.

“tell me what you’re wearing, sweetheart.” she demands, voice lower now — huskier. her courtroom voice as you like to call it. firm. commanding.

you smirk, letting your head fall back against the cushions, fingertips skimming over the waistband of your panties — a thin, barely-there pair of lace you’d thrown on out of habit.

“your t-shirt,” you murmur, voice sweet and thick with need, “and nothing else.”

casey’s breath catches. you hear it, that sharp little inhale on the other end of the line. her voice is lower when she speaks, velvet-drenched and dangerous.

“fuck,” she exhales. “touch yourself for me.”

you don’t hesitate. your hand dips lower, the slick heat between your thighs making you curse under your breath. you’re already soaked, your folds slippery, your clit throbbing, desperate for attention. your middle finger finds it easily, circling slow, teasing, just like you know drives yourself crazy.

“i’m so wet for you, case,” you whisper, your voice breaking on her name.

her groan down the line is obscene. gravelly, ragged.

“jesus christ… you better be loud for me. tell me how it feels.”

“so fucking good,” you breathe, your fingers moving faster now, two slipping down to part your folds, gathering the mess there before sliding back up to your clit, rubbing tight, eager circles. your thighs twitch. “i’m soaked, casey. it’s dripping down onto the couch.”

she growls low, the sound of it making your toes curl.

“if you were here,” you murmur, teasing your slick entrance with two fingertips, “i’d have your face between my thighs right now.”

casey’s breath stutters on the other end. “fuck— you keep talking like that and i’m leaving this office in five goddamn minutes.”

as she says this, your head tips back, the knot in your stomach pulling tighter, your hips grinding up into your hand. you whimper her name, needy, desperate.

“casey… oh, fuck, i’m—”

“cum for me,” she commands, voice a whipcrack. “now.”

and you do. your back arches, muscles clenching, a loud, broken moan tearing from your throat as you cum hard, her name spilling from your lips like a prayer, like a curse.

“casey — fuck — casey, casey—!”

your pussy spasms around nothing, slick flooding your fingers, your breath coming in ragged gasps. she’s murmuring something on the other end — low, filthy praise — but you’re too fucked-out to catch all of it.

—————————————————————

thank you so so much once again to @jareaufiles for helping me writing this (once again) !! she is truly a godsend <3

—————————————————————

#casey novak #casey novak x reader #casey novak x you #casey novak c #casey novak x female reader #casey novak x y/n #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #diane neal #wlw post

85 notes · View notes

rafeyssugar · 23 hours ago

Text

SWEET LIKE TROUBLE

bf!rafe cameron x bimbo reader

you were so annoying. like really. you were clingy and soft and always cold. you couldn’t open water bottles. you refused to learn how to put air in your tires. you cried when your lashes didn’t go on right. you had an entire separate bag just for your lip glosses and perfumes. and you made rafe stop walking every time you saw a flower on the ground that was “too cute to leave behind.”

you were the kind of girl that other girls got exhausted by. but rafe? rafe was in love.

like stupidly. sickly. head-over-heels obsessed.

not that he’d say all that. he’d just tell you to stop wearing skirts that short in public. and maybe he’d keep your strawberry perfume in his glove box. and maybe he’d never tell you no. ever. no matter how bratty you were being. he’d just groan and say “fuckin’ hell, babe…” like you were a burden. but he was already pulling out his wallet, already giving you his hoodie, already texting back where are you the second you left his sight.

“rafe,” you said, curling your legs into his lap as you laid back on the couch, your voice high and sweet and already getting him in a mood.

he didn’t look up from his phone. “hm?”

“what’s my middle name?”

his eyes flicked to you. “what?”

you pouted. “you forgot?”

he narrowed his eyes. “…no?”

you squinted. “then what is it.”

he paused. “…baby.”

you blinked. “wrong.”

“it is when you’re mine,” he smirked.

you groaned, throwing a throw pillow at him. “you’re so annoying!”

rafe caught it mid-air, laughing under his breath. “no, you’re annoying. you make me take selfies and look at your nail inspo board like i know the difference between baby pink and ballerina pink.”

you gasped. “they’re completely different!”

“sure, babe.”

you sat up on your knees, arms crossed, fake-pouting now. “you don’t take anything seriously.”

rafe put his phone down. his smile softened. “i take you seriously.”

you froze. then blinked at him.

“you do?”

“duh.” he reached over, tugging you into his lap like it was second nature. “you think i’d let just anyone cry in my car over lash glue and still kiss her forehead after?”

you giggled. “okay but that was literally a crisis.”

“you called me at 2am.”

“my lashes were lifting!”

he rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. not when you were straddling him, arms around his neck, smelling like something fruity and way too expensive. not when you kissed the corner of his jaw and whispered “love you, baby” like it was the easiest thing in the world.

he didn’t say it back. not with words.

just held you a little tighter. tilted your face toward his with both hands and kissed you slow. long. soft. like you were made of glass and pink clouds and sugar.

you hummed against his lips. then pulled back with a grin. “you’re blushing.”

“shut up.”

“you are,” you giggled, cupping his cheeks. “you get all red when i say your name. rafe.”

“stop.”

“rafe rafe rafe—”

he kissed you again just to shut you up.

and maybe because he missed the taste of your lip gloss already.

later, you were laying in his bed wearing one of his old t-shirts that hung off your body like a dress. your legs were cold, so rafe threw a blanket over you. you made him paint your nails (badly). he made you watch heat for the fourth time. you fell asleep on his chest halfway through. he pretended to hate it. but he didn’t move a muscle for hours.

you whispered something half-asleep into his shirt.

“what’d you say?” rafe murmured.

you blinked slowly, nose nuzzled into him. “said you’re my favorite.”

his heart thumped. he swallowed. “oh.”

“i’d pick you. every time.”

he blinked up at the ceiling.

“…even over strawberry acai?”

you paused. “mmm… close call.”

he laughed. “fuck you.”

you smiled against him. “love you too.”

he didn’t say it back. again.

but his hand stayed in your hair. his lips pressed against your forehead. and when you fell asleep for real, he whispered it into your skin like a prayer.

love you. love you. love you.

you never even noticed he said it. but he didn’t care.

he’d say it a thousand times if he had to.

93 notes · View notes

retireddaddyric · 3 days ago

Text

“Let’s go see the dolphins.”

Synopsis: Daniel and fem reader are in Malvides for their honeymoon. They are fire, him being the dominant part, she’s his baby. But one night..

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, S M U T (like a lot), age gap, soft bondage, degrading kink, dom/sub swing, fluff, romance, established relationship.

Notes: REQUESTED, this is fiction, I’m not a native English speaker, this doesn’t contain a single AI dot, worked on this with all my heart.

The day after our wedding we left for our honeymoon in Maldives.

Away from the world, just us.

When he turns his head I smirk at him and he grins. “Don’t.” He says chuckling while our hands are entwined. His steps are longer and I’m wearing heeled sandals that click on the wooden path that take us from the overwater luxury bungalow to the beach where our dinner table awaits us.

He hasn’t shaved in two weeks and his beard is very long for his usual self. But I don’t complain: he looks relaxed. And he deserves it after everything life threw at him in the last year.

“Your ass looks like a panettone in those linen trousers!” I say smugly.

I can feel his eyes roll while I look at the back of his head, the longer than usual curls.

“You heard me caveman? A panettone. You know that italian christmas sweet tha-“

“I know what a panettone is, I lived in Italy. But you can’t bodyshame me like that, I’m an old man after all.”

I giggle and loose the grip to his hand just to hug his waist from behind and kiss his shoulder blade from above the shirt. “What I meant is that those wide hips of yours make my knees weak.”

“I know.” He says in a nonchalant tone. Then he laughs and his arm reaches for my dress and he pulls at the fabric to push me ahead of himself. He smacks my ass playfully and I squeal, he winks. “Naughty girl.” He mutters when a couple a few meters ahead of us turn their heads to look at us.

I giggle adjusting my little white summer dress, the wedding band shining under the after sunset purple sky.

“Manhandling your little wife like that in public.. might create bad gossip.”

“Fuck the gossip, my wife is a sub.”

I gasp laughing. “Shut the fuck up.”

“You are, you have been one since forever.”

“In bedroom only.”

“In bedroom in particular.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

He throws his arm around my neck, his taller frame engulfing me completely, and he kisses the top of my head. That’s when I feel our age gap and I find it so cute.

We have the most perfect dinner at a white cloth covered table, with fancy dishes and candles, feet in the sand, him taking pictures of our joined hands displaying our wedding bands- no, he’ll never post them on Daniel.jpg because he doesn’t want you to know he’s a romantic.

We laugh to te point my flute drops to the sand and he spits the wine in his napkin: he’s a billionaire but we’re just two grown-up dirtbags.

At dessert time he steals two spoons of my red velvet cake - he said he didn’t want any when the suit wearing waiter asked him, with a white napkin on his arm that Daniel looked at with a frown. I told him it was for the saliva on his beard since he was drooling over his perfect wife.

After dinner we walked on the beach that we spent the whole day at before we went to shower and get ready for dinner. The warm sand and the starry sky above us are the perfect frame for a memory I will hold forever. We joke and talk about a boat trip we’re gonna do tomorrow to swim with dolphins.

“Dolphins have proper names, you knew that?”

“No shit.” He laughs but looks at me interested.

“I swear to god, each of make a unique sound so that when they have to call each other they make that exact sound.”

“You would ‘aaaaah Daniel’!” He makes a stupid moany sound that sounds a lot like when he eats me out and I hit his chest.

He laughs and says “I know a better one.”

“What.”

“Dolphins are I think the only animals that have sex not only to procreate but for pleasure too.”

“They’re not the only animals..”

“Yeah me too, but I was talking about dolphins.”

I laugh when I understand he got the joke before I could even say it. he laughs and grabs my waist. Kissing my neck from behind, squeezing my hips in his firm hands.

He presses his front at my ass and I smile closing my eyes. He’s already hard.

He licks the area underneath my earlobe and whispers hotly into my ear “Wanna be a good little dolphin?”

I burst out laughing and pull away. “Why would you say something like that in the middle of a horny act?”

He smirks not letting me go, instead his grip on my hips tightens. “You love it when I am a goofy shit.”

“I love you always.”

“Because I’m always goofy.”

“And shit.”

He barks, literally, and picks me up over his shoulder, slaps my ass and walks towards the wooden path to our overwater bungalow, making sure one of his hands covers my ass since it’s all on display. Cheers guests, I guess.

Inside the dimly lit apartment he throws me on the bed and grins looking down at me from the edge. “Here comes the best part of the honeymoon.” He says smiling.

“You’re saying you spent thousands to fuck me but you do that already weekly.”

“I’m saying I get to fuck you with the courtains moving in the wind and the sea waves in the background.” He says while he grabs my ankles and flips me effortlessly on my stomach.

“Hey wait.” I tell him while I stand on my knees but he pushes me back down again with a hand behind my neck, pushing my cheek on the mattress.

“No more waiting, I need to fuck the shit out of my dolphin.” He says pulling down my white lacy thong and exposing my wet folds to him. “Dripping dolphin I meant.” He says and spits on my pussy.

“Daniel!” I scold him but my voice is too husky to really sound like I am stopping him.

His fingers smears his saliva all over my dripping cunt and when he slaps it I jump letting out a moan.

He bites my asscheek crawling on bed behind me and that’s when I grab his shirt collar and push him. He falls on the floor and I jump on him straddling him and taking the string from my bathrobe that was discarded on the floor since the earlier shower.

He frowns “What the-“

I put it on his mouth, pushing it between his teeth and twist it around his head. His eyebrows shoot up but he lets me. I smirk.

His hands grab my thighs but I shake my head.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” I swat them away with mines. I grab the phone charger’s wire from the nightstand and he looks at me with a surprised questioning look. I tie his wrists together with it. He looks at me with smiling eyes, letting me, because, yeah, if he struggled only a little bit he could stop me without even using any effort.

When I smile proudly at my work I push his wrists up above his head.

“Keep them here.” I say in a low voice. He smirks and looks at me with challenge in his eyes. I know what he’s thinking - that I’ve learned a lot from him during these years of him tying me up to beds or various furnitures.

We never did this before, me taking control, we always thought it wasn’t in our nature, maybe it isn’t.

But something snapped inside me today when I saw him kneeling in the shower looking up at me with those big brown eyes. It was moments before he started barking orders but still, that fleeting moment tugged at my chest, it almost whispered into my head “tell him to put his hands behind his back and open his mouth”. I didn’t.

But fuck it, that thought stayed in the back of my head all evening, even when he stole food from my plate and I wanted to feed him myself.

I unbutton his beige shirt slowly, the grown hair of his chest coming to view. I open the fabric and slowly make my index nail trace a straight line that goes from his Adam apple down between his pecs, the middle of his sternum, his abs, his belly button, the happy trail that makes me go feral. I see his skin shivering. Good sign.

Then I grab his jaw firmly and whisper “Say you’re mine.”

“I.. I ahh yooh.” He’s gagged, he tries, looking me in the eyes.

“Louder.”

“Yooosh.” He says firmer.

I slap his cheek lightly and smirk. He thrusts up with his hips and looks at me deadly. that sounds like a warning.

“Tsk. You don’t look at me like that.” I scold him.

He smirks.

I push down his hip with my hand. “And you don’t move until I say so.”

I undo his pants still looking at him. I take them off, making sure I kiss his tattooed muscles on his thigh while i slide down his body. I kiss the tattoo on his foot while he looks at me amused.

Then i grab the waistband of his boxers and pull them down too, his cock is incredibly hard against his abdomen.

“Looks like this dolphin is a bottom after all.”

He smiles and shakes his head.

“No?” I ask.

He shakes his head again.

“Your dick says otherwise.” I say fisting it.

He lets out a groan, his head thrown backwards. I start stroking it slowly. His chest rises and falls deeply. A little drop of pre-cum seems to be calling me and I give it a little kitten lick. His cock jumps and he hisses.

And that’s when I wrap my lips around it and start sucking him with intention, my tongue feels every vein underneath it, my nose hitting the hairy pelvis. I suck him like I am starving, like I’ve been waiting to do this freely for so long, at my pace, without his hand to guide my head and pace. His moans are loud over the towel chord which does little to shut him up.

His stare is wild on me, he bends his knees and thrusts upwards so I pull away.

“Ah ah.” I say, a string of saliva connecting my swollen red mouth to the tip of his cock. “Be a good boy.”

I pinch one of his balls lightly and he flinches. I smirk and lick it, suck on that spot. And he is a whimpering mess.

“Beg.” I say standing up between his legs and taking my dress off.

His eyes eat my curves alive, he’s panting. I put a foot on his mouth and he turns his head to the side so I smirk and I tread his cheek a bit.

“I said beg.”

I straddle his face grabbing his curls with both my hands. And I start grinding on his gagged mouth, my wet pussy drenching his lips, his beard, my clit hits his nose.

He’s looking at me like I am a dream, his eyes almost closed, he inhales deeply anytime my pussy drenches his nose.

“Fuck-“ i moan softly, too softly to sound like a dom. His eyes get so dark, like I am awakening his real side and his arms flex.

“No!” I breathe stopping his arms above his head with my hands. “Let me drive, tonight.”

He smiles challenging but nods.

I start to ride his face again and I hear him say something. But he’s gagged and I don’t catch it.

“What?” I ask breathlessly.

“Eeeaaah” he repeats.

“That sounded like a beg..?”

He rolls his eyes, he is panting. Then he looks at me again.

“..hhuuck hme” he shouts.

I smirk stopping my hips. “Did you ask me to fuck you?”

He nods.

I smile. “Be a good boy and ask nicely.”

He takes a deep breath.

“Eeeaaassh, huuuckk hmee!” He says.

I grin and slide down his body until I am lined up above his cock.

I put my hand on the towel chord and pull it down to free his mouth.

And in that moment I lower my warm pussy to his hardness, until I hit the base of it.

“Ffffuck!” He groans.

My hips shake slightly at the fullness and I whimper a bit.

Breathing heavy he searches my eyes and whispers softly “you okay baby?”

I nod and put my hands on his chest for steadiness. “Yeah just a but overwhelmed.” I laugh.

He smiles and whispers “go ahead, move slowly.”

“Shut up, you’re not the dom here.” I laugh slowly starting to move my hips. I moan, he groans. Both in relief.

“Didn’t know my good girl had this in her.” He says breathy, his voice tone showing how aroused he is.

“Don’t call me that tonight.” I say and put my hands on his large neck.

“Fuck it, you’re my good girl anyway..” he says closing his eyes.

I smile and bend down to kiss him, still moving slowly. He kisses me back, his tongue delving in, we moan into each other.

I suck his bottom lip and start moving my hips faster. He looks at me when I sit up, at my tits, at the way my tanned belly moves anytime I reach his base with my pussy lips.

We’re need, raw, unstoppable want. Lust. Love. We’re one.

“You want it harder?” I ask him.

“Please.” He whispers.

I giggle, he grins.

And I start moving faster, taking him deeper while I roll my hips. I put my hands on his thighs behind me and move throwing my head backwards, letting it hang between my shoulders, my curls tickling his knees.

And that’s the position makes him hit the right spot. I feel it, growing fast.

I let out a loud moan and he stills when i start bucking my hips.

Then in a second i hear the charger cable that was around his wrists fly and fall somewhere. I gasp. And i am up in the air, him carrying me to the bed.

He flips me and bends me at the edge of it, ass up, the loose towel chord that he had around his head is at my throat, and he pulls it towards him so that i have to weight on the covers with my hands.

He’s inside of me again, i moan half choking with that chord at my neck, like I am a damn horse.

“Now be a good girl and ask nicely.” He roars in my ear, his forehead against my temple, his teeth at my ear.

“Can I come?” I whisper breathy.

The sting on my ass and the echo of the slap tell me I can’t.

“Please.” I whisper breathlessly.

And my face sinks forced on the bed while i feel him fuck me as hard as he can, the skin to skin sound hitting the walls.

I start whimpering and my legs shake.

He withdraws, pulling out fast.

I let out a cry in the mattress, my pussy starting to spasm around nothing, my fists grip the bedsheets.

“Sh sh shhhh.” I hear him say. “Will you ask me next time you want to play dom?”

I nod. He grabs my hair and pulls backwards, looking at me from behind, above my head, straight into my eyes.

“What did you say?”

“Yes..”

“Yes what”

“Yes Daniel.”

“Tsk.” He says shaking his head once.

Silence.

“Yes.. daddy.” I whisper.

“Damn right!” He mutters proudly slamming back in and hugging me so tight from behind, his face in the crook of my neck, moving like life depends on it.

And I come so hard I see stars, i can’t hear clearly anymore except the ping of my head deleting every thought that is not my husband.

And he comes so hard, moving erratically, biting my shoulder while he groans and pistons in: once, twice, three times. And he stills.

We’re both panting. He’s completely spent on me.

“You’re heavy.” I say half choking.

He smirks and rolls to the side, looking at the ceiling, panting.

I find the strength to crawl on the bed, his cum running down my thighs. He watches, smirking, putting a hand behind his head and with the other one grabs the end of the chord that still hand around my throat and pulls.

“You look like a bitch like this.” He grins.

I smack his chest falling on it, completely dead. “Asshole.”

He unties the chord and makes it fall to the floor.

We’re glued to each other with sweat, the white curtains move in the sea breeze, the soft noise from outside making us start to fall asleep.

“That was surprisingly good..” He says lazy, his hand caressing my spine.

“What about you let me do it once a week?”

“Once a month, deal.”

“You don’t wanna be my good boy?”

“No, I am a dolphin.”

“A bottom dolphin.” I laugh.

He pushes me and settles between my thighs. “That makes you a dom dolphin?” He teases.

“Yeah?” I smile.

He smiles caressing my hair, looking at me too softly for the stupid conversation we’re having.

“Dolphins make sex for pleasure and for.. little dolphins..”

I smile and nod, a little blushing.

“Dolphins don’t take contraceptive pills..” he whispers caressing my bottom lip..

“..then I am not a dolphin..” i whisper pouting playfully.

He looks into my eyes and I do too. My smile disappears. We’re dead serious now.

“You want me to be a dolphin?” I ask, my voice a little shaky.

“You want to be one?” He whispers, his eyes shiny.

“You want little dolphins?” I ask grinning.

“You like little dolphins?” he smiles.

I smile back and nod.

We kiss, softly, slowly. And then I whisper on his lips: “We can both be dolphins starting from tonight.”

We hug and kiss again, he reaches between us with his hand and guides himself back inside of me.

And we make love, slowly, kissing each other softly, smiling, caressing our faces and hair, whispering our love.

The morning after we take the boat to go see dolphins. And when we’re under water, mask on and deep blue surrounding us, the animals dance around us.

A little one comes close to me. I smile broadly and turn my head looking for my husband.

And daniel’s already smiling behind his go pro, capturing the moment with his greatest smile.

(Thanks for the person who asked in my DMs, this made me dreeeeam. Also, feedback is always appreciated, love to all those who weekly reach out to me, makes me want to go ahead!)

#daniel ricciardo #smut #daniel riccardo x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #oneshot

78 notes · View notes

noirscript · 3 days ago

Text

Inked Possession | part three

pairing: yandere artist x erotic book writer!reader description: At your first fan signing, you felt exposed enough—but when a reader dared to praise the man you wrote with too much longing in his voice, Eleazar reminded you exactly who that character was based on, and who your stories—and body—belong to. warning/s: Yandere behavior, possessiveness, explicit sexual content, obsession, emotional manipulation, jealousy, degradation (verbal), rough sex, public surveillance (implied stalking), power imbalance, noncon/dubcon undertones. note: i don't know when the next part will be posted, but i'll let you guys know. somehow. btw, whoever read this first was able to read the og draft with the og name. hahahahahha forgot to replace it before posting earlier. my bad. enjoy reading!

You told your publisher no the first three times.

You weren’t trying to be difficult, but the idea of being out there again—on display, in front of people whose faces you don’t know and whose eyes you can’t read—left something tight in your chest. You liked the quiet comfort of your work, the cocoon of anonymity that came with hiding behind stories. Signing books and smiling for photos in a public venue felt too much like exposure, like stripping without the safety of Lee’s rope.

But deadlines had come and gone, the pre-orders exceeded expectations, and your publisher, bless their persistent hearts, finally played the only card you couldn't ignore: contractual obligation.

So here you are.

A fanmeet. One city over. A sleek little bookstore with floor-to-ceiling windows, a table draped in velvet, and a line of readers curling out the door. The staff is kind. The readers are gentle. The girl with trembling hands and tears in her eyes says your writing got her through the worst year of her life. The college boy with a dog-eared copy quotes your own words back to you. It feels surreal to be seen like this—for something you created in solitude.

You should be happy. You should be proud. And you are. But still, under the polite smile and gracious thank-yous, you feel it.

A presence.

You don’t see him. Not yet. But it’s there. Like a shift in temperature, a heat against your spine that makes the hair on the back of your neck lift. You force yourself to stay calm, keep signing, keep nodding. Maybe it’s your nerves. Maybe it’s your paranoia.

But you know that weight. That gravity. You feel it every night before you fall asleep, curled into Lee’s chest. You feel it now, stronger than ever.

By the time the fan steps forward, you’ve already braced for it.

He’s young. Maybe mid-twenties. Glasses, nice smile, a little awkward in the way of people who read more than they speak. He’s not a threat—not at all. Just eager. His hands tremble as he holds out your book for you to sign.

“I… I’m sorry if I sound weird,” he says, voice high with nerves. “I just—your writing changed something in me. Especially the new one. The way you described… him. Your male lead. His hands, his mouth. It was so vivid. So real. Like I could feel every touch.”

You nod gently, offering the practiced, polite smile you’ve given to others. “Thank you. That means more than you know.”

He clears his throat, eyes darting between you and the edge of the table. “If I’m being honest, I… I wish he was real. That kind of love? That intensity? It’s rare. Obsessive, sure—but who wouldn’t want someone that devoted?”

You stiffen. Just slightly.

“Anyway,” he laughs, trying to brush off his own words. “Sorry. I just had to say it. You’re incredible.”

You thank him again. You sign. You don’t look up again until he’s gone. And when you do… Lee is standing near the entrance.

He isn’t in line. Isn’t smiling. Isn’t even trying to hide the storm in his expression. He’s watching you—no, watching everyone. No one else notices him. He’s good at that, at folding himself into shadows even when the light’s right on him. You know that look. It isn’t anger. Not yet. It’s the calm before it.

You spend the rest of the event on autopilot, your throat dry, fingers aching from the pen gripped too tight. The moment it’s over, the moment you’re in the car, Lee speaks.

“You liked that?”

You blink at him. “What?”

He turns to face you fully, eyes unreadable. “Hearing another man say he wanted to touch you the way I do. That he wants to be the man in your book.”

“He wasn’t being inappropriate, Lee. Just enthusiastic. That’s what fans do.”

“You wrote me, and he saw himself.”

“I can’t control how people interpret—”

“He wants you.”

You hesitate. “He admires the character.”

Lee leans in, voice low and too calm. “That character is me.”

You don’t argue. You won’t win. And truthfully, he's not wrong. Every word you wrote was pulled from your nights together. The tenderness. The fury. The pleasure laced with something darker. It was Lee—filtered just enough to fit fiction. But for Lee, fiction doesn’t mean not real.

He drives in silence, hands tight around the wheel, until you're home.

The studio is cold. Not from the air, but from the tension. You enter first. Lee follows without a word, locking the door behind him. You hear it—click—and something inside you stirs.

He doesn't touch you. Not right away. He circles slowly, gaze dragging across your body like he’s stripping you layer by layer with his mind. You stand still. Wait.

“You smiled at him,” he says finally, quiet but firm. “You laughed.”

“I smiled at everyone today.”

“You leaned in.”

“He was nervous. I was trying to make him comfortable.”

“He was imagining fucking you.”

You take a breath, trying to stay calm, but your pulse is already racing. “You’re reading too much into it. He didn’t say anything like that.”

“He didn’t have to.” Lee steps closer. “I saw it in his eyes. He wants to replace me. He wants to rewrite my role.”

His hands finally touch you, not with the familiar tenderness of homecoming, but with something rougher, more desperate. He grabs your wrist, not to hurt, but to anchor.

“You’re mine,” he says, dragging your hand to his chest, pressing it over his heart. “Every word you write, every scene, every sound—it's mine.”

You nod, unable to speak.

“Do you know what I felt, watching him look at you like that?”

You whisper, “Tell me.”

“I felt the edge,” he breathes, hand sliding to the back of your neck. “I felt it pulling me. Wanting to drag you into it with me so I could erase every trace of anyone else.”

Then he kisses you.

It’s not sweet. It’s not patient. It’s consuming.

He undresses you slowly but without ceremony, hands possessive, lips trailing over every inch of exposed skin like he’s reclaiming lost territory. Your bra slips from your shoulders. Your skirt falls. By the time he walks you back into the studio chair—his chair—you’re already shaking.

He sits first and pulls you onto his lap, straddling him. His hands grip your waist. He looks up at you, paint-speckled light catching the edge of his eyes.

“No ropes tonight,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you tied. I want you to stay because you know where you belong.”

You nod. “With you.”

His cock is hard beneath you, pressing against your bare folds as he lifts your hips and slides in—slow, deliberate, deep. You gasp, clinging to him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Say it again,” he growls, already thrusting up into you with sharp, punishing rhythm. “Say who you belong to.”

“You, Lee—only you.”

He grips your hair, pulling your face to his. “Louder.”

“I belong to you!”

His pace quickens, desperate and unforgiving. You’re already close, already unraveling. You feel him everywhere—inside you, around you, beneath your skin.

“You smiled at him,” Lee whispers against your ear. “Now smile for me.”

You do. You smile as he ruins you. As he reminds you. As he marks you from the inside out.

He doesn’t stop when you come the first time. Or the second. He keeps going until your voice is hoarse and your body limp. When he finally finishes, it’s with a broken groan, arms wrapped tight around you as he spills into you. He holds you there, panting, sweating, possessive even in afterglow.

No one else gets to have this. No one else gets you.

He pulls you close, kisses your forehead, and whispers, “Write this down.”

You nod, already dazed.

“Next time someone thinks they can step into my story,” he murmurs, voice like silk soaked in blood, “I’ll show them what kind of ending they earn.”

TBC.

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger @delusionalricebowl @nomi-candies @jsprien213 @kaii-nana33 @saturnalya @yandereaficionado @pinksaiyans @ivantillenthusiast @missybabes

← Previous | Next →

132 notes · View notes

ryomenslvr · 3 days ago

Text

feedback

interlude

rockstar!ryomen sukuna x reader x rockstar!satoru gojo

synopsis: Two rival bands. One sound engineer. Trapped between Gojo’s charm and Sukuna’s intensity, you navigate a world where music is war, tension runs high, and falling for the frontman, or both, could change everything.

a/n: this fan fiction is heavily inspired by @/indiewritesxoxo ‘s no. 1 party anthem series! (which you should 100% check out! it’s such an incredible concept and it’s very addicting. you can find it here)

content warnings: MDNI, emotional conflict, slight smut, blurred boundaries, complicated relationship dynamics

series masterlist

You’re not sure why you agreed to this. Maybe it was to avoid what happened at the venue. Maybe it was because, deep down, you really did want to go back to Sukuna’s place.

You weren’t sure.

That’s what you were thinking as you sat in the passenger seat of Sukuna’s, admittedly nice, car. Clean leather, deep red interior lights, quiet music pulsing through the speakers like a heartbeat. It didn’t smell like him, not exactly. More like winter air, soft cologne, and something faintly metallic. The kind of scent you couldn’t name but would remember.

He didn’t talk much on the drive.

You didn’t either.

And maybe that was the first thing you noticed, how silence with Sukuna didn’t press in the same way it did with others. It wasn’t awkward. It was patient. Steady. Like he knew the words would come eventually and he wasn’t going to fish for them before you were ready.

When he pulled up to the curb outside a tall, narrow building tucked into a dim side street, he glanced at you, not expectantly, but just to check.

“You good?” he asked simply.

You nodded, even if you didn’t fully mean it.

The inside of his apartment was… unexpected.

Clean. Minimalist. Dark wood floors and black walls, lit only by warm, golden track lights and a single floor lamp. A guitar rack stood against one wall, lined with instruments that looked expensive and well-loved. There were band posters too, some framed, some slightly crooked. Not all of them were his.

He toed off his boots by the door and gestured for you to come in. “Make yourself at home.”

You hesitated before stepping fully inside, your fingers brushing the doorframe like you were trying to get a read on the space through touch alone.

“It’s nice,” you said quietly.

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Didn’t peg you for someone who’d be surprised by furniture.”

You snorted softly. “Didn’t peg you as someone who dusts.”

“I don’t. My manager sends someone once a month.”

You wandered further in, pausing in front of a set of black-and-white photos hung over the couch. One showed a younger Sukuna on stage, no tattoos yet, hair longer, his mouth open mid-scream. Another showed his band’s first tour lineup, all in sharpie-scrawled t-shirts, sitting on a cracked curb with fast food bags between their feet.

“You look… lighter here,” you said without thinking.

He joined you, arms crossed, eyes flicking to the photo. “I was.”

You nodded slowly. “What changed?”

He was quiet for a beat. Then: “Success. Pressure. Satoru.”

That last word made your chest tighten.

He didn’t elaborate. Just walked to the kitchen and pulled two bottles of tea from the fridge, same kind he always left on your console.

He handed you one.

“Thanks.”

You both sat on the couch, and for a while, the silence returned. He flicked on a playlist, mostly instrumentals, ambient and slow. Nothing flashy. Nothing with words.

“Why’d you say yes?” he asked eventually.

You turned to him. “To coming here?”

He nodded.

You stared at the tea bottle in your hands. “Because I didn’t want to go home.”

“That all?”

You exhaled. “I don’t know. It’s like, being around you is confusing, but being away from you is...”

That earned a small, sardonic smile. “You’re not exactly easy for me either.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, then turned fully to face you. “You walk into a room and everything feels like it’s about to change.”

You blinked. “That’s dramatic.”

“It’s true,” he said, and there was no teasing in it. “You ask questions no one else does. You make things feel like they’re worth saying out loud.”

You looked away. “Gojo says stuff like that too.”

“He would.”

You turned back. “He’s not a bad guy.”

“I never said he was.”

“You hate him.”

Sukuna’s gaze sharpened slightly, but he didn’t deny it.

“I respected him once,” he said. “Maybe still do, in ways I don’t like admitting. He was the first person who made me feel like I had to prove myself. I used to think that was a compliment.”

You let the silence settle again.

“He’s in love with you,” Sukuna added, like it wasn’t a question.

“I know,” you whispered.

“Do you love him back?”

You didn’t answer right away. The words tangled up in your throat.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “I think I did. Maybe I still do, in that way you love the people who grew up beside you. But he’s… he’s always been my anchor. And lately it feels like I’ve been trying to swim, and he’s afraid I’ll drift too far.”

Sukuna’s eyes stayed on you, unreadable.

You reached for something to change the subject, heart pounding.

“Earlier, when you were teaching me guitar, can we go back to that?”

He blinked. “Yeah. You still interested?”

“Sort of,” you said. “It just felt like something I didn’t have to overthink.”

Sukuna stood up and retrieved a guitar, handing it to you with careful hands. It wasn’t the same one from earlier in the day, no, this one was a deep red. It matched his eyes.

You held it like it might break.

“Relax,” he said, moving to sit beside you. “You’re gripping it like it owes you money.”

You laughed. “Sorry. It’s expensive.”

He chuckled and shifted closer, knees brushing yours. “Here. Try this chord.”

You fumbled. He reached around you, one arm across your back, his hand guiding yours into position.

Your breath hitched.

His voice was low, barely above your ear. “There. Feel that?”

You nodded, unable to speak.

He didn’t move away immediately. His hand lingered on yours. His presence wrapped around you like gravity, quiet and impossible to ignore.

You didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

His breath was warm on your neck. His arm still draped lightly behind you, steadying the guitar, steadying you. You weren’t sure when you’d started leaning into him, or if you had at all, but suddenly the space between your bodies didn’t exist. It was like the air itself had shifted, grown heavier, slower.

“You’re holding your breath,” Sukuna murmured.

You exhaled, shaky, caught.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

He tilted his head just enough for his temple to brush yours. “You always apologize when you get close to something.”

Your fingers tensed slightly around the fretboard. “Close to what?”

He didn’t answer, not directly. His hand ghosted down your arm, knuckles skimming your wrist as he took the neck of the guitar from you and gently set it aside. His other hand landed on your knee, barely touching, just enough for your breath to catch again.

“Maybe it’s not the guitar that’s making you nervous,” he said, voice quiet but deliberate.

You met his eyes.

It was hard not to.

In the soft light, his expression was unreadable again, but his focus was unshakable, like everything about him was wired for intensity. He didn’t look at people, he looked into them.

“I don’t usually do this,” you admitted, voice low.

He gave a slow nod. “I figured.”

You laughed once, awkwardly. “That obvious?”

“Only to someone who notices,” he said.

His hand slid just a little higher along your thigh, resting there with purpose. Not pushing. Not testing. Just letting you feel him.

“Sukuna…” you said, unsure of the rest.

“I won’t rush you,” he said quickly. “If you’re not sure, just say so. I don’t need the wrong kind of silence.”

But you weren’t unsure.

That was the terrifying part.

Your whole body felt like it was strung on a wire, every nerve humming. You weren’t afraid of him, you were afraid of how easy it was to want him. How easy it was to forget the rest of the world existed when his voice dropped to that tone and he looked at you like nothing else in the room mattered.

“I’m not confused about this,” you whispered.

A pause. His gaze sharpened just slightly.

“Then what are you confused about?”

“Everything else.”

That made him smile, small, crooked. But real.

“Good,” he said, leaning in closer until your noses nearly brushed. “Let everything else wait.”

And then he kissed you.

Not cautiously. Not testing the waters. It was deliberate and slow, confident in a way that left no room for doubt.

His mouth was warm, more grounding than dreamy. Where Gojo’s touches always felt like flirting with gravity, Sukuna’s felt like being claimed by it, steady, certain, unmistakably real.

You opened to him without meaning to, lips parting as he deepened the kiss. One of his hands moved to your waist, the other brushing your jaw, holding you still like he didn’t want to let you drift.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to catch your breath, to feel your pulse in your throat. “This isn’t complicated for you?”

He shook his head. “It could be. But it’s not. Not when you’re here.”

You swallowed.

“Then take me out of my head.”

He didn’t need more than that.

In a fluid motion, he leaned back into you, drawing you into his lap, your knees bracketing his hips on the couch. The guitar was forgotten, pushed somewhere behind you. His hands slid up your thighs, then under the hem of your shirt, thumbs tracing slow, grounding lines against your skin.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he said against your throat, even as his lips pressed there, open and slow.

“I’ll tell you,” you breathed, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, though it didn’t sound like a question.

“So are you,” you whispered back.

That got a laugh out of him, a low, warm sound that vibrated against your collarbone. His hand moved higher, palm splaying across your back as he pulled you closer.

Then his mouth was on yours again, hungrier now. Like something in him had snapped once he knew you wanted this too. His teeth grazed your lower lip, and you gasped, heat licking through your body at the sound of it.

You didn’t know when your hands started tugging at his shirt, or when his fingers found the waistband of your jeans, but suddenly you were drowning in sensation. His body against yours. His breath against your skin. His voice, low and wrecked, murmuring things you couldn’t even process as his mouth moved along your jaw, your neck, the curve of your shoulder.

“Sukuna,” you whispered, the word barely holding shape in your mouth.

He looked up at you, eyes heavy, pupils blown wide. “Say it again.”

You did.

You said it again and again as the couch shifted beneath you, as his hands mapped out your skin like he was memorizing you, as the last of the distance between you disappeared.

And by the time the room had settled again, clothes discarded in a lazy trail to the floor, your body aching in the best possible way, there was only one thing you knew for sure.

You hadn’t just gone to his apartment to forget what happened at the venue.

You had come here to be seen.

And Sukuna?

He had seen all of you.

You woke to quiet.

The kind of quiet that felt unfamiliar, not the cold stillness of your own apartment, not the background hum of an empty venue. This silence had weight to it. Warmth.

You didn’t open your eyes at first.

There was pressure against your back, steady, strong. A forearm draped loosely over your waist. The slow, measured rise and fall of a chest behind you. You were still tucked under a blanket, curled up in a bed that wasn’t yours. The scent of tea, cedar, and that faint metallic note from last night lingered in the air, now mixed with something warmer. Skin and sleep.

Sukuna.

Your stomach twisted, not with regret, but with the soft jolt of realization.

You’d stayed.

You’d fallen asleep in his bed. In his arms.

And he hadn’t let go.

Carefully, slowly, you shifted your arm and reached for your phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a low glow, casting blue light across the room.

It was past ten.

You blinked.

Two messages at the top of your screen made your stomach drop:

[10:07 AM] Ijichi (Venue Manager):

Hey. You and Ryomen were scheduled for load-in yesterday—everything okay?

And then another, from someone else entirely.

[9:46 AM] SATORU:

Thought you said you needed space.

Guess I just didn’t realize who you wanted space with.

There were several more messages from him, all scattered across the night, each one a little softer… and a little sadder.

[11:12 PM] SATORU:

You’re not answering. That’s fine.

I just wish you’d tell me when things change.

[11:24 PM] SATORU:

I keep wondering when I stopped being enough.

When did you stop telling me things?

[11:46 PM] SATORU:

Sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’m just—

I don’t know what I’m doing either.

[12:03 AM] SATORU:

Forget it. Pretend I didn’t say any of that.

[12:19 AM] SATORU:

I hope he makes you laugh the way I did.

Or better. Maybe you deserve better.

[12:47 AM] SATORU:

I keep checking my phone like an idiot.

Why do I do that?

[1:03 AM] SATORU:

I miss you.

Even when I try not to.

[1:26 AM] SATORU:

I’m going to bed. Don’t worry. I won’t message again.

You swallowed hard, pulse tightening behind your ribs. You turned your phone screen over, pressing it to the mattress like that would erase what you saw. Was satoru drunk? Why would he message all those things to you? It wasn’t like him at all.

Sukuna stirred behind you, it ripped you out of your thoughts.

His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than usual. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. He shifted slightly, pulling his arm back and propping himself up on one elbow to look at you.

“You’re tense.”

You gave a soft, humorless laugh. “We missed rehearsal.”

His brow furrowed. “Shit. I didn’t even set an alarm.”

You shook your head, not angry. Just… overwhelmed.

“I’ve got like five texts from Ijichi,” you added. “And a few from Satoru..”

That last part came out quiet.

Sukuna didn’t say anything. You looked over your shoulder at him.

He was watching you, awake now, his expression unreadable again. His hair was mussed and falling into his eyes, and there was a crease on his cheek from the pillow.

He looked human.

“What did he say?” Sukuna asked, voice steady.

You reached for your phone again and turned it around so he could read only the first message.

Sukuna’s jaw ticked just once. “Of course.”

“He’s not wrong,” you said, softer than you meant to. “I didn’t tell him anything. I didn’t even tell him I was with you.”

“You didn’t owe him that.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted. “But I owed him something. A conversation. Honesty.”

Sukuna leaned back, resting against the headboard. His voice was quiet now. Careful. “Do you regret being here?”

You looked at him, and you hated that you didn’t have a quick answer.

“No,” you said eventually. “That’s not the problem.”

“What is?”

You sat up, pulling the blanket with you, suddenly too aware of your bare shoulders, of his sheets, of everything intimate and raw that had been left behind from the night before.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted. “With any of this.”

Sukuna nodded once, like he’d been expecting that.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” he asked.

You hesitated, then shook your head. “I don’t want to go home. I just… need to think.”

He stood up then, grabbing a hoodie from the chair in the corner and slipping it on. “You can think here.”

You glanced up.

His voice had changed, less clipped, less guarded. A little gentler.

“I’ll make something,” he said. “You eat eggs?”

You blinked, surprised. “Yeah.”

“Cool. Don’t go ghosting on me while I’m in the kitchen.”

A faint smile curved your lips. “Not planning on it.”

He disappeared down the hall, and the sound of cabinet doors and the hum of a stovetop filled the silence he left behind.

You sat there for a long moment, the smell of coffee starting to drift into the room, mixing with the warmth left in the sheets beside you.

It was quiet again.

For the first time in days, it didn’t feel like running. But how come you couldn’t stop thinking of Satoru?

dividers by @/redroud1 <3

header art by @su2kuna on twitter <3

taglist: @indiewritesxoxo @evilari111 @ssetsuka @not-aya @macchianikato @kitassecretgf @universal-s1ut @kitty-yaps @shinrjj @linaaeatsfamilies @justanothersunflowergirl @nana1344 @bbokariii @reicyberia @bxnfire

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #art #jjk smut #gojo satoru #ryomen sukuna #jjk au #gojo satoru jjk #gojo satoru jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #ryomen sukuna jujutsu kaisen #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader

76 notes · View notes

spitefulsatanfics · 2 days ago

Text

🕯️ 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖, 𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕀𝕥𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 — 𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝕎𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕟 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 🕯️

"You’re the one thing I can’t lose." — Dean Winchester, trying not to panic when you’re ten feet out of sight

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (She/Her)

Rating: T / PG-13 — Canon language, extreme amounts of soft-grumpy-boy devotion, implied cohabitation, protective instincts turned up to 11

Tone: Canon-adjacent, overprotective boyfriend energy, domestic fluff, ride-or-die romance, emotionally repressed but loyal to the death

Written by: 🖤 Little Devil — ⌘ Written and published: June 26, 2025 ™

Based on: Supernatural — Seasons 2 through 6 (canon-compliant, 17+)

✧ 𝟏. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 ✧

Dean doesn’t talk about his feelings. But he does clean your gun, tune your car, and fix the wobbly leg on your nightstand without saying a word.

Drabble: You wake up and your silver knife’s been sharpened, polished, laid out neatly beside a note that just says: “Don’t forget this. Love—D.” You smile. You didn’t even ask. Dean will never say “I’m worried about you.” He just prepares you like you’re going to war. And in his head? You’re the most important soldier he’s ever sworn to protect.

✧ 𝟐. 𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 ✧

Dean’s never believed in forever. But now he’s folding your laundry and thinking about what kind of curtains you might like.

Drabble: It’s a Tuesday. No monsters. No mayhem. Just the smell of cheap coffee and your sock stuck in his sleeve. He doesn’t say it, but the idea hits him out of nowhere: I could do this forever. He looks at you — hair messy, wearing his flannel. And he’s never wanted anything more terrifying in his life.

✧ 𝟑. 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲? 𝐇𝐢𝐦? 𝐍𝐨. (𝐘𝐞𝐬.) ✧

He acts like he doesn’t need to be near you 24/7. But if you leave the room for too long? He’s pacing. Quietly. Dramatically.

Drabble: “Where were you?” His voice is casual — too casual. You glance at the clock. “Bathroom, Dean. It’s been ten minutes.” He shrugs. “Could’ve died in there. I don’t know.” You arch an eyebrow. He looks away, mumbles, “Didn’t hear you breathing.” And suddenly you realize — he wasn’t being dramatic. He was worried.

✧ 𝟒. 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐫 ✧

He feels when something’s wrong. Even if you say you’re fine.

Drabble: You plaster on a smile after a rough hunt. Dean sees right through it. Later, he’s wordless — sliding into bed behind you, arms wrapping tight like a second heartbeat. “I’m not gonna make you talk,” he says into your hair. “But you don’t have to carry it alone.” You don’t answer. Just squeeze his hand. He doesn’t sleep until your breathing evens out.

✧ 𝟓. 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 ✧

Dean knows how you take your coffee. He makes it before you wake up. Every single time.

Drabble: You shuffle into the kitchen. He’s already got your mug in hand. “Two sugars. Dash of cinnamon.” You blink. “How do you remember that?” “I’d remember your blood type if it meant you smiled at me.” He says it too fast. Like he’s covering a wound. And then… you smile. He won’t look at you, but his ears go red. Totally worth it.

✧ 𝟔. 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥 ✧

If you’re in danger, Dean goes unhinged. Rational thought? Gone. He’s a force of nature with a singular focus: you.

Drabble: You’re missing for four minutes during a hunt. Dean loses his mind. He’s calling your name, gun drawn, voice low and deadly. The second he sees you — muddy but fine — his knees almost give out. He pulls you in hard, breath ragged. “You don’t get to die, sweetheart,” he rasps. “That’s my rule. You. Don’t. Die.” And for once, his fear shows.

✧ 𝟕. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 ✧

Dean forgets to flirt with waitresses. He forgets to flirt at all. His world just doesn’t revolve like it used to.

Drabble: “You didn’t even notice the bartender,” Sam teases. Dean grunts. “Why would I?” Sam laughs. “Because she was staring at you.” Dean shrugs. “I only look at one girl like that.” He doesn’t say your name. He doesn’t have to. You’re across the bar, laughing at something on your phone. Dean’s already looking at you like the sun just blinked back into existence.

✧ 𝟖. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐑𝐚𝐭 ✧

Your stuff ends up in the Impala without you noticing. Lip balm. Your playlist on a burned CD. A photo of you in the visor.

Drabble: You find your old flannel tucked under the passenger seat. “Dean?” He shrugs. “Figured you’d want it. Sometimes you get cold.” You find your hair tie on his rearview. “I like it there,” he mumbles. Then the photo in his glovebox. Folded. Worn. “Been in there a while,” he says, eyes distant. “Just... makes me feel like you’re always with me.”

✧ 𝟗. 𝐁𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐠 ✧

He always ends up on your side of the bed. Half-awake, unconsciously clinging like you’re the only thing anchoring him.

Drabble: You wake up to find his entire body halfway across the bed — head on your pillow, arm around your waist like a vice. “Dean,” you whisper. He groans, nuzzles in. “M’bed too cold without you,” he mumbles. “You have your own side.” “Don’t want it.”

✧ 𝟏𝟎. 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐢𝐟 𝐇𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 ✧

Dean doesn’t want to need anyone. Not after everything he’s lost. But with you? He can’t help it.

Drabble: You get hurt. Not badly. Just a scratch. Dean’s hands are shaking when he bandages you. You ask him what’s wrong. He just looks at you, voice low: “I don’t do good without you.” You pause. “I’m still here.” “Don’t ever not be.” It’s not a demand. It’s a prayer.

✧ 𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙏𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩:

Dean Winchester doesn’t fall in love. He crashes. Bleeds for it. Claws his way through the dark with his fists clenched around your name. He’ll never say “forever” — but he’ll live like it’s already true. Because to him, you are the safehouse. And he’ll guard you with everything he’s got.

✧ The End ✧

81 notes · View notes

demie90s · 20 hours ago

Note

Natisha x Courtney x fem reader and like it’s them playing in her face making stupid jokes abiut her on stream while she’s at an away game but when she comes back she puts belt to ass and makes them apologize on stream!!!!

Stream This Whuppin’

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: While your away for an out-of-town game, Natisha and Courtney decide to go live—bad idea.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~ 0.9k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Comedy, chaotic domestic partnership, light discipline

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Language, light joking threats (belt involved but all playful)

We was just on FaceTime.

No, like literally five minutes before they went live, we were being cute. T in her bonnet, talking about how she missed me. Court lying on her stomach, swinging her feet, asking what color set I had on like she wasn’t the one who packed it in my bag.

I was sitting cross-legged in the hotel bed, doing my little post-game skincare, grinning like an idiot, blowing them both kisses through the screen.

“You gon’ rub on us like that when you get back?”

“Who said I’m not already?” I purred. They both groaned. Whole lotta love in the air.

Or so I thought.

Fast forward a few minutes, I’m minding my business—watching their Instagram Live pop up while I pour some coconut water into my pink tumbler. I click in just to hear my name.

“She be actin’ brand new outta town,” T says, licking her lips and smirking. “Like, don’t text back, don’t FaceTime unless we call first. Like she got hoes on rotation or somethin’.”

Courtney’s already giggling like a menace, her grill shining in the camera. “Nah ‘cause soon as she land she gon’ be in the groupchat like, ‘Y’all up?’ Girl, we BEEN up. Bein’ loyal.”

T snorts. “Couldn’t be me. I’m blocking her ass.”

I pause mid-sip.

Oh. That’s what we doing? I tilt my head, watching the hearts fly up the screen. Comments rolling fast.

not them dragging her 😭😭

damn she prolly in here watching

she be gaslighting them huh

YALL GON BE SINGLE

And worst of all:

she prolly mid-hoe right now lol

Oh okay. Bet.

The Live keeps going, full of them clowning like I’m not the one who folds them like laundry on a regular basis. Talking about how I “act spoiled” but “don’t respond to memes,” how I “say goodnight just to go outside.”

They really got jokes. And I’m really finna fix the mouths.

Next Day – I Land.

I walk in our shared apartment and it’s real cute in here. Smells like vanilla, Court in on her computer, T in her little muscle tee, both on the couch. Live paused on the screen—probably trying to go again soon.

They look up at me all innocent.

“Baby!”

“Look at you. You miss us?”

“Mm.” I set my bag down gently. “Y’all had fun on Live last night?”

They freeze. I smile. Slow. Sweet.

“Don’t act shy now. Keep that same energy.”

Courtney starts to laugh—nervous. “Aww, you saw that?”

“Oh, I watched it,” I say, walking over and sitting right between them, thigh-to-thigh contact. “With my hand over my mouth like… these bitches can’t be serious.”

Natisha opens her mouth. I hold up one finger.

“Nah, don’t interrupt me while I’m in my villain arc.” She shuts right up.

“You know what’s wild? I was just tellin’ y’all how soft I been feelin’. How I missed y’all. How I was stressin’ out the second I got in that hotel bed without y’all breathin’ all over me. And you get on Live talkin’ about I’m actin’ brand new? Hm?”

They’re looking at each other now like damn, we in trouble.

“And then—AND THEN—talkin’ about some ‘she got hoes’? Baby, I don’t even respond to group chats unless it got y’all in it. The hell I look like entertainin’ people when y’all the ones I wanna ruin my life over?”

Courtney tries to reach for my hand. I move it. “Nah.”

I stand up and grab the ring light remote off the table. “Y’all wanted to go Live and make a joke outta me? Cool. Let’s go Live again.”

T: “Wait—”

Me: “Press the button, T.”

The Live comes back on and I make sure I’m in the center this time. Comments start flying again, fast as hell.

ohhhh

not her BACK

yall she look mad

is this a redemption arc??

Courtney blink if u scared

I lean forward a little, voice low and calm. “Hey y’all. I’m just here to say… it’s crazy when the people you love the most play in your face for clout. Isn’t it?”

Courtney whispers, “Oh my Goddd…”

“Shh,” I say, placing my hand over her mouth dramatically. “Anyway, I’m back. And I think these two got something to say, right?”

T clears her throat. “We was jokin’. We didn’t mean—”

“Louder.”

“We were wrong.”

“We sorry, baby,” Court adds, all pouty. “We was just bein’ goofy. You know how we get.”

I turn to the camera, tilting my head.

“You hear that? They sorry. But sorry ain’t enough, is it?”

yall finna get handled

she scary 😭

apologize AGAINNNN

she deserve roses and head rn respectfully

“Run it back,” I say, still sweet. “Do it better.”

They both speak in unison this time. “We sorry, baby. We’ll never play you like that again.”

I sit back, finally satisfied. Then I kiss both their cheeks. “Good girls.”

NOT HER DOMINATING THEM LIVE

yall they smiling now

she own them fr

court looking like she need a hug 😭

T acting like she bout to cook a sorry dinner

I close the live with a smile. “Anyway… y’all have a good night. And if you ever see my name in they mouths again? Check they ass before I do. Mwah.”

LIVE ENDED

As soon as the phone locks, I turn to both of them.

“Now… what was that y’all were saying about me bein’ spoiled?”

T bites her lip. “We was lying.”

Court kisses my shoulder. “You’re just… high maintenance in a sexy way.”

“Oh, I know.” I grin. “Now go run me a bath. Together. And don’t forget the candle I like.”

They both stand up instantly.

“Y’all can clown me all you want,” I call after them, stretching like a cat. “Just make sure you never forget who run this.”

And baby, they don’t. Not after that.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

115 notes · View notes