sofiasworld00

[sofiasworld00]

Maybe you could write like reader teasing rafe but he doesn’t want to f ck because he has a girlfriend and then him giving in the end

THE EVENING WAS quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the odd chirp of crickets outside the window. The bedroom had a faint smell of salt air and the coconut-scented candle flickering on the dresser, its warm glow casting a halo of light across the room. The bed, on the other hand, was a mess of tangled sheets and pillows, evidence of too many late nights spent sprawled out, talking or laughing or just existing in your orbit.

Rafe Cameron was there now, stretched out across the mattress, one arm bent behind his head, the other holding his phone as he scrolled absently. His sneakers were kicked off by the door, his navy T-shirt slightly rumpled, and his hair was just messy enough to suggest he’d been running his hands through it.

You’d known Rafe since you were kids, back when you were all scraped knees and sunburns, racing bikes down the sun-bleached streets of Figure Eight. He was the Kook prince, all charm and chaos, while you were the girl who’d call him on his bullshit without hesitation. You were loud, unfiltered, the kind of person who’d laugh too loudly at a bad joke or throw a punch if someone crossed a line.

Over the years, your friendship had grown into something deeper, something unspoken. There were moments—his hand lingering on your lower back as he guided you through a crowded party, the way his eyes would catch yours across a bonfire, holding a beat too long—that made it clear you weren’t just friends. Not really. But neither of you had ever crossed that line, always stopping short, always leaving the tension to simmer.

Things had changed, though. Rafe had a girlfriend now. Sofia. She was soft and sweet, with wide eyes and a smile that could disarm anyone. She was the kind of girl who’d apologize for swearing, who’d blush when she tripped over her own feet. She was nothing like you, and maybe that was the point.

Rafe had been trying to clean up his act lately—fewer fights, less coke, no more nights disappearing into the kind of trouble that left bruises for days. Sofia was part of that, his attempt at something stable, something good. You didn’t resent her, not exactly. She was too kind for that. But every time you saw her tucked against his side, her delicate fingers laced through his, a sharp twist of something you didn’t want to name coiled in your chest.

Tonight, though, it was just you and Rafe. He’d shown up at your place an hour ago, unannounced, like he always did. “Bored,” he’d said, leaning against your doorframe with that lazy grin that still made your stomach flip sometimes. You didn’t ask why he wasn’t with Sofia.

You didn’t care. You’d let him in, handed him a beer from the fridge, and the two of you had settled into the easy rhythm of your friendship—talking about nothing and everything, the way you always did.

You were in the shower now, the hot water beating against your shoulders, washing away the salt and sand from an afternoon at the beach. You could still hear Rafe’s voice through the thin bathroom door, muffled but distinct, probably complaining about something Topper had done or laughing at a dumb meme.

The sound was comforting, familiar, like the background noise of your life. You turned off the water, letting the steam curl around you as you stepped out, reaching for a towel. Your eyes caught on the black lace lingerie set folded neatly on the counter.

You’d bought it on impulse last week, drawn to the way it looked both delicate and dangerous, like it could be a weapon if you wielded it right. You hadn’t planned on wearing it tonight, but as you stood there, water dripping onto the tile, an idea took shape.

You weren’t Sofia. You didn’t do soft or sweet or innocent. You were all sharp edges and bold words, and maybe that was why Rafe kept coming back to you, even now. You slipped into the lingerie, the lace cool against your still-damp skin, hugging your curves in a way that made you feel powerful. The bra was sheer, barely containing you, and the panties left little to imagination.

You glanced at yourself in the foggy mirror, your hair falling in damp waves over your shoulders, your skin flushed from the heat. You didn’t look innocent. You looked like trouble, and you were more than okay with that.

You didn’t bother with a robe. Instead, you opened the bathroom door and stepped into the hallway, the cool air hitting your skin as you padded toward your bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and you could see Rafe still sprawled on your bed, his phone now resting on his chest as he stared at the ceiling, one hand still behind his head. You pushed the door open, the soft creak making him glance over.

His eyes landed on you, and for a moment, he didn’t move. His gaze swept over you—slow, deliberate, starting at your bare feet and moving up your legs, lingering on the lace before finally meeting your eyes. His jaw tightened, and he sat up slightly, his phone forgotten as it slid onto the bed. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low, a little rough, like he was trying to keep it neutral but failing.

You tilted your head, letting a small, innocent smile play on your lips. “Just got out of the shower,” you said, your tone light, casual, as you crossed the room to your dresser. You turned your back to him, pretending to rummage through a drawer for something to wear, but you knew exactly what you were doing.

The way the lace hugged your hips, the way the straps of the bra slid just so against your shoulders—it was all calculated, and you could feel his eyes on you, heavy and unyielding.

“Put some clothes on,” he said, his voice tighter now, like he was forcing the words out. You glanced over your shoulder, catching the way his hands were clenched at his sides, the way his chest rose and fell just a little faster than usual.

“Why?” you asked, turning to face him fully, leaning back against the dresser with your hands braced behind you. The movement pushed your chest out slightly, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked downward before he caught himself. “It’s just us. You’ve seen me in a bikini before. This isn’t much different.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a lot fucking different, and you know it,” he said, his voice low, almost a warning. He shifted on the bed, like he was trying to put some distance between you without actually moving. “You can’t just…walk around like that.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping away from the dresser and moving toward the bed, your movements slow and deliberate. “Like what?” you asked, your voice soft but laced with a challenge. You stopped at the foot of the bed, close enough that you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the mattress.

He didn’t answer right away, just stared at you, his eyes dark and conflicted. You could see the war playing out in his head—the part of him that wanted to be good, to be loyal to Sofia, battling the part of him that had always been drawn to you, to the fire you carried, to the way you never let him hide.

“You’re making this hard,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, almost defeated.

You climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged a safe distance away, but close enough that the air between you felt charged. “I’m not doing anything,” you said, your tone light but your eyes locked on his. “Just sitting here, Rafe. What’s got you so worked up?”

He exhaled sharply, leaning back against the headboard, his hands scrubbing over his face like he was trying to wake himself up from a dream. “You know what,” he muttered, his voice muffled by his hands before he dropped them to his lap, looking at you with something like frustration and hunger mixed together. “You always do this. You push and you push, and you know exactly what it does to me.”

You tilted your head, letting your hair fall over one shoulder, the movement slow and deliberate. “Do I?” you asked, your voice sweeter now, almost teasing, but not over the top.

You weren’t trying to play a caricature; you were just being you, the version of you that had always known how to get under his skin. “I’m just being myself, Rafe. If that’s too much for you, you can leave.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might actually get up and walk out. But he didn’t. He stayed right there, his gaze locked on yours, his body tense like a coiled spring. “You’re not fair,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “You know I’m trying to be better. For her.”

“Sofia,” you said, her name slipping out like a blade, sharp but quiet. You leaned forward slightly, resting your hands on your knees, the lace shifting just enough to draw his attention. “She’s sweet, isn’t she? So good for you. So… safe.”

He flinched, just barely, but you caught it. “Don’t,” he said, his voice tight, but there was no real anger behind it. Just conflict. “She’s good. She’s… she doesn’t deserve this.”

You nodded, like you were considering his words, but you didn’t back off. Instead, you shifted closer, just a little, your knee brushing against his leg. The contact was fleeting, but you saw the way his breath hitched, the way his hands twitched like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t trust himself. “You’re right,” you said, your voice softer now, almost sincere. “She doesn’t. But you’re here, Rafe. Not with her. With me.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. You could see the struggle in him, the way he was trying so hard to hold onto the version of himself he was building with Sofia—the version that didn’t lose control, that didn’t give in to the chaos you represented. But you also saw the way his gaze kept slipping, the way his body leaned toward you, just slightly, like he couldn’t help it.

You moved closer, slow and careful, not wanting to spook him. You knelt in front of him now, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the salt of the ocean. “Tell me you don’t feel this,” you said, your voice low, almost a whisper. “Tell me you don’t think about me when you’re with her.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away, his hands fisting in the sheets. “You’re not playing fair,” he said, his voice rough, like he was fighting to keep it steady.

“I don’t play fair,” you said, leaning in just a little closer, your lips inches from his ear. “You know that. You’ve always known that.”

He turned his head, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see every flicker of emotion in them—guilt, desire, frustration, need. The air between you was thick, heavy with years of unspoken want, and you could feel the weight of it pressing against your skin.

Your breath caught as he leaned in, just a fraction, his lips so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath, the faint tang of beer still lingering. You didn’t move, didn’t dare break the spell, letting the moment stretch out, taut and fragile.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or frantic, not at first. It was slow, deliberate, like he was testing the waters, like he was giving himself one last chance to pull back. His lips brushed against yours, soft but firm, tentative in a way that was so unlike the Rafe you knew—the one who took what he wanted without hesitation. You stayed still, letting him set the pace, letting him decide how far this would go.

His hand came up to your jaw, his fingers rough against your skin, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and you parted your lips just enough to invite him in, to let him know you weren’t pulling away.

He took the invitation, his tongue sliding against yours, slow and exploratory, like he was savoring every second. The kiss was warm, wet, a quiet intensity building as his other hand found your waist, his fingers digging into the soft skin just above the lace. You could feel the restraint in him, the way he was holding himself back, his touch careful but hungry, like he was afraid of what would happen if he let go completely. You leaned into him, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat under your palms, the heat of his body seeping through his shirt.

The kiss deepened, growing more urgent but still measured, each movement deliberate, like you were both memorizing the feel of it. His lips moved against yours with a rhythm that felt almost instinctive, a push and pull that matched the years of tension you’d both carried.

You nipped at his bottom lip, just enough to make him groan softly, the sound vibrating against your mouth. His hand slid up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, his fingers brushing against the delicate straps of your bra, and you felt the way his breath hitched, the way his body tensed under your touch.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and his lips were slightly swollen, glistening in the dim light. You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, the way his chest rose and fell unevenly, like he was trying to anchor himself. “We shouldn’t,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper, but his hands didn’t move from your body, didn’t let you go.

You tilted your head, your lips brushing against his again, not quite a kiss but close enough to make him shudder. “Then stop,” you whispered, your voice soft but laced with challenge, your breath mingling with his.

He didn’t stop. Instead, he kissed you again, slower this time, his lips lingering on yours like he was trying to commit the moment to memory. His hand slid into your hair, his fingers tangling in the damp strands, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, giving him better access.

The kiss was deep, consuming, but still restrained, like he was pouring all his want into it but holding back the desperation you both knew was there. Your hands slid under his shirt, your nails grazing the taut skin of his abdomen, and he sucked in a sharp breath, his lips faltering against yours for just a moment before he dove back in, kissing you harder, needier, but still slow, still controlled.

You could feel the tension in him, the way he was fighting himself, fighting the pull of you. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, teasing, and you opened for him, letting him taste you, letting him feel the way you melted into him. The kiss stretched on, minutes bleeding together, each touch of his lips, each slide of his tongue, building the heat between you until it was almost unbearable.

Your hands roamed higher, pushing his shirt up, exposing more of his skin, and his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

Finally, you pulled back, both of you breathing heavily, your lips tingling, your heart pounding in your chest. His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closed, his breath ragged. “This is so fucked up,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, his hands still holding you like he couldn’t let go. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“But you are,” you said, your voice low, a little smug but not cruel. You kissed his jaw, your teeth grazing his skin, and he let out a shaky breath. “And you want to.”

You pushed him back, pinning his wrists lightly against the headboard, your body still pressed against his. “Let me take care of you,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. “You don’t have to think about her. Just me.”

He groaned, his head falling back as you kissed your way down his neck, your lips leaving a trail of heat against his skin. You could feel how much he wanted you, could see it in the way his body trembled under your touch, and it only fueled your confidence.

You slid lower, your hands working at the button of his jeans, and he didn’t stop you. He didn’t even try.

When you finally freed him, he was hard and heavy in your hand, and the sound he made when you touched him was enough to make your head spin. You didn’t waste time, leaning down to take him in your mouth, but he grabbed your shoulders, stopping you.

“No,” he said, his voice rough, almost frantic. “I need—fuck, I need to taste you.”

You raised an eyebrow, sitting back on your heels as you studied him. His face was flushed, his eyes dark with want, and you could see how much it was costing him to hold back. “You sure about that, Cameron?” you asked, your voice teasing but soft, as you hooked your thumbs under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs with agonizing slowness. “You think you can handle it?”

He didn’t answer, just grabbed your hips and pulled you toward him, his mouth finding the inside of your thigh as he kissed his way up. The first touch of his tongue against you made you gasp, your hands fisting in his hair as he licked and sucked with a desperation that bordered on pathetic.

He was needy, sloppy, his hands gripping your thighs like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. You moaned, loud and unashamed, your hips grinding against his mouth as he worked you over, his tongue moving with a hunger that made your head spin.

“Look at you,” you murmured, your voice breathy but smug as you looked down at him, at the way his lips were slick, his eyes half-lidded with lust. “So fucking desperate for me.”

He groaned against you, the vibration sending a shockwave through your body, and you couldn’t help the cocky grin that spread across your face. “You’re so pathetic,” you teased, your fingers tightening in his hair as you rocked against him. “Trying so hard to be good, but you’re eating me out like you’re fucking starving.”

He didn’t respond, just doubled his efforts, his tongue moving faster, more precise, until you were trembling above him, your thighs shaking as you teetered on the edge. You came with a loud, shameless moan, your body arching against his mouth as he held you through it, his hands bruising your hips with the force of his grip.

When you finally collapsed back onto the bed, panting and flushed, he crawled up beside you, his lips glistening, his eyes wild. “Fuck… that was- shit…,” he muttered, his voice caught in his throat, and you just laughed, rolling onto your side to face him.

“I know,” you said, your voice low and teasing as you reached for him again. “Maybe I should just ruin you for anyone else.”

And as his hands found you again, pulling you close, you knew you already had.

[sofiasworld00]

housewife!reader shaving ceo!rafe while pregnant

rafe was standing between your legs, blue eyes focused on you, your tongue peeking out in focus, “why are you watching me?” you mumbled softly, focusing on the man in front of you, making sure you didn’t cut him as you shaved his stubble.

��‘cause you’re fucking gorgeous.” rafe grumbled, squeezing your waist, your cheeks feeling warm from his compliment, “don’t curse in front of the baby.” you stroked the prominent bump, “you’re too cheesy.”

“the baby can’t hear me yet.” rafe grinned, “if he could, he’d know about all the dirty things daddy does—“

your hand darted over rafe’s mouth before he could finish his sentence; “it’s creepy when you refer to yourself as daddy, rafe.”

your husband rolled his eyes, his hand stroking your bump. “daddy can’t wait to meet you…”

“rafe!” you groaned, purposefully cutting his face with the razor.

[sofiasworld00]

⋆˚࿔ thinking about kook!rafe before bed

you were already curled up under the blankets, knees tucked to your chest, hair a little messy from the shower you’d taken earlier. your laptop was propped on the nightstand, paused halfway through an episode of whatever show rafe pretended not to like but still got invested in. he was sprawled next to you, shirtless because he always complained you kept the room too warm. his arm was tossed over your waist, his thumb rubbing lazy circles against the fabric of your tank top. he wasn’t even paying attention to the screen—he was watching you.

“what?” you muttered, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“you’re ignoring me,” he said, like you’d committed an actual crime.

“i’m watching,” you defended.

“nah, you’re zoning out. i can tell.” he shifted closer, his leg brushing yours under the blanket. “what’s going on in that head, pretty girl?”

you rolled your eyes, because he always called you that when he wanted to distract you. “nothing. just… thinking.”

“thinking about me?” his mouth curved in a smug smile, the kind that made you want to hit him and kiss him at the same time.

“no,” you lied easily, grabbing the little jar of your laneige lip mask from the nightstand.

he eyed it suspiciously. “what’s that shit you put on your face every night?”

“it’s my lip mask,” you said, unscrewing the lid. “laneige. makes them soft.”

“is that the one that makes you taste like gummy bears?”

you laughed, scooping a small amount on your nail. “no, that’s my purple one. this one’s vanilla.”

he tilted his head, still staring like he was trying to figure it out. “can i try?”

you didn’t even think twice. “sure.”

you reached toward him, about to smear it across his lips, but he caught your wrist halfway. “no—i mean, like this.”

before you could ask, his hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face toward his. and then he kissed you.

“rafe—” you started when he pulled back, but he cut you off with another kiss, slower this time.

“wait,” he murmured, barely giving you space to breathe. “i don’t think i got enough.”

you huffed a laugh, pushing at his chest. “you’re so annoying.”

“nah,” he said, kissing you again, smiling against your mouth. “just making sure, baby. might need… one more. for research.”

and he kept doing it—coming up with the dumbest excuses each time. “needed to check the flavor.” “think i missed a spot.” “hold still, i’m serious this time.” each one followed by another lingering kiss, his thumb brushing over your cheek, his body inching closer until your legs were tangled under the blanket.

©DREWSSGIRL 𖦹 est. 2025 — please do not copy, translate or repost my work as your own, thank you!

[sofiasworld00]

can we please get some Alfie smut

maybe reader is staying at the grotto for the week….. all the different places they do it through out the grotto

SWITCHING UP POSITIONS ── a.buttle ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : every moment and place you and alfie had sex in the week that you were visiting him before going on holiday notes : i’m so attracted to him i can’t deal with it — i did do something similar to this already in this post, but i don’t mind expanding on my thoughts😋 — i did this more as a headcanon style rather than telling a whole story just because it was easier for me xx content : established relationship ,, unprotected sex ,, oral (m & f!receiving) ,, multiple positions ,, dumbification kink ,, oral fixation at some points ,, kind of somnophilia at the end?? ,, dom!alfie taglist : @italianclarke @clarkeyscherry @sdmnpact @wherethezoes-at @bambidollstar @luvdixon @willnees

༊*·˚

The moment he found out you were staying a week before going away, he cancelled any plans he had already. Going to London? Not anymore. Got a pod? Sorry, gotta push it back. He was ready to give you his full, undivided attention all week.

༊*·˚

In the living room, you never really have sex. There just isn’t a lot of space for Alfie to fit reclined or on top of you on the sofa, so it tends to be sloppy make out sessions and oral.

1) You were on your knees on the floor while he sat on the couch. ‘Fuck, you’re good with your tongue, girl.’ Alfie groaned as your tongue swirled around him while he was buried deep in your throat.

2) ‘Oh- Oh- Alfie—“ You whimpered, slumped against the back of the sofa, your legs hanging over his shoulders. His lips were sucking on your clit firmly, leaving your legs shaking around his head.

If you do have sex in the living room, you’re on top of him, cowgirl or reverse cowgirl. Cowgirl was used for late night, lazy, cant-be-arsed-to-walk-to-the-bedroom sex, usually while he was gaming and you were desperate.

You sat on top of him, his cock nestled snugly within you while your cheek rested on his shoulder, breath hitting his neck as you whimpered, rocking back and forth, lifting up and coming down. His arms were around your hips as he played video games, occasionally bucking up into you.

If a cut scene was playing and he didn’t need to use the controller, he’d bring two fingers to your mouth, letting you suck on them.

Reverse cowgirl was for when you just wanted a switch up. You liked the way his arms would wrap around you from behind, pinching your nipples or rubbing your clit or keeping you firmly pressed back against him.

“Yes! Fuck!” You cried out, rising up and slamming back down quickly as you chased your impending orgasm.

Trying to draw out the moment as much as possible, he held your hips in place and began thrusting up sharply and quickly, leaving you breathless.

“Fucking needy girl, huh? Just needed some dick to calm you down.” He grunted down your ear while relentlessly rubbing your clit.

༊*·˚

The kitchen is an obvious example of somewhere you have sex. Bending you over the counter while somethings in the oven. It’s either quick and leaves you trembling for more, or slow and your dinner ends up burnt but you’re still trembling anyway. He does it in the most inconspicuous way as well. He’ll approach you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and innocently peppering kisses along your neck. Before you know it, your chest is pressed against the wooden counter top and your knickers are at your ankles.

“Alf! The dinner!” You gasped as your fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.

His thrusts were ruthless, hip bones slamming roughly into your ass cheeks. He was definitely admiring the jiggle.

“You want me to stop?” He paused. You didn’t even have to say anything.

The way you clenched around him, desperately sucking him back in, said it all.

“No- No- Please—“ You managed to stutter out, reaching a hand back to bring him closer.

“‘S what I thought.” He chuckled before resuming his brutal pace, taking your hand and pinning it to your lower back.

༊*·˚

The dining room was reserved for slow make outs with you propped on the table, his lips thrusting slow and deep, or him lazily eating you out as you were spread across it like a meal. Your arms hung over his shoulders, pads of your fingers pressing firmly into the skin on his back with your legs locked over his hips.

“Oh, shit, you’re so deep.” You panted against his lips, briefly looking down at where he was penetrating you.

His hand wrapped gently around your neck again, tilting your head up to kiss you once more. Alfies tongue slid deliciously against your own while his fingers squeezed your pressure points just right, making your head spin with a dazed smile.

He dragged out and pushed back in, hissing at the tightness, “Fucking squeezing me like I’m gonna disappear, ‘coz you’re greedy aren’t you? Say it.”

You stammer out the words he wants you to say, leaning back on your elbows. His thumb found your clit, grazing over it gently. Your head fell back between your shoulder blades as you let out breathy moans. He reached forward with his free hand, tugging your tank top down and freeing a tit so he could toy with your nipple.

༊*·˚

In the shower it really depends on your mood. If you’re feeling lazy, he’ll have you pinned against the wall, legs around his waist while he fucks you against it. But, if you feel like appeasing to him, you let him fuck you from behind, arms locked at your back so you can’t squirm.

1) “Feelin’ lazy today?” Alfie hummed, eyes trained on the way your breasts bounced with each thrust, your eyes locked down on him as you whimpered and nodded.

“Wanted to let you—“

“Nah, you wanted to sit there and do nothing, hm?” He acts bothered, but he’s really not. He’s just playing the part. Scolding you, making you clench around him at his patronising words because you just loved it so much.

But then he’d kiss you like he was taking it all back, because you meant the world to him, and even though he was dumbing you down for your own pleasure, he needed you to know that he still loved you.

2) Your legs were trembling, threatening to give out as he rammed into you from behind. You let out sharp, high-pitched gasps as your fists clenched from where he was holding your wrists behind you.

At first you’d squirmed, tried to let him give you the ability to grasp onto something again, but then you let it go. You let him take the lead. You trusted him to hold you up at all times, and he did.

The lewd noise of your wetness squelching between your legs as he fucked you deeply was dulled down due to the loud shower, much to Alfie’s dismay. His hand was around your throat again, two fingers hooked into your lower jaw, making it hang open while your tongue swirled around them, moaning and drooling.

༊*·˚

Very random place but the fields around the back of the grotto. You were just on a walk on a particularly hot day, wearing a mini skirt that just about covered what it needed to and a tube top that did the same. The pair of you decided to just sit in a field and talk for a little while. That was until you ended up on your back, hair sprawled out amongst the grass beneath you and your skirt bunched up around your hips.

“Shit, couldn’t hold back, angel.” Alfie cursed lowly as he thrust into you, keeping one hand hooked under your knee to hold it up so he was hitting deeper.

“Feels so good, Alf.” You panted, nails taking down his back.

༊*·˚

In the bedroom, everything happens. Every position. Foreplay and actual penetrative sex. He severely enjoys missionary, just being face to face with you and getting to see every little change in your expression while making subtle adjustments to make the experience that much better. Taking your leg and putting it over his shoulder, bringing your knees up to your chest, keeping them spread open and pinning your thighs to the mattress. Loves overstimulating you in missionary, switching between fingering you and fucking you is his favourite.

“You can take it. Atta girl.” Alfie groaned, large hands splayed on your thighs to keep them apart while your whole body jolted with the force of his thrusts.

Your tits bounced wildly in his face, and he came down, sucking one nipple into his mouth. Your hands tugged at the curls on the back of his head as a string of moans uncontrollably left your mouth.

Just as you came around his cock, his thumb strummed your clit to help you ride it out. Once you had passed the high, his fingers were drilling into you, curling and hitting all the right spots.

Doggy style, duh. The man is obsessed with the way your ass looks pushed high into the air while your back is arched perfectly. He once joked that he could use it as a ramp for his hot wheels and tech decks. You looked over your shoulder and glared at him after that, causing him to chuckle. He loves keeping a hand on the back of your head, hair entangled in his fingers so he can push it down or pull it up, depending on his mood. It’s usually up, because he just loves hearing you moan and cry out for him.

You didn’t know how long you’d been going for. You didn’t know how many times you’d came, or how many times he had. But you were still going. He was still going. You were practically flat at this point, chest pressed against the mattress as Alfie held you up by the stomach and hips, fucking you hard and deep. Your cheek was mashed into the pillow, drool darkening the fabric beneath you as you let out incoherent whines and whimpers.

He pulled you up by the neck, turning your head so he could kiss you. Your lips moved slowly and uncoordinatedly against his as he took control (as always).

“You good, angel?” He asked, smushing your cheeks together in his hand.

You nodded, getting out a breathy moan of his name before dropping forwards again, his hand landing a harsh slap on your ass cheek.

Sloppy morning makeout sessions are a must. In all honesty, Alfie had been acting like you were going to vanish off the face of the Earth. You were only going on a girls trip to Greece for two weeks, not voyaging every continent known to man. But, because he was seemingly under the impression that if he didn’t hold you enough, you’d disappear, he woke you up with neck and cheek kisses, which (when you came to) turned into lazy make out sessions full of lip biting and saliva connecting your lips together when you pulled away for air.

You loved making out with Alfie. It didn’t matter when or where, it was always perfect. Whether it was sloppy and needy or soft and delicate, it was heaven. The sound of your lip smacking filled the room, his hand under your sleep shorts as he lazily fingered you. His tongue caressed yours, merging your mouths to be one. You didn’t know where you started and where he ended in situations like these. You were basically glued together — but you were not complaining.

You gasped against his mouth as his palm kneaded your clit. He smirked, nipping your lower lip cheekily before continuing to sensually cement your lips to his.

“Love you, reader.”

“Love you too, Alf.” You grinned, panting as you came around his fingers.

[sofiasworld00]

CLUELESS 2 ── a.buttle ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : where you have to navigate being young and pregnant with the help of alfie notes : i am not trying to romanticise any of the mental health issues that come along with pregnancy, i just find the pregnancy depiction in fanfiction and books is usually very much smooth-sailing, and i wanted to show that it’s not always like that & there’s no talk of readers parents in this because i know everyone has different situations and not everyone has great parents x content : established relationship ,, pregnancy ,, angst ,, fluff ,, regret taglist : @italianclarke @clarkeyscherry @sdmnpact @wherethezoes-at @luvdixon @bambidollstar @willnees @bunbunbl0gs

─────── GOING TO THE doctors and having them confirm the pregnancy was one less weight off of your shoulders. You no longer had to worry about whether or not you were actually pregnant, you no longer had to worry about whether or not the tests were faulty, and you no longer had to worry about being unhealthy. The doctor had cleared everything over, telling you you were in good shape and everything was progressing as it should. The first few months were easy, besides the morning sickness and constant mood swings.

But that was then, and now you were in your second trimester. You now looked pregnant, and most definitely felt it. You swore you’d never had such an appetite before. You were waking up in the middle of the night, sweating from being so warm, and begging Alfie to go and buy you whatever you were craving.

And he did. Now without complaint. At first he was hesitant, asking you if you genuinely needed a microwaveable mac n cheese at two in the morning, but then he saw the tears blossoming in your eyes and he got up, kissing your forehead and then returning within thirty minutes, your requested meal in his hands.

Some days were really good, where the only downside was the back pain, and you would even feel the baby kick when it wanted. The first time that happened, you were on the toilet and you screamed. Alfie came rushing into the bathroom, pure panic written on his face. When you told him you felt the baby kick with watering eyes, he let out the deepest sigh of relief known to man and dropped to his knees before you, putting his hand where you gestured to.

the bad days ༊*·˚

However, with good days, came bad days, and they really seemed to be getting the best of you. Sometimes, you’d just lie in bed for hours on end, only getting up to go to the toilet. Other times, you’d break down in his arms first thing in the morning, stressing over ever little possibility that could happen.

“What if this was a mistake?” You croaked into the darkness of your shared bedroom one night.

You were on one side of the bed, Alfie on the other, giving you the space you needed and wanted. You heard the bedsheets shuffling as he rolled over, barely making out your features through the thin slip of moonlight peaking through the curtains.

“Do you regret keeping it?” He asked.

“… I don’t know.” You sniffled, feeling like a horrible person for even contemplating the possibility of if you hadn’t agreed to keep it.

“C’mere.” He sighed, opening his arms.

You shuffled into them, burying your face into his chest and letting your tears roll down your screwed up face and soak into his skin.

He held you every time without hesitation, cradling you to his chest and not saying anything. Just letting you get it out of your system. He knew these weren’t mood swings anymore. They passed along with the first trimester. These were your genuine emotions shining through and breaking you down.

You would cover your head and face with your arms, as if you were trying to block out the rest of the world and hide within yourself, but he pulled you out each time.

“I don’t wanna die!” You’d wail loudly, and he’d double his strength around you while being wary of the baby.

“You won’t, angel. You’ll be okay. I promise you. It’ll all be okay.” Alfie would reassure you.

Every. Single. Time.

“I feel ugly.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“I’ve put on so much weight.”

“You’re bringing a life into this world. I don’t care. You’re carrying our baby. Your body is doing mental things right now.”

“What if something bad happens?”

“Then we’ll deal with it, if it happens.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“Reader, I will never, ever leave you. Not right now, not when our baby’s born, not when our baby’s a snotty little toddler that cries every night because they can’t have cuddles. I will be here every step of the way.”

Alfie had put off a lot of things for you. But he didn’t blame you for them, not one bit. He’d been invited to two brand trips with YoungLA, and had turned them both down. He was fully willing to go, but when he saw your crushed expression when he’d told you, he knew he couldn’t leave you at home on your own.

He’d also had a lot of phone calls with his mum, mainly asking what the fuck he’s supposed to do in certain situations and how to deal with this, that and the other. On the days when your back was killing and you couldn’t be bothered to cook, you two would go and have dinner with his mum.

She was incredibly supportive, always greeting you with a great big smile and a hug. She knew what it was like, after all.

“You ever need a day away from him, you let me know.” She would say at dinner, patting your knee.

Alfie didn’t vlog much during your pregnancy, too afraid that he would start on a good day which would traipse into a bad day. He didn’t want to subject you to any unwanted media attention while you were so vulnerable, so if he did vlog, it was only the parts where he was out on his own (not very much) or where you were actually playing an active roll in the clip and not being some sort of ghost figure in the background, walking around the grotto in one of his shirts.

The good days were the best days. You would prance around the kitchen, blasting music on the Alexa, looking simultaneously cute and sexy in just his shirt and some plain knickers. He would have some tv show that you were rewatching on in the background while you baked whatever you felt like doing.

the gender reveal ༊*·˚

You even baked your own gender reveal cupcakes, but had his mum fill them with the colour icing corresponding to the gender of the baby. The gender reveal was quiet and small, including a handful of your friends from college, a handful of his friends from sixth form, and some of the YouTube guys (Chip, Sabina, Cal, George, Ethan and Faith). You’d always wanted a big, extravagant gender reveal party, but considering the emotional state you’d been in so far, you didn’t want to risk embarrassing yourself in front of a group of people.

Thankfully the day went smoothly, and you burst into tears at the sight of pink sprinkles on the middle of the vanilla cupcake. He hugged you tightly, lifting you into his arms as you latched your legs around his waist.

night time ༊*·˚

Going to bed had become increasingly more difficult. You would weak up in hot sweats in the middle of the night, your body overheating and overworking to maintain the healthiness of your baby.

Alfie would try to cuddle you in an attempt to provide comfort and a sense of homeliness, but you would always end up pushing him off, hating the feeling of being touched in your warm state. But sometimes all you needed was his embrace. There were times when you would lay on his chest, letting him doodle with his finger along the expanse of your back, having you guess whatever he was drawing. Other times you would lie on your back, trying to relieve your spine of any pressure, and he would rest a hand on your bump, gently caressing it.

He kept the windows open, bought a fan and even changed the bedsheets into thinner ones for you.

If you needed anything in the middle of the night, he wouldn’t hesitate to grab it for you. Whether it was food, a drink or if the fan needed the settings increased. He did it all.

preparing for the baby ༊*·˚

He’d bought all the furniture needed. A crib, a changing station, a new wardrobe and chest of draws, and even a plush rocking chair for you to sit in in the case of late-night feeds. He turned that day into a vlog as you’d walked into the living room with a pep in your step and declared that nothing would ruin your mood.

You’d sat with him whilst he built it all, complaining to the camera about how complicated this all was for no reason. You laughed at him, handing him certain nuts and bolts when he asked for them or the parts of the furniture.

The clothes were all down to you. He took you out, card at the ready while you went through the aisles of the store, getting borderline emotional at the thought of your baby girl in all these dainty little clothes.

“Get her a nike tech. Have her rocking up to the function like one of the mandem.” Alfie suggested jokingly, camera on you as your eyes scanned the articles.

You glared at him over your shoulder, “No, Alfie. She’s gonna be a dainty little princess, not ‘one of the mandem’.”

“Ey, you never know, girl. She might grow up and think ‘fuck the pink, I wanna rock black and grey’.”

“Then she can do that when she’s old enough, but for now— Oh my God, look at these little shoes!” You exclaimed, picking them up.

Alfie gave a deadpanned look to the camera before switching it back to you, filming your awed expression as you held the shoes up, showing the viewers.

The toys you started buying after the baby shower, not wanting to buy doubles of anything. You refused to buy anything that she might accidentally swallow or consume. He once held up a dainty kitchen set with miniature wooden food. You snatched it off of him and put it back.

“It’s literally got a choking hazard sticker on it.” You shook your head, tutting.

“I’ll show you a choking hazard in a minute, girl.” Alfie smirked, grabbing your waist.

You slapped his stomach lightly, “Don’t be dirty in public.”

He moved his streaming set up to the dining room so the office could be the nursery. He let you decorate the room however you wanted, standing around in case you needed help. You adjusted everything so it was perfect, lying a heart shaped rug in the middle of the room and tucked the draws and changing table under the slanted roof. The crib went where Alfie’s desk was previously.

Your good days majorly outweighed the bad, giving you a nice boost in morale. Without Alfie, you really wouldn’t have been able to do it. You would’ve given up and ended up rotting in your bed and not looking after yourself.

[sofiasworld00]

Hiii! i don’t normally request but i just have to because your writing is so amazing!!

can i have sirius x reader who, because of a past relationship, feels like sirius will get mad if she says no to sex? it’s totally okay if not, i understand this may be touchy for some

either way, thank you i live for your fics!!

Thank you for requesting gorgeous <3 I didn't really think until after that you may have meant she was saying no to sex forever and not just at the time but I hope this is okay!

cw: mature themes

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 628 words

You’ve been in the sun so long you’re seeing colors behind your eyes. Sirius’ boss leaving town for the weekend means you getting to use his pool, and you’re swishing your feet luxuriantly in it now, listening to the album Sirius has put on the record player inside and the sound of him swimming around. He thinks himself covert, but you can hear him moving closer. 

A hand closes around your ankle before soft lips kiss the inside of your knee. 

You smile without opening your eyes. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Sirius says back. He kisses you a few more times. “What, are you not going to pay me any attention?” 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” 

He squeezes the ticklish underside of your thigh so that you gasp out a laugh. When you sit up on your elbows, Sirius looks very pleased with himself. 

Looking up at you with eyes sultry blue and cheeks pinkened with sun, he’s unbearably handsome. The ends of his hair swirl like ink around his shoulders. “Come here, sweetness.” 

“Not if you keep looking at me like that,” you say. 

“Like what?” 

Sirius presses closer between your thighs, letting his fingers meander up and down your leg and leaving trails of wetness in their wake. His lashes are stuck together in little triangles when he looks at you from under them. 

You wrangle your smile under control. “Stop it.” 

“Hm. No, I don’t think I will.” He gives your knee a tug. 

“Sirius.” You try to sound stern, even as you let him push his hands under your thighs. “This is your boss’ pool.”

“He has it cleaned once a week.” You slide into the water with your legs already fitted on either side of Sirius’ waist, slotting into place nicely. He sets to kissing that spot you love under your ear. “He won’t use it before then.” 

“I’m going to get a UTI.” 

You feel him grin against your skin. “I’ll feed you cranberry juice through a twirly straw.” 

“I just…” You’re pliant in his arms already, head lolling to the side and half dizzy with sun. “What if we waited until later?” 

Sirius’ kisses slow. “Not feeling up to it?” 

“I don’t know.” Your voice has smalled without you realizing. You’re glad he’s not looking at you. “I’m just a little tired, is that okay?” 

“Yeah.” He presses one more kiss to the spot, then pulls away. “Of course it’s okay, baby.” 

“Okay. I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” Sirius is looking at you now. His frowny lips are a whisper away from yours. “It’s fine. We don’t have to later, either, if you’re not feeling it.” 

You hesitate, uneasy. “It’s not that I don’t still like you.” 

His eyebrows rise. “I didn’t think it was. Do you still like me?” 

“Yes,” you reassure him quickly. 

“You just don’t want to shag.” 

“Not…” You shrink a bit. “...right now.” 

“Okay,” Sirius says simply. He frowns a bit more, kissing you on your nose. “Relax, doll. I’m not worried what we have is ripping at the seams just because you don’t feel like shagging right this minute.” 

Something old and ugly which lives curled up against your spine releases its hold. You feel it happen, like taking off too-small shoes after a long day. “Thank you,” you murmur. 

“Oh, pssh.” Sirius scrunches his nose. “What’re you thanking me for? You, just—” He pecks you on the lips, quick and playful. “—you’re so silly sometimes, you know that? I’d like to keep kissing you, is that alright? Do you want that?” 

“Yeah.” You smile, giving him a peck as well. “Kissing is good.” “Well I don’t think there’s much to contest about that, babe. What I asked is if you want to. Come on, try to keep up.”

[sofiasworld00]

feral for himbo!james and reader who are supposed to be studying but end up fucking in the back of the library

fucking himbo!james at the library*. ⋆

cw: smut. oral (fem!receiving). piv. unprotected sex. public sex. cursing. creampie. begging?. degradation if you squint. clothed sex. lmk if i missed something!

a/n: thanks for requesting, lovely<3 hope you enjoy and remember english isn't my first language!

you should’ve known he wasn’t going to study the second he sat down with that look on his face. honestly, it was obvious. his brows were pinched together with that face he uses when he doesn't get his way, his sweater sleeves pushed up his forearms like he wanted to kill you without touching you.

james has exactly two things in his brain at any given time: you, and your tits. the open textbook in front of him might as well be written in parseltongue.

“I can’t focus,” he whines, slumping dramatically in his seat. “your tits keep moving when you breathe and you smell so good and—fuck, baby, this is torture.”

you don’t even look up from your notes. “that’s the point of the library, james. to study and suffer. quietly.”

“I’d suffer a lot better if you sat on my face.”

you almost drop your quill.

“james.”

“what?” he says, blinking at you like a puppy who’s never done anything wrong in his life. “I’m being serious. we’ve been here for almost an hour. you haven’t let me touch you once.”

“that’s because we’re here to study.”

“I am studying,” he says, standing and grabbing your hand. “studying you.”

he drags you into the back row, one of those dead aisles that hasn’t been reorganized in ages, and cages you against the dusty shelves.

“you’ve been bouncing your leg for ten minutes,” he breathes, nose brushing your cheek. “drives me fuckin’ crazy, you know that?”

“james, someone could see-”

“then be quiet,” he says, already sinking to his knees. “or shut me up.”

and then he's there, lips pressed to your inner thigh, hands pushing your skirt up around your hips, mouthing at your cunt through your underwear like he needs it.

one slow lick, hot and wide and messy, and your knees nearly give out.

“oh my god,” you whisper, biting your knuckle. “jamie-”

"not james anymore, huh?" he smirks.

you tug his hair, making him groan before his mouth goes back between your legs.

“been dreamin’ about this all day,” he mumbles against you. “wanna make you cum right here. right fuckin’ now. let me, baby. please, please.”

his tongue finds your clit, swirling slow at first, teasing you. then faster and firmer, sucking until your hips are jerking forward and you're grabbing the shelf behind you to stay upright. his arms wrap tight around your thighs, anchoring you to his face. you feel him moan when you grind down on him, shameless and slick and desperate.

and then he groans, muffled by your cunt. “come for me. come in my fuckin’ mouth.”

the orgasm hits you in a dizzying, trembling rush, your legs start shaking, your whole body curling in as you try not to cry out. and he just keeps going, tongue soft now, licking you through it, practically whining with how good you taste.

you slump back against the shelf, completely ruined.

“turn around,” he says, getting on his feet and yanking the zipper of his pants down.

you barely have time to grab the bookshelf before he’s pushing into you from behind, his thick, pulsing cock stretching you open with one deep, filthy thrust.

“fuck, yes,” he groans, hands gripping your waist. “so fuckin’ tight, baby. still so wet from my mouth. you like being my little library slut?”

you whimper, grinding your hips back into him. “yes. yes, jamie, please.”

he ruts into you like he can’t help it. like something in his brain short-circuits the second he’s inside you. it’s frantic, dirty, loud. the sound of skin slapping, shelves rattling, his hand clamping over your mouth when your moans get too high-pitched.

“wanna ruin you,” he pants in your ear. “wanna fill you up, make you drip all over these books. fuck you so hard you can’t walk back to class.”

you can’t speak. you’re shaking, coming again without warning—this time around his cock, spasming around him as he keeps thrusting, frantic and desperate.

“shit—fuck, I’m close, come with me, baby, wanna feel you come on my cock, please.”

and you both fall apart together.

you cry out into your palm. james groans against your shoulder, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, cock twitching as you pulse around him. he ruts into you through it, milking every last drop, every last wave.

then you collapse, bent over the shelf, dripping and breathless, your legs barely holding you up.

he leans forward, pressing kisses down your neck, still buried inside you.

“best study session of my life,” he mumbles.

you wheeze. “we didn’t study.”

he smirks, kissing your temple. “nah. but I still learned something.”

"what?”

he pulls out slow, admiring the mess. “that your cunt is way better than anything in that textbook.”

lostrologyy © 2025.

[sofiasworld00]

hey! ik that you’ve written similar stories so feel free to not do it or change the plot however u may please loll! i feel like all of us anons are getting wisdom teeth surgery recently and i just joined the club. it doesn’t have to be the same surgery, but i had this idea where reader has to get it done and thinks she can handle it on her own even though she shouldn’t. and ofc somehow ex! james potter is contacted and being rlly sweet anyways while she’s delirious. maybe we have a lil confession of remaining feelings and out of all the things that could have startled james that’s it heh heh :) thank uuu

Hope you're doing well angel, thanks for requesting!

cw: modern au, anesthesia, memory loss, joke about sexual favors

ex!James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1.6k words

“Look, it’s James!” the nurse announces cheerily, escorting James into the room. 

It’s clearly an attempt to pacify you. Your eyes are red and nearly as puffy as the rest of your face, tears shining on your swollen cheeks. Despite his trepidations about being here, the sight of you so obviously out of it has James biting down on a smile. 

“James?” You look for him. 

“Hey, hi.” James steps out from behind the nurse. He gives you a little wave. “How are you feeling?” 

“James.” You tear up again, confessional. “They won’t let me drive home.” 

He gives a nervous chuckle. “I know, love. That’s why they’ve called me. I’ll get you home, don’t worry.” 

“But I can do it myself,” you whimper.

“Alright!” The nurse claps her hands, forcing pep into her voice. “Let’s get you up, then.” 

James steps forward to help her lift you out of the chair, all while you cry and protest that you really can do it yourself. He fights the urge to hush you with a kiss between your brows. This is incredibly, hilariously, typical of you. Even when you were together, you resisted James doing anything for you, from making you breakfast to lifting your heavy furniture when you moved. You have always been obstinately self-reliant. He’s never had you weepily grouse at him before that you’re not a baby, James, however. 

You’re so distraught at the prospect of leaving your car behind that James abandons his, wrestling you (very gently) into your own passenger seat and cramming himself behind the wheel. It feels strange, like being back in your life in small but intimate ways. The car smells like you. James knows where to find tissues when you ask to wipe your face, and he recognizes the station the radio is tuned to when he switches the ignition on. He’s taking you to your apartment next, which is sure to be even worse. 

You whine a bit as he adjusts the seat and mirrors about him ruining your car, but quiet when he reminds you that the alternative is riding in his car, which you seem to find indubitably worse. Then you collapse tearily onto James’ shoulder over him being so tall. He pats your head intermittently while he drives you home. 

James was right. It is worse at your apartment, even worse than he imagined, because you’ve changed things. There’s a new painting hanging on the wall of the sitting room. The plant you cared for all of the two years you were together has been replaced by another. (Did it die? James feels he has to know.) The corner where he always tossed his shoes is now occupied by an umbrella and a bin of recycling waiting to be taken to the curb. After he gets you settled in bed, James sets out to make you a smoothie but can’t find the blender, though that’s fine because he discovers applesauce in the fridge you seem to have stocked just for this purpose. (It’s not fine. James used to know exactly where to find your blender and he doesn’t understand how you could move it. What kind of sick joke is that?) 

You’re still awake when he goes back into your bedroom. Your body relaxes upon his entry, as though you’re relieved to see him. “Where’d you go?” you ask. 

“You said you were hungry,” James reminds you. “How about some applesauce?” 

Your mouth drops open in apparent delight at this reveal, but your mood changes fast when a piece of gauze falls out onto your lap. 

“Oh.” You look down at it in horror. Your eyes lift slowly up to James’, filling, for the hundredth time in an hour, with tears. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” He laughs a little, helplessly, setting the bowl of applesauce down on your nightstand to help you. He brushes his thumbs under your eyes. “Shh, it’s fine, lovely. Aren’t you sick of crying?” 

“I don’t know,” you whimper. “I don’t mean to. I never usually cry so much, I promise.” 

“I know, sweetheart.” James gives your shoulder a squeeze, indelibly fond. He’d really like to fold your head into his chest and keep you captive there while he kisses you from dusk into dawn; it’s a lucky thing that your condition prevents it. “I think it might actually be okay to take the gauze out now. Do you want me to get the other one?” 

You nod, sniffling, and you open your mouth again. James extracts the remaining gauze carefully, taking both pieces to dispose of them in the bathroom bin and reassuring you when you cry out pitifully at his leaving. For someone who refused to plan for any post-anesthesia assistance until the nurses at the clinic literally forced you to call someone, you turn needy fast. 

This doesn’t prevent you from wrinkling your nose when James tries to feed you applesauce. 

“I’m not a baby,” you tell him. 

James fights to keep his lips still. “You’ve said. But you’re not very coordinated right now, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself by accident.” 

You only continue to pout at him. Your brow creases as you plainly try to plot some way around this; it’s dreadfully cute. 

He lifts the spoon enticingly. “Aren’t you hungry?” 

“Can’t I…what if I drink it with a straw?” 

“You can’t use a straw right now,” James explains apologetically. “Sucking on things could hurt your mouth.” 

“I can’t suck on anything?” 

“No.” 

This seems to worsen your distress. You look at your lap, muttering, “I don’t know how I’m going to thank you, then.” 

What starts as a surprised cough turns into a stream of nervous laughter. James nearly fumbles your applesauce, trying desperately to quiet himself. Fucking hell. 

“James.” You look resentful. “It’s not funny.” 

“No, I’m sorry. Erm, that won’t be necessary.” James sets down your applesauce when he starts coughing again, putting a hand to his chest. “We don’t do that anymore.” He doesn’t add that you’ve never needed to return favors, via sexual means or otherwise. You’ll only argue with him. 

Your brow creases anew. “Why not?” 

“Well, it’d be a bit strange.” James eyes you, adding when your bemusement doesn’t let up, “...since we’re broken up.” 

The heartbreak that comes over your expression is enough to make the fissures in James’ own heart burn. “We are?” you ask. 

Oh. James did wonder, when he got the call from the dentist’s office, why you gave them his name of everyone’s in your phone contacts. This explains that. It also explains why you seem so intent on keeping him close, why you do things like hold James’ hand and lean on his shoulder without reservation. It’s not only that you’re feeling sweet and touchy as an effect of the anesthesia; it’s that you’ve forgotten you don’t do those things anymore. 

“Yeah, sweetheart.” James probably shouldn’t be calling you that after just having broken the news, for danger of confusing you, but it’s difficult not to when you look so sad. “For a while now.” 

“Wh…why?” Your eyes grow glossy again. While some of the other things you’ve cried over today James has found a bit silly, this he understands completely. 

“We just thought it was best,” he says softly. “It’s okay. It’s been a while since then, and we’re alright. You’re doing well.” This is something James has gleaned from run-ins with friends-of-friends. He can never resist asking after you, and he’s glad he has the information to supply you with now. “You're doing great, lovely. It’s okay.” 

You look up at him through wet lashes. “But don’t you love me?” 

James swallows. It’s not a question you’d ordinarily be cruel enough to ask, though he knows you’re not trying to be cruel now either. This is something he’s always been honest with you about. “Yeah, I do.” 

“Then why are we—why did we break up?” 

He struggles for words. “Because—” 

“I love you,” you insist, tearily. It’s a gut punch. Whatever words James was in the middle of finding evaporate from his tongue. Of all the things you could have said, he expected that the least. “So can’t we just get back together? Please?” 

“I…” His throat feels dry. “I know you might think that now, but—” 

“No, I know it.” Tears drip from your chin, your voice shattered. The broken pieces of it prick and stab at James’ guts. “I love you. I feel it so much, and I don’t understand. If I love you and you love me, why don’t we just keep doing that? I’m not going to stop. I can tell it won’t stop, James, please—” 

“Okay.” James leans forward, touching his forehead to yours and squeezing his eyes shut so they won’t burn so badly. “Okay, shh. It’s okay, sweetheart.” Your body shakes with tiny sobs underneath him. “I promise it’s okay.” 

“Please?” you ask, brokenly. 

“Sure. We’ll talk about it, okay?” 

“Now?” 

“No, not right now.” James kisses between your brows, partly to soften the blow and partly to give himself another moment to breathe. When he leans back, he tries on a small smile. “But later, alright? Once you’re feeling better. Don’t you want some applesauce for now?” 

You blink, looking a bit dazed. James can relate. “I forgot about applesauce,” you admit. 

“Yeah?” he laughs. “You ready for it?” 

You sit up a bit, sniffling, but level James with a stern look as he reaches for the bowl. “Don’t try to do airplanes or anything.” 

Despite the ache in his chest, James’ grin spreads from a genuine place. “Okay, I won’t.” 

[sofiasworld00]

heeey!

maybe can we get a late cold "sleepover" with boyfriend James with the prompts "shhh... stop fussing, im just braiding your hair" and "can i borrow your sweater? smells like you"?

tysm! 🩷

hi babes!! thank you so much for requesting, i appreciate you!! hope you enjoy, thanks for celebrating with me <3

james potter, sleepover au, and "shh... stop fussing, i'm braiding your hair"/"can I borrow your sweater? smells like you." ✿ 242 words

cw: boyfriend!james, tooth rotting fluff

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

James tries to pull away from you again, but you stop him, fingers tugging him by his curls so he can’t move. 

“Angel-“

“Shh, stop fussing…” You adjust your grip on his hair and resume what you were doing. “I’m just braiding your hair.”

The light from the tv illuminates you both softly, the movie you were watching forgotten now that you’re wrapped up within each other. 

You tie off the short braid with an elastic, James’ chocolate curls sticking out from the sides. You run your hand over it before pressing a kiss to his crown. James turns and buries his face in your stomach.

“Love you,” he whispers softly. 

“Love you too.” You brush a hand over his cheek, caressing the skin softly for a moment. “Can I borrow your sweater? Smells like you…”

He sits up, sliding his sweatshirt off of his head. It messes up the braid but you don’t mind too much, raising your own arms so he can slip the sweater over your head. It’s big and warm, and smells sweet and musky like him. 

You pull him close again, relishing in the feeling of being in his arms. He sighs and settles against you, burying his face in your stomach again. 

“Hold still.” You say as you take out the elastic from his hair and start braiding it again, fingers dragging and tugging the dark ringlets.

He groans, but you know he secretly loves it.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[sofiasworld00]

All The Things We Didn't Say

“I have a feeling you got everything you wanted. And you're not wasting time stuck here like me, you're just thinking it's a small thing that happened, the world ended when it happened to me.”

pairing: james potter x hufflepuff!reader

cw: angst, cursing, angry confrontation and confession in the rain

requested by: @sweetstrawberrianne

a/n: wooooo this is such a roller-coaster ride to write, and this is the longest story I've ever written, btw this is inspired by the song “We Hug Now”

Masterlist

requests: open

you can play this while reading it

He noticed you first.

It wasn’t some great fanfare or sudden cinematic slow motion — no, James Potter noticed you in the most ordinary of ways: you dropped your quill.

It rolled across the corridor floor, clattered into the base of a stone column outside Charms, and when you stooped to get it, he was already there. Quill in hand. A half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You know, some say when a Hufflepuff drops something, it’s the universe telling them to slow down.”

You blinked at him, unimpressed. “And some say Gryffindors are allergic to minding their business.”

He had the audacity to grin. That wide, boyish kind of grin that made your stomach flip — not that you’d ever admit it. You snatched the quill from his hand with a muttered “thanks” and walked off without waiting for a reply.

But you felt him looking after you.

And the next day, he sat beside you in Charms.

It started there — small, almost unnoticeable things. James would lean over during class, whispering jokes about Professor Flitwick’s tiny podium, or nudge your knee under the desk with childish mischief whenever you got an answer right. You tried to ignore him. You were a Hufflepuff — quiet, collected, known more for patience than outbursts.

James Potter was the opposite of patience.

He was loud. He was everywhere. He was the boy people talked about in corridors, the one who kept getting detention for sneaking into the Astronomy Tower after hours, who turned everything into a joke. He was not the kind of boy who noticed people like you.

But he kept showing up.

He brought you a pumpkin pasty one morning before class. He didn’t say anything — just dropped it on your desk, muttered “Figured you skipped breakfast,” and then turned bright red.

You tried not to smile. You failed.

It was small things, then larger ones. Him waiting outside your classes. The way he asked you to the Hogsmeade trip by slipping a note under your teacup in the Great Hall. It simply said: Say yes, yeah? I’ll bring the chocolate frogs.

And slowly, everything softened.

You and James became you and James.

He held your hand like it anchored him. Like touching you grounded the chaos of everything else. When he kissed you, it wasn’t like anything you’d imagined — it was shy, breathless, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to want something so real. He kissed your knuckles in the library when you were studying. He kissed your forehead when you were tired. He kissed you like you were the only thing he ever wanted to get right.

People said he changed because of you. That he stopped chasing someone else’s shadow and started walking in the sunlight with you instead.

And for a while, it was everything.

He whispered things to you in the dark. “You're it for me,” he'd say into your hair. “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.” You believed him. How could you not?

But love isn’t always enough.

Not when pressure builds and expectations claw at the walls.

James started pulling away. Slowly. Subtly. Like waves eroding sand.

He was distant in study group. His notes didn’t appear on your desk like before. He stopped showing up after class — always saying he was busy, had practice, had patrols. You told yourself not to worry. That he was just overwhelmed. That everything was fine.

But one night, you asked him directly. “James… are we okay?”

He didn’t look at you when he answered. Just stared at the fireplace, jaw tight. “I don’t know.”

And in that moment, something cracked.

You argued. Not loudly — that wasn’t your style. But there was hurt in your voice, accusation in his. “You used to want this,” you whispered. “You used to fight for us.”

He shook his head, not angry — worse. Resigned.

“Maybe it was just easier back then,” he muttered. “Maybe we were only right for a moment.”

Your breath left you. “That’s all it was to you? A moment?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

The worst part? He didn’t cry. He didn’t beg. He just left.

Like he’d already said goodbye long before he spoke the words aloud.

And you — you stayed. Sat in the common room, staring at the place where he stood. Not moving. Not breathing. Just breaking.

He begged to stay friends, of course.

You said yes. Because the idea of letting go completely felt like death.

So he still sat beside you in Charms.

He still laughed at your jokes. Still remembered how you took your tea.

But he didn’t kiss your hand under the table anymore.

Didn’t pull you into quiet corners to tell you that you were his favorite thought.

You tried to pretend it was fine.

That sitting beside him didn’t feel like bleeding quietly.

Then one afternoon, you saw him.

Leaning against a hallway wall. Laughing.

With her.

And she — she smiled like she had no idea what it meant to crawl out of the wreckage of loving him. She didn’t know the version of him that forgot birthdays, that turned cold in the name of stress. She didn’t survive him like you did.

Your chest caved. You turned around. You walked fast. You sat by your window that night and whispered:

"I’m still here. Still holding a love he forgot. Still standing in the rubble while he rebuilt somewhere else."

And the worst part?

You didn’t hate him.

You missed him.

Still.

Weeks passed. James didn’t stop talking to you — but it was different. Polite. Friendly. Like you were someone he’d once shared a carriage with, not someone who once knew how his heartbeat changed when he was falling asleep.

You told yourself you were fine. That you were healing.

Until one day — you snapped.

It happened in the hallway outside Potions.

You were walking past him. He said your name — soft, hopeful.

You turned. “What, James?”

He hesitated. “You look nice.”

You stared. Something in you — all that grief, all that pain — cracked open.

“Oh,” you said bitterly. “Thank you for noticing now.”

He blinked. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair,” you snapped, “is you walking out like I was just some phase — like we were nothing more than a small thing that happened.”

“I never said you were—”

“But that’s how it felt!” Your voice trembled. “You left like you were tired, James. Like loving me was just another thing on your to-do list. But for me? When you walked out, the world ended.”

Silence.

He looked at you like you’d slapped him. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

You laughed, broken. “Because you didn’t care enough to ask. You were just thinking it was a small thing that happened. But I’ve been stuck here every day since May.”

His voice cracked. “I still—”

“No,” you cut him off. “You don’t get to say that now.”

And you walked away.

But that was the moment it changed.

Because James started trying.

Desperate, romantic gestures. Leaving notes under your cup again. Staying late in study group, eyes only for you. Pulling pranks just to hear you laugh. He looked at you with that same boyish grin — but now, it came with something else.

Regret.

He waited after class. He showed up at your favorite corridor, nervous.

“Do you still think about us?” he asked quietly one day.

You didn’t answer.

Because you did. Every damn day.

He tried harder.

It started with the way he showed up outside the Hufflepuff common room at sunrise the next morning, robes damp, a paper umbrella charm flickering pathetically above his head, holding a charmed box that released the scent of your favorite breakfast. He didn’t say anything. Just held it out like a peace offering, eyes rimmed red and hopeful.

You took the box. You didn’t take his hand.

The next day, it was the Owlery. You went for your usual late-night letter writing, and found it—your favorite song, spelled out in hovering notes, enchanted to drift like music through the air. You didn’t need to ask who did it. You left before the last note could finish, heart pounding, fists clenched.

The third night? It was fireworks.

Real ones.

They exploded into the shape of a badger and a stag tangled in the sky above the courtyard, right where you first kissed. You heard the entire castle talking about it. You saw him watching from the Astronomy Tower, eyes only on you.

You wanted to hate him for it.

And when he hugged you one rainy evening outside the Great Hall — just a friendly goodbye — you realized something horrible:

He didn’t hug you like he remembered the sound of your heartbeat.

He hugged you like he was scared of it.

And you?

You hugged him like you were still trying to feel it.

You weren’t sure what hurt more.

And suddenly he was leaning in closer, closer to your lips.

Until two worlds collides, again.

---

You were the first to pull away.

He didn’t understand at first—his arms stayed around you, forehead pressed against yours, breathing like he’d finally found the surface again after drowning for months.

But your fingers dropped from his collar.

Your eyes lifted to his and there was something heavy behind them. Something final.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered.

James froze. “What—what do you mean?”

You stepped back. The warmth between you vanished like a spell undone. “This... you hugging and kissing me like everything’s still the same.”

Rain began to fall—soft at first, then harder, slicing through the humid air in sharp streaks. The storm rolled over the pitch like it had been waiting for this moment.

“You said you missed me,” he said, voice small. “You kissed me.”

“I did. And it was a mistake.”

His face crumpled. “Don’t say that.”

You turned from him, just enough to put space between you. “You keep doing this. Pulling me back just enough so I remember what it felt like to be yours, and then standing there like you’re still the boy I gave everything to.”

“I am—”

“No, you’re not!” you snapped, spinning to face him, hair plastered to your cheeks from the rain, heart breaking with every word. “The boy I fell in love with wouldn’t have left when things got hard. He wouldn’t have picked someone safer just because he panicked!”

“You don’t think I regret that every single day?” James shouted, rain running down his cheeks, his voice cracking. “You think I don’t wake up and hate myself for letting you go?”

“Then why did you do it?” you cried. “Why did you throw me away like I was something you could just come back for when it was convenient?!”

“Because loving you ruined me!” His words shot through the air like thunder. “Because I’ve never loved anything like I loved you, and I didn’t know how to hold that without burning everything down!”

James let out a breath like he’d been holding it since you first pulled away from that hug. “You’re not just someone I loved. You’re the only one I wanted to love. And I ruined it. I ruined you.”

“I rebuilt,” you said. “You just weren’t there to see it.”

His voice cracked. “Don’t say that like I didn’t want to be.”

“Then why weren’t you?” you said, barely louder than the rain. “Where were you when I couldn’t sleep? When I sat by the window at three a.m. and thought maybe—just maybe—you’d show up and remember how to love me again?”

James looked like he couldn’t breathe. Like you’d knocked the wind out of him.

“I still love you,” he whispered. “I never stopped.”

You shook your head, backing away again.

“No. You love the version of me who didn’t learn how to live without you. The girl who didn’t stitch herself back together.”

James followed. “No—I love you. Even when you won’t look at me. Even when you pretend this doesn’t still kill you too.”

“Why now?” you asked. “Why wait until everything was broken?”

“Because I was stupid,” he said, voice rising. “Because I thought I’d have more time. Because I didn’t know how to admit I was still in love with you without begging.”

Your chest heaved, every part of you burning.

Lightning cracked overhead.

You were both soaked. Breathing hard. Standing on opposite ends of everything you used to be.

“I gave you all of me,” you said, voice low and trembling. “Even the parts I never let anyone else see. And you ran.”

He stepped closer. Desperate. Wild. “Because I was scared! Because I didn’t know if I could be what you needed, and I thought leaving you would hurt less than disappointing you—”

“You were wrong.” Your voice was steady now. Quiet. “You didn’t just disappoint me, James. You broke me.”

James’s hands clenched at his sides, eyes glassy and furious. “Then why did you let me kiss you again? Why did you come back if you didn’t mean it?”

“Because I wanted to know if it was still real.” You looked at him like it killed you. “And it is. But that doesn’t mean I’m yours anymore.”

Silence crashed between you. And then—

James surged forward, cupping your face in his shaking hands, kissing you like he was drowning all over again. It was fire and thunder and devastation. You kissed him back, once, with every piece of what you used to be—

Then ripped yourself away.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you gasped. “I can’t be your almost, your what-if, your second chance when I never stopped being your first.”

James looked wrecked. “Then tell me how to fix it.”

“You don’t get to fix it,” you snapped. “You get to watch. You get to see me heal without you. You get to sit with what you lost.”

He stepped forward again and you shoved him back.

“Stop trying to fix it like a broken broomstick. This isn’t a game, James! This is me. My heart. My trust. My entire fucking soul!”

Rain clung to your eyelashes. James looked shattered.

“You want me to come back?” you said, trembling. “Then earn it. Not with fireworks. Not with stupid violin songs. With consistency. With honesty. With showing up every single damn day—when it’s boring, when it’s hard, when I’m not smiling.”

He blinked rapidly, like he didn’t know whether to cry or beg or drop to his knees.

“Or,” you added, softer, “you let me go.”

You turned then. Walked away. Soaked. Shaking. And this time, you were the one leaving him in the rain.

And James Potter just stood there. Drenched. Alone. Watching the only girl he ever truly loved disappear into the storm he created.

Because love—real love—doesn’t always get saved by a kiss in the rain.

Sometimes, it ends with the silence that follows after.

[sofiasworld00]

Tony Stark x Fem!reader

mdni 18+ ｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ choking, piv sex, bleeding, cheating on pepper (sorry!), mentions of self-harm, honestly idk why i wrote this, angst, kinda father-figure tony stark but like he isn't actually

It's easy, you tell yourself, to dig yourself a grave and lie in it. Waiting, anticipation thrumming beneath your skin like the quickest of slithers, for impending, delirious, sweet destruction.

And you're not special, not in the slightest, no singular distinction that'd set you apart from the rest, from her, — if you mull over it long enough for your thoughts to chip away into self-hatred, maybe you're just worse, even, smaller and much more pathetic; no difference that makes you stand out, none, apart from the shaming fact that you just keep going back despite yourself. 

A moth, he might think, he could only catch if he were some mesmerizing, blinding flame; a pillar of unconditional light and warmth and security. It doesn't take that much to lure you, though, never as much as you wish it would. A web, intricate enough to give you the illusion of affection, and you're there, trapped by your own volition, wings web-bound and woven silk-sticky, bared helpless and ready to be consumed.

If you weren't so fucked up, so desperate for this, you wouldn't mistake it for the intimacy you crave. 

But, your therapist says, it's never good to bad-mouth yourself, counts as self-harm.

And your friends say, narrowed eyes of concern darting towards each other and then to the barely-covered, concealer-sticky splotches of red and yellowing purple around your neckline, your shirt's collar riding down more than you'd have cared to notice, negligence on your part, holy shit, girl, are you okay?

They wince, sympathy that's not quite as genuine as they pretend it is, when you nod and laugh it off, a croaky, awkward, drowning thing, with a dismissive wave of your hands before you claw desperately at it in hopes of covering, oh, yeah, this, um, guy I'm seeing is into this — choking —so, like, I thought, why not? Doesn't hurt at all, no. 

You know they're thinking it. You do. 

It's written on their faces, bold and haunting and cold, as they look you over.

Whore.

It's easy, you tell yourself, to act like you don't know.

And you don't, you think — for your own sanity —know when, specifically, that warm, hazy hue of love-drunk turned feral; like a rush of vertigo and a white-hot flash behind your eyelids, seized right out of your ribs, rabid and lurching, a hitch of your breath and the taste of metal in your mouth.

He's not good for you, they say, your friends, in the club bathroom, stale air and drunk squeals and retches just like yours from the stalls on either side of where you're gathered, hands holding your hair back while you cough up white-fizzy mucus and saliva, stop seeing that guy.

They wouldn't be saying that if they knew him—really knew him, the way you did. Because they've never even seen him, and it's not fair to you, drunk and heaving from too many mixed drinks, that they get to judge. It's what they do, spiders, when you're caught in their web, paralyze their prey to death; smother and inundate and choke. 

You can't cry.

Besides, depravity is sickly gratifying when enacted by the helpless. You know this well. Know he likes it, just as much.

Seriously, they say — warn — haven't seen you drink this much in one night since... well, you know, your dad OD'd.

For some reason, distinctly, right then, he's there, a burning film in your retinas. The shape of him, too tall and too brunet and too big; a God among men. The thick of his voice, warm and buzzing in your stomach, a molten thing. Your knees dig into the grimy bathroom tile beneath you as you wobble, nausea engulfing your senses like a current you can't quite fight. And you gag, before you can help it, as it pulls you down. 

We're fucked up people, kid, he'd said, once, thighs sweat-sticky against the back of yours and breaths hot on the lobe of your left ear, for this. Know that? Hope you do.

And you'd nodded, dumb and naïve, before he'd shoved your face, right-cheek mushing down, against the coffee-mug-scattered, guilt-festering desk, blue-white holographs and the light from his monitor spilling, numbingly, in cataracts over your glossy eyes. His hand on your back, the free one, pressure between your shoulder-blades, big and hot and rough-edged, a demanding thing, ingrained in him to destroy.

I love you, too, Tony. 

He's a nice guy. Can be. 

Can be a nice guy. 

When it's not just you and him, Manhattan penthouse and morning sun-stained sheets pooling around your waist, the silent sentiment in the air, unspoken, over slices of ginger, don't give me that glare. They're good for hangovers, okay? Down the hatch, come on, he's... nice. 

A nice guy. 

Filial, you think, this genre of his attention towards you in these moments. Parental, paternal, performative.

He's got his back to you, bare and tan, New York microscopic and insignificant beyond his frame; and, briefly, as much as you hate to admit to it, there's that slither underneath your skin, quick and guilty and wife-shaped. 

Told you to stay out of trouble, kid, he says as he turns, scrutiny in those baby-blues, scowl marring his face. A God among men. 

And, like a moth, you're drawn to the light. 

Yeah? Well, fuck you, Stark. You're not my dad. I drink whenever I want, however much I want.

He raises two arms in surrender, shrugs, fair enough, like he's okay with this, like it doesn't eat away at his conscious, like it isn't torture, absolute fucking torture — the anger he takes out on you, all of it, everything, that he does to you that he can't, doesn't have the heart to, do to her — before he turns to leave the room. Dismissive, as always.

Pepper's making breakfast. You staying? Or would you prefer I drive you back to your dorm?

Pepper. 

The problem, with you, is that that you can't digest, despite the ginger he's given you to help, nice. 

It's easy, you tell yourself, to allow it.

You shouldn't have started this in the first place. Relearning responsibilities comes with the price of guilt. Your sacrilege is that you've always been a half-baked child. 

Fuck, kid, he grunts with his hands bruising your wrists, splintered splotches of ruin on your skin. These are moments, as liberating as the smell of him, cologne and heavy machinery and Pepper's gourmet breakfast, a breezy rush when his stubble tickles the back of your neck, that ripple pure agony through your bones. 

Barely through the door, shoved down onto the floor, clothes lazily pushed aside by too big hands, a hazy-hot chaos of a thing, coaxing away guilt-salty tears with hushed coos, a catastrophe that you can't make sense of when his cock's splitting you open so good, little cunt's so wet for me, hm?

It's easy, you tell yourself, to dance around it. 

The cold flicker of the silver band on his finger digging into your waist, the drip of red billowing into white down your thighs because he's just that big and that frantic, desperate, for what only you allow him to get away with.

Take it so good, don't you, kid? Love it when you're like this for me. My baby.

This, as much as it churns your stomach sick, is all yours. Your own semblance of affection, fucked-up volition, web-bound and sacrificial.

And, you wonder, what your therapist would say about sex with Tony.

Counts as self-harm. 

[sofiasworld00]

Heyy, can I request an ArthurTv fic where you guys have been dating for a bit and you stay over at his for the first time and the first time sleeping with each other?

masterlist | main masterlist

💗💗💗

contains: fluffff, established relationship, cozy domestic energyyyyy

arthur frederick x fem!reader

you weren’t supposed to stay the night.

it was meant to be a casual evening—food, a film, maybe a bit of making out before you grabbed your coat and headed home. but then it rained. and not just rain, but that heavy, drenching kind that turns streets into rivers and soaks your jeans within seconds.

and of course, you missed the last train.

“you can stay,” arthur said, quiet and trying so hard not to sound like he was hoping you’d say yes.

you hesitated—just long enough for him to second-guess himself—before nodding. “if that’s okay?”

“more than okay.”

and now you’re standing in his bathroom, towel wrapped around you, damp clothes in a heap on the floor, your reflection fogged up in the mirror. one of his shirts hangs on the back of the door—oversized, soft, worn—and you slip it on before you can think too much.

when you step into his room, he’s already sitting on the edge of the bed, hair slightly messy, eyes flicking up and widening at the sight of you.

“that’s… mine,” he says, like his brain short-circuited halfway through.

you smirk, climbing in beside him. “yeah. hope you don’t mind.”

he swallows. “not even slightly.”

you’re both quiet for a while. not in a tense way—just… full. like the moment doesn’t need anything else.

you’re lying side by side, his arm brushing yours under the blanket. it’s warm. you feel the shape of him beside you, not pressed close, but close enough.

“you alright?” he asks softly, voice thick in the dark.

you nod, turning your head toward him on the pillow. “yeah. just… feels a bit surreal.”

“in a bad way?”

you smile faintly. “no. just… i didn’t think i’d be falling asleep next to you tonight.”

he exhales something like relief. then: “you can be as close or as far as you want. seriously.”

you shift a little closer, careful, tentative. your head rests just beneath his shoulder, hand resting against the space between your bodies.

he doesn’t move right away—just breathes in slow. then he tucks his arm around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. his chin brushes your hair. “this okay?”

you nod into him. “it’s perfect.”

it’s quiet again, but now the silence feels like a blanket, wrapping around you both. safe. his thumb moves in slow circles against your arm. you can feel his heart beating through his chest.

after a while, he whispers, “wasn’t expecting this.”

you smile, letting your eyes fall closed. “neither was i.”

and maybe it’s just the rain, or the calm after the chaos of the day, but it all feels… right. like the kind of moment you’ll come back to in your head when you need to remember what safety feels like.

[sofiasworld00]

CLUELESS ── a.buttle ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : you and alfie hit some emotional & physical turmoil notes : trying to get through all the requests i’ve got rn😵‍💫 content : established relationship ,, angst & comfort ,, unplanned pregnancy ,, thoughts of abortion taglist : @italianclarke @clarkeyscherry @sdmnpact @wherethezoes-at

─────── TO PUT IT simply, you’d felt like complete and utter shit for the past week and a half. Pounding headaches, the constant feeling of needing to vomit and not to mention you’d been pissing like a fucking fountain at any given chance.

You’d thought up 101 reasons as to why you might’ve been feeling this way. The sudden temperature change in the air? Eaten something dodgy?

But no matter how many concepts you thought up, none of them would lead back to an explanation of the intense pressure on your bladder and constant snappy responses you gave your dearest boyfriend — Alfie.

You always woke up in a good mood, and then one thing would go wrong and all of a sudden, your whole day is ruined.

If he asked you to do something you didn’t want to do in that moment, you snapped ‘Do it yourself’. If he asked if you were okay, you snapped, ‘I’m fine’. If he kept his arm around or on you for too long, you snapped, ‘Get off me.’.

It wasn’t like you wanted to get angry or you wanted to cause an argument, you just were. So, instead of wallowing in your self pity, you searched up your symptoms. Maybe you were ill with some kind of virus that wasn’t very popular?

No.

That wasn’t it at all.

What you had wasn’t a virus and it was indeed very popular.

‘First trimester pregnancy symptoms’ was the first site that came up, a direct link to the NHS website.

You slammed your laptop shut, shaking your head.

No.

There was no way you were pregnant.

You were 20, for fucks sake. Besides, you and Alfie always used protection. You were on the pill and he always had a condom ready.

You were in complete and utter denial.

Deciding to not contemplate this possibility anymore, you got up and started prancing around the house, busying yourself with chores as many as possible — unloading the dishwasher, making some snacks to be stored in the fridge, doing the bins, watering the flowers, vacuuming the whole bleeding house.

Unfortunately, the constant bustling and moving caused your stomach to jolt and twist and turn, and before you knew it, you were face down in the kitchen sink, spewing your guts all over the ceramic bowl.

You coughed, spitting any bile that hadn’t come up and then washed away your vomit with the moving tap. You sat yourself on the floor, completely exhausted and not having enough energy to walk to the bedroom to lie down, and sipped a glass of water.

What the fuck was happening to you?

Surely, it wasn’t true.

How?

When?

Why?

Who? Well, that was a silly question. It was obviously Alfie, but it still begged the question; when?!

─────── YOU AWOKE WITH an annoyed grumble and furrowed eyebrows. You must’ve passed out while overthinking every single time you and Alfie had had sex in the past six months.

“Fucking hell, girl. Y’scared the shit out of me.” Alfie huffed in relief, helping you into a sitting position, “You collapse or something?”

You shook your head, “What? No. Fell asleep.”

“On the kitchen floor?” He frowned.

“Threw up.” You nodded up to the sink, “Got tired and sat down. Must’ve passed out after that.”

“Shit, you alright? You hit your head? Why were you sick?”

“Alfie, I don’t fucking know!” You snapped, standing up. “I just was!”

“Have I done something wrong? Or do we need to talk? ‘Coz you’re constantly snapping at me recently and it’s starting to piss me off.” He argued, and rightfully so, “I come home, my mrs is unconscious on the kitchen floor, I think ‘shit she might be fucking dead’ and when I wake her up and check on her, I get a fucking earful.”

“I’m sorry!” You sniffled, bottom lip trembling as you were overwhelmed by a sudden rush of emotions, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”

Alfie sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead, “Shit, it’s alright. It’s okay, come ‘ere.” He opened his arms.

You practically fell into them, sobbing into his chest. It was like someone had opened the floodgates. The warmth and familiarity of his arms and embrace had caused racks and racks of sobs to filter out of your body, tears staining his gym shirt as he held you, pressing the occasional kiss to the top of your head.

“Talk t’me.” He hummed, “Please?”

You hiccuped, wiping your cheeks and pulling back, staring up at him, “I-I thought I might’ve been ill, right? So I put my symptoms into Google and … Alf, it said I might be pregnant.” Getting that sentence out felt like coughing up a mountain that was wedged into your oesophagus.

He nodded, surprisingly calm, and then dropped a bomb of a sentence, “I know.” He held up the white plastic bag from the shop.

You frowned, sniffling, “What?”

“I … I recognised your behaviour changing, didn’t wanna piss you off by constantly asking so I asked the boys at a shoot. Arthur said to talk to you more, but I told him you’d just bite my head off, and then Ethan suggested that … y’know, you might be pregnant. ‘Coz he went through it with Faith and he said the first few weeks were like, basically like how you’re feeling right now.”

“Oh.” You croaked, slightly embarrassed that your boyfriend seemed to pick up on your own changes before you did.

“So … I got some tests.” He pulled them out the bag, “I don’t know which one’s good or not, I just got the ones you see on the fucking tv all the time. You don’t have to do ‘em now, but … they’re here.”

“No, I— I want to … do them now. Just to get it out of the way.” You nodded, taking them from him and making your way to the bathroom.

“You want me in there with you or …?”

“Mm, no, if that’s okay. I’ll leave it unlocked though.”

He held his hands up as if to say ‘fine by me’ and let you close the bathroom door behind yourself.

It took a while, as you obviously didn’t have the super power to piss three separate times on command, but you eventually managed to place the test on your sink counter and stare at them with a blank expression for twenty minutes.

“Everything alright, reader?”

“Mhm.” You hummed.

“It’s … Its been like thirty minutes … have you checked them?”

“No.”

The door clicked open, and Alfie stood there, gnawing his lower lip. He approached you, planting his hands on your shoulders.

“Do you want me to look?” He asked, and you nodded desperately.

One by one, he flipped them over until they were all displaying the results.

Pregnant.

Pregnant.

Pregnant.

He let out a deep sigh and your hands flew to your face, covering your crumpled expression.

“Shit.” Alfie hissed lowly, scratching the back of his head. “Hey, reader— Shit, baby, don’t cry. It’s okay, darlin’.”

He took you into his arms again but you couldn’t even acknowledge the fact as you stared at the blackness that was the back of your eyelids. Your shoulders shook with each silent cry, your mind running in vicious circles of the series of future events.

You could A) keep the baby, and the path of your life changes forever and you end up making a family when you’re barely an adult yourself. Or, you could B) abort the baby and go back to normal but live with crippling self guilt for the rest of your life.

Fuck.

Why did life have to throw this burning, flaming curveball at you?

“Let’s go sit, c’mon.” He guided you out of the room and to the bedroom, where he sat you so you were straddling his lap, and just held you tightly.

You buried your head into the crook of his shoulder, sobs subsided but brain still scrambling to grasp any kind of stability to make an appropriate decision right now.

Could you get rid of it? Would you be okay with that? Would Alfie be okay with that? But on the other hand, were you in the right places to be parenting a baby?

You and him still enjoyed a night out with your mates, especially if you were down in London for the week, so that would have to go on pause. His availability for shoots and filming would slim down, you would go on maternity leave at work.

But at the same time, you were bringing a life into the world. You and Alfie had (albeit accidentally) created a life. That thought alone was overwhelming but beautiful.

You could tell he was equally as stressed as you, but he was holding it together surprisingly well. Much better than you were.

“Should we sleep on it?” He whispered, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb, “You don’t have to make any decisions now, obviously. But … I will support whatever choice you make, I hope you know that.”

You nodded at his words.

“You wanna get rid? I’ll go with you, I’ll hold your hand, I’ll be with you the whole time. You decide, actually, maybe having a family now isn’t too bad, then I’ll be there too. Whatever you want, darlin’. Would be an unlucky fucker though, who wants gimpy perm boy AB as their fuckin’ dad?”

You giggled, kissing him gently, “I think I’d be okay with you being the father of my child.”

His eyes widened, “You would? Like— sorry, you actually wanna do this? Not that I’m being judgemental—“ He quickly recognised the negative tone in his voice, “Just … are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You whispered lightly, nodding.

how i think he would tell the fans

He put a video of you doing something childish on his story with the caption ‘mother of my child btw’ and everyone went nuts.

Everyone’s saying congratulations, while some people are slating him telling him he needs to grow up before he has a kid. Quite an array of response but all of them either make you laugh or make you feel gratitude.

[sofiasworld00]

DAY TWO, POOL DAY | a. buttle

summary: you spend your first day lounging at the pool, taking it easy before the first night out.

pairing: ab x reader

notes: part 2 done!! loved writing this little bonding chapter, makes me want to be in a pool rn 🥲 but also a lot going on. hoping theres not any mistakes! and let me know what you think!!! i go on holiday next week so hopefully next chapter isn’t delayed, but just a heads up! lots of love always n happy reading! don’t forget to reblog <33

IT WAS RELATIVELY EARLY IN THE MORNING when the group of girls managed to make it outside on time for breakfast menus to still be distributed. dressed in their day-to-day outfits of cute t-shirts and pastel shorts, knitted playsuits or plaid dresses, your flip flops were slapping once again on the footpath on the way to the café. your hair swishing behind you, even with the little flower hairclamp you’d bought, you were pretty sure your suncream had already dried up despite being applied just 10 minutes ago.

“i think it’s just up here,” beth said, leading the way with google maps.

the heat was intense this morning, you could already feel it on your scalp, making a mental note to wear a cap back at the pool when you went down.

“aw fuck sake, ignore your left.”

instantly, you turned your head left, just in time to see jay and carter walking out of a shop across the narrow street while the other three hung about outside it. they noticed your group the minute you were directly across from them.

"aww, look, it’s the little love island cast off to get their hash browns," joel called over, his legs dangling over a wall.

“fuck off!” courtney replied cheerily, not stopping in her tracks.

“i do actually love a hash brown,” you spoke quietly from the end of the line.

jay stood in a white muscle-t with his hands in his shorts pockets, a plastic bag hanging from his wrist. “text us if you need advice on how to order an orange juice, we're basically locals now."

that did make you snicker.

the café was a 10/10 and you knew from just the sight of the ice coffee being placed in on your table that you’d be coming back here every morning. the air-con was the perfect touch as you all indulged in your plates of french toast, pancakes, avocado on toasts and fruit bowls. “this french toast is so good.”

“i want to keep eating but i’m so full. i’m going to look like a whale in my swimsuit,” courtney shoved another piece into her mouth.

“i already look 9 months pregnant from that first sip of coffee,” you sighed, slouched in your chair, you pushed your bloated belly out so much that it almost did look like you were 9 months pregnant. they all laughed.

“can we call in to a shop on the way back so i can get a towel?”

“yeah, i need stuff too. and more drinks for later.”

tamsin called into a random shop for a beach bag and faye went with her for her beach towel, while the rest of you had a nosey at what else it offered: sunglasses, magnets, some knock-off crocs.

“aw wait girls, i’m going to get some watermelon,” you announced, walking across the street to the market.

a lizard ran across jess’s foot on your way back which sent her into a horror-like shriek. you laughed. she didn’t. you took more pictures on your way back to the apartment, talking utter nonsense between yourselves.

“y/n what’s the deal between your brother and that girl he was seeing? is she his girlfriend?”

“don’t know, to be honest,” you admitted, “he never tells us anything. he’s so secretive.”

“he’s so gorg,” tammy said like it pained her.

“he’s such an arsehole,” you said truthfully, although it did remind you that you should probably call your family at some point today, before you went out.

you went through the back of the complex to the outside bit, considering your room was at the back and a set of steps led up to it from there, it meant you avoided the obviously judgemental clerk at the front desk who looked like she’d bet her payslip you guys would have the room trashed.

you opened the gate, carrying your melon like a newborn in your other arm, to quickly reveal the boys already hanging around the pool, their towels on sunloungers and belongings scattered on the tables.

"oi oi! here comes melon mum!”

“what's her name, then?"

“who’s the dad?”

faye already began giggling while you tried not to roll your eyes.

they seriously had a response to everything.

adjusting the watermelon like it was a newborn, you didn’t stop walking. “don’t talk to her, you’ll scare her.”

“she’s already terrified if you’re the mum,” jay claimed.

you lazily pointed you finger at him on your way past, “it’s your head i'm aiming for when i throw it."

they all laughed.

ᯓ ✈︎

you sat at the end of the sunbed in your leopard print bikini, a cap fitted tightly to your head. courtney was indulged into a frieda mcfadden book, tamsin had her earphones in, faye and jess were in the pool, arms leaning on the edge and beth was working hard not to look like a milk bottle. “beth, are you sure you don’t want this one? i use this one and it still—”

“—nope. i want to fry,” she cut you off with a raised hand, not wanting a smudge of spf near her.

you let her be, shrugging, continuing to scrape spoonfuls of melon into your mouth.

the boys were making their own party. some in the water, one on DJ duty, the other half in-half out on his phone, probably texting his mum.

sweat trickled down you, in creases you never imagined. it was behind your ears, glistening along your stomach, your tits must have been confused why they weren’t in a swimming pool right now. the sun was taking no prisoners. beth might have been onto something, coating yourself in spf might have been pointless after all with the droplets running down your skin.

however, you refused to complain. because if you were in the uk, you’d be complaining it was too cold, so you sucked it up and embraced it, keeping cool with your mini handheld fan, black cap and bottles of water you’d kept frozen in the freezer.

and of course your nice, cold watermelon baby.

“will someone get that shit playlist off. who even has a soundcloud account anymore?”

all the boys raised their hands, not offended by your remark.

“get a decent playlist on,” you pleaded, tilting your head, “who’s is that?” it was bad enough sharing the pool with them, the least they could was play decent music you all liked.

“joel’s.”

“joel, your music’s shit.”

“well we’re not in the mood to hear taylor swift.”

“i won’t play taylor swift! put a holiday playlist on!”

“yeah, summer tunes,” faye added.

he continued scrolling, listening to your wishes. “alfie, you put something on, your music’s alright.”

“my phones over there, mate,” he raised his brows in the direction of his sun chair.

oh for god’s sake, you mentally swore, accepting you might just need to pop your earphones in next.

alfie was waist-deep in the pool, hair soaked and dripping from cannonballing in with jay. he moved slowly through the water, trying to adjust to the cold. his jaw was clenching like it might rattle off its hinges, and the sight of his nipples put you off getting in if his were that pointy.

the music changed to a tune you immediately recognised; with lyrics you could actually sing along to, and instantly the vibes were emasculate. perfect even. the smell of suncream filling your senses, taste of fresh watermelon. the boys were happy messing about amongst themselves in the water while you lot did your own thing - aside from jess and faye who were playing mermaids in the pink rubber ring like it was 2008.

your kindle was next to you, every so often getting tapped to the next page of your little smutty romance series.

water splashed onto the ground as a certain blond threw himself on top of the pink lilo bed, somehow managing not to sink it. he crossed his arms, set his head down, and kept quiet for all . . of three minutes.

“so who do you think the pedo of the school is?”

you were pretty sure you all shot him the same look.

jay didn’t even see it. he didn’t raise his head from the floaty. “well? did you’s hear me?”

you went back to your book, not entertaining the conversation.

“mr murray. not necessarily a pedo but i could so see him going for one of us in a few years,” beth shared her opinion, thinking of your year group. “a young gal.”

“noo, i really like him. he’s like the fun granda. i heard him saying he getting on it in his local on the last day to miss black.”

“nah, it’s deffo mr dickinson. it’s in the name.”

“y/n fancies him,” alfie said.

“no i don’t?” you looked at him half squinting. he just smirked to himself, finding himself funny.

“mr dickinson i wouldn’t be surprised if he has shagged three other teachers in that place. and i’ll name all three of them right now.”

“jay, you’ve always been a fanboy of that guy. do you fancy him?” dylan piped up, wiggling his brows across at his best friend.

“because that’ll be him in 30 years,” tamsin scoffed.

“he’s actually a handsome bloke. old, but like,” jay shrugged his shoulder, “i’d want to look like that in my early 40s.”

“he’s mid 40s.” you corrected.

“she would know, he stops to talk to her all the time,” alfie kept his false rumours going.

“he’s always in our class talking to mrs thompson?!”

jay’s head shot up. “she’s one of my suspects!”

“–and how would you know? are you on guard every time he makes eye contact with me?” you grinned to yourself, getting one back.

alfie shrugged carelessly, “i know how guys think. his eyes say it all.”

“you’re so full of shit,” you actually laughed.

“do you remember the rumour the those two technology teachers were hooking up?”

“yeah, imogen said she saw them leaving and arriving to school before in the same clothes.”

“well that’s false; imogen would have taken photos to prove that point,” carter rolled his eyes, sitting with his hands behind his head on his chair.

“have you any other holidays booked after this one?”

“do you think i’m made of money?”

“you are.”

jess shrugged. “shut up.”

“we plan on going zante,” tammy said.

“i really want to go to greece, i said i would organise it all,” you faced the girls. “i’ll book and do the itinerary and everything.”

“pfffttt. shock. bossy boots back at it,” dylan said.

you ignored him.

jay slipped into the water, but continued to used the lilo to rest his upper half on. “what’s your plans after school? last year ‘n that, y’know.”

the majority answered the same— “uni.”

“same.”

“you want to go to uni?” courtney raised her brows.

“yeah. so does dylan and carter,” he looked to them. “joel’s just gonna stick with work. take on an apprenticeship.”

“yeah, they already promised me it when i leave school,” joel explained.

your eyes then fell on alfie, who was just leaning his back and elbows on the far side of the pool. he clearly had nothing to contribute to the conversation.

“are you gonna go to uni, alfie?” faye asked.

he shrugged, not even looking at her, “doesn’t really appeal to me . . . i don’t really know what i wanna do.”

same, that’s why we’re all going to uni? to postpone adulthood? you chose to keep quiet instead, scraping your watermelon. you’d barely made a dent and already eaten so much.

also, your book was getting steamy.

“what’s imogen doing? eYeLasHeS?!”

“spRaY tAns?”

“NAiLS?”

you didn’t take the bait, knowing you’d ruin the whole vibe if you took it seriously. you let them laugh. “hey, she’d be getting £30-£40 an hour if she did,” is all you said, not lifting your head from your book.

the boys continued tormenting the girls, asking would you rather scenarios and rouge questions you didn’t want to be part of. tammy told them how taking mushrooms in amsterdam was the worse decision of her life and courtney told them who her first ‘boyfriend’ was in first year. joel dunked faye in the water and carter was trying to get everyone on board to do those tiktoks where he pretends to teach some water aerobics and they copy him.

“dylan, you’re getting it in my fuckin’ ear, bro!” alfie took a step back from the boys who were splashing like four year olds, it was starting to piss him off more than he found it funny. jay’s screaming didn’t help either.

he turned his head to dodge another splash, drifting to the side and then stilled when his eyes landed on you.

you were sitting up, legs crossed lazily on the lounge chair, cap dipped low enough to hide your eyes from the blazing sun but not enough to shield the rest of you. from where he sat, all alfie could see was the tip of your nose and the soft curve of your mouth, lips slick and wrapped around the edge of a piece of watermelon you’d carved out from your lap.

his eyes trailed without permission — how could they not? you weren’t even trying, and that made it worse. or better.

you were glistening all over, slick with oil or sweat – or maybe both. whatever it was it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t look away.

he watched your arm flex as you reached for your water bottle, watching your torso shift with it, your body slow and steady. sweat rolled down your stomach like it’d been choreographed to do so, and your bikini top was so tight, well-secured with how it clung to your chest, it might have even been a size too small with the way it hugged your tits.

he blinked slowly, and as he did, a piece of metal hit the ground with a ‘clank!’ and the sound yanked him so hard out of his daydream, he flinched.

he pushed his sunglasses up, glancing off to the side – anywhere, literally anywhere else . . but his eyes found you. again. it was like . . one last glance for good luck.

fuck it. he needed to get out of this pool. it was doing fuck all at keeping him cool now.

oblivious to how anti-social you looked right now, you flicked onto your next chapter, utterly invested. alfie was surprised at how captivated you were by the little screen that wasn’t your phone, clearly in your own bubble. he was surprised you could concentrate so well with all the noise going on.

his muscles tensed as he pushed himself up out of the pool, the water running from his chest down to his abs, the heat hitting him instantly. it was smothering, not allowing him a second to adjust.

you looked up from your book just in time to see him toss his sunglasses onto the nearest chair and rake a hand through his mop of wet hair stuck to his head. your eyes tracked him instinctively, just a quick scan from head to toe, half curious, half questioning what made him get out. but then his gaze panned to the fruit in your lap, and it gave you an indication.

you looked at him for a second longer, before dropping your head, pausing mid-scrape. "i’d offer you a bit but it doesn’t have any protein in it."

alfie slowly smirked, and stopped less than a metre away from you and pulled a face. "i’m picky anyways. don't even like watermelon."

you screwed your face up a bit at that. “so am i . . but it's like . . 90% water . . . what is there not to like?"

he shrugged, water dripping down him like a tower. “dunno. texture. taste. vibe."

"vibe?"

“yeah. moist fruit. bit much."

you stare at him for a second.

what?

you shook your head, "you're so weird."

you didn’t doubt he ate eggs though. rubbery, scrambled egg - the thought alone making a shiver run down your spine. gross.

“have you even tried it?” you glanced up at him, squinting your eyes with the sun, giving him one last opportunity. “this one will literally dissolve on your tongue.”

you’d had your fair share of watermelon, and no tesco, plastic-wrapped fraud could compare to the ones grown abroad.

he stared down at it, his lips tugging in contempt. you scraped a solid half and held it out to him.

he looked at it, and looked to you, his face growing more and more unsure.

he hesitated to take it, but eventually took a step forward. you swear you could smell his aftershave.

you watched him space out in thought, his teeth barely able to chomp down on the texture before it slushed to water. his features dropped, suspicion and confusion crawling into it, he fought the curse word to leave his word. “what—it literally melted in my mouth.”

“i know. it’s 90% water.”

he paused. “weird,” handing you the spoon back. “would just drink a bottle of water then.”

you stared at him.

setting the spoon aside, alfie watched how you clearly had some inner dialogue occurring in your head that mustn’t have been worth a breath, because your expression made him laugh. “you are so weird,” is all you said.

he shrugged again, turning sideways to face the boys. “i’m a picky eater.”

you watched him for a moment, his back facing you, his eyes simply gazing at the bunch of teenagers acting like toddlers with their rough play. "you not going back in?"

alfie shrugged, “carter elbowed me in the jaw like two minutes ago. i’m good."

you huffed a tiny snigger, “you’re pretty chill about it,” you paused, “you’re more chill than i thought you'd be."

alfie snickered, his body jolting with it as he still spoke with his back to you, hovering on his feet, "what, 'cause i've got a shit fade and a gym membership?"

you weren’t expecting that type of reply. “i didn't say that.”

“didn't have to. i remember what you said in the canteen."

your heart freezes for a sec. you weren’t expecting that either.

sensing the pause, he shifted slightly, turning his head to look at you.

you diverted your attention back your food.

“well . . i was defending my friend."

"i know. just saying - you lot have no idea who people actually are half the time."

“well, that's rich coming from someone who's said about five words to me in the last three years."

he slightly grinned, “yeah, on purpose.”

you snapped your head up to him, stunned. the watermelon and everything else now long gone from your mind.

“not tryna make enemies in my last year of school, y’know?” alfie just smirked, turning on his feet to fully face you, his back now to the pool. he had to be winding you up.

"enemies is a bit of a stretch.”

he nodded, “i know. bit of a stretch coming from the twink who used to make skateboarding videos, right?"

hmmm fuck. you’d never experienced the drop in your chest like you did when he’d said that, like your heart had fell out of your arse at being called out like that. not because of confrontation, but because . . you suddenly felt like a horrible fucking person at him reading your words back to you. and he didn’t even have a venom in his tone.

“i was backing imogen."

“i know. you always do."

he doesn't look smug or even annoyed when he says it, the way he’s talking to you in general is driving you insane because he’s being . . peaceful about it. like, his back isn’t up at all.

"i’m not a dick, you know."

alfie’s lips frowned in response, “didn’t say you were."

“you said enemy??”

he shifted onto one leg, his hands holding each end of his towel around his neck. his whole fucking chest and torso was still staring at you and it was getting harder and harder not to look. “you said things you didn't mean 'cause your friend wanted backup, and no offence, but that's kind of your thing."

you furrowed your brows, feeling your back get up. “what? defending my friends? you make that sound like a flaw.”

“not saying it’s a bad thing, but . .” he shrugged again, not an ounce of hostility in his vibe, “you’re like their bloody bodyguard. like you’d slap someone for looking at imogen funny.”

“and?”

he looked at you. “just seems like you’re always taking the hit and,” he let out a long sigh, avoiding your eyes now, “they’re the ones starting shit.”

“it’s called loyalty.”

“is it? when they don’t do it back?”

your jaw almost dropped.

you couldn’t believe you were even having this argument right now. “you don’t even know what you’re talking about. you think you've got it all figured out.”

“i don’t . . buuutt i clock patterns."

“maybe try clocking your own,” you scoffed quietly, leaning down on your chair, done with the conversation.

he didn't argue. just went quiet for a second, letting the noise from the pool fill the silence. “i’m just saying. you come off like a bit of a dick when they're around. but when you're not on guard, you're actually . . . not."

"not what?" you asked sharply.

"not a dick," he said. "you're nice. just no one would know it with the way you get on when you’re with your . . cult."

“that’s kind.”

“oh i am kind,” alfie slowly turned back to the pool, “just not to people who are cunts for no reason.”

you were stunned yet again. you didn’t know if he was talking to you or about you, either way something was ticking.

“you don’t have to be nice to everyone. i’m not. but don’t pretend to be nice to keep up appearances . . if you’re only doing it when no one’s looking.”

you tensed at that.

that hurt something in you, struck a nerve sharp and strong because you know that’s wrong. that’s not you. not even close.

you are kind. you are.

every bone in your body is genuine, that’s your thing - you know you’re a good person, and the idea of anyone ever thinking you weren’t and it was strictly performative—

well, you wanted to go home after hearing him say that.

the thump of music from the speaker suddenly blared in your ears again and a ‘splash’ of the pool broke you out of your daze - jay shouting something about backing off so he could cannonball into the water.

you sat forward, blinking the way people do when they've just been hit with heavy news, when really, you were just being self-centred. you let the world revolve around you for a second as you began re-thinking your entire identity, and the character you clearly didn’t portray whilst sitting on the lounge chair.

. . . but you didn't even get a full second to sulk when a wet and scaly, darting demonic little thing with quick legs zipped out from under your lounger and climbed up a centimetre next to your foot.

you screamed without a second thought.

a loud, piercing, horror movie worthy one at that.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

you leapt up and flung yourself to the closest body before you knew what you were doing - straight into them, clinging for protection.

alfie, obviously.

he barely had time to register your hands were on him, too freaked out himself with your sudden bloodcurdling scream. "WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT?!"

his hand grabbed your arm like he’d thought someone had climbed the wall with a machete, pulling you back as if it’d do anything.

you pointed to the lizard and only shrieked again when it ran down again.

“WHAT?! FUCKING WHAT?!”

“LIZARD!”

“WHAT?!” his face fell, trying to see, “STOP YELLING!”

yet his fingers were digging into you.

he was still scared.

“IT RAN AT ME!”

“IT WON’T DO ANYTHING!”

you looked up at him from his side with a straight stare, “it could’ve bit and poisoned me,” you said like it was obvious.

“a lizard won’t touch you,” he released his grip finally when reassured it wasn’t an axe-murderer. “where is it?”

“alfie don’t it c—DON’T!” you jumped when it darted out from under the bed near him.

“FUCK!” alfie jumped back into you, your arm now shooting out to hold him back, “fast little fucker!”

you both watched it climb the wall in seconds, standing out against the sandy brick with its dull green skin and long tail. it shot up into the tree on the other side of your garden.

“URGH!”

you shivered at the thought of it running up your body.

laughter sounded behind you; your friend group getting a show.

alfie turned to the boys, his thumb jutting to the wall it had ran on. “did you fucking see that?!”

jay was laughing, “fucking lightening bolt!”

“it was on a fucking mission!” he laughed back, and you dropped your hand, realising you were still grasping his bicep. wow. ew. cringe.

“what colour was it?”

“where’d it go?!”

“was it big?”

“it was like this size,” you answered with your hands demonstrating, getting another shiver: “EW!”

the girls all seemed to agree as they shook off their unsettlement, “at least it wasn’t a snake!”

“at least it wasn’t poisonous!”

“i know!” you agreed, lifting your towel and sitting somewhere else. you shivered again, rubbing your arm. “ew. disgusting.”

“y/n, you screamed like you’d been murdered,” jess laughed loudly.

“it was zooming about the show!” you argued, snatching your towel up from the chair. “i’m never sitting there again!”

“was it a baby crocodile?”

you froze, the laughter dying instantly.

you did a double-take at the water, setting your towel down as you replayed the most diabolical question you’d just been asked in your head.

“no jay . . . it wasn’t a baby crocodile.”

ᯓ ✈︎

watching the boys was entertaining. you don’t know how long passed but you were proud for lasting so long out under the sun like you did. between watching them, sleeping, reading your book, listening to music and yapping with the girls, you couldn’t believe it was 4PM when you woke up from your nap.

you remembered the days you couldn’t sit still for longer than 20 minutes in the sun before playing in the water with a beach ball.

"right, if i get any redder, i’m gonna have to peel off my own skin,” beth said, taking her glasses off.

she was a tad burnt, but she deffo had worst sunburn on other holidays.

tam groaned after her, sitting up, “i’m so hungry. i need crisps.”

“i need a roast dinner.”

"i’m going up for aloe. my shoulders are sizzled."

the girls started gathering their things, lifting towels and beach bags, ready to go up to maybe make a move to get ready. you grabbed the scraps of your melon as well, ready to trot upstairs as the boys waved you off like mum’s dropping their kids off at school. “bye melon mum!”

you threw a chunk of green skin, clocking him right on the head.

the boys laughed at the floating bit of fruit now in the water – their entertainment sorted for the next 20 minutes.

jess ran ahead to use the shower. it got to that point in the holiday where you all lounged about, some outfits thrown here and there but really it was phone time - a time to scroll and go mute, maybe text the parents.

THE GALS™

imogen 👑

how’s my gals xx

imogen 👑

genuinely gutted not being there this year but this villa is elite

the walk-in wardrobe still isn’t big enough for me 😂😂

imogen 👑

send me all the gossip pls

someone better have pulled already x

faye 🦋

immy weve been here 30 hours 🤣😭

tammy 🌴

i actually have heatstroke who let me drink 4 wkds at 11am

y/n 🪩

lol chill out it was only wkd u crazy girl !

courtney 🎀

aw fs i’ve left my speaker down with them

someone go get it before they nick it on me

jess 🌼

y/n you go, alfie and you are buds now 🤪

y/n 🪩

hahahaha fuck off

imogen 👑

WHAT

imogen 👑

sorry what?????

i come here to ask how my girls are getting on and they’re making friends with those absolute MAGGOTS

are yous well?????

y/n?????!!!!!

y/n 🪩

what?

beth 🛍️

she’s in love now x

leave her alone

imogen 👑

FUCK OFF

NOW

i’m gonna be sick

y/n 🪩

omgg imogen she’s winding you up

imogen 👑

no i’m actually sick

are they seriously there??

i thought you were joking when you said they were in the same complex

are they in your pool???

tammy 🌴

it’s one pool

yeah we’ve just chilled out today, it’s too hot to be on our phones stg 35° 😩😩

courtney 🎀

no it’s actually chill, kinda jokes how we’re all at the same complex lol

like they’re not even that bad, is that mental to say?? like i thought they’d be worse

imogen 👑

courtney you’ve got fucking stockholm syndrome surely

casey 🍒

hiiiii girlllls 💕

beth 🛍️

hey case!!!! 💘💘 how r u girl

jess 🌼

yeah it’s so chill

they’re just doing their own thing, we’re doing ours

just all having a laugh at the pool

imogen 👑

A LAUGH???

what else have you let happen under my nose???

are we having full proper convos with them now??? inside jokes?? inviting them to sit w you???

laughing WITH and not AT??

y/n 🪩

we’re not inviting them to sit with us, we have to share the pool

or troop to the beach instead

imogen 👑

troop to the beach??

y/n 🪩

i’m terrified of seaweed imogen

imogen 👑

i wouldn’t care

how have you not moved hotels????

beth 🛍️

cus they haven’t done anything awful yet ? 😭🫣

courtney 🎀

they’re behaving

imogen 👑

i swear to god

if one of you starts fancying any of them i’ll drown you and then him

y/n 🪩

NO ONE FANCIES ANYONE

you’re making up scenarios now

imogen 👑

are yous being serious?? are they all trying it on w each of u??

faye 🦋

no just the usual

faye 🦋

like carter said do i want an ice cube from his mouth

imogen 👑

🤢🤢

tammy 🌴

alfie is getting under y/n’s skin big time 🤪

imogen 👑

he’s a fucking prick

y/n 🪩

he’s not being mean or anything, just smart mouth

courtney 🎀

he saved her from a lizard today 🦎

jess 🌼

he was hanging around u today like a flyyy

imogen 👑

no

no no no no no

casey 🍒

y/n do it for the plot

imogen 👑

hahahaahahahahha

i’d piss myself

fuck it go for it

y/n 🪩

you are all deeping it, don’t make me cringe

imogen 👑

they better be

you’re not stupid enough to get with that wasteman

imogen 👑

was jay talking about your brother

y/n 🪩

yeah

beth 🛍️

nah jay’s some breed

i caught him staring at his own reflection in his sunglasses for like 6 mins

tammy 🌴

why were you watching him that long?? 🤔

imogen 👑

hahahaha beth stop being a slaaggggg

imogen 👑

fuck i’m so glad i’m not there

send me everything

i want hourly updates

casey 🍒

is it hot

tammy 🌴

yeah sooo warm case

jess 🌼

yeah i am so burnt lol

hopefully can cover it a bit w my dress tn

casey 🍒

where u all headed!!!

courtney 🎀

just goin to get a quick bite and head to strip, will send pics of fits!!

tammy 🌴

im wearing your skirt you lent me

faye 🦋

im gonna wear that blue playsuit

casey 🍒

gorg

imogen 👑

are you going out with them?

imogen 👑

i want updates

i want chaos

i want photographic EVIDENCE

y/n 🪩

we willlll

imogen 👑

stay away from him, y/n

i’m warning you

i’ll vom

tell him to act like it’s english lit and go mute

beth 🛍️

he’s a pure chatterbox

imogen 👑

fuck off

did all those deadlifts grow his voice?

courtney 🎀

casey do you think you could meet us one night

casey 🍒

text me your itinerary i’ll have a look lol

imogen 👑

don’t i’ll get fomo

the only one not there

ya snakes

y/n 🪩

how was the wedding

imogen 👑

stunnnningggg

so so gorg

loved my dress it was beaut

and my makeup

and my hair, it was all perfect

renting a boat tomorrow cant WAIT 🤩

better not get my hair wet ffs

my dad may not act a twat

yeah soooo fun

all inclusive too so u know what i’m like 🤪🥂🥂

y/n 🪩

amazing

you got showered next, showering off all the sweat and suncream from today before slipping on a loose t-shirt to get ready in.

wardrobe doors were left open, shoes were scattered everywhere, wet bikinis were hanging up over the balcony and there was already foundation stains on towels as the group of you began your beautification process. beth and faye took the mirror in the bathroom, jess sat on her bed while you, tam, courtney squashed around the table on the balcony, your mirrors propped up on bottles and the speaker playing music from the floor.

“do i wear the green or white?”

“hmmm . . white. if you hook-up with someone it’ll look nicer during your walk of shame in the hotel hallway.”

tammy lifted the white top.

“if we run into them . . i swear to god,” jess muttered whilst applying her mascara. you had just put two clips in your hair to keep out of your face to start your routine.

“imogen would hate it here.”

you shrugged, rubbing in your primer.

you talked the most random shit, all perfecting your makeup and doing your hair so not a strand was out of place: it was the first night, you always went all out on the first night.

you were fixing your eyelashes in the mirror, most of the girls taking their pictures and spraying perfume in the mirror.

“remember my perfume rolled off the balcony last time? brand new? just bought from the airport. £60 straight down the fucking drain.”

you did laugh at that, remembering it clearly.

“oh my god, y/n remember you broke your arm!” tam hit the very arm.

courtney shrieked a laugh, banging the table, “funniest night ever.”

“wasn’t really funny, i’d to sell my car for that bastard hospital bill,” you smudged your eyeshadow a bit with your finger.

“cause you didn’t buy holiday insurance!” beth exclaimed, particularly frustrated as she was the one who demanded you all do your insurance weeks in advance.

did you ever get round to doing it? no.

tammy and jess were really laughing, coming out onto the balcony, laughing over the video on a phone. you furrowed your brows, looking at the screen and could feel yourself slightly smiling at it.

it was your first day back at school, and you’d walked into your form room, arm in a sling, waving your bus card with pride after having to blow dust off it.

that was only 6 months ago, when you were allowed to book holidays again after lockdown. it felt like ages ago, so much change already from then until now.

you still had no car though.

“that’s my favourite memory ever.” jess laughed, sitting back down at the table.

“right, ok,” you tried to get them to pipe down.

“asking her mum if she would put money on it once carly was back in the showroom at corsa,” beth cackled, name dropping your old car.

“oh my god, guys, shut the fuck up,” you murmured, tilting your head to the pool where the boys were hanging around. sat at a table directly underneath your balcony, you couldn’t see them but you could hear them — so they could definitely hear you. the girls laughed harder.

it was quiet beneath, which made you think maybe they’d gone back inside to head out.

. . . below, all five of them sat in silence, dressed up for the night in fresh t-shirts and new shoes, empty tins scattered the table, an ashtray in the centre. they were listening in on everything.

it was hard not to when the girls squawked like seagulls.

there was hushed whispers, mumbling words, and a sharp ‘shut up, they can hear!’ followed by silence.

dylan perked an eyebrow, and joel smirked, desperate to break the silence.

“s’that why you take the bus to school, y/n?”

it was still quiet, a faint thump maybe heard, a foundation bottle probably knocked over.

it was your elbows hitting the table, your fingers curling in your hair with frustration, “right, let’s go. get me out of here so i can get a drink.”

ᯓ ✈︎

within 20 minutes of being in the first club, your ears were ringing from the base of the music, sound waves physically thumping through your body. the space was filled with young people, all dressed in minimum clothing, bodies sweating, makeup melting off and hair already going frizzy with the humid hair.

not yours though. never yours.

you were on your second drink, jess on her first because she’d spilled the first two she bought. “how the fuck have you managed that?” you stood with your hand on your hip, watching the third cup on the floor.

“fuck off. i’m going to a different bar. these tables are wonky.”

“you’re wonky!”

“your eyebrows are wonky.”

you squinted at her, watching her walk away.

like the good friends you were, you of course all followed, walking into a different club, or rather pulled inside by some promo guy who gave you a round of free shots after tamsin got busy flirting with him. “you’re welcome,” she cheersed.

the songs were so loud, the neon lights blinding as they flickered nonstop. not sloppy, just floaty. you’re laughing easier now, swaying without realising. you dance with the girls but couldn’t help but keep watch over your shoulder, scanning the crowd. for a second, you swear you spot one of the boys, but you turned back around, not exactly wishing it was them.

heels clacking on cobbles, straps falling down, someone’s already carrying their heels. you get stuck behind a stag do dressed as smurfs, and beth insists on getting a photo with them. “for fuck sake! just pick a bar and go into it! i’ve blue paint all over my dress now!”

“alright! this one’s meant to be better!”

you get there and immediately get two drinks to save having to wait in the queue again, listening to duke dumont. three of you hang about the smoking area while the other three are inside, on the hunt for free shots from flirty boys while you feel like you’re on set of a photo shoot with the amount of flashes going off like paparazzi. most of them are horrific - never allowed to see the light of day, but one? surprisingly flattering.

faye grinned at your phone, “this one’s going on your wedding slideshow.”

your jaw dropped, hoping she was being sarcastic, “yeah! right next to me doing a line off a toilet seat!” you smacked her arm.

when you’re in the toilets again, some girl you’ve never met is crying by the sink, mascara down her cheeks, and suddenly she’s part of the group. she was stunning, and you hated how a baddie was crying over some twat named liam—lewis? louis? luke? you’re brushing her bright blonde hair with your pocket brush while jess does her some new lipliner. faye’s giving her the pep-talk. “guys are so easy, literally just find a better one. get with anyone you want tonight?!” the girl was nodding through her tears, and by the time you leave, she promises she’ll do you all proud by getting with some hottie tonight.

the walk to the next one is longer. the air’s cooler, your ears get a break from some house music, and you catch yourself drifting to the back of the group, just listening. you end up in a quieter place near the beach for a last drink (which everyone knows is a lie). courtney leans halfway across the bar, batting her lashes until some spanish bartender is pouring a free shot for all of you. she winks at your group.

beth climbs onto a table, arms out, head back, like the perfect girl for the music video to the song playing . . and then security’s suddenly approaching her, the moment flipping from a funny one to an oh shit moment.

half of you are trying to sweet-talk the bouncer while the rest are trying to drag beth down before somebody’s in cuffs, a little too much for just the first night.

you don’t know if the place quieted down as it entered early hours of the morning - or maybe it was because you’d just gone deaf to the music after hours of it pounding in your skull. shop shutters were starting to come down and cups littered the streets. your lip gloss has strands of hair stuck to your mouth, and your skirt keeps riding up with every step, you’re wrist sore from tugging it down every two seconds. courtney’s hand is in her handbag, her fingers fishing for the spare apartment key.

you walked between tam and courtney, wedges dangling from one finger, the other hand gripping the slice of pizza some guy from manchester had bought for you.

"mate," you groaned, wobbling along the cobble, "i think my feet are actually bleeding."

court kept a hand on your back, giving a gentle rub like that'll fix anything. "we’re nearly there, girl. think about the shower. think about the air con."

tammy bit inter her crust with a girly giggle, "—think about how faye’s currently in a randomer’s uber, telling them she's an influencer."

you all laugh, breathless and a little giddy, shoulders bumping as you walk. jess and beth had been whisked away in an uber after jess argued with the driver for trying to charge her extra, and faye threw herself into a taxi full of lads all in football shirts. your group had been splintered by the night, but that was normal.

you took another bite of the pizza slice, food never tasting so good at two in the morning.

the three pass a bin outside a kebab shop and tamsin casually drops a scrunched-up napkin inside. you follow, disposing off the tiny, zip-lock plastic bag from your purse without a second thought. you moan at the food in your mouth, dipping it into the bbq sauce container. “so good!”

“easy girl! the boys might be up! they’ll hear you and go into heat,” court’s giggles made you laugh loudly, her body bumping into yours.

the comment had you whipping out your phone and flicking it onto selfie mode, angling it to overanalyse your appearance the best you could in your hazy state. home was only a street away, the glow of the complex sign just visible past the last row of bars.

you smoothed out your hair, pressed your lips together to see if it was smudged and blinked slowly at your reflection as if it would morph yourself into looking normal.

you looked as normal as you could for a girl who’d been out the last seven hours, able to go for another seven.

with flushed cheeks and black eyes, you pulled out your spooly to brush your eyelashes and eyebrows into shape, pulling your dress nearly down after combing your hair, just doing the usual post-night out tidy up.

you saw smoke before you saw them, three of them hanging about on the steps, two sitting down, one leaning on the apartment glass window, typing something with a cigarette between his lips. joel was mid-story, but alfie’s head turned first.

you flicked your eyes away quickly, dropping your head in an attempt to get ready and slip past as fast as possible.

“oh look. here come the walking and wounded,” joel called out, smirking at the sight, “how was the warzone out there?”

“well, we survived,” tammy answered, letting her handbag fall from her shoulder as you all slowly trotted over to the entrance. yeah, you weren’t slipping by anywhere.

alfie clocked you straight away.

“saw faye get dropped off, she and some lad swapped tops on the uber. little retro chelsea number for her blue tank top,” you girls burst out laughing at that, excited to go in and see her. “i’d be fuming if i gave that away. it’s a beauty.”

“i’ll nick it off her for you tomorrow.”

“i’d literally pay ya.”

tammy laughed. “why are you guys back so early? where’s the rest of them?”

“carter started chundering before it was 12. jay’s . . somewhere he shouldn’t be.”

“—he’s riding some scouse girl two blocks away.”

“oh stunnnning,” you replied, clearly dying to know that information.

alfie silently smirked at your tone, his eyes flicking up at you as you slowly passsed between them. tam and court were too busy having a smoke with them now.

“what about you? any casualties?”

you thought he was talking to one of the other two, but when you looked back, he was watching you over his shoulder, a sly grin on him.

the smallest tug pulled on your lips. “just a couple missing lashes. a mr dickinson lookalike bought me a drink.”

“hm. solid night then,” he nodded, blowing smoke out the side of his lips. you smiled with a small shrug, and turned around, swaying slightly on your way to the revolving door. alfie watched you ‘til you were out of eyesight.

the girls yapped on about stupid stuff, but alfie was in his own head, blanking them out, thinking about you and your shy shuffling past in that short shimmery skirt that was slipping high enough to show the strength in your thighs.

what the fuck? he pulled a face at his own thoughts, took one last drag, flicked the butt away, and shoved through the revolving door, heading straight to his empty room before his hangover started to kick in.

yourusername

Liked by jessiebff2003, _bestiefaye and 301 others

yourusername day 1 and the heels are off ✨🍸

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bestietammy_xx bde !! (best day ever) 🤩🪩

imogenbestie_xx stunning stunning girl 🤍🤍🤍

jay__ get the bus card out

[sofiasworld00]

✮⋆˙ . your bridesmaids showing rafe spicy polaroid's at your wedding.

warnings — adult themes. MDNI. mentions & description of lewd images.

cherie’s note — requested by this anon! inspired by this trend. <3 such a cute fuckin' idea, omggg thank you for the idea baby!

she didn't stop to chat. didn't say a word.

rafe had been leaning against the bar, half-listening to topper talk about the golf trip coming up in a couple of weeks, when one of your bridesmaids drifted past.

but she smirked. slid something across the polished wood toward him, the way someone might slide over a shot glass off liquor.

a polaroid.

at first, all he saw was the familiar white border, the faint floss of film. then his thumb flipped it over.

you.

not in your wedding dress, not in anything he recognized from this morning — but sprawled across what was unmistakably your bed, wearing nothing but white lace panties, and his dress shirt. the same one he was wearing now, uncrimped and neat. the collar hung wide, sleeves swallowing your hands, buttons left undone to reveal the lace of the matching bra. your knees were bent, legs slightly spread, one hand holding the edge of the shirt together just enough to tease.

your mouth was parted — not in a smile, but in that soft, dazed way you got when you were thinking about him. he could see the smudge of your lipstick from where you'd bitten your bottom lip.

his fingers tightened on the photo. his tongue poked at the inside of his cheek, a smirk hiding just behind the complexion he tried to maintain.

rafe hadn't even slipped the first polaroid into his pocket before another one of your bridesmaids appeared. different one this time — hair up, champagne in hand — drifting casually to his side.

"you dropped this," she murmured, sliding the second polaroid across the bar. no smile, no explanation. just a pointed glance down towards the little white picture, before she was gone, just like the last.

you, again — this time, kneeling on the floor in front of the mirror in your bridal suite, your veil clipped into your hair but nothing else on except that same white lace lingerie from the first polaroid. the lace was stretched over your hips, the bra straps falling slightly off your shoulders. you had one hand resting right above your waistband, fingers skimming the edge of your lace panties like you were seconds away from dipping lower.

and his jaw flexed.

and another, a third. slipped into his hand as naturally as if she were passing a sugar packet, wandering right past as she laughed with her group.

a sea of white — matching lace draped over your skin as you lay tangled in the spill of your own wedding veil. your arms curled protectively around yourself, back stretched across the floor, gaze soft and unfocused, like you didn't even realize the camera was there.

and each time, he shoved them deeper into the pockets of his dress pants, taking another swig of his whiskey, fingertips burning hot against the glass.

when the fourth one came — courtesy of your maid of honor, who had the audacity to wink right in his face — he almost didn't look. didn't want to give you the satisfaction of watching the blood drain from his face, a mixture of shock and arousal pooling in his stomach — obvious, for everyone else to notice.

you, lying on your stomach across the bed, same white shirt pushed high enough to reveal the curve of your ass. your panties were gone, this time. completely. and the polaroid was angled so that the focus was unmistakable — the warm, soft skin he wasn't supposed to see again until tonight.

now, he couldn't even hear the sound of his friends hollering and cheering at him over the mere possibility of the images held in the polaroids.

the music swelled around him, the crowd oblivious.

he scanned the room until he found you — over by the sweetheart table, veil draped over your shoulders, laughing at something your cousin said. your expression was all innocence and marital happiness. but the subtle curl at the corner of your mouth gave you away.

you'd done this on purpose. all of it. planned it out meticulously, and expected this reaction. his reaction.

and if you thought he was going to wait until tonight to have his way with you, to get back at you for the blissful torment — you were dead wrong.

he pushed through the crowd, heat burning under his skin, pants a little tighter, one hand already in his pocket to curl tight around the stack of photos.

cherie's taglist <3 — @sexybr9nette, @fawnfate, @bonjourjiminie, @bunniecouture, @kaydennnn, @rafessbaby, @girldisrupted, @vunhun, @mattyskies.

[sofiasworld00]

BEST OF Y/NTOSHAW | h. lewis

summary: the internet share their favourite moments of their favourite couple, y/n and harry wroetoshaw. [social media AU.]

pairing: reader x bog (W2S.)

faceclaim: madison beer

notes: i was so excited to post this, it makes mrs bog feel all that real 😭 i feel like i could make a few of these, w/ diff stories or sidewomen ones w/ their friendships etc! +appreciate my photoshop skills x. let me know what you thought! walk me thru your fav tweet?! 🤣🤪 & don’t forget to reblog! <333

[sofiasworld00]

“ a bb penny (6?) accidently going live on one of their phones and answering all the asks going thru”

why can i imagine the way harry or mrs bog realises shes doing it is because someone asks something and she cant understand it/cant read it so she just trots into their room to ask for help.

baby bog goes instagram live

no i really really loved this take, i love the domesticness!!!!

both of them sitting downstairs, feet kicked up on the sofa, harry subconsciously massaging mrs bogs foot as she watches the tv w the newest baby bog on her chest.

penny is upstairs, walking around the landing, phone in hand, blabbering nonstop about the most random thing, unable to read a single message coming through because there are thousands on thousands coming through a second. props the phone on the wall to show her new clothes, all the laundry drying in the back of new baby onsies, harry’s socks and her mom’s bright neon thongs. “look how cool” modelling her white airforce with baby blue ticks to match her tracksuit.

user OMG WHAT

user PENNY!!!!! 🩵🩵🩵

user penny where’s your mum! xx

user OOO love your shoes pen!!!

user she’s GORGEOUS

tobjizzle penny!!! go play outside!!!!

trots on in to her brothers room, teddy chilling on his bed with his nintendo switch, leg crossed over as she comes next to him. “what’s that?” she points to the comments. he’s so big brotherly. their the same age but it’s so cute how he ducks his head over her shoulder with his hand on her shoulder to get a look at the phone, having no clue. “i don’t think you should be on this,” he looks at her, and she looks back at him, and they just stare at each other until he’s laid back on his bed with his game in hand, a tight-lipped ‘i’m just sayin’ attitude on his face. “bye teddy,” she’d say, leaving before he shouts down to you.

she’s entranced in the phone, by the cute and pretty emojis spamming the screen.

user OMG OTHER BABY BOG

user omg 😭😭😭😭

calfeezy no freakin way

user look how big they are 🥹💔

user w2s clones

“freezy’s ringing me . . i’m not answering,” harry mumbled, throwing his phone to the side. he could hardly look at his phone, going to shut his eyes for the five minutes of peace he was getting.

penny bangs into the dresser at the top of the stairs, knocking over a photo, then another and another. you look at harry suspiciously at the faint sound but go back to the tv. she picks the frame up, deciding it’s a perfect side story. “oop . . i cant get it up,” she can’t stretch tall enough to stand it up again. she shows the phone, “this was my mummy and daddy when . . they . . when the— he was a little boy,” she shows the photo of you two on your first trip, just mere months together. he was about 17 but it was simpler to say ‘little boy.’ “look at him,” she pointed to harry’s face, how he looked soo different from now, not a hair of stubble on his face nor wrinkle. she then directed it to you, her pretty mummy, who always upstaged her dad in every pic. she’d always looked the same, never seeming to age a day. she was as beautiful back then to now, lovely straight teeth and soft eyes, her signature look of adoration. “isn’t she sooo nice,” she showed before setting it flat on the dresser. someone would fix it when they passed by. the other two photos showed glimpse of you and harry, one at a wedding and the other on another sunny holiday.

user OMG MY HEART ❤️❤️❤️

user y/n is the most beautiful 🥰🩷🌟🩷😍

user WHY HAVE THEY NEVER POSTED THESE PICS 😍😍😍

user they’re gorgeous!!!!

user your mom and dad are fantastic 😍😍

taliamar PENNY ANSWER THE PHONE DARLIN!!

“where’s roro?” she managed to catch a comment on time. “roro!” she called from the top of the stairs. ‘roro’ was the massive pitbull-like dog with the bravery of a mouse - rocky . . or rocket as harry called him because of his constant case of zoomies, and rock from you because you were convinced there was a rock where his brain was supposed to be.

the dog picked his head up, pausing from giving puppy eyes at the baby in your arms. penny came down the stairs, reading more words that popped up, almost banging into the wall as she turned into the living room. “what are you doing you numpty?” harry furrowed at her, her head glued to the phone. too distracted taking photos of rocky. fans saw harry in the back, your elbow barely in the cut at the side, but fans still lost it.

user BOG

user HARRY!!!!!!

user OMGG DILF

user HARRYYY 🤤🤤🤤🤤

user penny show your new brother / sister !!!!

user he’s so fucking fit

user DADDYYY

user OMFG 👅

user BOG!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

user penny your dad’s a dilf

user 🚨 D I L F A L E R T 🚨

“daddy what’s a dif?”

“eh?”

she looked at the phone again, the words going too fast. “a dif. dlif. a difd.”

she climbed up on the sofa beside him, scooting under his arm, he cuddled into her and glanced at the phone, and his face dropped. “penny, what are you doing you melon,” he snatched the phone.

you furrowed your brows, confused, “what’s she done?”

there were endless possibilities.

“she’s been fucking live the last 15 minutes,” he was trying not to laugh, but he was, because, what the fuck. what the fuck had she been broadcasting to these 215k people watching? fans were left to watch his widened eyes and growing smirk as he covered his mouth and looked down again, more views appearing than ever. he had to laugh because he didn’t know what else to do, and penny just looked at him, lost, not knowing if she was in trouble or not.

roro wasn’t the only one who’d be making puppy eyes.

he gave the middle finger to the camera and ended it, the last of the screen sounding penny’s humoured gasp of ‘daddy!’ with a pull of his hand before it ended.