mollymargiela

[mollymargiela]

request: Jason smut?? ;))

reader = pink

jason = orange

warnings: 18+ p in v, oral (f receiving), !softdom jason & teasing

GET LUCKY

you don’t even pretend to act innocent anymore.

you’ve been lounging around in jason’s hoodie all evening — the soft, black one that smells like him, with sleeves so big they hang past your hands. underneath? nothing. no shorts. no bra. just bare skin and the occasional flash of thigh every time you shift.

he’s sitting at his desk editing, blue light from the monitor glowing against his face. headphones on, focus sharp — jaw flexing, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek every time he rewatches a clip.

you know he’s trying to concentrate.

you also don’t care.

you stretch on the bed, back arching just a little too much, and catch him glancing in the reflection of the monitor. his eyes flick down, linger, then quickly dart back to the screen.

he noticed.

you push it further — walking past him to get snacks, brushing your hand across his shoulders, whispering little comments in his ear like, “you’ve been working so hard, baby. need a break yet?”

he just hums, brushing you off with a distracted “not yet,” but his voice is tighter now. his fingers twitch on the mouse.

he’s losing focus, and you know it.

eventually, you drop to your knees near the bed like you’re looking for something under it — back arched, hips tilted, hoodie riding up high. and that’s when you hear it:

his chair scrape back.

the shift in the air.

your heartbeat spikes.

“you think you’re slick, huh?” his voice comes low, deep, right behind you.

you glance over your shoulder, biting your lip. “hm? what do you mean?”

he walks closer. stands behind you, his legs brushing yours. he leans down slowly, voice close to your ear.

“nah. you’ve been playing games all night. walking around like that… wearing just my hoodie?”

his hands slide down, gripping your hips firmly. his thumbs press in hard enough to make you gasp.

“you been doing this on purpose, baby?”

you blink up at him, feigning wide-eyed innocence. “maybe.”

he lets out a slow breath. it’s not quite a laugh — more like disbelief. then he’s pulling you to your feet, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

“you really want my attention that bad, huh?”

he leans in, nose brushing yours. his hands move under the hoodie, dragging his knuckles along your thighs, up your sides — slow and warm.

“lucky for you… i’m done editing.”

his lips crash into yours. soft at first, then deeper — hungry, possessive. he kisses you like he’s making up for lost time. your fingers tangle in his shirt, tugging him closer. the heat builds quick, dizzying, as he lays you back on the bed, climbing over you.

the hoodie rides up as he settles between your legs. his hands roam your body like he’s been waiting all day — tracing your curves, mapping out every inch of skin.

he kisses down your neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive spot under your jaw. “you knew exactly what you were doing,” he murmurs, voice rough against your skin. “and now? you don’t get to cum until i say so.”

his hands slip under your hoodie completely now — one squeezing your breast, the other spreading your thighs apart slowly. his touch is warm, steady, just enough pressure to make you ache.

he drags two fingers along the inside of your thigh, stopping just shy of where you need him.

“so wet already?” he teases, smirking against your skin. “needy little thing.”

you whimper, rolling your hips toward him, but he pulls his hand back.

“mm-mm. not yet.”

he shifts down, kissing between your thighs now, teasing you with his breath, his mouth hovering.

“say you want me.”

you nod fast, breath shaky. “i want you, jason. please.”

he smiles, satisfied. “good girl.”

then finally, finally, he gives in — using his mouth, his fingers, his voice, all of it working together to wreck you slow. every movement is careful, patient, deliberate. he holds you down when you try to squirm, whispering, “not yet,” again and again, until you’re begging.

when he finally slides into you, it’s slow, deep, and overwhelming. your body arches under his, head tossed back, moaning his name. he grabs your thigh, anchoring you to him, pressing his forehead to yours.

“you feel that?” he breathes. “i’ve been holding back all night.”

he moves with rhythm — strong, steady strokes that hit every spot just right. his lips find yours again, then your neck, your chest, your shoulder. his hands never stop touching you. it’s like he can’t get enough.

and when you finally cum, shaking and breathless, he groans low in your ear, “that’s it, baby. that’s my girl.”

he follows right after, pulling you tight against him as he spills, whispering a string of praise and cursing softly into your skin.

afterward, you’re tangled together, your head on his chest, his arm draped over your waist. he’s still catching his breath, abs rising and falling slow beneath your cheek.

“so…” you whisper, smiling. “did i get lucky?”

he lets out a tired little laugh, eyes closed, thumb brushing your hip.

“nah,” he mutters, “i did.”

(NOT PROOFREAD!!)

i literally had nooooo idea what to write for this one so hopefully its good, next one ill try to make it longer :3

ALSO next time requests are open pleaseeee specify what plot u want!!

[mollymargiela]

request: Taking care of Rage after his surgery, super fluffy

reader = pink

josh = purple

warnings: none, fluffy aff!

the door creaked open slowly, and you tiptoed inside, careful not to jostle the air too much like even that might hurt him. he was exactly where you left him — propped up on a nest of pillows, legs wrapped in gauze and buried under too many blankets, his brows slightly furrowed in his sleep.

you carried a little tray with apple slices, a protein smoothie, and his pain meds, setting it gently down on the nightstand. then you sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a stray curl off his forehead.

josh stirred with a groggy little groan, voice low and rough. “mm… baby?”

“i’m here,” you whispered, kissing his temple. “i brought snacks.”

he blinked up at you, eyes soft and heavy from the meds, but still full of warmth. “you my nurse or my girl?”

“both,” you said with a tiny smile, sliding into bed beside him.

he turned slowly, careful with his knees, and winced. you wrapped your arm around his shoulders, helping him sit up just enough to sip from the straw you held to his lips.

“ugh,” he muttered after a sip. “tastes like chalk.”

you laughed quietly, wiping the corner of his mouth. “doctor’s orders. gotta get your strength back.”

he leaned his head gently against your shoulder, letting out a tired sigh. “i miss the guys.”

you glanced at him. “have you checked your phone?”

he nodded toward it, sitting on the nightstand. “haven’t looked today.”

you reached over and unlocked it for him, tilting the screen so he could see. his eyes scanned the texts slowly.

silky had sent:

“hope everything went smooth bro. proud of you.”

then adapt, a few minutes later:

“miss you, gang. let me know when you’re up for a visit.”

josh’s lips tugged up just slightly. “they’re being too nice. it’s weird.”

you smiled. “they love you. they’re just giving you space to heal.”

he went quiet for a moment, thumb lightly brushing over the screen. “i still feel useless just laying here.”

you looked at him softly, your hand finding his under the covers. “you’re not useless, josh. healing is something. you’re doing the hard part — being still.”

his throat bobbed a little like he was swallowing emotions. “i don’t deserve you.”

you didn’t hesitate. “you don’t have to. just let me take care of you.”

he didn’t say anything else, but his fingers laced with yours under the blanket like that was his way of saying thank you.

you helped him lie back down, fluffing the pillows behind him until he looked more comfortable. he exhaled deeply, his whole body relaxing as he settled. you slid in beside him, careful not to bump his legs, and he immediately curled toward you, his hand never letting go of yours.

“you’re so warm,” he mumbled sleepily. “don’t leave.”

“never,” you whispered.

the tv played something soft in the background, but neither of you were really watching. he drifted off with your hand in his, the sound of your breathing close, grounding him.

and when he murmured “love you” in that barely-there, sleepy voice, you smiled against his shoulder and whispered right back:

“love you too.”

(NOT PROOFREAD!!)

woow first fic back, finished watching rons mariokart stream and decided to write this little short one hopefully u guys like it :]

[mollymargiela]

helloooo, im so sorry for leaving u guys for like a month i think? i wanna open request again and i will try to upload atleast TWICE a week.

i wanna reopen requests just because the request i got last time are like the same thing i always write and i honestly had like no motivation to write them, im finally on summer break and can write freely.

REQUESTS OPEN NOW UNTIL I REACH 10-15 OF THEM!

[mollymargiela]

request: max getting annoyed that u can't go to sleep so he fucks u to bed

reader = white/bold

max = pink

warnings: dominant max, p in v, swearing, & dirty talk.

it was now past 11:42 pm, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting long, flickering shadows across the bedroom of your shared apartment, the city’s distant hum a faint whisper beyond the window.

you’ve been restless for nearly an hour, tossing and turning beneath the soft, tangled sheets, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts that refuse to quiet despite the late hour.

max, your boyfriend known as plaqueboymax, sleeping beside you, his patience fraying with each of your restless sighs, his arm slung over your waist, fingers tapping an increasingly impatient rhythm against the curve of your hip.

the air between you is thick with unspoken tension, his body warm against yours, but his irritation palpable as he shifts, trying to find his own sleep.

“babe, you gotta relax—i’ve got an early shoot tomorrow,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, edged with frustration, his soft brown eyes narrowing as he props himself up on one elbow, gazing down at you with a mix of annoyance and concern.

his hoodie is slightly askew, his hair mussed from earlier attempts to sleep, and the faint stubble on his jaw catches the lamplight, accentuating the sharp lines of his face. you roll onto your back, meeting his gaze with a sheepish smile, the oversized tee you stole from his drawer slipping off one shoulder, “i’m trying, max, i just can’t shut my brain off—feels like it’s been racing all day.”

he exhales sharply, his jaw tightening, a flicker of irritation flashing in his eyes, but beneath it, a deeper heat simmers, one that shifts the mood in the room as he leans closer, his breath warm and teasing against the shell of your ear.

“fine—i’ll make you tired then,” he growls, his tone laced with a promise that sends a shiver cascading down your spine, your body responding instinctively to the shift in his voice, the annoyance fueling a new kind of intensity. his hand slides from your hip to your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp softly, the possessive grip igniting a spark of arousal deep in your core.

his lips crash into yours, the kiss rough and demanding, a hungry edge to it as he pours his frustration into the connection, his tongue sweeping against yours with a fervor that tastes of impatience and need.

his hands are quick, tugging at the hem of your oversized tee, pulling it over your head in one swift, almost aggressive motion, the fabric brushing your skin as it falls to the floor, leaving you exposed save for your panties. the cool air hits your bare skin, making your nipples harden instantly, a sharp contrast to the heat of his touch as his hands roam your body, mapping every curve with a possessive urgency.

“max—” you start, your voice a breathy whisper, but he cuts you off, his mouth trailing down the column of your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin as he sucks hard enough to leave a mark, the sharp sting melting into a wave of pleasure that makes you arch into him.

“no more excuses—gonna fuck you to sleep,” he grunts, his voice a low rumble, his hands gripping your thighs with a bruising firmness, spreading them wide as he settles between them, his body a solid weight above you. his fingers brush the damp fabric of your panties, the evidence of your arousal seeping through, and he smirks, a dark edge to his expression, “always so ready for me, huh? even when you’re keeping me up.”

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, yanking them down your legs with a roughness that makes your breath hitch, tossing them aside carelessly, leaving you completely bare beneath him. his gaze rakes over you, dark and hungry, taking in the way your chest rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths, the way your skin flushes under his scrutiny.

he sheds his boxers in a hurried motion, his cock springing free, hard and thick, the tip glistening with precum as he positions himself at your entrance, teasing for a moment, dragging the head along your slick folds, the sensation making you whimper, your hands reaching for him, fingers digging into his shoulders.

“please—max,” you murmur, your voice trembling with need, but he doesn’t give in right away, his annoyance still driving him as he leans down, his lips brushing your ear, “you’ve been a pain all night—gonna make you feel it,” he growls, his tone a mix of frustration and desire.

before he pushes into you with a deep, forceful thrust, the stretch a delicious burn that makes you cry out, “max—fuck!” your hands brace against his chest, the bed creaking under the sudden movement, the headboard tapping lightly against the wall.

his pace is relentless from the start, each thrust hard and deliberate, his hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that’s almost punishing, his hands gripping your hips to pull you onto him, “this what you needed, huh? to get fucked out of your head?” he grunts, his voice thick with irritation, the annoyance fueling his intensity, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the room, mingling with your gasps and moans.

your body arches into him, the pleasure overwhelming as he hits deep, the angle perfect, brushing against every sensitive spot inside you, your core clenching around him, drawing a low groan from his throat.

“max—please,” you whimper, your voice raw, the intensity pushing you closer to the edge, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back, leaving faint red trails in their wake.

he leans down, his lips brushing your neck, sucking another mark into your skin, the sharp sting blending with the pleasure, “gonna make you cum so hard you pass out—then maybe i can sleep,” he growls, his pace quickening, his thrusts growing harder, more erratic, the friction against your clit sending waves of heat through you, your body trembling beneath him.

his hands slide up, one gripping your thigh, hitching your leg higher, the new angle making you gasp, the other tangling in your hair, tugging lightly as he kisses you again, the kiss messy and desperate, all teeth and tongue, his frustration pouring into every movement.

“look at you—already falling apart,” he mutters, his voice a rough whisper, watching the way your eyes flutter shut, your moans growing louder, more desperate, “max—i’m so close,” you cry, the tension coiling tight in your core, the pleasure building to a crescendo, your body teetering on the edge.

“cum for me—now,” he demands, his voice a low command, his thrusts unrelenting, pushing you over the brink, the orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, a loud cry tearing from your throat, “max—yes!” your body shuddering, your pussy clenching around him, the intensity leaving you dizzy, your vision blurring as your thighs tremble, the release so powerful it leaves you gasping, your chest heaving with ragged breaths.

he doesn’t slow, his thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release, a rough groan escaping his lips as he cums, filling you with a searing heat, his body tensing above you, his hips stuttering as he rides out the wave.

“fuck—there we go,” he pants, his voice softer now, the edge of his annoyance dulled by the release. he collapses onto you, his weight a comforting press, his breath hot and uneven against your neck as he nuzzles into your skin, pressing a lazy kiss there, the afterglow settling over you both like a warm haze.

he pulls out slowly, rolling onto his side, pulling you close, his hand stroking your hair with a gentleness that contrasts the roughness from moments ago, “now go to sleep—no more complaining,” he murmurs, his voice a soft command, a hint of amusement creeping in as he kisses your forehead, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your back.

your body feels heavy, the exhaustion finally sinking in, the tension drained from your limbs, and you nestle into his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling you into a drowsy haze, the connection between you steady as you finally drift off, the night wrapping around you in a quiet, comforting embrace.

(not proofread!!)

request are now opennnn! cant wait to see what yall put in my inbox.

no more max yall are killing me!! lol im joking. ;)

[mollymargiela]

request: Andrew from the card shop gets rizzy lmao

andrew = green

reader = pink

jason = orange

ron = blue

warnings: none really:)

you were standing between ron and jason, arms loosely crossed as the three of you hovered near the glass case that held the pricier packs. the shop smelled like fresh cardboard and faint cologne — the usual — and you were already scanning the shelves, trying to decide if you were gonna grab anything or just chill while the guys blew their money on vintage packs.

“you think i should drop 300 on this box?” jason asked, pointing at a sealed 2016 pack like he wasn’t about to do it regardless.

“you’re asking the wrong person,” you said, grinning. “last time you spent that much, you pulled nothing and cried about it for a week.”

ron laughed. “facts.”

then andrew walked over from behind the counter — the same dude who always rang you up. gray shirt, red keychain peeking out, that same relaxed voice. he leaned over slightly to unlock one of the cases, glancing up at you with a small smile.

“back again?” he said, tone light. “what, you guys buying out the whole store this week?”

“we’re tryna chill for real this time,” ron said, already pointing at a couple boxes. “last time y/n told me i had a problem.”

andrew looked at you again, this time letting his eyes linger a bit longer. “you tellin’ him to chill, but i haven’t seen you buy a single pack yet. you just here to look pretty or what?”

your eyebrows shot up slightly — not in a bad way, just surprised — and you let out a small laugh. “maybe i’m just here for moral support.”

“well,” he said, locking the case again and standing up straighter, “support looks good on you.”

you heard jason let out a low “damn” under his breath before turning and pretending to be real focused on some random shelf. ron didn’t even try to hide his expression, just gave you a knowing smirk from the side.

“anyway,” andrew said casually, like he hadn’t just flirted in 4K, “lemme know if you need help picking something out.”

he walked back toward the counter while ron leaned toward you, whispering, “nah that man got no shame.”

“bro,” jason added, “he deadass just risked it all in front of us like we weren’t even standing here.”

you rolled your eyes, trying to act unbothered, but your face was warm and they could definitely tell.

“shut up,” you muttered, pretending to check a box of sleeves.

“nah, it’s okay,” ron teased. “your lil boyfriend workin’ the register real smooth today.”

you spent the rest of the time in the shop pretending to read the backs of card packs while very much not looking in andrew’s direction. but every time you glanced up, he was already looking at you — like he wasn’t even trying to be slick about it. you tried to keep your cool, answering ron and jason’s jokes with half-baked comebacks, but your brain was lowkey short-circuiting.

after about twenty more minutes of shopping, jason stacked his final pile of boxes in his arms. “aight, i’m set. my bank’s gonna hate me.”

“same,” ron added, holding like four 151 pokemon boxes he absolutely didn’t need. “we out?”

you nodded quickly. “yep. let’s go—”

“yo—” andrew’s voice cut through as he walked back over to hand jason his receipt. he turned to you, scratching the back of his neck a little. “before you head out… can i get your number?”

the entire store didn’t go quiet, but your world did for a second. you blinked, mouth parted like you weren’t sure if you heard him right.

“uh…” you glanced at ron and jason.

ron’s eyebrows were raised like yup. jason straight up grinned and turned his back like he was giving you “privacy” while making it super obvious he was still listening.

“…yeah, sure,” you said, pulling your phone out with a breathy little laugh.

you gave it to him. andrew typed his number in, saved it under his name with a smirk, then handed it back. “cool. text me whenever.”

“yeah… okay.”

you were barely out the door before ron exploded.

“nahhhhh,” he said with a breathy laugh, clapping his hands together like he just witnessed a championship win. “you got it! y/n really got it!!”

“she really bagged card shop andrew bro,” jason said, already opening the car door. “he risked it all and it worked.”

you ducked your head, sliding into the back seat trying to cover your face with your hoodie. “you guys are so annoying.”

“nah, don’t be shy now!” jason laughed, turning around in the passenger seat to stare at you while ron started the car. “our girl out here pullin’ while we’re just tryna pull rares.”

“next time we come back, he gon’ be like ‘babe, i saved you a box,”jason joke, while laughing his hands clapping together.

you just groaned and leaned back in your seat. “i actually hate both of you.”

“nah, we love you,” ron grinned. “and so does andrew, apparently.”

(not proofread!!)

i lowkey love this lol, wrote this while watching max lolll. okok one more and im done then request will be open!

[mollymargiela]

request: Adapt x reader kissing on stream for the first time?

reader = pink

adapt = red

ron = blue

gilbert = green

warnings: none pure fluff lol

adapt was already halfway out the door, backpack slung over his shoulder, yelling something back at ron about cards. you were lounging on the couch, phone in hand, half-listening to their bickering while scrolling. he doubled back real quick, walking up to you with that familiar lazy smile.

“i’ll be back in a bit,” he mumbled, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips without thinking twice.

you barely had time to react before he was turning around — only to freeze when he caught a glimpse of gilbert, holding the stream setup, forgetting stream was on.

“oh shit…” adapt blinked. “you got that gilly?

gilbert laughed a little before responding “uuh yeaa…”

ron looked up from the kitchen, a bag of takis in his hand. “yeah, dumbass. we been live for like five hours.”

chat instantly exploded — messages flying across the screen, all caps, emotes spamming.

NOWAY

WTF

THEY JUST KISSED???

CLIP IT CLIP IT CLIP IT

ron squinted at the screen, then turned to the two of you with a loud, dramatic groan. “bro, ew! i did not need to see y’all swap spit right before pack openings.”

adapt rolled his eyes, grabbing his hoodie off the counter. “relax, it wasn’t that deep,” he muttered, smirking as he glanced over at you. “chat acts like they’ve never seen people kiss before.”

you laughed from the couch, cheeks warm but smiling as you watched him and ron head out, the stream still going wild behind them.

(not proofread!!)

little short one, sorry for leaving againnnn

[mollymargiela]

request: morning smut w max

reader = white/bold

max = pink

warnings: 18+, p in v, & swearing.

the soft glow of dawn seeps through the blinds of your shared apartment, wrapping the bedroom in a warm, golden haze on this quiet wednesday morning, may 21, 2025. you’re nestled in bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, the faint scent of max’s cologne lingering in the air, a comforting reminder of his presence.

you and max, your boyfriend and a member of faze clan, had stayed up late last night, laughing over a silly stream he’d hosted, the memory of his playful banter still fresh in your mind as you stretch lazily, the bed dipping slightly as he shifts beside you.

you turn to face max, his arm sliding around your waist, pulling you closer with a sleepy grin, his soft brown eyes still half-closed but glinting with a familiar warmth. “morning, babe,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his stubble grazing your skin with a gentle roughness.

your hand finds his chest, fingers tracing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin seeping into your palm as you glide over the firm lines of his muscles, a faint sheen of sleep-sweat amplifying his scent—cedarwood and something uniquely max.

the kiss deepens as you lean into him, your lips meeting in a slow, tender dance, the taste of him warm and familiar, stirring a gentle heat deep in your belly. your legs tangle with his beneath the sheets, the friction of his skin against yours sending a quiet thrill through you, your hand slipping beneath the oversized tee you borrowed from him, his fingers moving with a slow grace, trailing over the curve of your side, the dip of your waist, before brushing the underside of your breast, his thumb grazing your nipple with a teasing softness that makes your breath catch, a quiet moan slipping out.

“kept thinking about you all night,” he whispers against your jaw, his voice a soft growl, his lips pressing a trail of warm kisses along your neck, the faint scratch of his stubble adding a delicious contrast as he sucks gently at the spot just below your ear, the wet heat drawing a soft gasp from you.

you smirk, feeling the growing hardness of him pressing against your thigh through his boxers, the fabric barely containing the pulsing heat of his arousal, and your hand slides down, fingers brushing over the taut material, cupping him with a slow, intentional touch that makes his hips shift, a low groan rumbling from his chest. “guess you’re thinking about me now too,” you tease, your voice a soft, sultry whisper, the morning light catching the flush on his cheeks, his eyes darkening with a hunger that mirrors the ache building inside you.

his hands move with purpose, lifting your tee and pulling it over your head, the fabric brushing your skin like a whisper as it falls away, leaving you in just your panties, the cool air kissing your skin, making your nipples harden under his gaze.

his eyes take you in, dark and reverent, a quiet awe in his expression that makes your heart flutter. “you’re so gorgeous,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire, his hands settling on your thighs, spreading them with a gentle firmness, his fingers brushing the damp fabric of your panties, the warmth of your arousal seeping through as he slides them down, the slow drag of lace a teasing caress, leaving you completely bare, the vulnerability heightening the intimacy, the soft light casting a warm glow on your flushed skin.

he removes his boxers, his erection springing free, thick and heavy, the tip glistening with a bead of precum that catches the light, the sight making your breath hitch, a pulse of heat throbbing between your thighs. he positions himself, his tip brushing your entrance, the slick warmth of you coating him as he teases, his eyes locked on yours, the connection a tangible thread.

“gonna take it slow—wanna feel every moment,” he murmurs, his voice a soft promise, sliding into you with a deliberate, slow thrust, the stretch a delicious ache that curls your toes, a soft moan escaping your lips, “max—oh god,” your voice trembling, your legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him deeper, the sensation of him filling you a perfect fullness, the bed creaking softly.

his rhythm is slow and sensual, each thrust deep and measured, a smooth roll of his hips pressing against every sensitive spot inside you, the heat of him radiating through you, “love you like this—missed this,” he groans, his voice a low rumble, his hands gripping your hips with a tender firmness, guiding you to meet him, the slick slide of skin a symphony of wet warmth, the morning light filtering through the blinds, bathing you in a soft glow.

your hands roam his back, fingers tracing the flex of his muscles, the faint sheen of sweat amplifying his scent, your nails grazing his skin as the pleasure builds, “max—feels so good,” you moan, your voice a breathy whisper, your clit brushing against him with each thrust, the friction sending sparks through you.

“more—please,” you beg, your voice a desperate whisper, the need consuming you, and he complies, his pace quickening, his thrusts deeper, more forceful, each one hitting that spot that blurs your vision, “god—love hearing you,” his voice a growl, his lips crashing into yours, the kiss a messy tangle of tongues, a hungry edge as he devours you, the bed creaking louder, the soft light casting a warm glow, the morning light a soft caress. the tension builds.

your moans syncing with his groans, “max—i’m gonna cum,” you whimper, the wave building fast, your body tensing, your pussy clenching around him, a tight grip that makes him shudder, “cum for me, baby—let go,” his voice a low command, his thrusts erratic, the pleasure overwhelming, the orgasm crashing through you, a soft cry spilling from your lips, “max—yes!” your body shuddering, your thighs trembling.

“fuck—me too,” he grunts, his cock pulsing as he cums, filling you with a searing heat, his body shuddering against yours, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot and uneven, the afterglow settling like a warm embrace, the soft light casting a tender glow, the morning light a soft caress.

he stays inside you for a moment, his hand brushing your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw, “best way to start the day,” he murmurs, his voice a soft whisper, kissing you with lingering tenderness, pulling you close, the intimacy wrapping around you, the connection a fire that burns steady in the quiet morning, the day stretching out with the comfort of being together again.

[mollymargiela]

request: Max welcoming you home after a trip smut

reader = white/bold

max = pink

warnings: 18+, p in v, dirty talk & fluff if u squint

you had been gone for two weeks now — fourteen long days in another country, juggling work and everything else that came with it. the days were packed from morning till night, filled with nonstop meetings, new faces, hotel rooms that never felt like home, and the weight of responsibilities that never gave your mind a break. but through all the noise and motion, there was one thought that stayed constant, steady in the back of your mind like a heartbeat: max.

your boyfriend. your comfort.

today was finally the day you were coming home to him.

every missed call, every late-night facetime where you both fought sleep just to hear each other’s voices, every text that read “come back already” had led to this. you could still hear his voice in your head from the last time he called, low and soft, telling you how much he missed you — how the bed felt too big without you in it, how the house was quiet in a way he didn’t like.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him. you missed all of him — not just the way he made you laugh or how safe you felt when he held you — but the smaller things, too. the way his hands always found yours without thinking. the way his touch was gentle but never unsure. the way he could be rough with the world but soft, always soft, when it came to you.

you missed the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense in a messy world. and god, you missed the way being near him made everything else disappear.

after two weeks apart, you were finally going to be back in his arms — and nothing else mattered.

he was picking you up from the airport today, and even though you’d been counting down the days, the hours, the minutes — there was still a strange knot in your stomach. excitement mixed with nerves, the kind you couldn’t explain. two weeks wasn’t that long, but something about seeing him again after all that time felt like meeting him all over again. your heart raced a little faster with each step you took through the terminal, your suitcase rolling behind you, the air buzzing with travelers and reunions all around.

when you stepped outside into the cool breeze of early evening, scanning the line of cars waiting just beyond the sidewalk, your eyes flicked from one face to another. kids running into their parents’ arms, people laughing, hugging, crying — it was all background noise until you saw him.

max.

leaning against the side of his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, hood half up over his beanie. but it was that smile — wide and warm and stupidly boyish — that instantly melted the tension in your chest. it wasn’t dramatic or loud, but it was his. and when his soft brown eyes locked with yours, it was like the world blurred out for a second.

his whole face lit up when he saw you, and you couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your own, footsteps quickening without even thinking. suddenly, you weren’t nervous anymore. you were home.

“hey, baby,” he said, arms wrapping around you before you could respond. the hug was tight, warm—his hand sliding up your back like he was making sure you were real. “missed you like crazy.”

you buried your face into his chest, breathing him in. “i missed you more.”

the drive back was quiet, but not awkward. max kept glancing over at you, his hand resting on your thigh every now and then—fingers tapping lightly like he couldn’t help it. he didn’t say much, but his eyes did. they flicked from the road to you, back and forth, holding onto you longer each time.

when you finally stepped inside your shared apartment, the familiar scent and soft hum of silence wrapped around you. you dropped your bags by the door, stretching slightly, but max didn’t give you a second to settle.

he walked up behind you, arms sliding around your waist. “two weeks was way too long,” he mumbled against your neck, his voice a little rougher now, his breath warm on your skin.

you turned around slowly, your arms looping behind his neck. “then show me how much you missed me.”

his smile was soft, but his gaze had darkened just enough. he leaned in, and his lips brushed yours—slow at first, like he wanted to savor it. the world outside didn’t matter anymore. just you, max, and all that built-up tension finally starting to melt away.

his hands slid down your back with purpose, rough palms brushing against your shirt as he found your waist and tugged you in. his fingers flexed before settling firmly on your hips, then lower — gripping the curve of your butt with a slow, deliberate squeeze that made you gasp softly against his neck. the warmth of his touch shot straight through you, and without thinking, your arms tightened around his shoulders, holding him closer, like you couldn’t get enough. you tilted your head slightly, lips grazing his skin, and he let out a quiet breath — low and shaky — like he’d been waiting for this moment since the second you left.

his grip didn’t falter, only deepened, his thumbs pressing into you like he needed to memorize the feel of you all over again. everything about him felt familiar but new — like touching him for the first time all over again.

as the kiss deepened, max’s hands didn’t leave your body for even a second. his lips moved against yours with more need now, more urgency, like he was finally letting himself feel all the days you were gone. slowly, he began to guide you backward toward your shared bedroom, never breaking the kiss, his frame towering over you — protective, yet undeniably hungry for you.

your back hit the edge of the bed, and max gently leaned you down onto the mattress, hands moving from your waist to your hips as he kneeled between your legs. his touch was firm but careful, like he couldn’t decide whether to take his time or give in to how badly he’d missed you. he slid his hands down, gripping your waistband and tugging your pants down your legs with barely restrained eagerness. the look in his eyes — like he was finally getting what he craved — made your skin flush.

you reached up for his sweater, your fingers brushing his chest as you pinched the zipper, dragging it down slowly between you. the sound of the metal parting was soft, barely audible over the way both of your breathing had changed. he didn’t stop you — if anything, he leaned in closer, watching you with that same quiet intensity like you were the only thing that mattered.

“fuck, i missed you,” max muttered, voice low and rough as his lips found yours again, more desperate this time. his hands slid under the thin fabric of your tank top, fingers tracing the curve of your chest before cupping you fully, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the material, teasing, until the top was tugged over your head and tossed aside.

the cool air of the room hit your bare skin, sending a light shiver across your body — or maybe it was just the way he was looking at you. his eyes flickered down for a second, dark and hungry, before he leaned in again, lips dragging slowly down your neck.

you could feel how hard he was already through his sweats as you reached down to palm him, your touch slow and deliberate. his hips twitched slightly under your hand, a low groan leaving his throat as he pressed into your palm, his breath warm against your collarbone.

“shit—don’t tease me,” he growls, his hips bucking slightly, his control slipping, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling your panties down with a quick, eager tug, leaving you bare beneath him, the vulnerability heightening the intimacy, the fairy lights casting a tender glow on his flushed face, the city lights a blurred backdrop.

he sheds his sweatpants and boxers in one fluid motion, his cock springing free, thick and leaking, the sight making your breath catch as he positions himself between your thighs, his tip brushing your slick entrance, teasing for a moment, “gonna make up for lost time,” he murmurs, his voice a promise, his hands spreading your legs wider, his eyes locked on yours with that soft, boyish intensity you’ve missed so much. he slides into you slowly, the stretch delicious, a gasp escaping your lips, “max—fuck,” your voice breaking, your hands clutching his shoulders, the connection deepening with every inch, the bed creaking under the weight of your reunion.

his pace starts gentle, each thrust deep and measured, savoring the feel of you after two weeks apart, “so fucking tight—missed this pussy,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you to meet him, the rhythm building, the wet slap of skin filling the room, the fairy lights casting wild shadows across his focused expression. you wrap your legs around him, drawing him deeper, your nails digging into his back, “harder—please,” you beg, the need overwhelming, and he obliges, his thrusts growing forceful, hitting that spot that makes you see stars, “like that? fuck—love hearing you,” his voice rough, his lips crashing into yours, the kiss messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth.

the pleasure coils tight, your moans syncing with his groans, “max—gonna cum,” you cry, your voice trembling, the wave crashing over you, a shuddering release, your pussy clenching around him, your body convulsing, “yes—max!” your scream echoing, the intensity leaving you breathless, your thighs trembling. “shit—me too,” he grunts, his thrusts erratic, his cock pulsing as he cums, filling you with heat, his body shuddering against yours, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot and uneven, the afterglow settling like a warm blanket, the fairy lights casting a tender glow, the city lights a distant shimmer.

he collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms, his hand tracing lazy circles on your back, “two weeks was hell without you,” he murmurs, his voice soft now, kissing your temple, the intimacy lingering, the connection between you a fire that burns steady in the wake of your reunion, the night stretching out in the quiet comfort of being home again.

(not proofread!!)

i changed the cover again lol, hopefully this one is good enough.

some many max requests oh my

[mollymargiela]

request: Banks smut at Coachella!!

ricky = green

reader = pink

warnings: p in v, messy hookup and some swearing.

it was late on friday, april 11, 2025, around 10:37 pm pdt, the first night of coachella 2025 pulsing with raw energy, the desert air thick with the thump of bass and the mingled scents of sweat, weed, and dust, the crowd a chaotic blur under a canopy of string lights and neon signs, the city skyline a distant smudge against the festival’s wild glow. the lineup had been electric—ivan cornejo’s set with cigarettes after sex still lingered in your ears, seun kuti’s afrobeat had the masses jumping, and post malone’s current performance vibrated through the ground.

you were near the edge of the main stage area, the vip tent a few yards off, your cropped tank top clinging to your skin from dancing, your flowy skirt riding up slightly with every move, the heat and chaos fueling your buzz. ricky, a guy you’d crossed paths with in the influencer scene—tall, tatted, with a cocky edge—had been hovering close all night, his flirty smirks and shared shots sparking a messy, reckless tension between you, the connection a volatile spark ready to combust in the coachella madness.

“fuck, you’re driving me wild in that,” ricky slurred, his voice rough over the music, his hand gripping your waist as he pulled you into a shadowed nook behind a merch booth, the crowd’s roar a distant hum, “need you—now.” his words were sloppy, tinged with tequila and desperation, his lips smashing into yours before you could protest, the kiss a chaotic clash—teeth knocking, tongues tangling, spit-slick and unrefined.

“ricky—here?” you gasped, half-laughing, half-shocked, glancing at the thinning crowd nearby, but he didn’t care, his hands already fumbling, tugging your skirt up, fingers snagging on the fabric as he yanked your panties aside, tearing them slightly. “don’t give a shit—gonna fuck you,” he grunted, his jeans unzipped messily, his cock springing free, hard and leaking, pressing against you with no finesse, “so fucking wet—knew it,” his voice a ragged slur, his fingers brushing your slickness before he thrust in, sloppy and uneven, the stretch jarring, making you yelp, “ricky—fuck!”

the wall of the booth scraped your back, the wood splintering slightly under your weight as he pinned you, his thrusts wild and uncoordinated, hips bucking with a drunk urgency, “take it—fucking take it,” he growled, his hands gripping your thighs, one slipping as he tried to hold you up, the skirt bunched awkwardly, fabric twisted around your waist.

“shit—too much,” you moaned, your hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his shirt, the messiness of it—his uneven rhythm, the sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest—adding a raw edge, “love this pussy—fuck, so good,” he panted, his breath hot and uneven, his cock sliding in and out with a wet, sloppy sound, the festival noise swallowing your gasps, the string lights casting erratic shadows, the moment a chaotic tangle of lust and disorder, the connection between you a fire that flared wild in the coachella night.

he shifted, one hand bracing against the wall, the other fumbling between you, fingers clumsy on your clit, rubbing in jagged circles, “cum—fucking cum for me,” he demanded, his voice breaking, his thrusts losing rhythm, the angle off as he struggled to keep you steady.

“ricky—shit, i’m—!” your voice cracked, the pleasure hitting in a messy, overwhelming wave, your pussy clenching around him, your body shuddering against the rough wall, your moans lost in the crowd’s cheers. “fuck—yes!” he groaned, his cock twitching erratically as he came, spilling into you with a sloppy thrust, some dripping down your thigh as he lost control, his grip slipping, nearly dropping you before he caught himself, panting heavily. the afterglow was a sticky, disheveled mess—your skirt twisted, his jeans half-down, sweat and dirt smudged on your skin, the string lights flickering faintly, the city skyline a forgotten blur.

“shit—we gotta get outta here,” ricky muttered, his voice low and hoarse, his eyes darting toward the crowd as he pulled up his jeans, the reality of your semi-public hookup sinking in.

you nodded, your heart racing, quickly adjusting your skirt, the torn edge of your panties making you wince as you tucked them back in place, the stickiness between your thighs a reminder of the mess you’d made.

“don’t let anyone see,” you whispered, smoothing your hair, your cheeks flushed as you peeked around the corner of the booth, the festival crowd still buzzing, oblivious, but the risk of being spotted sent a thrill through you both.

ricky grabbed your hand, his grip tight, “stick close—let’s move,” his tone urgent but protective, leading you out through a narrow gap between booths, weaving through stragglers, his head low, avoiding eye contact with a group of influencers you recognized near the vip tent.

you slipped into the main crowd, blending into the sea of bodies, post malone’s set still going strong, the bass drowning out any chance of being overheard. ricky glanced back at you, a sly grin tugging at his lips, “think we’re good—no one saw,” he murmured, pulling you closer as you both melted into the festival chaos, the string lights casting a wild glow, the city skyline a distant memory, the moment a reckless, secretive storm, the connection between you a fire that burned out as quickly as it flared, the coachella night stretching on, wild and unapologetic, leaving your messy hookup a hidden thrill in the festival’s endless energy.

(not proofread!!)

omg ive never writen anything for banks i literally love this, hes so fine too.

okok i think max smut is next hehe

[mollymargiela]

request: needyy Addison

reader = pink

addison = green

warnings: p in v, swearing, & possiveness/neediness

it was a sultry late evening at 6:30 pm pdt on wednesday, may 14, 2025, the city skyline casting a soft, golden shimmer through the sheer curtains of your shared apartment bedroom, the room bathed in the gentle, flickering glow of fairy lights draped along the headboard and walls, their warm hues dancing across the ceiling. your gaming setup in the corner stood silent, the usual hum of monitors and keyboards replaced by a thick, charged silence, the faint scent of your lavender candle lingering in the air, mingling with the urban hum drifting faintly from the open window.

addison, your boyfriend, had been on edge all day—his usual laid-back demeanor frayed by a restless energy, his hazel eyes dark with an unspoken hunger that had been building since morning. he’d paced the apartment earlier, his fingers drumming against the counter, his jaw tight, and now, as he climbed onto the bed where you lounged, the tension snapped like a taut wire.

you were sprawled across the mattress, wearing a loose, faded band tee that slipped off one shoulder, the hem riding up to reveal the edge of your cotton panties, your hair a messy cascade from a long day of streaming. addison loomed over you, his broad frame casting a shadow, his breath hot and uneven against your neck as he pressed himself closer, “fuck—need you so bad, baby,” his voice a desperate, needy whine, thick with longing, his hands trembling as they gripped the hem of your shirt.

with a rough tug, he yanked it upward, the fabric catching briefly on your skin before sliding over your head, exposing the curve of your breasts and the soft dip of your waist, his fingers brushing your sides with a hungry urgency.

“addison—please,” you gasped, your body arching instinctively toward him, the raw need in his touch sparking a fire deep within you, your skin prickling with anticipation.

his lips crashed into yours, the kiss a messy collision of desperation—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, a wet heat that left you breathless. “can’t wait—need you now,” he groaned against your mouth, his hands sliding down to your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he hooked them into the waistband of your panties.

with a swift, impatient pull, he dragged them down your thighs, the fabric catching on your knees before he tossed them aside, his own sweatpants following in a hurried heap, revealing his cock, hard and straining, the tip already glistening with precum as he pressed it against you.

“so fucking wet for me—god, you feel it?” he muttered, his voice rough, his fingers slipping between your folds, teasing your slick entrance for a fleeting moment before he aligned himself, thrusting into you with a deep, urgent stroke that stole your breath, the stretch intense, filling you completely. “addison—shit!” your voice broke into a moan, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper, your nails grazing his back through his shirt.

“fuck—can’t get enough of you,” he growled, his hips setting a fast, needy rhythm, each thrust a desperate claim, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you’d bruise, the bed frame creaking under the force of his movements.

his dark hair fell into his eyes, sweat beading on his forehead, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, “need to feel you—fuck, all of you,” his words a raw plea, his lips brushing your pulse point, leaving a trail of wet kisses. the room filled with the sounds of your shared urgency—the wet slap of skin, the creak of the mattress, your soft moans mingling with his low groans, the fairy lights casting wild, shifting shadows across the walls, the apartment a cocoon for his unbridled desire, the moment a haze of pure, unfiltered passion.

your hands roamed his back, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, pulling it up to feel the heat of his skin, the muscles flexing under your touch as he drove into you.

“harder—please, addison,” you begged, your voice trembling with need, your body rocking with each thrust, the intensity building a fire in your core. “gonna give it to you—fucking mine,” he rasped, his pace growing erratic, his hands sliding under your thighs, lifting them higher to angle deeper, the shift sending a jolt through you, your head tipping back against the pillow.

his fingers found your clit, rough and insistent, circling with no finesse, just raw need, the pressure pushing you closer to the edge, “so tight—shit, you’re perfect,” he panted, his lips capturing yours again, the kiss sloppy, his tongue delving deep as if he could consume you whole. the bed rocked against the wall, the headboard thumping in time with his thrusts, the sound a primal rhythm that echoed the pounding of your heart, the city outside a forgotten hum, the connection between you a fire that roared with every needy movement.

“addison—i’m close—fuck, don’t stop!” your voice rose into a cry, your body tensing, the pleasure coiling tight, a wild, shattering wave crashing over you as your pussy clenched around him, your thighs trembling, your moans spilling freely. “yes—fuck, yes, cum for me” his groan was loud, desperate, his cock pulsing as he followed you over the edge, spilling into you with hot, erratic thrusts, his hips grinding deep, drawing out every last shudder.

his hands slackened, sliding to your waist as he collapsed onto you, his weight heavy and warm, his breath ragged against your collarbone, sweat slicking your skin together. the afterglow settled like a heavy blanket, your bodies tangled in the rumpled sheets, the fairy lights casting a tender glow, the city lights a distant shimmer, the moment a raw, tender storm, the connection between you a fire that burned steady in the wake of his needy passion, the night stretching out, endless, in the quiet aftermath of your shared release.

(not proofread!!)

can’t believe ron lost that 99 kill lead lol

also i was busy with school im so sorry ;-; ill try to post again tomorrow

[mollymargiela]

request: you and yahya are like max’s parents and you comfort him when he’s super stressed

reader = white/bold

max = pink

yahya = red

warnings: some swearing, emotional distress, & mental health issues

max hadn’t said much all day. he’d been pacing around the house, hoodie on, hood up, headphones in—snapping just a little too fast when someone asked him a question.

yahya noticed first.

“yo,” he said, watching max tug the strings on his hoodie tighter. “you good?”

“yeah, bro, i’m fine,” max replied way too fast. he didn’t even look up from his phone.

that’s when you looked up from the couch. the way max’s leg bounced non-stop, the shortness in his answers, the way he avoided eye contact with everyone… it was all off.

you exchanged a look with yahya. he gave you a tiny nod, and you both got up.

you didn’t ask him anything at first. you just walked over and gently took the phone from his hands, placing it face-down on the counter. yahya clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“c’mon. sit down.”

max didn’t argue. he just dropped onto the couch, exhaling like he’d been holding in a breath for hours.

you sat next to him, close but not crowding.

“you don’t gotta explain everything,” you said softly. “but we can tell something’s up.”

he hesitated—like he was about to say he was fine again. but then his face just dropped.

“i’m tired,” he mumbled. “everything’s so loud right now. pressure from the label, streams feel like they don’t hit, everyone’s expecting something… and i can’t even think straight.”

yahya leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “max, you don’t gotta carry all that by yourself. that shit will burn you out, bro. for real.”

“you’ve been going nonstop,” you added. “you don’t rest. you don’t eat right. you don’t even let yourself breathe without wondering if it’s productive.”

his eyes started to water, and you immediately reached for his hand.

“it’s okay,” you whispered. “you don’t always have to be strong. not with us.”

max just sat there, quiet tears slipping down his face. yahya reached over and ruffled his hair like a big brother, then leaned his head back against the couch with a long sigh.

“you ever think maybe the world doesn’t end if you take one day off?” he asked.

max let out a breathy laugh through his tears.

“we got you,” you said, squeezing his hand. “we’re not letting you crash.”

the rest of the night, you both made sure he ate, laughed, and just chilled—no music, no deadlines, just comfort and love.

because sometimes, the strongest people need to be reminded they’re allowed to lean on others too.

(not proofread!!)

something short and cute :)

hows the new cover?? lol hopefully its nice i tried something new :33

[mollymargiela]

request: the guys find out that you think Andrew from the card shop is cute and try to set yall up

adapt = red

ron = blue

andrew = orange

reader = pink

warnings: none?

ever since ron and adapt found out you had a tiny—barely noticeable, in your words—crush on andrew, the quiet guy who worked at the local card shop, they hadn’t let it go. the second they pieced it together (mainly because you kept randomly asking when they were going back), it was over for you. now every time the topic of the card shop came up, they’d start smirking like idiots, exchanging side-eyes, and nudging you just to get a reaction.

“you coming with us today?” adapt would ask, already laughing as if he knew your answer.

“nah, i’m good,” you’d mumble, already anticipating the teasing that followed.

you knew the second you stepped foot in that shop, they’d try something. probably something dumb. they had that look in their eyes—the one they get before a prank or when they’re cooking up chaos. so you played it safe and stayed home. you weren’t about to let them embarrass you in front of andrew just because you thought his smile was cute.

you, ron, and adapt had made a pact earlier that week—today would be the last time you hit the card shop for a minute. with plans to move into the new house soon, all three of you figured it was time to chill on spending until after the move. but of course, y’all weren’t going out light. you each agreed to drop at least 5k on a mix of cards—pokemon, nba, mlb, maybe even ufc or wrestling if something caught your eye.

it was supposed to be a casual pull-up, just one final haul to hold you over until the next chapter. but deep down you knew it wasn’t just about the cards for the other two. ron had been bugging you since this morning with comments like, “i bet andrew gonna be real happy to see you today,” and adapt wouldn’t stop humming some fake love song every time your name and the card shop were mentioned in the same sentence.

you tried to play it cool, brushing them off like always, but even you couldn’t lie to yourself—you were kind of excited to see andrew again. especially since you hadn’t been there the last time they visited. they’d come back with stories of how he was “definitely single” and “maybe even into you,” based on nothing but vibes and their own twisted imaginations.

you just hoped today didn’t turn into some whole embarrassing scene. but knowing those two? it probably would.

as you all pulled into the parking lot, you were already regretting this. ron parked the car like he was about to rob the place—quick and crooked—while adapt turned in his seat, grinning like he was about to start a performance.

“yo, y/n,” adapt said, leaning forward with that same teasing tone, “you nervous? need a minute to fix your hair or sum before you see your man?”

you rolled your eyes, pulling down the visor to check your reflection anyway. “shut up. i don’t even know if he’s working today.”

“oh, he’s here,” ron chimed in. “i checked the shop’s story this morning. they posted a pic of him restocking sleeves. you’re cooked.”

you smacked his arm as you all got out of the car, your stomach flipping in both dread and anticipation.

walking into the shop, the familiar scent of cardboard and faint air freshener hit you. and there he was—behind the counter, in a fitted black hoodie with his sleeves pushed up, sorting through a box of graded cards.

“yo! what’s good, andrew?” ron said, walking up confidently like this was a casual stop and not a planned ambush.

andrew looked up and smiled. “hey, guys. welcome back. figured we’d see you again soon.”

adapt leaned on the counter casually, already glancing between you and andrew. “yeah, last trip for a while. trying to save up for some new stuff at the next place.”

you hung back a little, pretending to look at sealed packs while your face heated up. you could feel the way ron and adapt were setting something up, and you weren’t wrong.

“so andrew,” ron started, fake casual, “you ever bring girls around here or what? this place got romance vibes or nah?”

you froze mid-step and whipped your head around.

andrew looked up, confused but amused. “uh… i mean, not really? it’s mostly collectors and kids.”

“so you single?” adapt asked, plain as day.

you immediately turned your back to them. “i’m leaving. i’m walking out. right now.”

“nah nah nah,” ron laughed, grabbing your wrist, “don’t be shy now. we just tryna help.”

“i told y’all not to do this!” you hissed, barely able to stop yourself from laughing. “you’re actually insane.”

“we just want to know if our friend here is your type,” adapt said with a smirk, motioning between you and andrew.

andrew blinked, looking between you and the guys, then smiled a little, clearly trying not to laugh. “you mean her?”

you covered your face with your hands. “i hate you both so much.”

ron was dying laughing. “bro, she be asking all the time like, ‘when we going back to the card shop,’ and then acting clueless when we bring it up.”

you shot him a look, and he put his hands up in defense, still laughing.

andrew looked at you for a second, smile soft. “well… i’m not seeing anyone, if that’s what she’s fishing for.”

you wanted the floor to swallow you whole.

“cool,” adapt said, like he just closed a deal, “we’ll take six boxes of prism and a date for our friend here.”

you groaned. this was chaos—but somewhere under all the embarrassment, your heart was kind of racing in a good way.

you managed to dodge the rest of their chaos for about five minutes. five. because as soon as you slipped off toward the basketball cards, you heard ron go,

“so andrew, what kinda girls you usually go for anyway?”

you practically dropped the pack in your hand.

“ron, please,” you muttered, not even bothering to hide the look you threw him across the shop.

andrew, to his credit, took it all in stride. “i mean… i don’t really have a type. just someone chill, funny… into the same stuff, y’know?”

adapt popped his head out from behind one of the display shelves like a nosy little gremlin. “you into girls who collect cards too? maybe stream a little?”

“i swear to god i’m gonna leave,” you said under your breath.

“nah you won’t,” ron said casually. “you just pulled the best box from here 3 weeks ago. luck’s on your side.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. part of you hated the attention—but part of you was lowkey enjoying the way andrew kept sneaking glances your way whenever they teased you.

he came around the counter at one point, walking up behind you while you were looking through a bin of top loaders. “hey, sorry if they’re being annoying.”

you glanced up at him, still a little flustered. “you’re good. i should’ve known they’d pull something like this.”

he smiled, that kind of quiet, calm smile that made your chest tighten a little. “for what it’s worth… i don’t mind. it’s kinda flattering.”

before you could even react, ron yelled from across the shop. “Y/N! ANDREW TRYNA BAG. CONFIRMED.”

“ron—” you turned to glare at him, fully red in the face now.

“i hate you so bad,” you mumbled as andrew laughed quietly beside you.

adapt held up two booster boxes in each hand like trophies. “aight, so are we buying cards or planning weddings?”

“both,” ron said. “double sleeve the luka, double cuff the relationship.”

“bro,” you muttered, dragging your hands down your face.

you all ended up at the register eventually, arms full of boxes. andrew rang everything up like normal, but as he handed you your receipt, he slipped you a small sticky note with his number written in the corner.

“just in case you wanna come back without those two,” he said, eyes warm.

you smiled, tucking it into your hoodie sleeve.

“she’s giggling,” adapt said under his breath. “she’s in deep.”

“shut up.”

the whole car ride back was filled with them teasing you nonstop—talking about wedding playlists, what kind of cards you and andrew would collect together, and how they were officially calling themselves your wingmen of the year.

and you?

you just stared out the window, trying to hide your smile.

(not proofread!!)

this one was fun to make loll i loved it :33

[mollymargiela]

request: you and Ron doing having a prank war with the faze house 🤍

reader = white/bold

ron = blue

lacy = red

adapt = green

jason = orange

silky = purple

max = pink

warnings: some swearing!

it was a slow sunday evening at the faze house. the boys—max, jason, silky, lacy, adapt, and ron—had all decided to take the day off after their chaotic sleepover stream the night before. no one was streaming, editing, or even checking socials. just chilling. the air was calm for once, lazy conversations echoing from the downstairs living room while upstairs, you and ron were holed up in his room.

he was sprawled out on the floor, messing around with some random ideas for future streams, while you sat cross-legged on his bed, scrolling through your phone and nodding along every now and then. the room was warm with the soft hum of the ceiling fan, low sunlight seeping through the curtains. it felt like a reset kind of day.

after a while, the silence between ideas stretched on. ron shifted, glancing up at you with that mischievous look he always got when he was bored.

“y/n,” he said, half-laughing already, “let’s go shoot silky with water guns.”

you blinked, lifting your gaze from your screen, deadpan. “ron, you’re gonna get fucking killed.”

he snorted, not even flinching at your reaction. “nah, c’monnn,” he dragged out, already getting to his feet. “it’s not that big of a deal. worst he’s gonna do is like… push us in the pool.”

“us? i think you mean you, i’m not doing that,” you said, crossing your arms but not exactly backing out either.

ron raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “nah, you’re doing it with me. we’re a team, remember?”

“team my ass,” you muttered under your breath, already getting pulled toward his closet where he kept the water guns from last summer.

he tossed you the blue one and kept the green for himself. “we’ll be quick. hit him, run downstairs, act like nothing happened. easy.”

you rolled your eyes but followed him anyway, both of you sneaking out of the room and into the hallway like a pair of middle schoolers causing trouble.

upstairs was quiet, just the sound of your socks against the hardwood as you made your way toward silky’s streaming room. the door was cracked open, and you could hear him talking faintly on discord—probably watching something.

ron nodded at you, counting down silently with his fingers—three, two, one.

he shoved the door open, and before silky could even turn around, both of you sprayed him with cold ass water. “yo what the fuck!” silky yelled, spinning in his chair and blocking his face with his arms.

you and ron were already halfway down the stairs, laughing your asses off, water guns still dripping. you hit the bottom floor and rounded the corner into the living room, only to freeze.

everybody was there.

jason was lounging on the couch with lacy, adapt was sitting on the floor scrolling through his phone, and max was leaned over the kitchen counter munching on chips. they all looked up at once.

“yo… what’s goin’ on?” max asked with his mouth full.

“uh…” you started, but then silky came storming down the stairs, shirt soaked, face annoyed as hell.

“these two just jumped me with water guns, bro,” he said, pointing.

ron raised both hands like he was innocent. “lighten up, bro. it was funny.

lacy snorted. “nah, that’s wild. i’m in. let’s get them back.”

jason nodded, already standing up. “facts. they wanna start a war? bet.”

adapt looked up from his phone. “i ain’t takin’ sides, but if shit starts going down, i’m not stopping it.”

max grinned, clearly too entertained. “yo, just don’t ruin the kitchen. the maids just cleaned that shit.”

ron leaned over and whispered, “we’re so fucked.”

you just sighed. “yeah, but it was worth it.”

“yo, jason,” lacy said as he jogged toward the hallway. “isn’t there water guns in your room?”

“yeah, yeah—bet,” jason replied, already following him toward the downstairs hall.

you and ron dipped out the back sliding door, water guns still in hand. the evening air was warm, the pool lights giving off a glow as you both ducked behind some chairs by the pool.

“we’re so screwed,” you whispered, wiping water off your arm.

ron laughed under his breath. “nah, we’re just gettin’ started.”

inside, you could hear them moving—lacy’s voice echoing as they grabbed whatever they could. ron peeked over the chair and shot a quick spray through the open door, catching lacy right in the side.

“dumbass,” lacy yelled, ducking behind the couch.

“yup, he’s mad now,” you said, trying not to laugh as you both crouched lower.

then jason came back out, but this time he wasn’t holding just water guns. you caught a glimpse of a white bag in his hand and nudged ron. “ron. what is that?”

ron looked. “no way. no way he’s got flour.”

before either of you could move, jason rounded the corner—grinning—and dumped the whole thing over you and ron like it was nothing.

“jason, what the fuck?!” you coughed, swatting at your hair and shirt.

“you started it with silky,” he said, dying of laughter, “i’m just returning the favor.”

ron stood up slow, looking dead at him. he didn’t say a word—just walked over and shoved jason right into the pool.

splash.

lacy almost dropped his water gun from laughing so hard. “he didn’t even say shit, just pushed him in!”

jason came up from the water, wiping his face. “bro, my fucking phone…”

ron shook his head, brushing flour off. “should’ve thought about that before turning me into a fucking powdered donut.”

you were doubled over laughing, covered in flour, hair sticking to your face from water and heat. “this is so dumb.”

“yeah,” lacy said between laughs, “and we’re not even done yet.”

you and ron were crouched near the edge of the pool, still catching your breath. flour clung to both of you, stuck to your damp clothes and arms. ron kept spitting some out of his mouth, muttering about how it tasted like shit.

the sliding door opened behind you.

“damn. what did i miss?” adapt asked, stepping out with max right behind him.

max looked at the mess and immediately started laughing. “yo… why y’all look like ghostbusters?”

ron turned around, deadpan. “ask jason.”

“nah, don’t ask me,” jason called from across the yard, shirt off now, still drying off after getting tossed in the pool. “they came at my boy silky first.”

“with water guns,” you said, pointing at him. “not baking supplies, you dumbass.”

“flour’s harmless,” he said, grinning. “adds flavor.”

“you’re gonna catch a slap,” ron muttered.

silky came out next, rubbing his hands like he just finished plotting. “so y’all really thought y’all could hit me and dip?”

“you were in the room right next to us, bro,” ron said. “prime target.”

“aight. bet,” silky said, nodding slow. “we making this a thing now? jason, lacy—y’all in?”

lacy appeared out of nowhere with one of the extra water guns. “i’m already locked in.”

jason dapped him. “let’s run it.”

max sat on the patio couch, shaking his head. “you guys are idiots.”

“and y’all love it,” you said.

“facts,” adapt said, pulling out his phone. “don’t stop now. this is gold.”

“no alliances?” max asked, sipping his drink. “everybody just fend for themselves?”

“nah,” silky said. “it’s war. teams.”

he pointed at jason and lacy. “we the real ones.”

then at you and ron. “these two? traitors.”

“oh my god,” you muttered, water gun still in hand. “you’re so dramatic.”

“nah,” ron said, stepping forward. “you just mad we hit you first.”

silky didn’t even answer. he just grabbed a second water gun off the table.

jason and lacy disappeared into the house again—probably grabbing the rest.

ron looked at you. “we’re screwed.”

you smirked. “we started it. now we finish it.”

adapt shouted from the side, “i’m calling it now—someone’s phone’s gonna get soaked.”

“not mine,” max said, already moving his off the table. “i ain’t stupid.”

you didn’t even get a chance to respond before the sliding door slammed again and jason came out sprinting—armed and already spraying.

(not proofread!!)

quick little fic of ron n faze boys :)

[mollymargiela]

Would you ever do a full series?

hi, i just wanted to quickly answer this. i don’t think i would do it because it would be like a bunch of posts. if I were to do it, i would prefer it to be on a wattpad-like format.

but it honestly depends, if u guys really wanted me to then id consider it! :)

ron fic either saturday or sunday btw.

[mollymargiela]

request: your producing a song for max and then after he catches your and Morgan together and lowk gets mad at Morgan for trying to make a move on someone who he’s working with but then he realizes u and Morgan have been together for a while.

i love fatboydip…

max = pink

morgan = purple

reader = white/bold

warnings: some swearing.

you’d been working as a producer for a while now, but today felt different. max, or plaqueboymax as he’s known online, had invited you to work on a project with him. you’d been dating his cousin, morgan, for months now, though your relationship was pretty private—nothing too public, just something you both preferred to keep on the down-low. morgan had always been protective of you, and you appreciated that. you’d met him back in 2023, and things just kind of clicked from there. by january of 2024, he’d asked you out, and from that moment on, it was like no one else could compare.

this whole “working with max” thing had caught you off guard, though. you’d heard about his projects from morgan, but actually being there, seeing the whole setup—it was a lot. you were excited but a little nervous. you hadn’t expected this when you’d agreed to come along. the idea of working with max, while also keeping your relationship with morgan a secret, was kind of thrilling, but also nerve-wracking. max didn’t know you were dating his cousin. neither morgan nor you had ever mentioned it to him, mainly because he was a bit of a wild card. so today, you had to be careful, especially with how things were heating up between you and morgan outside of work.

once max had invited you to come work with him, you immediately texted morgan to let him know. the second he read the message, he was already asking if he could come too—half-joking about finally breaking the news to max. you laughed, feeling your nerves settle a little just hearing how excited he was. you told him you didn’t mind at all, but that he’d probably have to check with max first, just to be sure it was cool. secretly, though, you were kind of hoping he’d come. it would make the whole day feel a little less overwhelming, having him there by your side. maybe even make it a little easier when the truth finally came out.

the day finally came where you had to head over to the faze house to work with max. he had decided it’d be easiest to just work from home, setting up in the living room where he had his own little “booth”—even though it was really just the elevator, padded out with blankets and panels to make it soundproof enough.

you pulled up, heart beating a little faster than usual, climbing the steps to the front door. you knew morgan was already inside; he and max lived together, and had driven back from an errand earlier. as soon as you knocked, the door swung open and there was morgan, smiling that lazy, boyish smile you loved. you leaned in for a quick hug, stealing a peck on his cheek before anyone else could see—at least, you thought you were being sneaky, until you heard max’s voice.

“yooo, what’s up, y/n?” max called out from the living room, tossing a hand up casually.

you grinned, pulling away from morgan and stepping into the house. max came over to give you a quick, friendly hug, smelling faintly like laundry detergent and cologne. you said hi back, laughing a little at how chaotic the house already felt, boys’ voices echoing faintly from upstairs.

max grabbed an extra chair for you and set it beside him, while morgan flopped onto the gray couch behind you both. you pulled out your laptop, emailing over a few beats you’d saved specially for today. max threw on his headphones, nodding along as he clicked through the files, his head bobbing slightly to the rhythm as he tried to find the one that fit the vibe he was feeling.

after cycling through about five or six beats, max finally settled on a jerky, upbeat instrumental that immediately had the whole room nodding their heads. you smiled quietly to yourself as he hopped into the makeshift booth — which was really just the elevator in the middle of the living room — headphones snug over his ears, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet as he started rapping into the mic.

you stayed focused, engineering the session, adjusting the levels on his pc, making sure his vocals came through clean without overpowering the beat. every once in a while, max would flash you a thumbs-up from inside the booth and you’d grin back, feeling that familiar little spark of pride.

after about an hour of work — stopping and starting, tweaking lines and punching in — max pulled off his headphones and announced he was taking a bathroom break. “be right back, don’t mess up my booth,” he joked, tossing a playful smirk at you before disappearing down the hall.

that left you sitting in the living room with joel, morgan, and yahya. the energy shifted the moment max left — a little quieter, a little less chaotic. you kept your eyes on the screen in front of you, tinkering with the beat arrangement, when you heard slow, heavy footsteps approaching.

you glanced up just in time to see morgan pushing himself off the couch, walking towards you. his movements were unhurried, almost sleepy, like the day had finally caught up to him.

he came to a stop right next to you — right where max had been sitting — and lowered himself into the chair with a soft, tired sigh. you turned your head slightly, catching the way he was looking at you: not just tired, but soft, like you were the only thing he cared to focus on.

“hey,” he said, voice low, almost gravelly.

your heart skipped a little. it wasn’t just a greeting — it was layered with meaning, with affection he couldn’t show openly here.

you smiled warmly, leaning a little closer, and whispered back, just barely audible over the faint beat still playing through the speakers, “hi baby.”

you made sure to keep your voice soft, the last word melting into the air like a secret just for him. you caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth — the smile he was fighting — before he let his knee bump lightly against yours under the table, a quiet, hidden way to feel you without making it obvious to everyone else in the room.

you lowered your head, pretending to stay focused on the pc, but your chest was buzzing. you could feel the weight of morgan’s gaze still lingering on you, heavy and fond, like he was memorizing you right there in that chair.

you felt morgan’s knee brush against yours, his hand resting lightly on your thigh for just a second before pulling back when yahya shifted behind you. you tried to stay focused on the project in front of you, but you could feel morgan’s eyes burning into the side of your face, like he was fighting the urge to say something more.

then — footsteps echoed down the hall.

you quickly straightened up, pretending to be busy clicking through files, as max came walking back into the room, wiping his hands on his pants.

his eyes immediately caught the two of you sitting a little too close together.

he slowed his steps, eyebrows slightly raised, but didn’t say anything at first.

he walked past you both, grabbing his headset again.

“y’all look comfortable,” he joked lightly, a little grin tugging at his mouth as he sat back down.

your cheeks flushed hot, but you forced a laugh, pretending to mess with the volume knobs.

“ready when you are,” you said quickly, avoiding eye contact.

morgan just smirked to himself, leaning back into the couch like he hadn’t been caught at all.

max shook his head, chuckling under his breath before adjusting the mic stand.

“ight, let’s get back to it.”

you tried to focus as max got back in the booth, your hands busy on the board, but you could feel it — the tension in the room shifted. morgan leaned back casually, scrolling on his phone, acting like nothing was wrong, but max kept stealing glances at the two of you between takes.

finally, after he stumbled on a line and cursed under his breath, he pulled the headset off and stepped out of the booth, a little too quick.

“yo, hold up,” he said, nodding toward morgan. “can i talk to you real quick?”

morgan looked up, confused. “what’s up?”

“outside,” max said, already heading toward the door that led to the backyard.

morgan sighed like he knew he wasn’t getting out of this, flashing you a small look before getting up and following him.

you sat frozen in your seat, heart pounding.

you could hear their voices just a little through the door:

“bro what the fuck are you doing?” max’s voice was low, but sharp.

“what you mean?” morgan answered, trying to play dumb.

“you know what i mean,” max snapped. “she’s working, bro. that’s mad unprofessional. i bring her in to help and you’re over here tryna bag her mid-session?”

“max,” morgan said, and you could hear the tiredness in his voice. “i’m not trying to ‘bag’ her.”

there was a pause.

“we’ve been dating,” morgan finally admitted. “its been almost a year and a half.”

silence.

then max’s voice again, quieter now. “…wait, what?”

“yeah. since january 2024,” morgan said. “we kept it low-key. didn’t wanna make shit weird.”

another heavy pause.

then, almost comically:

“man, what the fuck,” max said, sounding way less angry now. “you had me thinking you were being weird as hell.”

morgan laughed a little. “nah, bro. she’s… she’s mine. for real.”

you sank back into your seat, cheeks burning but smiling to yourself.

after a minute, they both walked back in — morgan looking smug, max shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it.

“next time tell me so i don’t think you’re tryna pull some sick producer-rizz shit mid recording,” max said, pointing at morgan as he sat back down.

then he turned to you, half-smiling. “and you — you coulda warned me too.”

you laughed, finally relaxing again. “sorry, max.”

“nah it’s all good,” he said, picking up his headset. “as long as y’all don’t start making out while i’m tryna cut vocals, we’re cool.”

morgan just grinned at you, that same teasing look in his eyes you’d seen earlier — like this was only the beginning of what he had planned once the session ended.

(not proofread!!!)

finally done with this batch of requests, ima open request but i probably won’t start them until the end of this week!

please be descriptive on what plot you want for the fic!

request more ronnn i literally love him ;-;

ALSO I WRITE FOR ALL OF FAZE INCLUDING PRODUCTION, (kani, yahya, bepsy, addison, pierce, taav, ray & more!!)

[mollymargiela]

request: Faze boys body shame Lacy so he goes to you for comfort

lacy = red

reader = pink

warnings: body shaming (mentioned), insecurity, comfort/hurt/comfort themes, & crying.

you could tell something was off the second nick stepped through the front door.

normally, he’d come in loud—shouting out some joke from the car ride home or teasing you for whatever show you had on. he always had something to say about ron talking with food in his mouth, or max rage-quitting a game like it personally betrayed him. but tonight, he was quiet. too quiet.

“hey,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. his voice was strained. tired.

he kicked off his sneakers without looking up, the laces dragging limply across the floor. his hoodie hung off one shoulder, the fabric bunched up like he’d been tugging on the sleeves the whole drive. without another word, he collapsed onto the couch like gravity was pulling him harder than usual, head leaning back against the cushion, eyes fixed on the ceiling like he was anywhere but here.

you followed him slowly, the soft patter of your socks against the hardwood the only sound filling the space between you. your heart ached just watching him—he looked like someone who’d spent the day swallowing things he never wanted to taste.

“nick?” you said gently, sitting beside him, knees brushing. “what happened?”

he didn’t look at you. didn’t even flinch. just kept staring ahead, jaw tight, knuckles white from how hard he was rubbing his hands together.

“it’s nothing,” he said finally, voice flat.

but you knew him. knew the way his voice dipped when he was lying. the way he couldn’t meet your eyes when something got to him.

“baby,” you said, softer now. you reached out, your fingers curling around his arm, warm and steady. “don’t do that. talk to me.”

his breath hitched, just for a second. then he dropped his head into his hands, elbows on his knees.

“they were just… messing around,” he muttered, voice muffled by his palms. “talking shit. saying i don’t look like a streamer. max made some joke about me always showing up in baggy fits ‘cause i’m trying to hide my stomach. jason laughed. ron said something about me needing to ‘hit the gym with silky.’”

he paused, swallowing hard.

“and adapt didn’t say anything. just sat there. let it happen.”

your blood ran cold. your stomach twisted.

you moved closer, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from the side, your cheek pressing against his. “that’s not okay,” you whispered.

“i know,” he said, voice cracking. “but it still got to me. i hate that it does. i hate that i let it stick.”

he turned his face toward you then, and your heart shattered at the glossy sheen in his eyes.

“i just feel like no matter what i do, i’m never enough,” he said quietly. “not for them. not for anyone.”

you cupped his face gently, thumb brushing a tear before it could fall. “that’s not true,” you said, firm and soft all at once. “nick, you are more than enough. just as you are.”

he looked away like he couldn’t believe it—not yet.

you leaned in, making him meet your gaze. “i see someone strong. someone who cares so deeply it hurts. who lights up every room he walks into without even trying. who works harder than anyone and never asks for credit. you don’t have to shrink yourself to fit their version of you.”

his lip trembled. “and… you don’t think i’m too much?”

“never,” you said, brushing your fingers through his curls. “i love you for all that you are. your mind. your heart. your body too. not because it fits anyone else’s standard—but because it’s yours. it’s you.”

his breath shook as he let himself fall into you, arms locking tight around your waist, his face hidden in your neck.

“thank you,” he whispered. “i needed to hear that.”

“i know,” you murmured back, stroking slow circles on his back. “i’ve got you. always.”

and in that moment, the weight pressing down on him began to lift—slowly, but surely—because he knew that in your arms, he was safe.

(not proofread!!!)

short one, i love lacy hes so cute :))

[mollymargiela]

request: Adapt fluff dating a pro call of duty player and comforting her after a loss 🫶🏼🫶🏼

adapt = red

reader = pink

warnings: some crying & comforting!

your shared apartment was a quiet haven after the chaos of the day, the soft glow of string lights along the living room walls casting a warm ambiance, the faint hum of the city outside filtering through the windows, a stark contrast to the intensity of your latest pro call of duty match, the final score still seared into your mind—a crushing loss that had knocked your team out of the tournament, the kind of defeat that hit hard, not just because of the stakes, but because you’d poured everything into it, hours of practice, strategy sessions, and mental prep, all for nothing.

you sat at your gaming setup in the corner of the living room, your custom rgb-lit keyboard dimmed, your monitor still displaying the match results, your headset resting on the desk, your hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline crash, the weight of the loss settling heavy in your chest, your mind replaying every missed shot, every failed push, the stream’s chat likely exploding with criticism you couldn’t bear to look at, the disappointment making your eyes sting with unshed tears.

adapt had been watching the match from his own gaming setup across the room, his dual monitors flickering with discord and a paused stream, his chair swiveled to face you, his usual laid-back vibe a comforting presence even as the tension of the game had kept him quiet, his eyes flicking between your screen and you, reading your every reaction, knowing how much this meant to you as a pro player, how hard you’d worked to get to this level, the faze clan support behind you only adding to the pressure, even from a distance.

your setups were a reflection of your shared passion—yours with a sleek, minimalist design, a pro-grade mouse and mechanical keyboard tailored for precision, while adapt’s was more chaotic, littered with faze merch, snack wrappers, and a custom controller he’d been testing for content, the two stations a testament to how gaming had brought you together, now a shared space in your cozy apartment, framed photos of you both on the walls, a blanket draped over the couch, the intimacy of the space amplifying the moment.

“y/n—” he started, voice soft, pushing his chair back and crossing the room to you, his hand immediately finding yours, fingers interlocking, his touch gentle but firm, “you did amazing out there,” his tone warm, his thumb rubbing slow circles on the back of your hand, trying to ground you as you stared at your monitor, your jaw tight, “i know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you were killing it—those snipes in the second round? unreal,” his words were sincere, his laid-back charm shining through as he tried to lift your spirits, his other hand grabbing at your shoulder, pulling you into his side, the familiar way he always needed to touch you making you feel a little less alone, even as the loss clawed at you, the quiet of your apartment—your shared sanctuary with its mismatched furniture, a shelf of gaming trophies, and the hum of your pcs—wrapping you in a sense of safety, even now.

“we still lost,” you muttered, voice thick, the tears you’d been holding back starting to spill over, hot and fast, “i let everyone down—the team, the fans, faze—i choked,” your words were raw, the pressure of being a pro call of duty player crashing down, the weight of expectations making your chest tight, your hands shaking as you wiped at your eyes, “i should’ve been better,” you added, voice breaking, the defeat replaying in your mind, the missed opportunities, the moment you’d hesitated, costing your team the round, the guilt eating at you, making you feel small, unworthy of the pro title you’d fought so hard for, the glow of your rgb setup casting faint colors across your tear-streaked face, the quiet hum of adapt’s pc in the background a reminder of the life you’d built together, now a backdrop to your pain.

“hey—no, don’t say that,” adapt’s voice was firm, but gentle, his hand sliding to cup your face, turning you to look at him, his eyes soft, full of love, “you didn’t let anyone down—you gave it everything, i saw it, everyone saw it,” his tone was steady, his thumb brushing away a tear, “losses happen, babe—it’s part of the game, doesn’t mean you’re not incredible,” his words were a quiet anchor, his touch grounding you, his presence a reminder that you weren’t alone in this, his gaming chair creaking slightly as he leaned closer, his other hand grabbing at your waist, pulling you out of your chair and into his lap, the warmth of him contrasting with the cool air of the apartment, the soft glow of your setups casting a gentle light over you both.

“it doesn’t feel like that,” you whispered, voice shaky, leaning into his touch, your head resting on his shoulder, the tears falling freely now, “i wanted this so bad—for us, for faze,” your voice cracked, the weight of the loss mixing with the exhaustion of the tournament, the long hours, the pressure, all hitting you at once, making you feel raw, vulnerable, the pro gaming world’s harshness taking its toll, the quiet of your apartment making your emotions feel even louder, the hum of your pcs a soft reminder of the passion that usually brought you joy, now tainted by defeat.

“i know you did,” adapt murmured, voice low, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close, “but you’re more than one match—you’re a pro for a reason, y/n, you’re one of the best, and faze knows it, i know it,” his hand rubbed slow circles on your back, his other hand grabbing at your thigh, his touchy nature a comfort, his lips brushing your forehead, soft, lingering, “and i’m so proud of you—always,” his tone was full of love, his embrace warm, safe, the apartment’s cozy details—the blanket on the couch, the trophy shelf with both your names, the faint glow of your setups—fading into the background, the sting of the loss softening under his care.

“thanks, alex,” you mumbled, voice thick with emotion, burying your face in his chest, his heartbeat steady under your cheek, his warmth easing the ache in your chest, “i just—i hate losing,” you admitted, voice small, your hands clinging to him, needing the comfort, the reassurance, the love he always gave so freely, his laid-back vibe making it easy to let your guard down, to let him see you like this, raw and hurting, the glow of his monitor casting faint blue light across the room, a reminder of the gaming world you both lived in, now a space for healing.

“i know, babe—i hate seeing you hurt,” he whispered, voice soft, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, “but you’re not alone in this—we’re a team, you and me, and faze has your back,” his tone was reassuring, his lips brushing your temple, then your cheek, soft kisses that made you feel cherished, “let’s forget the match for tonight—let me take care of you,” his voice was a quiet promise, his arms tightening around you, holding you closer, his touch a constant reminder of his love, the loss still there, but smaller now, less overwhelming, with him by your side in the quiet of your shared apartment, your gaming setups a silent testament to your shared passion, now a backdrop to your love.

you nodded, voice too shaky to speak, letting him hold you, his hands grabbing at you gently, one resting on your thigh, the other rubbing your back, his touch grounding you, his presence a balm to the sting of defeat, the apartment’s warmth—the blanket on the couch, the photos of you both on the walls, the soft hum of your pcs—wrapping you in comfort, the pro call of duty world’s harshness fading, just for a little while, in the warmth of his embrace.

(not proofread!!)

i lowkey miss black long hair adapt when it was messy it looked so good like omgoshhh.