#Tri-proof LED

[kosoomcanada]

kosoom.fr

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Phone

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Keywords

Store, LED Downlight, LED lights, Lane Spotlights, LED Linear Lamp, LED strips, LED panel, UFO LED spotlight, Ceiling lamps, Floodlight, Tri-proof LED, T8 LED Tube

Description

Kosoom, an Italian brand specialized in commercial lighting, our products are widely appreciated in the industry, especially in lines of luminaires, rails, strips, profiles and light panels. We are proud to be one of the representatives of low-cost lighting solutions. For professionals and large projects, we offer unique offers and discounts. We are so confident in the quality of our products that we offer a 3-5 year warranty on each one. Kosoom will always be at your side in your lighting project to guarantee its correct execution.

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[cigelighting-blog]

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[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ bouncer simon 'ghost' riley - 01

cw : sexual theme, small sexual assault scene, violence

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ㅤㅤㅤ collection - prev ⋆ next

the new bouncer had all the girls intrigued. you'd been working here for almost a year, and you'd never seen anyone like him. and god, you'd seen some weirdos in a strip club.

on his first day, the girls had been mostly intrigued by his physique-big, strong, face covered by a surgical mask and the hood of his hoodie, with 'security' written in bold across his back. but now, all the girls, you included, had one goal… hearing his voice.

that was the thing with ghost-how he had been introduced to the staff-he didn't talk. when drunk men started bothering the dancers, he didn't need to say a word. he just approached, and the fuckers got the message. if they didn't, he grabbed them and threw them outside. not a single word spoken.

word was that he was ex-military, and it would make sense. his sheer physical strength alone was proof-you had seen him throw a man to the floor like he weighed nothing, and that guy had to be at least 130 kilos. his posture was another giveaway, rigid and disciplined, always on his feet, eyes scanning the room like a hawk. then there was his silence-no one ever heard him coming. sure, the music was loud, but even without it, he moved like a ghost, blending so seamlessly into his environment that predicting his next move was nearly impossible. guess he earned that nickname.

but why would an ex-military man end up in a strip club in manchester? he either fucked up bad, or he was just done.

truth was, simon had been injured-his knee was shot, pain was constant, and command had benched him for good. no more deployments, no more battlefield. just a desk and a slow death in an office. so he walked.

he hated the way he would softly limp. to untrained eyes, it was barely noticeable, but to him? he felt like he was half of himself . this job was the only thing he'd found outside the military that still required some of his skills. he had no interest in working around soldiers-too petty for that. they didn't want him anymore, so he sure as hell wasn't going to help them train new recruits.

so he ended up here, at the magic stick. what a stupid fucking name. but the job? same as always-observe, analyze, attack.

it wasn't so bad. the job was easy, the place mostly clean, and the pay was good. he didn't need to socialize. sure, the girls had tried to sweet-talk him, but he'd just deadpanned them until they gave up. the only one who never really tried was the one he always had his eyes on. his gaze lingered on you when you were on the pole, when you walked past him to head to the back, when you led a man by the hand to the private rooms.

you were on your break, smoking by the staff door when he stepped out. normally, you were never shy-especially not around men, given your line of work-but there was something about ghost that made your hands sweat. you meekly offered him a fag, your voice quieter than usual. he said nothing. just looked at you, unreadable as ever. yet, somehow, the silence wasn't awkward. you were.

maybe it was nerves, maybe it was the way he carried himself, all stillness and power, but something had you spiraling. before you could stop yourself, you started ranting about customers, the same way you did with the girls inside. anything to fill the space, anything to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. call it a defense mechanism, call it whatever you wanted-but right now, you just needed to stop feeling so damn flustered.

once you were finished with both the rant and the fag, you made your way inside, quickly. "thanks for the therapy, ghost." you'd said. he still had his eyes on you, his expression unreadable, but you guessed you had annoyed him. just as you turned your back on him, passing through the door, you heard him.

"name's simon," he grunted, voice thick with that unmistakable manchester accent.

back inside, your cheeks were burning. his voice was so deep it should be illegal. it suited him, no doubt, and you'd be lying if you said just hearing his name didn't send a shiver down your spine. how could a man you had no shot with be that damn attractive? as you made up your little scenarios at night, you imagined his groans in your ears. you'd known he'd groan.

but life went on. you danced, he watched. until one night…

it was a busy night, even with only an hour until closing. many men were still sitting, watching all the girls on stage. you were out looking for the biggest fish-the man with the most drinks on his table, the one whose clothes looked the most expensive. it hadn't been a slow night, but you liked the money. little did you know, you were being observed too.

when you had chosen your target, you took him to the back. men here were always so eager for private dances. you explained everything meekly- how long, how expensive. and most importantly, you told him: no touching, not from him. "i do all the work, honey," you said, sitting down on his lap.

as you started your show, you knew he was going to be a difficult one. he kept trying to reach for your hips, your thighs. at first, you stayed calm, pushing his hands down gently with a soft smile on your lips. but as he insisted on moving his hands, you decided you were done. you quickly put your top back on, told him it was on the house, and that he could just leave now.

he didn't really seem happy with the idea. you knew what was coming, so you reached for the hidden button, pressing it to call security.

the man had approached you, trying to grab you again, pulling at your top, yelling for you to go back to dancing, calling you a whore. he even went as far as grabbing a handful of your arse. but before he could do more, he was on the floor, ghost on him, fists landing on his face.

once he decided the fucker had had enough, he dragged him outside. he glanced back at you before leaving, like he was waiting for something. "'m 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦," you said, nodding at him. to be honest, you were more than fine-you were hot and bothered. he had been protecting you. you.

you had worked in far worse strip clubs; you were no stranger to that type of behavior. that's why you liked this place so much: the security was efficient. even the guys before ghost didn't make you wait 10 minutes here. and ghost-he arrived in a matter of seconds. you didn't really care how he had gotten there so quickly.

after closing, you decided to take a shower at the club. even though you were sadly used to vile men, it was never a pleasant experience. you told the girls not to wait up for you; you knew the manager wouldn't be leaving for another hour, so you took your time.

what you didn't know was that simon always waited for you in the shadows. he liked to watch you reach your car, making sure nothing happened to you on the short walk from the door to the parking lot. so when he saw all the girls making their way out, but not you, he got concerned. he decided to investigate. he never thought he'd stumble upon this.

you were in the showers, and he heard the water running. reassured that you were okay, he was about to make his way out, ready to wait in the dark like a good guard dog. but just as he put his hand on the handle, the sweetest sounds he'd ever heard reached his ears.

"simon," you moaned.

you had no idea he was here, he knew that. he smirked, wondering how long you had been touching yourself to the thought of him. probably as long as he had with you. he had seen the look on your face in the private room, your eyes screaming '𝘧uck m𝘦.' he hadn't thought anything of it then, chalking it up to the adrenaline. but now? you were going to get what you asked for.

silently taking his clothes off, he made sure to lock the bathroom door. no one was here but you and the manager, but he was still thorough. old habits died hard. he took his mask off too. after all, he had no intention of this being a one-time thing. his sweet girl could see his face; he didn't care.

pulling the shower curtain open, you didn't even notice that. tsk. oh, that wouldn't do. he'd have to teach you to be more aware of your surroundings. the world was a very bad place.

you jumped when you felt a warm body behind you, hands on your hips. you were about to move your own hand from between your legs, but it was stopped. "don't stop on my account, lovie," simon murmured in your ear, his voice low and rough. "wanna hear all those sweet sounds you're makin'"

when you didn't do anything, you felt his teeth nip at your throat. "what? gettin' shy on me?" he laughed darkly, and you just whimpered in response. "ah, i see. need me to do all the work, yeah?" he asked, the smirk clear in his voice. and so, he did all the work.

you had been right, he did groan.

[eraenaa]

Virginal Whore

Aemond Targaryen x Celtigar Reader

Synopsis: Prince Aemond sets out to find a whore to warm his bed; he finds a virgin instead. 

Warnings: Dub-Con, Oral Sex (f receiving), Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 3,345

Sequel: Prince's Whore

Strife, suffering, and sorrow are all the Prince now feel— perhaps even then. He could no longer stomach the tolls of the war that was reigning havoc on the lands of Westeros. He sought a moment of reprieve, solace in the arms of a lover that he could take into his bed. Harrenhall was bent to his will; everyone was taken and at his mercy. He had women in his grasp, serving girls and some highborn ladies, even a bastard of House Strong, yet as comely and shapely as they were, none were able to stir the need brewing deep inside him. He could not find the want to take them into his bed and warm his cock.

He was, for a moment, entranced by a witch who held the name Rivers. The sorceress tried to seduce him with her lingering glances and mysterious presence, and he was ready to give in, to take her to his bed, but he had caught her placing her spell upon him. Slipping a vial of an unknown substance into his wine, Aemond could not tolerate such acts. He invited her into his chambers, luring her in with the pretense that he had succumbed to her charms, and as she sank to her knees before him, his cock in her mouth, and he was on the verge of spilling his seed in her throat, he took a dagger and slit her throat— him coming undone as her lifeless body fell and her blood pooled onto the floor. 

That sufficed the need in Aemond for a short moment, but just a few days later, he found himself in want of release again— something that would quench the ache in his loins and the fire in his veins. Not just a mouth around his cock but a cunt as well.

He blended into the night and reached town; slipping into a whore house, he heard a few of the soldiers muttering about. When he entered the establishment, nothing of note came into view. It was the same as any houses of pleasure he had stumbled upon during the night. He was in desperate need of company. Scattered around him were the perfumed bodies that masked the smell of vile scents wafted about the room. His eye searched for something that could possibly sedate his raging cock. 

He peeled away his hood, uncaring that the whores and their patrons could see his silvery locks; surely they have more pleasing matters to attend to rather than his presence. As he announced himself, he was quickly approached by a rather well-dressed man who he supposed was the owner. “My prince, welcome… you honor us with your presence.” He bowed lowly, and Aemond simply scanned his eye about the room once more. Without another word, the owner snapped his finger, and Aemond saw some workers hastily running across the establishment, surely readying themselves for him. 

Aemond was led deeper into the den of depravity and into a secluded room where a bed waited along with a line of whores on their knees, waiting for the prince to take his pick. Aemond still paid no mind to the owner as he tried to sell the girls. Aemond assessed each one of them, presenting him with their seductive gazes and trying to allure them with their smiles, pushing together their breasts in the hope that would press even further desire into the prince. 

He sneered as he almost finished assessing the lines of girls, ready to demand the owner to present him with a new batch, but his gaze was then caught by a cowering figure. Her eyes were planted on the floor, and she had used her long, flowing hair to cover her body, trying to display at least one ounce of modesty. 

Aemond strayed closer to you, his curiosity peaking. When the owner’s gaze noticed the prince had focused on you, he quickly stood by your side, who was kneeling at the end of the line. “A newcomer, my prince,” He said and forcefully yanked the back of your head in order to raise your face so the prince could see your features. “I think you would like her, my prince… the prettiest one we have.” 

Aemond said no word nor made any reaction, only studying the way your lips quivered and your eyes pooled with tears as you tried to avoid his gaze. “If her face does not please you enough, I am inclined to tell you that she is a highborn lady snatched away from her traitorous lord father’s care at the start of the war,” He added in pride. It was most beneficial for his business to have an asset such as yourself. Pretty, filled with youth, and had the blood of nobles coursing through your veins. 

Aemond blinked as he felt his cock strain further into his trousers. You were certainly far from his usual type, but only you had stirred such a need in him that he had not felt in many moons. “And if that still isn’t enough to please you, your highness… I shall as well inform you that she is a virgin. Untouched by any man… but I do warn you that may not be the case in a short while.” The owner heinously laughed. Aemond did not know how to take such facts. He was accustomed to experienced hands bringing him pleasure and comfort… but there was just something in your innocence that he found wholly more appealing. 

He turned to the owner and gave a nod. You breathed sharply as the room quickly emptied out, leaving you alone in the presence of a cruel prince. You were still on your knees, and your gaze quickly panted themselves on the floor once more. Aemond placed his hood by a chair and assessed your trembling frame that still knelt on the cold floor. “What house do you come from?” He questioned and brought a chalice already filled with wine to his lips. He drank two sips from it, but you still have not answered his query. “Speak, girl. Are you a mute?” He questioned, stepping before you. “N— no… my prince,” You say, ever so silently. He reached to grab your face in his hands, his fingers squeezing your soft cheeks together, a horrified expression screaming in your eyes. 

“What traitorous house do you come from?” He almost spat. “House… House C—Celtigar, your Highness,” You almost cried, and Aemond was silently surprised. The blood that coursed through your veins was not from any plain noble house; the blood in your veins was the blood of Old Valyria. “Hm,” Aemond hummed as his fingers that held your cheeks savored the way your soft flesh felt. “And how have they taken you?” He questioned and raised the cup of wine to his lips once more, waiting for your answer. 

“I was to be sent to Essos, but they— they commandeered the ship and slain the captain, and I was— was sold off from one man to another.” You explained, your hands clenching at the sheer fabric they made you wear, the material so thin that it did nothing to hide your body. 

You boldly raised your gaze at the prince, hoping to find at least one speck of empathy in his lone eye, but you paled further as you saw a sinister smirk rise to his lips. How fortunate was Aemond to stumbled to the whorehouse at this moment, having the pick of the litter. An overly pretty, untouched noblewoman is now kneeling before him; the gods seem to take pity on his needing state that had plagued him for moons that had left him restless and irritated. “Stand,” he commanded and finally let go of his hold on your cheeks. Watching as you slowly and wobbly obeyed and stood on your feet. 

He raked his eye upon your body, from your pretty face to the apex of your neck to your breast that hid behind the curtain of your hair. His gaze continued to travel downward from the curves of your hips and waist to your sex that was hidden by a dark shadow and to your plush thighs— as he saw the limbs of lavish flesh, a deeper sense of lust overcame him. He placed the chalice down and stepped closer to you. Aemond’s smirk widened as he heard a whimper leave your lips and your eyes tightly closed as he tore away the sheer fabric they made you wear. 

He threaded closer and brushed away the hair that covered your frame, feeling you shiver beneath his touch as his hand trailed to the small of your waist, then upward to your ample tit, your nipple pebbling beneath his cold and calloused touch. He lowered his head and placed it in the nook of your neck, inhaling your scent that was not riddled with the generic perfume that they bathed the whores with. Compared to them— you were a breath of fresh air. 

You gasped and turned stiff as the prince, without warning, pushed you upon the silk-covered bed. You cowered towards the headboard, petrified at the sinister smirk on the prince’s lip, completely enjoying your fear. “I must admit… I’ve never fucked a virgin before,” He said lowly as he took off his tunic, and you looked away as you felt your cheeks heat. “I’ve always preferred my women to be ones with experience… but there is, I suppose, something appealing in being the one first to taint a maiden— perhaps that is why my brother could smell them from a mile away,” Aemond said, a bit amused as he now realized the reason for his brother’s preference of seeking out virgins to be brought to his bed. 

Aemond undid his trousers, standing bare before you as you curled into a ball at the head of the bed. Aemond relished in your cry for help as he pulled you toward the edge of the bed— thrashing upon his hold. You feel your tears slip from your eyes as the prince spreads your legs, and your cunt is fully exposed before him. You inhaled a sharp breath as you felt his breath fanning your folds, assessing you. Aemond bore witness to the truth that you truly were a virgin, your maidenhead still intact and just waiting for him to be ruined. 

He thought about how to proceed; usually, he would have a maiden on their knees or on her stomach and take her from behind— no tenderness or foreplay, simply taking what he wanted and be done with all the bother. But somehow, your cunt was calling for his lips. He never found the appeal of it, feasting on a cunt that had been used and abused by differing men, sullying himself with the taste of other men on the body of a woman. However, you were untouched, and Aemond indulged himself with an act he was rather more curious about. 

You froze as you felt the prince’s fingers trace along the slit of your cunt, the sensation new and disturbing as no one had ever touched you in such a place before. You felt his hand press your fold together, his eye on every movement you made. Aemond marveled at your cunt, never truly assessing one before— he never thought a cunt could be so… captivating. When he ran his fingers in the middle of your slit again, he chuckled darkly as he felt wetness gathering in them; despite your reluctance and defiance, your cunt was begging to be touched. Aemond’s mouth salivated at the thought. 

A gasp left your lips, and you tried to close your legs as you felt the prince’s tongue replace his finger and lick a clean stripe in the middle of your folds. Aemond could not help but moan at the taste of you, tart and sweet, and he began to wonder if this was how his depravity would begin, with a taste of a virginal whore.

You bit your tongue as you felt his lips latch on the sensitive pearl, his tongue darting out and licking you further, teasing your hole and bringing further wetness. “Stop acting so demure and coy; you enjoy this, do you not, my lady?” He menacingly said against you, refusing to let his lips stray away from the sweet nectar of your womanhood. 

You shook your head and felt your tears fall further, but any denial you do did nothing to stop the arousal dripping from your cunt. Aemond chuckled and used his tongue to tease you further, slipping it into the void of pleasure. 

You finally let out a moan, one that was unexpected, and you felt shame as you found pleasure in such actions. That spurred further determination in the prince, darting his tongue in and out of you, his fingers sinking into your plush thighs as he, too, was overwhelmed by the pleasure of feasting on your cunt. Your sensitive pearl rubbed itself against the high bridge of his nose, your blood alight, your skin glimmering with a thin sheet of sweat, and your body ready to succumb to pleasure. Aemond felt it too, that you were close to what he concluded to be the first climax of your life, your body agitated and uncertain, your moans wry and held fear. He was debating if he should let you come undone now or wait when until his cock was buried deep inside your cunt. He was straying towards the latter, but as the thought of tasting you further infiltrated his mind, the prince obliged you to reach your peak and taste your orgasm. Your uncertain moans turned loud and sure, and your hands instinctively clutched the silver locks of the prince’s hair as you came undone by his tongue. 

Aemond hummed in content, feeling his cock weeping at the taste of you. “I’ve never thought a cunt could taste so delectable,” He mused and planted his weight on his knees, staring down at your bare, flushed body and your face that was still trying to comprehend your first taste of pleasure. 

The prince did not give you much time to grasp what had happened as his rough hands found home on your waist, and his cock was aligned against your dripping entrance. Your pleasured-clad face morphed into one of pain as you felt his length penetrating your undefiled hole. It was mean and sadistic, but Aemond found pleasure in taking away your innocence. He was filled with further satisfaction as he glanced down and saw how his cock was tainted with red, your maidenhead taken by him. 

“What lord will have you now, my lady? Now that you’re the prince’s whore?” He grunted as his cock was fully sheathed inside you, the tip of it brushing a spot he knew all too well. “Are those tears of pain or pleasure?” Aemond taunted as he bent down closer to your face, his fingers brushing away the salty water that spilled from your eyes. “If it is the former, I will try not to take it as an offense. There are worst fates than being my whore, my lady— just ask the girls that served my brother,” He smirked and kissed away your tears, his lips straying further to yours.

He never found much pleasure in the act; he would only sometimes oblige the old madame in his once-favored whorehouse with the act because she seemed quite keen on it, but he never liked the way she tasted on his tongue after. But you, gods, was it too much if he would say that just one taste of you has had him on the verge of addiction?

You took in sharp breaths of pain as the prince thrust into you; he was kind enough to slow down his movements, letting you accustom yourself to his length, but by the second, Aemond was growing impatient. His moves started to move at a faster, almost violent pace, ignoring your cries of pain as he was certain they would soon turn into cries of pleasure. He had never had a cunt as tight as yours before; he had never truly paid enough attention to every fluter, every clench, every movement of the woman he was fucking, but now he could not help but focus on anything that you did underneath him. 

He savored every moan and sigh that left your lips, every line on your furrowed brows, every scratch of your nail on his back as you felt his length rutting inside you. Aemond let out a groan as the moons of need started to overwhelm him. He was close to the peak he desperately sought, but he was genteel enough to coax one out of you first; you were a noble lady; after all, it would be terribly rude of him to leave you need and unsatisfied. 

Aemond straightened his back and felt his cock twitch as he saw the site of you laid before him, your legs on his shoulder, his fingers sinking on your soft thighs, and your tits bouncing at his every thrust. You watched through hazy and pleasured-filled eyes as the prince licked his thumb and placed it flat against your nubbin, and his other hand pressed down on your lower stomach and spurred you further into pleasure. Your lips spewed out his name as you came undone, and the prince was quick to follow you. Filling your cunt with his seed, and finally, Aemond felt relief and satisfaction over him. 

The prince panted heavily as he tried to regain his thoughts; he removed his length from your cunt and felt a lazy grin come to his lips as he saw the essence of both of you spill from your hole. Through your haze, you did not expect the prince to dip down and capture your lips into a kiss once again; tongue sought entrance, and you could not find it in yourself to deny him. 

Both of you panted as your lips parted. You stared into the unique lilac eye of the Targaryen prince and were soon overcome with the implications of what had just happened. Your cheeks further turned red as you avoided his gaze once more, ashamed at how you relished and had enjoyed being defiled by him. 

Aemond smirked and collapsed atop of you, savoring the feel of your intertwined bodies for a moment. You just lay there beneath him, and somehow, that was enough for him. But as he felt your hands wrap around him and your hand went to comb through his hair, he let out a further satisfied sigh at the feeling of comfort he never thought he could find in another. 

It did not take long before Aemond had drifted into slumber. The cacophony of his release, fatigue, and you lulled him into a deep yet quick slumber. When he woke, he found you asleep beath him as well, looking so peaceful with your tear-stained cheeks and plush parted lips. Aemond delicately removed himself from you and silently walked out of the room. 

When you woke, you found a pouch filled with coins by your side and the distant sound of moans and footsteps approaching. You raised the sheet of the bed to cover your naked frame as the curtain was lifted, revealing the silver prince. You stared in confusion as he tossed the dress you wore when you were abducted on the bed. “Get dressed,” You could only stare at him in further confusion, your limbs refusing to move. 

Aemond smirked as the fear returned in your eyes. He was halfway through his return to Harrenhall, but the thought of you haunted him. He finally found the release he sought, and it would be foolish of him to let it wander free. Aemond was a selfish man. He could not oblige the others and let them have a taste of the pleasure that only you could present.  

“Get dressed. I have brought you from your master. You’re all mine now, my lady.” 

[moonsgemini]

cherry wine - firefighter!rafe

* ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ ⋅

summary: who knew career day would involve a hot sexy mustached firefighter wanting to take you on a date.

warnings: teacher!reader x firefighter!rafe, mutual pining, fluff, a little self doubt, lots of flirting, sexual innuendos, talk of sex but no smut

an: that pic is how I picture firefighter!rafe, I don’t think I need to elaborate any more. title will make more sense in the second part, hope you all enjoy!! & yes this will be a part 2 of the date hehehe. I did not proof read this so my bad

masterlist - part two

* ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ ⋅

This day could not end sooner. I had been the most chaotic day trying to consistently wrangle a bunch of nine year olds. It was the third grade’s career day at the school you taught at.

The day has been filled with moving from station to station and learning about new careers. Some were a little more interesting than others. It was hard to get the kids to leave the lizard wrangler but they didn’t care much for the optometrist.

Some of the lovely volunteers were kind enough to provide treats for the kids which only made their energy sky rocket. It was your first year teaching and even though you felt confident in your abilities to handle the kids you still tripped up a bit. A kid scraped his knee running from the hair stylist to the park ranger. You were a bit busy untangling a brush out another students hair to tell him not to run. It had been a lot.

Now it was nearing closer to the bell ringing and your weekend starting. You were definitely going to need a drink after today. Career day led up to the fire department coming and showing the kids every tool, button, and switch on their trucks. It would give you and your fellow teachers some time to relax as they all sat around the parking lot waiting for them to arrive.

“You survive today?” Martha asked as she stood next to you. The two of you started at this school together, both being first time teachers. That alone strengthened the immediate bond you had with the curly haired woman.

You let out a tired laugh, “Barely, you?”

She nodded, “Barely.”

You looked around briefly to make sure students weren’t listening to you two, “Winnie’s tonight?”

She grinned happily, “Thought you’d never ask. I could use a drink or ten.”

“Agreed.” You nodded.

That’s when you all spotted the two trucks approaching. The kids started to cheer and scream as they honked.

Martha leaned in to murmur, “At least we get to end the day with hot men with mustaches.”

That’s when it hit you. You hadn’t even thought about that all day. Now your hair was a mess and your light makeup all practically gone.

“I didn’t even think about that. I look like a mess,” You muttered.

“Oh please you look good. Even after wrangling twenty five children all day.”

You nudged her with a grin. The trucks parked in front of the students and the firefighters began filing out. The principal stood in front introducing them and what they were going to do.

Martha was right. Hot fireman indeed. There were six guys and they all began introducing themselves. You tried your hardest to pay attention to each one and watch your kids, but it was hard when one particular firefighter stood out.

He looked younger than the rest with his bleached hair and untrimmed mustache. His biceps bulged in his navy tee shirt as he crossed his arms over his chest. He looked so big and broad you wanted to melt. His eyes scanned the crowd as the guy next to him began introducing himself. That’s when his eyes passed you and did a double take. At least that’s what you hoped that was. He made eye contact with you and a small smirk began forming on his lips. Not looking away as your face began to heat up from his stare.

You looked away briefly as your nerves bubbled. When you looked back he was still looking at you and that smirk had gotten wider. Even when it was his turn to introduce himself he didn’t look away.

“Hi everyone I’m Rafe, I’ve been a firefighter for three years now. I also help train the new fire dogs to be able to help us out when we need them,” He finished giving the crowd a big smile. He finally looked away from you as he rubbed his mustache.

-

The presentation was supposed to be and hour but it somehow felt like five minutes. Probably because you couldn’t look away from someone in particular. He was just so handsome. The way his back muscles tightened and arms bulged as he picked things up had you feeling butterflies in places you didn’t know were possible.

This was not like you to get so dumbstruck by a man. You should know better that attractive fireman should not be trusted. But damn was he good to look at.

Rafe was grateful that he had decided to sign up to volunteer for career day at the schools. He liked seeing how excited kids got at their job so he was doing it solely for that. He didn’t expect to lay eyes on the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. At first he thought the teachers were all going to be his mom’s age older, but nope. He had been very wrong.

As him and the guys went through their presentation he couldn’t help but glance over at her any chance he got.

Even the mom’s who arrived early to get a glimpse of them weren’t enough to distract him. Even after first setting his eyes on her he knew he was going to do everything in his power to talk to her.

-

The firefighters stayed until all the kids had been picked up so they didn’t get stuck in the after school traffic. Rafe was thankful they didn’t get a call either or else he would have missed his chance. He looked over to where you were waving goodbye to your last student of the day and saw his open window.

He pat Javier on the back leaving him to wind up the hose himself, “Be right back.”

He stood up with a furrowed brow, “Of course Cameron.” He muttered as he said the blonde stride over to the pretty teacher.

You were texting Martha as you began walking to your class to see if she was already at Winnies. She had gotten out earlier as all her students were picked up already. You didn’t notice the broad man that approached you.

“Hi, can I walk you back to your class?” You looked up slightly startled.

Were you hallucinating because of the heat? Why was this big tall handsome stranger talking to you? You looked around to see if he was talking to someone else.

“Me?” You pointed at yourself with a questioning look.

His smirk widened, “Yeah, it’s really dangerous out here to be walking alone.” He teased.

You laughed, “Right um yeah sure.”

“Lead the way,” He said as he put his hands in his pockets.

“Your guys presentation was really good, the kids loved it. I already know they’re not going to shut up about it next week,” You laughed brushing hair behind your ear. You felt like a teenager again with a crush.

He smiled, “Thanks. Hopefully inspired some future firefighters. I’ve been doing it for a couple years now, is this your first year teaching?”

You were surprised he even thought about that, “Yeah actually it is.”

“I knew I’d remember that face if I’d seen you before,” Rafe wasn’t one to hold back with his flirting. When he knew what he wanted he would do anything in his power to get it. His career choice definitely helps him out a bit.

You coughed a surprised laugh, “Oh I- uh this is me,” you stuttered out as you got to your classroom. You weren’t used to men being so forward. They usually danced around compliments like they wanted you to work for it before earning one.

He opened the door for you, “I’m Rafe by the way,” He held his big hand out for you to shake. He took your much smaller hand in his as you told him your name. The heat of having his attention never leaving your cheeks.

“Are you doing anything tonight? I’d love to see you outside of work,” He leaned against the door casually. As he folded his arms over his chest they looked even bigger. You’re surprised there’s no drool dripping down your chin.

“No uh well yes I am, I’m meeting my friend Martha. She was standing next to me during the assembly. We’re going to Winnie’s if you’d like to join. Or not it’s fine if you don’t and you changed your mind or something,” You cleared your throat as you finished rambling.

That smirk turning into a wide grin, “I’ll see you there. Maybe I’ll bring one of the guys with me.”

She nodded with a smile, “That’d be great, I’m sure Martha would appreciate that.”

“I’ll see you then,” He winked subtly and walked back out. That smug grin still on his face.

-

“You are the bestest friend I’ve ever had!” Martha exclaimed as you finished telling her about your conversation with the hot firefighter.

You laughed, “I didn’t even do anything, god he’s so hot I hope I don’t embarrass myself.” You looked back at the entrance to the bar to see if he was here yet.

“You won’t. He probably loves the whole cute young elementary teacher thing,” Marth said as she took a sip of her cocktail.

“I don’t wanna be that though. I want to be a hot sexy woman,” You sighed dramatically.

When you got to winnies you spent about 10 minutes in your car fixing your smudged makeup and messy hair. You really wished career day didn’t put you through the ringer. You even changed into a random top that was in the backseat because the tee shirt you were wearing wasn’t doing you justice.

It had been almost an hour and they still hadn’t shown up. You had begun to feel disappointed that maybe he was just all talk. Maybe he did that to every new teacher at the schools he went to. But to save yourself the self pity you thought maybe he got a call and had to work. That was the most reasonable explanation. At least that’s what you told yourself.

“They probably got busy. Saving lives or something,” Martha waved off as she finished her second drink. You were also currently on your second and your feet were feeling fuzzy so you were cutting yourself off. You’d probably end up going home after the buzz wore off.

You tried not to show how disappointment flowed through you, “Yeah probably. Guess it was too go-“ you cut yourself off as you saw the door open and a head of bleach blonde hair came through. Your eyes widened and look away quickly.

“Ohmygod he’s here,” you mumbled to Martha. He hasn’t seen you yet.

She smiled, “Is the friend hot?”

You looked over and that’s when you met his eye. Rafe was already looking at you. He smirked and began walking over with a guy to a similar build as him walked behind him.

“Yes and they’re coming,” You said quickly as you cleared your throat.

“Hello ladies,” Rafe smirked as he approached.

You smiled softly, “Hey,”

Rafe thought you were pretty before but now in this setting you looked unreal. He was so glad he signed up for career day.

“This is Josh,” He nodded towards the brunette next to him.

You smiled politely at him, “Hi Josh. I’m y/n and this is Martha,” You looked over at her, “Martha, Rafe.”

They greeted each other as the guys sat down. Having Rafe so close to you was making you a bit dizzy. The alcohol wasn’t helping that either.

“What are you drinking?” Rafe asked you nodding towards your drink.

“Oh I was having gin and pineapple juice but I think I’m done for the night,” You admitted sheepishly.

He smiled teasingly, “Well wish I could have made it earlier to actually have that drink with you.”

You thought about it for a minute, “I guess I could have one more with you. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“You sure about that? You’re okay with just straight tequila shots?”

Your eyes widened muttering, “Geez maybe you will be drinking alone.”

He laughed, “In that case I guess we’ll just have a beer?” He said more as a question wanting to make sure that was okay with you.

You pretended to think for a minute humming, “Hmmm fine with me. Except no IPA’s,” you said making a face

“Yes ma’am,” He nodded getting up from the high table.

Across from you Josh was getting Martha’s drink order and you could already tell he liked her. The way he leaned in as if he couldn’t hear her despite the bar not being loud yet. You looked over at the bar where Rafe stood waiting for a bartender. He looked so good leaning over the bar. The muscles of his back flexing under the navy shirt. You couldn’t be more grateful for career day.

-

Rafe was oh so screwed. He was liking this third grade teacher a little too much. He had never felt so attracted to someone. Not just physically. He loved how animated you were when you talked, always using your hands. The passion in your eyes when you spoke about your class was admirable.

It was a done deal that you weren’t going to just be a hook up. No way would Rafe think about letting you out of his grasp. You were so soft and sweet, he can already imagine just how sweet you taste.

He knew it wasn’t one sided either. He saw the way you watched him as he told childhood stories and how he became a firefighter. You didn’t look at him like some hero the way most women did but you looked at him like you were proud of him. It made this weird feeling in his chest bloom. But he loved that look in your eye.

Whatever dance you two had been playing the last hour was starting to wear him thin. He wanted to touch you. Not even in a sexual way but he wanted to tuck that piece of hair behind your ear or give your thigh a reassuring squeeze every time you thought you were rambling. Rafe wanted to hear you go on and on about everything.

Throughout the night your chairs had slowly started to scoot closer to each other. Then your arms started brushing each other. Even the small contact set his skin on fire. The need in his bones growing.

You would dare to move a muscle once your skin touched he was so warm and as you looked over his bicep was just beghing to be bitten. The alcohol was helping your brain wander to that place you only visited at night alone in your bed.

As was telling a story about his vacation in Italy your eyes couldn’t help but wander back over to those biceps that had you drooling when you first saw him. He had his arms crossed over the table. Muscles flexing as he picked up his beer bottle and took a sip. The way his neck moved as he swallowed had you clenching your thighs. You wondered what his skin would taste like. You also wanted to know what it’d feel like to be wrapped in those biceps as he held you up while pou-

“You good?” Rafe asked lowering his head to your gaze. A teasing smirk on his lips.

Your doe eyes looked up at him, “Uh huh.” Way to play it cool.

He chuckled, “What were you thinking about?” You hadn’t noticed that Martha and Josh had gotten up and walked over to the dart board across the bar. Now leaving the two of you alone. The bar had gotten more crowded now and

You shook your head fighting the heat creeping up your spine, “Nothing really.”

“Yeah?” He leaned in closer, “I bet we were thinking about the same thing.”

You swallowed hard trying to use as much of that liquid courage as possible, “Then tell me what you’re thinking and I’ll let you know if you’re right.”

He liked that playful look in your eye, “Well I was thinking about soft your thighs would feel on my cheeks.”

Your eyes widened. Maybe you really weren’t expecting him to be honest. But that truth had you fidget in your seat as that warm feeling in your stomach blossomed.

“I guess we were then,” You hum.

“Mhmm,” He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “And what should we do about that sweetheart?”

“I-I” And just like that you had lost your cool. This insanely attractive, funny, smart guy wanted to get into your pants. Hot guys with all those personality traits come once in a blue moon and you were fumbling.

He laughed raising a hand to your shoulder brushing your hair back. His fingertips grazing your exposed collarbone. The light touch making goosebumps rise on your skin. You wanted to lean into his touch but before you could he pulled away, “Let me take you out. Just you and me.”

“Really?” You were a bit dumbfounded. It’s not like you thought he was going to be a bad guy but a part of you had prepared for a one time hook up kind of guy. Which you didn’t mind at first because well it had been almost a year since anyone has met your needs. You weren’t going to turn down sex with a hot firefighter so you’re definitely not turning down a date with one. But you couldn’t help but be curious as to why.

He nodded, “Of course. You’re beautiful, sweet, funny, smart, passionate. I really could go on but I’ll save that for our date.”

You huffed out an amused laugh, “Okay yeah I’d love to go on a date. Assuming this doesn’t count?”

He shook his head with a frown, “I’d never do this for a first date, especially not for someone like you. I’ll treat you right y/n don’t you worry.”

That heat was back again, “You say this to all the women you meet at on career day?”

He smirked, “Just the ones I can’t stop thinking about. Which has only happened with you.”

His reassurances ignited something in you. The feeling of being wanted was something you hadn’t felt in a while and you really liked it. You really liked who was making you feel wanted.

“So how would you treat me Rafe?”

God. He loved the sound of his name coming out of your mouth. He wanted to hear you say it in so many scenarios. Specifically ones where you’re naked.

His knee bumped hers under the table, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at six and show you exactly what I’d do.”

[c4tluver02]

blind date

wc: 2.9k

summary: Robin and Vickie set their best friends up together for a blind date, they can only hope it goes well!

cw: r is said to wear a dress, tiny mention of anxiety, other than that none!!

Robin had enough of Steve's constant complaining. Always the first to hear how his dates turned into hookups and never anything serious. She felt bad, afterall if anyone knew how kind and caring Steve is, it's Robin. That's how Vickie got into this whole situation. From Steve complaining to Robin and Robin complaining to Vickie. 

So when Vickie mentioned a friend that seemed a perfect fit for Steve Robin had an amazing idea. You were too shy to put yourself out there, never going on dates and Steve was too out there, a new date every weekend. It felt like maybe this could be a fun match and if it didn’t work out at least you had been on a date and Steve gave dating another shot. 

However, when Robin introduced the idea to Steve of a ‘blind date’ he immediately shut it down. He didn’t need help getting dates, he had the looks and the charm to get that just fine. It was finding people who were as serious as him that was what Steve was missing. The yearning and wanting to spend every second of every hour with each other is what somehow Steve couldn't find. 

Little did Steve know that was the whole reason you didn’t entertain dates. Each guy quick to ask you to come home with him and never being the perfect gentleman. It was disappointing and you were giving up on the idea of a nice guy in general. Although Vickie had spoken highly of this person you were going on a blind date with which led you to be excited. Maybe even hopeful, which could always be dangerous. Allowing yourself to be hopeful leaves room for disappointment or overthinking the things you did even though 9 out of 10 times it’s never your fault things didn't work out. 

And after some sugar coating of the situation Steve did agree to the date. He has to have some trust in Robin that she wouldn't pair him up with someone who didn’t mesh well with him. Because if anyone knows what he likes and hates on a date it’s her after hearing him talk about it for so long.  Robin had told him that you were struggling with the same things he was when it came to finding a partner. Everyone was non-committal, never interesting, and almost always tried to end things in bed. If Robin could find someone new for Steve to complain to then that would be a win in itself. 

The date was on Friday, they say never to plan dates on Fridays but at this point your weekends look like nights on the couch with pizza so really the bar isn't too high in general. 

Vickie and Robin had helped you pick an outfit for the date. Robin even told you that she had to help Steve find an outfit. This helps you know that at the very least you won't have to worry about being over or under dressed. And maybe, just maybe, he was as nervous as you were. Taking this whole date seriously, not wanting to waste anyone's time.

–

Friday came quicker than expected. The date would be at a nice restaurant and afterwards if things went well there was a firework show outside a few blocks away. Robin told you that Steve had offered to pick you up, which was a kind gesture, certainly gentlemanly. But you kindly declined, after all you’d never met him. Having him drive you home left room for him to invite himself in. A simple date of eating food and taking a walk was fool proof. Leaving no room for anything more, which after all, was what you both were looking for. 

Putting on the outfit your friends helped you pick, you got ready. Your room was filled with warm toned lights, a candle that reminded you of the cozy weather that reached Hawkins, and music you quietly hummed. 

Steve’s situation was a little different. More chaotic since Robin was there but things were still getting done nonetheless. 

“Are you excited? I’m excited! I can already picture you calling me saying how well it went and how thankful I begged you to do this. It’s gonna go great.” She finished with a wide smile. 

Steve was in his bathroom fixing his hair. She was talking outloud and luckily Steve could hear her from the room he was in. 

“If this is a waste you owe me, Buckley.” It comes out sternly but Steve wouldn't be too mad at her if it comes down to it.

She rolls her eyes and is now thankful he isn't in the room with her. “It won't be a waste, you go on a date every week. If anything, this is just another week for you, except I actually care this time.” 

Steve walks back into his room to put on his shoes. “First of all, very rude. Second, I don't go on dates every week, you’re just being dramatic.” 

A quick pat down of his pants as he stands back up, and Steve is ready. 

“Do you think it’s a bad sign that she didn't want me to pick her up?” Steve’s tone comes off with a hint of worry despite trying to hide it. 

“No, no definitely not. Vickie told me that she is just nervous.” No matter what Robin can see through him either way. “I think maybe this is a good thing, you shouldn't always have to pick people up.” She finishes hoping she's convinced him enough. 

“I guess.” It comes out with a sigh and the conversation ends there. He’s giving himself one last look in the mirror, messing with his hair. 

–

The drive to the restaurant is quick and Steve is 5 minutes early. Walking in, getting settled in the booth they gave him, he had enough time to sort his thoughts. If he was gonna give you a hug when you walked up to him or would a handshake be best? 

The five minutes go by quickly when he hears a voice say his last name. You’re asking the hostess about the reservation with him, he can see you walking up. 

Quickly getting up to greet you, his eyes fall over your body. The dress you have on is very pretty and it fits you perfectly. You’re too busy talking to the girl walking you to the table to notice him right away. 

“Well, the food will be amazing.” He hears the hostess say to you. It must be a generic conversation but you are watching her intently. Like you actually care what she's talking about. 

When you do see him, you let out a smile. Steve is quick to copy, not out of being polite but because he's actually excited about this date now. Not that looks are insanely important to Steve but you might just be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen and he doesn't know how he's missed you. 

You give a small nod towards the lady letting her know you no longer need directions and she leaves. Steve extends his hand out but you raise your arms to wrap around his neck before you can even see it. 

“Oh, shit sorry.” You say quickly pulling your arms down. The smile is still glued to your face and you wonder if it will go away throughout the night. 

This makes Steve smile, you were going for a hug. He should have done a hug. 

“No, let's hug, c’mere.” It’s quick and slightly awkward but it makes you giggle. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” You say as you let him go. 

“You too.” You smell really good and Steve hopes you couldn't physically feel his heart beating a million times from the hug. 

Both of you decide to sit and it’s a race of who speaks first. 

“So, uh, have you ever been on a blind date?” Steve asks. You like that he was the first to talk, maybe it means your shyness won't show through. 

“Oh no, no I don’t really actually go on many dates.” You say it before you even think about what you’re saying. “But Vickie said so many good things about you I decided to go for it.” Shaky finish but arguably strong ending. 

“Robin says I go on a date every week but that's a big exaggeration.” Steve jokes, his smile is really pretty. 

“Well then you’re definitely gonna be better at this than me.” You bite your lip and Steve has to tear his eyes away. 

“I don’t know about that, most of the dates aren't very good.” He says letting out a huff. A piece of hair falls from his gelled look and you think he could be from a book, perfectly made. 

“Yeah, I’ve had pretty much the same experience.” Your hands are tucked under your thighs and you wish you had brought a cardigan. Why are restaurants so cold?

Before Steve could even ask you more about it, your server comes to ask about drinks. It’s quick and efficient but now the two of you are left in silence. 

“Have you-”

“You look-” 

It’s said at the same time and your smile is back. Steve needs to figure out what he needs to do to make you smile more. 

“You first.” You decide. 

“I was just gonna say you look really pretty.” 

His compliment makes your cheeks blush immediately. 

“Thank you, so do you.” You remove your hands from under your thighs and to your arms. 

“Are you cold?” Steve asks. The compliment wasn't lost on him but now his mind is taken over by something else. 

“Just a little. I think we are under a vent or something.” The thought makes you look up, trying to find one to see if your comment was correct. 

Before you can even find it, you hear Steve move around. Quickly looking back at him you can see him take off his blazer. 

“Here you go.” He says it so simply like it’s just a simple favor he does. And maybe he has, maybe it’s a move he’s pulled on other girls. For some reason picturing him with another girl doesn't make you feel too great.

“Oh, thank you. You really didn't have to. Let me know if you get a cold, okay? I’ll give it back.” 

It looks big on you, you have to scrunch it up at your elbows for your hands to free. 

“I think i'll be okay.” Steve winks. “Want help rolling the sleeves? It might get in your way when we eat.” 

His charm might kill you by the end of the night. He thinks about everything before you get a chance to. The feeling of being looked after feels nice, something you could definitely get used to. 

“Yes please.” You say putting your hands on the table. 

He grabs your hand to pull your arm a little closer to him. His hands are warm and soft against yours. It only takes a fold or two till the jacket isn't in your way.  

“There, all good.” You really don’t want to move your arms away. The feeling of his hands in yours makes you want it again. Like a new addiction you don't really want to shake. 

“Thank you.” You pull your arms back but your hands lay on the menu that's laying on the table.

“I think you’ve thanked me like 5 times already.” Steve says with a small laugh.

“Well stop doing nice things and I won't have to thank you.” You say leaning forward. The conversation is playful and Steve wishes he could take a picture of you looking so good in his clothes. 

“I haven't even thanked you for calling me pretty.” Steve has never been called pretty before. He really likes it coming from you though. 

“Well you are pretty. You have a nice smile and your eyes are a beautiful color.” Now it’s Steve's turn to blush. You pointing out features Steve doesn't think twice about makes his tummy fill with butterflies. 

“I-”

“Are you two ready to order?” The waitress asks. 

Steve thinks maybe you two should have gone somewhere else, the interruptions are getting to him. He didn't realize he would want to talk to you so badly. 

“Uh, I actually haven't even looked at the menu.” You say sheepishly. But Steve lets out a laugh because how did you guys get so caught up in each other that you didn't look at the food? 

“I’ll give you two a few more minutes.” She nods and leaves. It’s quick and dismissive like the fact that you two aren't moving with haste is creating problems. 

“I guess we should look huh?” Steve jokes. 

“She seemed mad at us.” You pick at your nails, a horrible anxiety tick that you can't quite quit.

“Don’t worry about her, it's not your fault. She's probably just having a bad night.” Steve reassures, you wonder if he knows if he asks for a second date this will be something he will be doing often. The guilt of it picks at you slightly. 

“Yeah probably.” You nod, deciding its best to let the topic go. 

A minute or two passes as you both look at the menu and Steve speaks up. “D’you know what you’re gonna get?” 

“I think so, it’s my first time here but the girl who walked me in said that the pasta was good.” You say as you still look at the menu. There's a lot to eat but it’s all pretty expensive. You wonder if Steve noticed that when picking places. 

“I always do the steak but the food here is good so I wouldn't doubt it.”

“Oh is this where you take all your dates?” This is finally when you look up at him and his eyes go wide. The smirk on your face tells him it’s a playful question but he doesn't want you thinking that's true. 

“No! No, um, I just, I was here for a friend's birthday.” He explains. It was for Nancy’s birthday but he doesn't even want to begin to explain her to you. 

When the waitress comes back you two are able to give her answers this time. Between the time the food is ordered and when it arrives you two have talked about a million different things. The conversation flows easily without any awkward pauses and time passes quickly.  

By the end of the date you feel like you could still talk about things for another hour, if not more. Steve pays and declines even when you offer to at least pay the tip. 

“Would you want to go look at the fireworks? I think they are only a few blocks down, by the park.” Steve asks with a hand scratching his neck. You can tell he was a bit nervous to ask.

“Yeah that sounds nice.” You nod feverishly.

He opens the door for you to exit the building and easily intertwines his hand with yours. The motion is smooth and neither of you say anything about it. You’re still in his blazer which you are even morethankful he gave as it’s even colder outside than it was in the restaurant. His warm hand is happily taken by your cold one as you both walk towards the park. 

“Do we know what these fireworks are for?” There's no holiday to celebrate which makes you wonder why there would be fireworks in the first place.

“There's movie nights that happen at the park and at the end they have fireworks.” Steve explains. “I don’t really know why a movie deserves fireworks but it is nice to see.” 

Your other hand has found its way on his bicep, steadying yourself as you walk next to him. If you weren't moving you’d place your head on his shoulder. He’s just so warm you want to be absorbed by him.

“A movie night at the park sounds fun, maybe they do it just because it's outside and they can.” You say shrugging your shoulders. 

“Maybe we can make that our next date.” His comment makes you turn your head to look at him quickly. 

Your movement makes him realize what he just said. “If that's something you want, that is. Or if you even want a second date. I didn't mean to suggest-” 

You give his cheek a kiss and it quickly makes his ramble stop. Both of you are no longer walking, paused on the sidewalk. 

“I would love to make that our next date.” The smile on your face probably gives your excitement away. If not, the red flush to your cheeks definitely will. 

“Yeah? You’d want a second date?” The wind is blowing your hair against your face from the direction you're standing and Steve gently puts the blowing strands behind your ear. His hand lingers on your jaw as he waits for an answer. 

“Of course I want a second date. Did you want a second date?” You know the answer but decide to ask anyway. 

“If you couldn't tell by how i'm already planning for it, yeah, I’d like a second date.” 

This time you lean your head against his chest as you two begin to walk. Steve's arms are tightly secured around you, rubbing one against your back in hopes to warm you up. 

This date couldn't have gone any better, maybe he really should call Robin to thank her.

[kathaelipwse]

Worlds Apart | C.Seungcheol

Popular!Seungcheol x Scholar!Reader Trope: Angsty Lovers | Second Chances (kinda) | Push-and-Pull Romance Warnings: Heavy Angst | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Intense Feelings | Mentions of Self-Worth Issues | NO PROOF READING WAS DONE Synopsis: You tried to walk away. You told yourself it was for the best. That Seungcheol’s world was too bright, too untouchable for someone like you. But when he kneels before you, hands trembling, eyes filled with a love you don’t think you deserve—you start to wonder if you’ve been running from the wrong thing all along. Word count: 4.2k Reading Time: 15-ish mins Author’s note: This is a heavy, emotion-driven piece that explores love, self-worth, and the struggle of letting yourself be loved. Hope you enjoy the angst- (I cried while typing- Got no idea WHY i am writing so much angst- It scares me haha) Have an amazing day/night y'll!!

--

You were fine being invisible. It was safer that way. No attention, no judgment, no cruel words whispered behind your back.

A quiet existence, a solitary path, a refuge from the harsh realities of a world that didn’t seem to have a place for you. You learned to blend into the background, to become a shadow, a whisper, a footnote in the grand narrative of the university.

And then Seungcheol noticed you.

He didn’t just see you; he saw you. He dragged you into the light, not with a forceful hand, but with a gentle persistence that chipped away at the walls you had so carefully built. He sat next to you in the bustling cafeteria, his presence a shield against the judging eyes, his laughter a melody that drowned out the whispers.

He fought for you, not in grand, dramatic gestures, but in subtle, unwavering ways—a quiet defense against the casual cruelty of his peers, a silent promise that you weren’t alone. He walked you home after your late-night shifts, filling the silence with laughter and stories, making you feel like you weren’t just a scholarship student working two jobs to survive in a private university full of people who would never know what it meant to struggle. He saw the fire in your eyes, the resilience in your spirit, the quiet strength that you kept hidden from the world.

He made you feel like you belonged. Like you were seen, valued, cherished. He made you feel like you were worthy.

But people like you? You don’t get happy endings. The world doesn't allow it. The universe doesn't permit it. You were a realist, after all. You understood the rules of the game.

Because someone—one of his rich, entitled friends—hurts you. Maybe it’s words, sharp and cutting, designed to wound. Maybe it’s something worse, a subtle act of sabotage, a calculated humiliation. Either way, it’s enough to break you, to shatter the fragile hope that Seungcheol had ignited within you.

It happened after the game. The roar of the crowd, the blinding lights, the electric energy of victory—it was a world you had only ever observed from the periphery, a spectacle you watched from the shadows. Seungcheol, the star, the hero, the center of everyone's attention, had led the team to another championship win. The arena was a sea of adoring faces, chanting his name, their voices a symphony of praise.

You stayed at the very back, a shadow in the corner, a silent observer. You were the stagehand, the unseen hand that ensured the show went on, the unsung hero who worked tirelessly behind the scenes. You were only here because you were in charge of managing the after-party setup, a duty assigned to you as part of your scholarship work, a constant reminder of your place in this world. You were just the nobody scholarship student working behind the scenes, running around with a clipboard while the real students—the ones who actually belonged here—partied like they ruled the world.

Seungcheol caught your eyes right before he was hoisted onto shoulders. For a fleeting moment, a foolish, reckless hope sparked in your chest, a dangerous flicker of belief. That maybe, just maybe, he would see you, would choose you, would break through the sea of adoring faces and come to you first. That maybe, just maybe, you were something more than a fleeting interest, a passing fancy.

But then a voice shattered that fragile illusion, a voice laced with venom and disdain, a cruel reminder of your place.

“You really thought he’d run to you?”

You turned, your heart sinking, your breath catching in your throat. A group of students stood there, their designer clothes and arrogant expressions a stark contrast to your worn uniform, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity and contempt. Seungcheol’s friends, the ones who always looked at you like you were an unwelcome guest, a stain on their perfect world.

One of them, a girl named Mina, with perfect hair and cruel eyes, stepped forward, her voice dripping with false pity, her words laced with venom.

“God, you really are delusional. You think he actually cares about you? You’re just a novelty, a distraction.”

You opened your mouth, but another voice cut in, sharp and dismissive, a cruel echo of your deepest fears.

“You’re embarrassing him.”

That one hit different, because this time, it was one of the guys from the basketball team, Jaehyun, one of Seungcheol’s closest friends, someone you had thought might understand.

“Hanging around like a lost puppy, acting like you actually have a chance with him,” he scoffed, arms crossed, his eyes filled with disdain. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you know what you look like? Pathetic.”

You felt your stomach drop, the air thick with humiliation, the weight of their judgment crushing you.

“I—”

“Do you know what people say about you?” Mina interrupted, tilting her head, her eyes gleaming with malice, her voice laced with poison. “That you’re his little charity case. His pet project. Something to amuse him.”

Laughter rippled through the group, a cruel, mocking sound that echoed in the vast arena, a chorus of disdain.

“Poor Seungcheol,” someone else mocked, a tall, lanky guy named Junho. “Always looking out for the underprivileged. Such a saint. So noble.”

You couldn’t breathe. The whispers, the glances, the subtle rejections—you had endured them all. But hearing it from his closest friends, from the people he shared his life with, was a different kind of pain. It was a betrayal, a confirmation of your deepest fears, a stark reminder that you didn’t belong.

“You should just disappear already,” Mina sighed, her voice laced with false concern, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Save yourself the humiliation. Do him a favor. Just go away.”

That was the moment something inside you snapped, a fragile thread breaking under the weight of years of insecurity and self-doubt. You shouldn’t have let it get this far. You shouldn’t have let yourself believe, even for a second, that you and Seungcheol were anything more than a fleeting moment, a mistake waiting to happen.

So when you finally found him in the crowd, his eyes searching for you, a flicker of concern in their depths, you turned away. You walked past him like he was a ghost, a phantom, a figment of your imagination, a dream you had foolishly dared to believe in.

And when he grabbed your wrist, his touch warm and insistent, when he looked at you with nothing but pure concern, you ripped your hand free and whispered, your voice barely audible, a broken echo of your shattered hope,

“I just want to be invisible again.”

And the way his face shattered right in front of you, the way his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored your own, almost made you stay. Almost. But people like you? You don’t get happy endings.

So you left, disappearing into the shadows, and you didn’t look back, your heart a heavy weight in your chest.

You disappeared after that night.

No texts. No calls. Nothing.

A ghost in the machine.

Winter break feels endless. Cold. Empty. A barren landscape devoid of warmth.

Seungcheol spends weeks staring at his phone, waiting for your name to pop up, a desperate vigil.

It never does.

The silence is deafening, a constant reminder of your absence.

His friends try to cheer him up, but he’s not the same.

The laughter, the confidence—it’s all forced now, a hollow echo of his former self.

The joy has been leached from his eyes.

The basketball court doesn’t feel the same.

The thrill of the game, the camaraderie of the team—it’s all muted, a pale imitation of what it once was.

Nothing feels the same without you.

Every time he sees something you would’ve liked—a worn paperback, a cheap cup of coffee, a little trinket from a street vendor—his chest aches, a sharp, stabbing pain.

It’s a constant reminder of what he’s lost.

And at night, when it’s quiet, he hears your voice, a haunting melody in the silence.

"We don’t belong together, Seungcheol."

But he still refuses to believe that.

He clings to the hope that you’ll come back, that you’ll see that you belong with him.

The moment classes start again, you avoid him.

A master of evasion.

You’re a ghost, a whisper in the wind.

You change routes, take the long way around campus just so you won’t run into him.

A desperate attempt to erase yourself from his life.

He notices.

Of course, he notices.

He sees the way you duck your head, the way you pretend he doesn’t exist—

It destroys him.

A slow, agonizing erosion of his spirit.

Every time he gets close, you slip away, a phantom in the crowd.

Every time he calls your name, you pretend you don’t hear, a cruel denial of his existence.

The team notices.

His friends notice.

"Dude, what the hell happened over break?" they ask, their voices filled with concern.

But Seungcheol doesn’t talk about it.

He just clenches his jaw and keeps chasing after the girl who doesn’t want to be found.

A relentless pursuit fueled by love and desperation.

One night, you’re walking home, the streetlights casting long shadows.

And he finally catches you.

His heart pounds in his chest as he reaches for your wrist.

Not hard, not forceful—just enough to make you stop running.

A gentle but firm hold.

"Stop."

His voice is raw, broken, filled with a pain he can no longer contain.

You freeze, your back to him, shoulders tense.

You don’t turn around.

Your heart hammers against your ribs.

"Look at me."

His voice cracks—pleading, desperate.

"Please, just look at me. Give me a reason."

You swallow hard, trying to regain control.

But you don’t move, your feet rooted to the spot.

And that’s when he breaks.

"I spent the entire break waiting for you."

His voice shakes, trembling with emotion.

"Do you know how fucking empty everything felt without you? It was like the world had lost its color."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to cry.

Trying to block out his words.

"You left, and I—"

He exhales sharply, his breath catching in his throat.

"I haven’t been okay since. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. All I can think about is you."

Silence hangs in the air.

Thick with unspoken emotions.

Then, barely above a whisper—

"You weren’t supposed to wait for me, Cheol."

Your voice is filled with a sadness that mirrors his own.

That’s when he turns you around, his hands trembling slightly.

When he cups your face with both hands.

Forcing you to see just how wrecked he is.

To witness the depth of his pain.

"You think I had a choice?"

His eyes are filled with tears.

His voice is full of pain.

Full of love.

"I’ll always wait for you."

It’s a promise.

A vow.

A declaration of his unwavering devotion.

Your breath is shaky, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

His hands are warm against your skin.

His grip is so gentle, so careful.

Like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again.

Like he’s holding onto something precious.

And you should.

You should pull away.

You should tell him it’s over.

That he needs to move on.

That you’re not worth his pain.

But when you look into his eyes—

God, his eyes.

You see everything you’ve ever wanted.

Everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

And it terrifies you.

"Cheol…"

Your voice wavers, barely holding on.

A fragile whisper.

His thumb brushes over your cheek.

A tender caress.

"Don’t do this."

His voice is a plea.

A desperate attempt to hold onto you.

"We don’t belong together," you whisper.

Even though it hurts like hell to say it.

Even though every fiber of your being screams in protest.

His jaw clenches.

His eyes darken with a mixture of anger and pain.

But he doesn’t move.

His gaze unwavering.

"Why do you keep saying that? Why are you so determined to push me away?"

You force yourself to stay strong, to ignore the way your heart is screaming for him, to suppress the longing that threatens to consume you.

"Because it’s the truth."

A lie that tastes like ashes in your mouth. LIE.

You try to step back, to create some distance between you, but he doesn’t let you. He doesn’t tighten his hold—he just refuses to let go, his grip gentle but unyielding.

"Bullshit." His voice is rough, desperate, filled with a raw emotion that mirrors your own. "You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to tell me what I feel."

You exhale sharply, trying to regain your composure, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

"You don’t understand, Cheol—"

"Then make me understand!" His voice cracks, frustration mixing with heartbreak, a desperate plea for clarity. "I’ve been chasing after you, waiting for you, and you won’t even tell me why you’re running! Just tell me what I did wrong."

Your throat tightens, the words caught in a knot of pain and fear, the truth too heavy to bear.

"Because I don’t belong in your world!" you finally snap, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and vulnerability. "Because people like me—people who have to fight just to exist—don’t get to have things like this! We’re not meant for happy endings."

Seungcheol stares at you, his expression unreadable, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with something you can’t bear to face—a reflection of your own pain.

Then—he lets go.

Your breath stutters, your heart skips a beat. He steps back, creating a space between you, a chasm that threatens to swallow you whole.

For a second, you think—this is it. He’s giving up. He’s finally realized that you’re not worth the effort.

But then—he kneels.

Right there, in the middle of the dimly lit sidewalk, in the cold night air, he kneels in front of you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters, a gesture of humility and devotion.

And when he looks up at you, his eyes filled with a love that transcends words, you’re ruined.

Your carefully constructed walls crumble around you.

"I would leave everything for you." His voice is quiet, but it hits like a sledgehammer to your chest, a declaration of his unwavering commitment.

"Because you are the only one who has ever seen the real me. The me that I keep hidden from everyone else."

Your lips part, but no sound comes out, your voice lost in a sea of emotion.

"Where my money didn’t matter. Where my status didn’t matter." His eyes never leave yours, his gaze intense and unwavering. "All that mattered was us. Just you and me."

His hands find yours again, gently, carefully, his touch a lifeline in the storm of your emotions.

"Tell me that wasn’t real." His voice is a whisper, a desperate plea for reassurance.

Silence.

"Tell me you didn’t feel it too." His eyes search yours, seeking confirmation, seeking a glimmer of hope.

Your throat closes up, the words caught in a knot of longing and fear.

Because you did.

Of course, you did.

You felt it with every fiber of your being.

And Seungcheol sees it.

Sees the way you tremble, the way your fingers clutch his, the way your eyes betray your carefully constructed facade.

He has you.

Now all you have to do—is stop fighting.

Your pulse is hammering, a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

This is too much. Too intense. Too real.

Seungcheol, kneeling in front of you, holding your hands like you’re his entire world, his eyes filled with a love that both terrifies and exhilarates you.

His words replay in your mind, over and over—I would leave everything for you.

You can’t breathe.

You rip your hands away, breaking the connection, creating a space between you.

"You’re a fool, Seungcheol." Your voice is barely a whisper, filled with a mixture of fear and desperation.

His brows knit together, his expression a mixture of confusion and hurt, but he doesn’t move, his gaze unwavering.

"You don’t know what you’re saying," you whisper, your voice shaking, your eyes pleading with him to understand.

"You have everything. A future, a reputation, a life people would kill for. Why would you throw that away for me? I have nothing to offer you."

He stares at you, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrors your own, his expression a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

Like you’re breaking his heart right in front of him.

"Because none of it matters without you." His voice is firm, unwavering, a declaration of his love.

No.

No, no, no.

Your vision blurs, tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

You take a step back, trying to create some distance, trying to escape the intensity of his gaze.

Then another.

You have to go.

You have to leave before you crumble, before you succumb to the longing that threatens to consume you.

Your body screams run, but the moment you turn away—

He moves.

And then—his arms are around you. Warm. Solid. Unyielding. And just like that—

You shatter.

A choked sob escapes your lips, and suddenly, you can’t stop. The dam breaks, and years of pent-up emotion flood out. Your hands clutch his jacket, holding on for dear life.

You hate him for not letting you go.

You hate him for holding you together when all you wanted was to fall apart alone.

"Why—why are you doing this?" you gasp against his chest, your whole body trembling, your voice choked with tears.

His arms tighten around you, his lips pressing to your hair—a silent promise of comfort and support.

"Because I love you, idiot."

His voice is thick with emotion, a raw declaration of his feelings.

Your breath hitches. Your heart skips a beat.

"And I’m not letting you go."

His words are a vow, a commitment, a refusal to give up on you.

Tears pour down your face, a torrent of emotion. Your knees go weak, but Seungcheol just holds you closer, keeps you steady—a human anchor in the storm of your emotions.

For the first time in forever—

You let yourself break.

You allow yourself to be vulnerable, to let go of the walls you've built around your heart. And for the first time in forever—

You're not alone.

You have someone to share your pain, someone to hold you through the darkness.

You cry until you have nothing left, until the tears run dry and your sobs subside into soft whimpers. Your sobs start sharp, gut-wrenching, a release of years of bottled-up pain. Your body shakes in his arms, fingers clenching into his jacket like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And maybe he is.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. He just holds you. Arms tight, steady, unshaken—like he’s anchoring you to this world, a constant presence in your life.

And you let him.

For the first time in your life, you let yourself be held. You surrender to his embrace, finding solace in his strength.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Time doesn’t exist in this moment—only the two of you, wrapped in a shared space of vulnerability and connection.

Your breathing slows, chest still hitching with the remnants of your breakdown, the storm gradually subsiding. Your face is buried against him, and his heartbeat is the only sound you hear.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

A steady rhythm. Strong. Safe. A comforting reminder of his presence.

When you finally shift, pulling back slightly, he still doesn’t let go. His grip remains firm, a silent reassurance.

Instead, he exhales softly—warm breath against your hair—and then tilts his head down, his eyes filled with tenderness.

And then—a kiss.

Soft. Gentle. Right on your forehead. A gesture of comfort and affection.

Your breath stutters. Your heart flutters.

Then—your nose.

You blink up at him, eyes still red, still glassy, but now filled with a glimmer of hope.

He’s watching you like you’re something fragile. Something precious. Something to be cherished.

Then—your cheeks.

One.

Then the other.

Then—your closed eyelids.

Like he’s kissing away the tears that remain, erasing the traces of your pain.

You don’t move.

Can’t.

You're lost in the moment, captivated by his tenderness.

His fingers slide against yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles—before he leans down and presses a kiss there too, a gesture of reverence.

And then—finally.

Your lips.

A whisper of a touch at first. Like he’s asking for permission, seeking your consent.

Then—

You press back.

And everything shatters.

The kiss deepens. His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking the skin, a gentle caress. You tilt your head, open up to him, let him pull you in, surrendering to the moment.

And then it’s not soft anymore.

It’s raw.

Hungry.

Desperate.

A release of pent-up longing.

Because this isn’t just a kiss—

This is a confession.

This is Seungcheol showing you everything he can’t say in words, a language of touch and emotion.

And this time—

You don’t push him away.

You embrace his love, allowing yourself to be loved.

When you finally pull apart, breathing hard, lips swollen, a tangible reminder of your connection, Seungcheol still doesn’t let you go.

Instead, he rests his forehead against yours, his grip on your waist still firm—like he’s scared you might slip away again. Like he never wants to lose you. A silent promise of his unwavering devotion.

And then—

He smiles.

Not the cocky, teasing smirk he flashes on the court, a mask he wears for the world.

Not the polite, practiced grin he gives to the rich kids at school, a facade he presents to his peers.

No.

This one is soft.

Real.

Just for you.

"I am yours," he murmurs, voice low, steady, filled with a certainty that resonates deep within you.

"Since the day I saw you working at the café with your hair up and that adorable white and blue dress."

You suck in a breath, your heart swelling with emotion. Your eyes flicker up to meet his—deep brown, burning, full of something you can’t quite believe is meant for you, a love that seems too good to be true.

"You—"

Your voice catches, your words failing you.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, a tender caress. "You don’t have to believe me yet." His lips twitch, a hint of his playful side returning. "But I’ll prove it to you, baby. Every damn day if I have to."

And for the first time… you think maybe—just maybe—you’re ready to let him. To trust him. To believe in his love.

You don’t pull away. You stay in his arms, finding comfort and solace in his embrace.

And Seungcheol? He notices.

A slow grin tugs at his lips, a little smug, a little too self-satisfied, a hint of his playful arrogance.

"You know, baby," he murmurs, voice dropping just enough to make you shiver, a seductive whisper. "If I’d known all it took to get you in my arms was making you cry, I would’ve done it sooner."

You gasp and smack his chest, a playful rebuke. "Cheol!"

His chuckle vibrates against your skin, a warm and comforting sound. "Too soon?"

Your glare is weak at best, your lips twitching despite your efforts to remain stern. "You think?"

But Seungcheol just tilts his head, still smiling, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "At least I made you forget about crying, huh?"

You huff, but he catches it—the way your lips twitch, the way your eyes aren’t as clouded anymore, the glimmer of a smile that threatens to break through.

So he leans in, just a little, lips brushing your ear, his voice a low and intimate whisper.

"And for the record, you looked hot as hell in that dress, but you look even prettier like this."

Your breath stutters, your cheeks flush. "Like what?"

His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, his embrace a comforting haven.

"In my arms."

His voice is filled with tenderness and love, a promise of safety and belonging.

Seungcheol barely has time to react before—

Flick.

His head jerks back slightly as your finger snaps against his forehead, a playful act of defiance.

"Ow—hey!" He pouts, rubbing the spot like you actually hurt him, his expression comical.

You just smirk, a genuine smile gracing your lips for the first time in what feels like forever.

"You are such a flirt."

His grin starts creeping back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You love it."

You tilt your head, pretending to think, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Mmm… maybe."

Then—

You lean in just a little, just enough to make his breath hitch, a playful challenge.

"But you’re my flirt."

Your voice is soft, intimate, a declaration of your feelings.

Seungcheol? Absolutely wrecked.

His ears go pink, a blush creeping up his neck. His smile falters for a split second, his usual composure momentarily shattered.

Then—

He groans, throwing his head back, overwhelmed by your words.

"Baby, you can’t just say stuff like that!"

You laugh—light, breathless. And it hits you.

You haven’t laughed like this in a long time.

And Seungcheol? He’s looking at you like he knows. Like he’s the reason why.

Like he’s gonna make sure you never stop being happy after all of the troubles you went through alone.

[pipszhou]

playback

✧ — synopsis: you knew flirting with the client would get under his skin. but you didn’t expect caleb to drag you into his office, press record, and make you say who you belong to—with the camera still rolling. jealousy is cruel. so is proof.

✧ — pairing: caleb x mc

✧ — wc: ~1.4k

✧ — tags: jealousy, recording kink, rough sex, sexual overstimulation, possessive behavior, power dynamics, power imbalance, reader-insert, colonel caleb, office sex, degradation, plot what plot/porn without plot, pet names, they are both freaks i swear

✧ — notes: i am back with another horny fic. i have nothing to say other that i have sinned yet again in the face of the Lord. this one is also not beta read by anyone, only edited by yours truly so read with caution.

“caleb—what are you doing?”

you barely had time to catch your breath as he yanked your wrist, his steps swift, jaw clenched. fleet officers stepped aside. some stared. some whispered. no one dared move. he said nothing. his silence louder than fury.

your heels clicked against the floor as he led you toward his office. your heart pounded.

you hadn’t expected him to find out. you’d leaned close to that diplomat on purpose. finger tracing the rim of his glass. laughed at his jokes. let him look down your uniform. the deal needed to go through. and you needed caleb to remember how it felt to be provoked.

the door hissed shut behind you.

then you were slammed back against his desk, the impact making papers explode into the air like a startled flock. you gasped—but didn’t struggle.

his colonel cap hit the table. his jacket peeled off his shoulders. you didn’t dare speak again until you saw the fire in his eyes. you’d lit it. now you had to take the heat.

“you think i didn’t see that?” he growled, pinning your hips to the wood with his own. “batting your lashes. touching his wrist. whispering in his ear.” 

you inhaled sharply, your pulse thudding against your throat.

“it was work,” you muttered, but it was weak. you’d known what you were doing. you wanted this.

he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. “you know exactly what you were doing.” his mouth ghosted your ear. “you wanted to make me jealous.” 

a breath. a brush of his lips against your jaw. “wanted me like this, didn’t you? wanted me angry enough to ruin you.”

you swallowed, eyes fluttering shut. “no.”

he smiled against your skin, cruel and knowing. “liar.”

his fingers tugged open the buttons of your uniform, one by one, until it slipped past your shoulders. you gasped at the cold air, and the heat of his gaze devouring every inch of you.

“don’t you dare look away,” he hissed, and for a moment you forgot how to breathe. he reached into his drawer. pulled something out. something small.

a sleek, black recorder.

he clicked it on.

beep.

“say it,” he said softly, voice venomous sweet. “say who you belong to.”

“caleb…”

your voice trembled like the flicker of a candle, eyes fixed on the camera in his hand. you tried to plead, play innocent, lashes fluttering like wings. but he saw through you. he always did.

“come on, pips,” he crooned, voice all smoke and steel. “tell them who owns you.” that devilish smirk curved his lips, the one that promised ruin and knew you’d beg for more.

he was in on it. the whole thing. the flirting, the baiting, the need clawing at your throat.

you’d stoked his jealousy on purpose—just to be devoured.

“you… you own me, caleb,” you finally whispered, voice breaking into breathless heat.

“fuck—yeah you’re mine.”

in one swift motion, he freed himself, the thick length of his cock glistening in the office light.

he didn’t give you a second to prepare. just pressed the blunt head against your dripping entrance, letting the tension stretch between your bodies like wire.

his hand found your chest—pushing you down to the desk, pinning you in place like a fragile document.

“so don’t dare protest when i do this.”

and then—he pushed in.

deep. thick. unrelenting.

you gasped—no, cried—his name, your voice echoing against the cold metal walls.

the sound would carry. maybe people outside could hear. maybe they were listening.

you didn’t care. your body bloomed open for him, soaked and wanting.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, lowering his face to your ear, “you like this, don’t you? making me watch you flirt just so you could end up here—bent over my desk, stuffed full of cock.”

the camera whirred in his hand, capturing every lewd slap of skin, every moan, every breathy chant of caleb caleb caleb—proof of your surrender.

his free hand slid under your skirt, thumb circling your clit as he pounded into you. “look at the camera, pipsqueak,” he hissed. “show them how good i fuck you.”

he suddenly reached forward and groped your breasts—rough, possessive, fingers curling into the tender flesh through your half-undone uniform.

you gasped, head rolling back, the edge of his desk biting into your spine. your hips moved on their own, rocking back onto him, greedy for every inch.

“caleb—fuck. so good, i can’t—”

your voice broke into a high, wanton moan as he slammed deeper.

his fingers tightened around your waist, nails digging into the softness of your skin hard enough to leave marks, markings of who you belonged to. his hips snapped forward again, again, again, like punishment.

you tried to reach for him—fingers fumbling backward, seeking the warmth of his back, desperate for anything to ground you—

but he slapped your hand away, sharp and stinging.

“no.”

his voice was guttural. absolute. “you don’t get to hold me. not today. today, you’re a toy. you wanted me angry? here’s what you earned.”

you whimpered, thighs trembling, your walls fluttering around him uncontrollably. the friction. the angle. the brutal pace—you were unraveling, nerves screaming, body barely holding together.

“you can’t do that anymore, pipsqueak.” he leaned in, biting down lightly on your shoulder. “no more flirting. no more fluttering those pretty lashes at anyone but me.”

you nodded helplessly, tears dotting the corners of your lashes. “yes, yes, caleb—only you—”

his thumb pressed hard against your clit, circling too fast, too firm. your legs kicked from the overstimulation, your voice breaking into a sharp sob.

“caleb—wait, i’m gonna—”

“don’t wait. i want you ruined.”

his voice was thick, rough, heavy with hunger. “i want you drooling, crying, too full of me to even walk.”

he kept going, thrusting deep, relentless, your pleasure turning sharp, electric, too much…

but you couldn’t stop.

your body was betraying you, clutching him tighter, choking on moans, your soaked folds dripping mess onto the desk beneath you.

“look at the camera,” he growled, still filming. “let them see what happens when my baby tries to act like she’s not mine.”

your body tensed under him, mouth falling open in a silent cry. his thumb kept rubbing merciless circles into your clit, even as your walls clamped around him tight, too tight—milking his cock like your body never wanted to let go.

“caleb—i’m close!”

and you did.

your whole body seized. your back arched off the desk. a moan ripped from your throat, loud, obscene, echoing in his sealed room like a siren.

you came hard, soaking him, your thighs trembling, eyes rolling back. the waves of pleasure hit you like a crash of heat and static—blinding, blissful, brutal.

but caleb didn’t stop.

“good girl,” he growled, breath hot against your neck, “but i’m not done.”

he didn’t slow down—just kept pounding into you, letting you ride out your orgasm while forcing your body into another. every thrust knocked the breath from your lungs. your legs twitched. your clit was raw, screaming for mercy.

he held your hips in place like you were nothing but a doll. “you’re gonna come again. you’re going to cry and shake and let me use this tight cunt until i say we’re done.”

you sobbed—somewhere between pain and pleasure, your body going limp beneath him, oversensitive, helpless. you were gushing again, slick dripping down your thighs, your mouth slack and begging.

he finally slammed deep and stilled, buried to the hilt, panting hard.

you thought it was over.

your mind drifted, dizzy and fucked-out.

then you felt his hand move—lifting the camera slowly, angling it to catch the mess between your thighs, your flushed, tear-stained face, the way you twitched when he moved just slightly inside you.

his voice came low, gravelled, thick with satisfaction.

“only i can see you like this.”

his thumb brushed your cheek.

“no one else. ever. and i’m keeping this recording…” he leaned down, lips ghosting over your ear, “as a reminder.”

you gasped, your body jolting weakly beneath him.

then, he drew back just an inch. let your oversensitive walls feel the stretch again. “round two?”

the camera clicked.

still recording.

cut to black.

[radiantrosaa]

Minors DNI

All characters are 18+

Not proof read

-

THIS with Stanley and Stanford‼️

-

When Stanley first sees you in the outfit, he would have to do a double take before he eyes followed you out of the room. He would get up and follow you into the kitchen where you would begin making dinner, before you know it you can feel his hands on your hips which results in them getting slapped off by you.

He would be baffled by the sudden attitude at first then resume with trying to hold you again, once he got slapped off once more he’d get a bit frustrated and ask why you’re doing that only for you to respond with “nah, don’t touch me.”

He didn’t realize why you were acting this way until the quick flash of a little argument from earlier ran through his mind. Oh you are petty.

Stan wouldn’t stop no matter how many times you tell him to quit it because he knows you love it. Next thing you know, you’re sitting on the counter glancing at the stove to make sure it’s turned off all while Stan is hammering his cock deep within your cunt. He’s racked two orgasms out of you already but if you know Stan, two is barely enough for him.

Maybe just maybe, you should be petty more often..

-

You and Stanford got into a little bickering session earlier due to him continuously forgetting to eat because of how zeroed in he is on his current research project. He claims he’ll always remember and missing a meal or two won’t kill him but you just want him to stay healthy and not miss out on what’s important for his body. He claims he’ll eat when he’s done but then he never does which resulted in you finally trying to talk to him about it.

You left him to his work after that and decided to start cooking dinner, you always did bring it down to him anyway so he could make sure and eat. You had bought this cute little piece earlier in the week so you decided to make use and wear it. It was comfortable and fit your body perfectly, it was amazing.

Ford actually ended up finishing a part of his research early so he decided to head upstairs and make himself some well deserved coffee. As he strolled into the kitchen, he’s met with the sight of you in that outfit, when did you purchase that?

He would walk up behind you and slowly run his hands up your sides, feeling the fabric under his palms. Before his hands could rest anywhere comfortably though, you slapped them off much to his surprise. He gave you a puzzled look only for you to say those petty words “don’t touch me.”

He raised his eyebrows as he tried to figure out where this attitude came from only to have the realization slap him across the face, that petty little minx.

One thing led to another though and he had you sitting on the edge of the counter as he’s eating you out with vengeance, his tongue lapping at your folds before dipping inside your heat to explore further. You’re a mess and that’s exactly what he wants. As his mouth is working down there, his hands are snaking their way up to grope and feel you up.

You’re definitely paying another visit to that store tomorrow..

[thecranberriesslut]

Cabin no. 5

Summary: You're the new recruit for task force 141, you end up having to share your cabin with your superior officer Ghost, who doesn't quite believe that you're up for this job. The tension in this particular cabin could be cut through with a knife.

Pairing: Simon!Ghost!Riley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Power imbalance, Restraining, Profanity, Mean Ghost, Possibly Slightly Misogynistic Ghost, Degradation, Using force, Eventual smut, Dirty themes, Sort of Dark Ghost

Wc: 2,1k

Notes: Hey sluts, if you've missed my writing (although I'm sure I'm not that popular) here you go, this is a rare treat on account of I have finals soon and I'm just sososo busy, but i just had to write this... Anywayss enjoy, tell me what you think please, read at your own risk, blablabla. Also did not proof read this and wrote this in 2 hours without breaks, do not care if there are grammar errors.

Cabin no. 5, Pt.2 here!

Your old, worn-down boots scraped the slightly frozen terrain as you walked to cabin number 5—at least, that's what it said on the key they gave you when you arrived—you could almost feel the sharp rocks through your boots. You had gotten them at the beginning of your military training from your father; he said they'd last you a lifetime—maybe your know-it-all military captain father didn't know everything—but now they were one rough combat practice away from falling to pieces, as were your morals, unbeknownst to you.

Task Force 141, one of the most highly respected special operation units there is, and you—partially due to your father's influence—knew everything there was to know about this team. You had sent in your application only weeks after you finished extensive military training under your father. You had never expected to hear back from them, partially because you found it hard to believe that nepotism would have any influence in who was accepted into military task forces. But here you were, standing outside the cabin assigned to you by some apathetic-looking man at the main building, freezing your ass off.

The cabin was a small wooden box, but the light inside drew you in like a moth to a flame. You tried to calm your nerves by squeezing your fists very tight and letting go, but it did nothing for your racing heart and tight chest. You were told that you would be sharing a cabin with one of your commanding officers due to low funding for accommodation between missions. Also, the fact that you were the first female member of the 141 led you to the intellectual conclusion that this person would be a man. As a slashing gust of wind found the exact spot in your jacket that was ripped and penetrated your bones like an ice pick, you decided to suck it up and get inside that cabin.

You opened the door silently, hoping that your bunkmate would be asleep by now. But much to your demise, there, on the ratty old bunk, sat a big, hooded man, with no other part of him uncovered but his big, dark eyes. The light illuminated the dark forest path from where you came, and you could feel the wind blowing in stray snowflakes before you shut the door quickly behind you. This man on the bed—he just stared at you. He didn't move an inch, he didn't say anything; there he sat with an unreadable look in his cold eyes and his forearms tensed up like you were some kind of threat.

When the realization hit you, you almost cursed yourself out. In your surprise upon seeing the man, you had forgotten to salute your superior. You lifted your left hand quickly and firmly above your eyebrow as you set your bag down.

“Sir.”

“At ease,” he muttered with a dismissive, low voice muffled by his balaclava.

You put your hand down and let out the breath you had held unconsciously. After gathering yourself, you decided that you wouldn't be hated by your bunkmate. It would be a month before the next mission in Russia, and you weren't looking to share only awkward silence and deathly stares with the person in your room every single night until then. You forced your lips into a smile as you made your way to him, your slender arm extended in front of you. He stood up from his bunk, and your eyes followed him until your neck was physically unable to move any further back.

Jesus, fuck, this man was tall.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and kept your hand extended out for him. He took your hand in his and returned your handshake with a firm grip, his hand swallowing yours with ease.

“It's great to meet you. Heard so much about the 141,” you told him with sincerity. You wouldn't want to call yourself a fan of a military operational group, but—you were a fan.

“From your father,” he said dismissively. It wasn't a question; he knew that your father was a highly respected captain. He knew that if it wasn't for him, the 141 would have remained without its own nepo baby. Your eyebrows furrowed at his tone, but you knew better than to talk back to a superior officer, especially in your position.

“Yes, from my father,” you repeated. If he was going to try to insult you, you would just pretend not to realize it. You waited for him to pull away from the handshake, but his grip remained firm.

“You're mostly a sniper, no?” he assumed.

You could feel the anger rise to your cheeks. All your life, you had been dismissed as a soldier because of your gender, but on your first day in the 141, from your superior? God, you wanted to kick him in the nuts... instead, you smiled.

“I have the required training for a standard field operative.” You forced your voice to come out as professional and contained, but inside, you were screaming.

“Yeah, I'm sure your father trained you well. Be completely honest with me right now, officer—do you not realize the sheer size difference between you and everyone else on this team?” he asked as he let go of your hand.

You wanted to be angry at him for inequality, discrimination—anything—but you weren't stupid. Of course, you were smaller than them; it's biology. But what most men lack is reflexes, grace in their movements, swiftness… and that's exactly what you bring to the table.

“I understand your concerns, sir. But I assure you that I have the required skills. You do know that not all power comes from size.”

You could swear you saw a smirk under that balaclava.

“Well, we got a month to test that out, smartass, and I'm not making it easy for you,” he said before turning his back to you and laying down on his bunk. The bunk let out a big creak as his body weight lowered onto it, and you were left wondering what would ever come of you on this team.

You unpacked your stuff silently as he lay there. You couldn't tell if he was asleep or not—if he was, he was just as silent as he was awake.

“Uhm, sorry, where are the shower rooms?” you asked after you got done unpacking, your voice a mere whisper, although you doubted that a Task Force lieutenant would be very hard to wake up.

He groaned slightly and shifted in his bunk.

“Three cabins down. Be quiet when you get back.”

You said nothing as you made your way out of the door, almost dropping your shampoo bottle but catching it just in time.

The showers were, expectedly, old, damp, possibly covered in mold. The tiles were a seasick shade of green, and the overhead lights kept flickering like a scene from a horror movie. You sighed a breath of relief when you saw the shower stalls—at least you wouldn't have to be naked in front of the Task Force that you borderline idolized.

You turned the nozzle, and to your surprise, the water was instantly hot. The second the steaming water hit your tense shoulders, you let out a sigh. The water washed away your entire day of traveling to base in a cramped train, walking outside with your shitty boots, and that whole debacle with your lieutenant—whose name, you just realized, you didn’t catch. The shower walls echoed with dripping water and your quiet hums as you imagined how amazing it would be to get into bed and just go to sleep.

After your shower and getting dressed in the damp shower corridor—your clothes sticking to your skin like shorts on a hot summer day—you were walking back to your cabin when you felt like you were being watched. You looked around, but all the windows in the surrounding cabins were dark. Everyone was already asleep. You looked ahead into your own cabin, and it too just stood there, dark, quiet.

You knew it was stupid, but still, you picked up your pace to get inside quicker.

When you opened the door, your breath hitched in your throat. The bunk next to yours was empty… before you had time to think, the door to your cabin flew shut, and you felt a big arm come around your neck from the back, catching you in a chokehold.

You drew air into your lungs to scream, but before you could, a hand came over your mouth. You trashed in the tight hold the best you could, stomping on his feet and trying to use your hands to pry his arm away from you, but without result. You felt his face behind your ear, his breath causing goosebumps on the right side of your body, the goosebumps weren't the only thing you felt, because the heat in your body, and the damp spot that begun to form in your freshly changed panties, was undeniable.

“Where's your extensive training now, officer?” It was your lieutenant, of course it was him, how didn't you realize that this was one of his tests… which, you were failing miserably. You tried to explain yourself under his hand, but he moved it to your chin and pulled your head back against his shoulder, you winced at the roughness.

“Shut up and listen to me.” He said, his voice rough like gravel. You nodded your head the best you could in his grip and swallowed your fear.

“You should be able to get out of this, you think something like this couldn't happen out on missions?” He continued, to you, it felt like taunting.

“Mhmm.” You hummed a silent agreement.

“You're jeopardizing my men's safety by not being able to pull your weight in this team.”

“I could fight you, Sir, I just don't want to hurt you.” You tried to sound convincing, but the truth is that he left you exhausted, unalert, and completely by surprise. Your voice came out as a shaky mess, and at this point, no matter how fucked up it might be, you weren't sure you wanted to get out.

“Aw, how sweet, you don't want to hurt your superior officer, but tell me, do they give a fuck about rank in the middle of a battlefield somewhere in assfuck Russia?” His voice started out gentle, but towards the end he was practically yelling. You were used to this, you were a soldier after all, but you were so tired, and he was suddenly, so very scary, also the pit in your stomach wasn't helping, it was making you weak. You tried to claw at his arm once more, but you genuinely didn't want to hurt him and potentially get kicked out.

“You're weak, weak, and soft… and in this line of work, weak and soft gets you killed.” He drew out the words to maximize their hurtfulness, but you weren't hurt, you were turned on.

God, how fucked up is it to be turned on by this? You tried to rationalize your feelings with the forced abstinence that came with a busy military schedule, but you still felt like a gross pervert, until you felt something hard against your back. Your eyes widened in shock as your superior officer's undeniably hard dick pressed against your back unapologetically.

“Maybe I don't want out.” You said with a growing sense of confidence. You could feel his hand shift from your jaw to your neck as he squeezed, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to let you know that he could make it hurt if he so pleased.

“What did you say to me?” He asked with, what sounded like gritted teeth. After the warning squeeze, he let you out of his hold, you stumbled forward and regained your balance as you turned to face him. After a couple of coughs, you managed to say.

“Thanks, pleasure.” You said sarcastically, although your voice was hoarse and the dried tears on your face evident. His face remained stone-cold as he scanned your body.

“Don't think I can't tell when a soldier is trying to flirt with their CO.” He said casually, but with a dangerous edge to his tone.

“I would never.” You shot back.

“Good, 'cause if you tried to flirt with me, I'd have to report you for sexual harassment… or throw you down on the bed and make you regret your smart fucking mouth.” He said, so casually that it gave you an involuntary shiver. He looked at you once more with his expressionless eyes before making his way to his bunk once again, before he sat down, he turned to you.

“It's Ghost, by the way.”

[olderwomenenthusiast]

tell me in the morning (spencer reid)

PAIRING: spencer reid & fem reader DESCRIPTION: you make sure spencer tells you his confession when he's sober CAUTION: drunk spencer WORD COUNT: 2.1k AUTHOR'S NOTE: not proof read, they never are x

Morgan stared at Spencer, who was swaying slightly on the barstool, eyes half-lidded and a slight slur to his words. "Man, you're not usually like this," Morgan said, an amused yet concerned expression on his face. "Rossi, we need to get him out of here."

Rossi just shook his head, eyeing Spencer with a mix of disbelief and sympathy. "He's not usually this bad, but he’s been on a roll tonight. I think we pushed him a bit too far."

Morgan was already reaching for his phone, dialing your number. The sound of it ringing echoed in his ear. "Hey, it's Morgan. We’ve got a problem. Reid’s way too drunk, and I don’t think he can make it home on his own. Can you come pick him up?"

He paused, hearing the concern in your voice. "Yeah, I know, we tried. But you’re his best bet. Please come get him."

He glanced at Spencer, who was now giggling at some joke only he understood, then back at Rossi. "I’ll keep an eye on him, but he’s not going anywhere until you get here."

When you walked in, you saw Spencer’s usual sharpness completely gone, replaced by a goofy grin and a drowsy gaze. He perked up when he saw you, his eyes widening a little. "Hey, hey, it’s you! My favorite person," he slurred, attempting to stand but stumbling into the table beside him.

"Spence," you said softly, moving quickly to steady him, a little worried at how uncharacteristically vulnerable he was. "Let’s get you out of here, okay?"

He nodded, his head falling onto your shoulder as you helped him to his feet. "I’m fine, really," he muttered, but it was clear he wasn’t. He leaned into you more than usual, his weight pressing heavily on your side.

Morgan shot you a quick, apologetic look, and Rossi gave a knowing nod, both stepping back to let you take the lead.

"You’ve got him, right?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah," you replied, though there was no hiding the concern in your voice. "Don’t worry. I’ve got him."

Spencer gave a soft laugh, his arm sliding around your waist as you guided him out of the bar. "You always know how to make me feel better," he murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

You smiled, though it was laced with worry. "Let’s just get you home, Spence."

As you led Spencer out of the bar, his head bobbing slightly as he struggled to stay upright, you could feel the weight of the situation settling in. He was usually so put-together, so controlled—this side of him, so vulnerable and unguarded, was unsettling.

"You really went all in tonight, huh?" you asked, trying to keep your voice light, even as your concern deepened.

Spencer chuckled softly, but there was an odd, almost self-deprecating edge to it. "I just… wanted to forget, you know? For a little while. It’s... hard sometimes."

You stopped, glancing at him. He looked at you, eyes unusually glassy, but there was still that familiar vulnerability in his gaze. "Spence, you don't have to do this alone, you know. We’re here for you."

He leaned against you a little more, letting out a sigh. "I know. It’s just... sometimes it feels like I’m too much, even for you guys. Like I’m a burden." His words were slower now, a quiet honesty slipping out as the alcohol loosened his usual guardedness.

Your heart clenched. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol talking or if Spencer truly felt this way, but you weren’t about to let him believe he was a burden to anyone—especially not to you. "You’re not a burden, Spencer. Never have been. We care about you. I care about you."

His head tilted up, just enough to catch your eyes, and for a moment, the playfulness faded as the weight of his words seemed to sink in. "You do?" he asked softly, almost like a whisper, his voice vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to.

You nodded, your hand gently brushing his cheek. "Of course. You're one of my closest friends, Spence. I’ve always got your back."

Spencer didn’t say anything for a few moments. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable, before a small, grateful smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Thank you," he whispered, voice full of sincerity.

You smiled back, guiding him toward the car. "Let's just get you home, okay? We'll talk more in the morning."

As you helped Spencer into the car, the ride back was filled with a kind of quiet tension. His hand rested on the seat between you, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for you, but he never quite did. His usual intelligence and wit seemed clouded, and his mind wandered more than it usually would. Every now and then, he'd mumble something under his breath, something you couldn't quite catch, but it didn’t seem important at the time.

However, as you pulled into the parking spot outside his apartment, he looked over at you with an intensity that was too sharp for the state he was in.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" His voice was softer than usual, almost fragile.

"Of course," you said, keeping the car in park and looking over at him. You noticed how his eyes were fixed on you, a kind of vulnerability in them that you hadn’t seen before.

He shifted, leaning closer, his breath warm on your face. "I’ve been meaning to say this for a long time," he continued, words slow, as if working through something heavy in his mind. "I... I think I’ve always loved you."

Your heart skipped a beat, and the air between you both seemed to hang still for a moment. You blinked, trying to process what he was saying, but Spencer was already moving closer, his hand finding your arm as he leaned in, eyes closing in anticipation of a kiss.

For a brief moment, you froze, feeling a mixture of shock, confusion, and concern. This wasn’t right—not now, not like this.

"Spence," you said, your voice gentle, but firm. You placed your hand on his chest to keep him from leaning in further, your heart pounding in your chest as you made sure he was steady. "I care about you, I do. But this... this isn’t something we should do right now, not when you’re drunk."

He stilled, his face faltering for the briefest of seconds, and when he pulled back, his eyes seemed distant, like he was already retreating into himself. "Oh," he muttered, almost to himself, looking away from you. "Right. I didn’t think... I guess I just thought... you’d feel the same." His voice was tinged with hurt, and that small, vulnerable side of him seemed to sink even further.

You took a deep breath, your hand still gently on his arm, and you spoke softly, careful not to dismiss his feelings. "Spencer," you started again, searching his eyes, making sure he understood. "If you still feel the same way in the morning when you’ve had time to clear your head, then we can talk about it. We can see where things go. But right now, I don’t want you to make any decisions when you’re not yourself."

His expression faltered, but he nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Yeah, okay," he muttered, his gaze dropping. "I just... I just thought... never mind."

You could see the pain behind his words, and it made your heart ache. You reached out to gently squeeze his shoulder, giving him a comforting look. "It’s okay, Spence. Just... let’s get you inside and get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow, alright?"

He didn’t respond at first, but when you helped him out of the car, his steps were slower, as if the weight of his confession and your response had settled on his shoulders. Inside his apartment, you made sure he was settled onto the couch, and though you could see the disappointment and hurt in his eyes, you also knew that this wasn’t the end of whatever was beginning between you two. It was just a pause, a moment where time had to catch up with feelings and circumstances.

"Sleep, Spence," you whispered, tucking a blanket around him. "I’ll be here when you wake up."

He looked up at you one more time, his gaze soft but weary. "Okay," he said quietly, before closing his eyes. "Thanks for... not making this worse."

You watched him drift into a restless sleep, a swirl of emotions in your chest as you settled into the chair beside him. You didn’t know what the morning would bring, but for now, you stayed by his side, knowing that whatever happened, you would work through it together - when he was ready.

The smell of coffee filled the kitchen as you busied yourself with the morning routine, the soft clink of mugs and the steady drip of the coffee maker offering a comforting normalcy after last night’s emotional rollercoaster. You were trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind kept wandering back to Spencer, and the confession he had drunkenly blurted out in the car. You hoped that, with time, things would settle; though the quiet anticipation in your chest told you otherwise.

Then, you heard the familiar soft padding of footsteps behind you. You turned to find Spencer standing in the doorway, looking a little disheveled, his hair sticking out in every direction, but there was a slight glint in his eyes that made him look almost endearing in his disoriented state.

"Good morning," you said, offering him a soft smile as you poured the coffee. "You need pain meds? A glass of water?"

He shook his head, blinking as he seemed to gather himself. "No, surprisingly, no headache. Just... a little embarrassed." He scratched the back of his neck, his nervousness clear in the way he avoided your gaze. "I can’t believe I said that last night."

You raised an eyebrow, turning to face him more fully, leaning against the counter. "What exactly did you say last night, Spence? You’ll have to remind me." You couldn’t help but tease him lightly, letting the playful tone soften the tension that still hung in the air.

Spencer flushed, taking a few slow steps closer to you, his eyes never quite meeting yours, though you could see the vulnerability behind them. "I told you I loved you. And I meant it," he murmured, his voice quieter now, more serious than it had been before. "I just... I needed to tell you. I was too scared before."

Before you could stop yourself, your heart softened. You didn’t need time to think about it; you knew exactly how you felt. You stepped closer to him, your voice barely above a whisper. "I love you too, Spencer." Your eyes met his, and the depth of your words seemed to linger between you both.

He seemed to freeze, a surprised little breath escaping him as he finally allowed himself to look at you, his gaze searching your face for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, he took one more step toward you, his hand reaching out to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek softly, almost as if he were still trying to convince himself this wasn’t just a dream.

"I’m serious," he said, his voice almost pleading now, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your jaw. "I meant it. I love you."

You smiled, feeling a flutter in your chest at the honesty in his words, but couldn't resist the urge to tease him just a little. "I know you meant it, Spence." You let your fingers brush over his hand where it cupped your face. "But it takes a genius like you to get drunk just to finally tell me."

Spencer’s face flushed deeper, and you could see the little smirk that tugged at his lips, despite the embarrassment. "I guess... I guess I needed a little push."

"You definitely did," you teased, leaning forward just slightly, enough that your lips brushed the edge of his cheek. "But I’m glad you got there."

Spencer chuckled softly, a genuine warmth behind the sound. "I promise next time, no alcohol. I’ll be a little more... coherent when I tell you."

You smiled, your hands gently resting on his chest as you looked up at him, heart full of warmth. "I think I’d like that."

He leaned in just a bit closer, his forehead resting against yours for a moment, his breath warm against your skin. "Good, because I plan on telling you a lot more often."

The air between you seemed to settle, a quiet understanding filling the space. Spencer’s nervousness melted away, and in its place was something stronger, something real. You didn’t know what the future held, but as you stood there with him, the weight of last night’s confession didn’t feel so heavy anymore. It felt right.

[cameronsdearest]

Need pearl!reader and rafe having ROUGH sex on the beach

UGHGHG no cause i just know itd be the most impulsive decision ever for her and rafe would feel so accomplished for being able to hit ... (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

also, im so sorry nonnie its just been a terrible year so far, so i havent put my reqs on, but i just had to do this after so so long because you made me giggle, dont hate me plz….

rafe cameron x pearl!reader

cw: mdni, straight up smut, rafe is a little mean, unprotected piv, outdoor sex, overstim, creampie

a/n: not proof read i’m sorry… at work </3

You wouldn't exactly say you liked the Kooks on the island, definitely not with their pretentious attitudes. But you couldn't say you hated them, especially when you were currently having sex with the Kook with nothing but a few large, jagged rocks blocking you both from the view of everyone else on the beach.

"Rafe, Rafe," you mewled out, your fingers tugging on the corner of the beach towel you were both situated on. You tapped on the screen of your phone, the light appearing and the numbers illuminated.

4:20pm

"I have like- ten minutes before my break is over," you managed to huff out in the middle of a string of incoherent whines.

"Yeah? Can make that work," Rafe replied, his warm breath on your ear as he leaned in.

You tried to think about what led up to this point, but your memory was spotty as you felt the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. You could feel the rough skin on the tips of his fingers digging deeper into your waist, leaving red prints in its wake.

The lewd sounds that rose from your ass slapping against his pubic bones were thankfully drowned out by the lively chatter of the Tourons that found their afternoon best spent in a public beach.

Whining as he nips your ear, you turned your neck to deliver kisses to his lips. It was heated and slow, and you appreciated the way his tongue intertwined with yours. You could feel his smirk forming, prominent corners of his lips against you. You returned his smile with a giggle, cut short as his tip brushed against your inner most sensitive spot.

“F-fuck!” you cried out, your head doubling down. You only heard light laughter from behind you, his cock now thrusting particularly harder against your g-spot, controlled and purposeful.

His pace quickened, giving you no time to catch your breath. Pressure was put on your hips, his muscular arms forcing a constant rhythm. You felt tears creeping up your eyes as one of his hands snaked around your body, firm fingers finding your aching clit, teasing and pinching. Tears pricked your eyes, threatening to spill as you caged your bottom lip with your teeth.

"Too much?" he asked huskily by your ear. You nodded quickly, face contorting as you covered your mouth to avoid attracting any attention from the poor, unsuspecting people at the beach. “That’s just too bad.”

He didn’t let up, your mind going hazy, eyes brimming with tears from the overstimulation. The knot in your stomach tightened with each and every thrust, feeling your climax approaching. “Please, I’m about to come,” you panted, heart racing.

With that, Rafe’s hands moved quicker, continuing to rub against your clit and soon enough, your mind went blank, your voice muffled as you slammed your head down on the beach towel.

All through your orgasm Rafe kept his speed, fucking you relentlessly through your release, making you squeal and screw your eyes shut. Your walls clenched against his cock, releasing his groans from behind you.

“Fuck, your cunt is…” he moaned. “It’s squeezing my cock so hard.”

He grabbed your hair roughly, turning your head around to deliver a few sloppy kisses once again, a string of saliva connecting your lips as he pulled away, cursing under his breath as your cunt fluttered around him.

“I’m going to cum,” he grunted, emphasizing each word with another thrust to your poor, abused cervix. “And you’re going to take it. Is that right?”

Before you could let out a reply, you felt his hot, thick white ropes of cum filling your cunt, the heat warming your body. He slowed, still fucking your cunt nonetheless, his cock slowly entering in and out, ensuring that the remnants of his release remained buried inside of you.

Eventually coming to a stop, he took a moment to catch his breath, glancing down at the sweat that shone on his abs with the help of the beating sun.

Seeing your debauched form beneath him, he felt his cock stirring once more, the aching having not quite gone away yet.

“Shit… think you best call and try to extend that break of yours.”

[rhaenyraeri]

Eternity - Remmick

Pairing: Remmick x fem!Reader

Summary: Eternal damnation is only preferred when you both can spend eternity together, not when you’re alone.

Warnings: major character death, gore, angst(!), i did some lore changing, mayhap a little ooc smoke. i did my best lol. also minor proof reading was done, I wrote this listening to mound bayou on repeat and made myself sad writing it

Also, a note: i wrote this with a reader in mind that bared no resemblance to one race or the other, leaving it open to actually being an x reader. as a white person, it makes me upset to know there are people writing x readers in a way that isn’t racially descriptive of everyone reading, and also to know people are writing of the reader being in any way related to the klan.

if i made any mistakes, please let me know! i want to make it as racially ambiguous as possible. my writings are a safe place for everyone to feel included.

The sun came over the horizon and onto the vampire Remmick, and the two he had been hellbent on killing. A slight gust of smoke filled the air. Pain surged through his once, just a moment ago, envious, rage-filled, hunger devoted body. He let go of Sammie, who ran over to Smoke, grateful to have survived. They watched as the flames grew higher, now covering Remmick’s body, signaling his demise. They were safe now, the hell that the night had put them through had now come to an end. They backed away, creating distance from what was happening before them.

As his body hit the ground, they turned to make their leave. They’d survived the evil that filled their juke, at the loss of so many of their loved ones as well as friends and acquaintances. Limping away, the sound of sobbing filled their ears. It was you. Remmick’s wife, the one that earlier in the night, when his group arrived to the juke, had been right by his side and shown deep admiration of him. The two of you led the group, doing most of the talking, and you tried to compliment your way inside, of course to no avail. Stack had even, when you all walked away, minorly praised your attempt, saying you had the most appeal out of them all because of how charming your words were.

Now, here you were, laid across the charred body of Remmick, sobbing the most mournful, desperate, horrid cries they’d ever heard. Both men were unsure of where you came from, or how exactly you hadn’t met your end with the others. A vampire, like the rest of the hive minded bodies of their company that night, in the sunlight, though your skin was not showing any signs of weakness to the sun. When you looked up from where your head was on Remmick’s burnt chest, it was daylight. Your teary eyes slowly traced from the sky to your body. You weren’t dying. Not even in the slightest. You were damned to this earth from the gift Remmick gave you all those years ago, when he saw you performing with a group, playing some songs of their lineage, admiring how perfect you played that violin. You were different.. something he couldn’t live without. That he was sure of. The night you met, he’d spoke to you after the performance and, with that charm of his, got you to a secluded location, changed you, and from there on out you were inseparable. Love at first sight, he called it.

You knew you weren’t dying with him on this day. You’d suffered wounds from the fight just before and, although painful, they weren’t life threatening to you. To any other, it would’ve killed them. But you were different. Remmick had always said that, with how human you remained after you were turned, how you weren’t affected by the hive mind at all. The sobbing grew more intense, as your life with Remmick flashed before your eyes. The night at that bar, the countless days you’d spend in that abandoned cabin in the woods the two of you called home, the talks of, in another life, having a family together. A real family, a child of your own and a house you took deep pride in. The two of you were cursed to this life, and you knew you’d never get out of it. There was no returning to what you once were.

Footsteps rang in your ears and got closer, a pair of steps shuffling alongside them. You looked up, eyes so blurry with bloody vampiric tears and human tears alike. You could make out the figure, belonging to the man named Smoke.

“How come you’re not burning?,” he noted, squatting beside the two of you in the shallow water. No remorse was to be shown, as he lost the woman he loved but an hour or so before, to the man you laid clinging to. What sympathy were you to be given? You were just as compliant to this as Remmick.

“I… I don’t… I can’t.. I don’t know,” was all you could mutter out between each smothering cry. Remmick was all you knew, all you had. Not even a group of vampires remained. You were alone. Forever. A fear you had told him about one night, after he’d shown concern from being out in the sunlight too long from greedy feasting.

You heard Sammie whisper something to Smoke, who then stood up from his position.

“You’ll see Annie again… and your baby girl. I know you will,” you spoke, your words laced with complete confidence. She knew a lot with her practices, and you knew that mojo bag protected him against the vampires. The love they shared was strong enough to bind them together forever, to meet once more when it came his time to pass.

His feet came to a dead stop, as he turned to look at your pitiful state once more.

“How do you know her? Or about our daughter? How can I be so sure?”

“The love you two have.. it does more than you know.”

He stared at you. He was conversing with one of the creatures of the night that cost him his love. He raised the gun to shoot you, but he stopped himself. To be fair, you didn’t deserve mercy from him. You knew that. But the heartbreak in you begged for it. It crawled around your chest, scratching your skin like knives, cutting at your deadened heart, and dragging the guilt around with it.

Once more, he turned to leave. You were to succumb to the sun at some point, and that wound in your torso would only speed it up. At least, that was the hope. As he walked away, your crying grew louder… and louder.. and more desperate.

“Please!,” you managed to scream out, causing them both to turn to you once more, “I cannot live the rest of eternity like this.. Kill me.. Let me be free..”

Annie had said the souls were trapped in the body of a vampire when they were changed. She had shown remorse for them, knowing they’d never feel the sunrise again and that they were cursed to walk amongst this hate filled world for all eternity with no escape other than death. Smoke took a breath. He thought of his love for her, how her faith in her practices meant she and their daughter would reunite with him once more. He took some steps, bent down to get a thick, sturdy stick, and approached you.

Your body was basically covered in the ash from Remmick’s corpse now, pieces of the char stuck to your face. As you looked up, you made eye contact with the man in the back, Sammie, and gave a look filled with sympathy and sorrow. He experienced terror at the hands of your husband, and you felt for him. You then looked to Smoke, staring right into his eyes as you gave him the most thankful look you could, as he stabbed the stick into your chest, right into your heart. The pain was profound and horrendous, but you kept your eyes locked on his and with one last wail of tears, your words ran together. He could only make out two words; your final words.

“Thank you.”

He stood above the two corpses now, just looking. He didn’t know how you were certain of him reuniting with his family, but it gave him hope and, oddly, comfort. He moved you closer to Remmick’s body, so the two of you could, maybe, reunite in a world where you got your happy ending. An ending he hoped he would get the blessing of experiencing himself one day.

[bueckets]

Going UP?

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Description: From missed alarms to broken elevators, your Tuesday couldn't get worse, well, until it gets better. When a late-running grad student's desperate dash to save her thesis turns into an unexpected elevator encounter with UConn basketball sensation Paige Bueckers, she learns that sometimes the best assists come from broken machinery.

Armed with nothing but coffee-fueled anxiety and an encyclopedic knowledge of basketball analytics, you find yourself trading quips with college basketball's golden girl in a stalled elevator. What starts as a disaster turns into something else entirely when basketball theory meets practice, terrible jokes meet dangerous grins, and hot chocolate meets, well, everywhere except the mug.

They say love is a game of chances. But when you're trapped between floors with a girl who can bend physics on the court and make your heart run suicides off it, maybe it's worth taking the shot. Sometimes cupid doesn't use arrows. Sometimes he just breaks the elevator.

Featuring: One (1) very broken elevator Several questionably colored cocktails A security guard who's seen it all Basketball plays drawn in spilled Shirley Temples Analytics-based flirting And a whipped cream fight that definitely isn't regulation play

Coming soon to wherever meet-cutes happen in college sports. (Rated R for excessive basketball puns and gay panic)

WC: 8.1k (roughly)

Genre/Notes: uh, i tried to be funny, floofy, rom-com-ish? (i tried), smut at the end, someone gets their kitty ATE, proof read like 50%

Your sneakers pound against the cracked, patchy sidewalk of North Campus, dodging the construction zone that's been "two weeks from completion" since freshman year. The November air bites at your cheeks, sharp as broken glass, and your laptop bag repeatedly slams into your hip with each stride, probably turning your thesis notes into digital confetti. A gust of wind lashes at you, tugging at your jacket, your hair, your sanity, and sending a rogue candy wrapper tumbling like a lonely tumbleweed across the quad like some 50’s Old West showdown. 

You'd woken up to three missed calls from your advisor and an email that made your soul leave your body.

Meeting moved to 9:15 AM. Please bring updated analytics models.

It's 9:12.

The universe is really testing you today. First, your roommate's cat knocked your phone off the nightstand, somehow managing to turn off all five of your alarms. Then, the dining hall’s card reader had the audacity to look at your student ID like it was written in crayon, leaving you to scavenge through your bag for exact change like a Victorian orphan. And now this.

You weave through the crowd of freshmen congregating outside the Student Union like they've never seen stairs before, your thermos of room-temperature coffee sloshing dangerously close to the lid. The wind whips a forgotten syllabus past your feet as you cut across the grass (sorry, campus maintenance), taking the "shortcut" that everyone pretends they don't use. You can practically hear the landscaping team groaning somewhere, shaking their heads at the worn-down dirt trail you and a thousand other students have carved into their perfect lawn.

Gampel Pavilion looms ahead, all glass and steel and architectural hubris. The morning sun hits it at an angle that makes it look like it's on fire, which feels appropriate given your current state of mild panic. You've spent so many hours in this building that the security guard, Mike, doesn't even look up from his crossword puzzle anymore when you scan your ID.

"Running late?" he calls out as you blast past his desk.

"What gave it away?" you shout back, already halfway to the elevators. Your sneakers squeak against the polished floors, leaving behind a faint trail of panic and shame— but most importantly, dirt. 

The ancient LED display above the elevator shows it's on the third floor. You slam the up button approximately forty-seven times, as if that's ever made an elevator move faster in the history of vertical transportation.

"Come on, come on," you mutter, shifting your weight between feet like you're doing some demented speed-skating warm-up. Your laptop bag keeps sliding off your shoulder, and you're pretty sure your hair looks like you styled it in a wind tunnel.  A strand falls into your eyes, and you blow it away with a frustrated huff. Everything about you screams disaster, and yet the elevator couldn’t care less.

The elevator dings. The doors slide open with all the urgency of a DMV employee on a Friday afternoon.

And there she is.

Paige Bueckers is leaning against the back wall of the elevator, one foot propped up behind her, looking like she just stepped out of a Nike ad. Her practice uniform is pristine, her blonde hair pulled back in a perfect ponytail that somehow hasn't gotten the memo about today's wind situation. She's got AirPods in, absently spinning a basketball between her hands like it's an extension of her body.

Your brain short-circuits. 

Time seems to slow down as you stand there, probably looking like a deer caught in very attractive headlights. The elevator dings again, threatening to close its doors on your moment of crisis.

Fuck it.

You lunge forward just as the doors start to close, practically diving into the elevator like you're trying to save a ball going out of bounds. Your coffee sloshes, your bag swings, and you nearly face-plant into the corner.

Paige pulls out one AirPod, her eyebrows raised so high they might achieve orbit. "Nice entrance."

You straighten up, trying to salvage whatever dignity might be hiding in the corners of this elevator. "Thanks, I've been practicing."

The elevator starts its ascent with a concerning rattle that definitely wasn't part of the original design. You adjust your bag for the hundredth time, very aware that you probably look like you just lost a fight with a leaf blower. Meanwhile, Paige keeps spinning that damn basketball, the soft thump-thump of it between her hands matching rhythm with your still-racing heart.

Nine floors to go. Eight if your advisor hasn't moved offices again after the Great Coffee Incident of last semester.

You can handle this. You're an adult. A slightly disheveled, possibly caffeine-deprived adult, but still. Just because you're sharing an elevator with the university's basketball goddess doesn't mean you need to—

The lights flicker once. Twice.

The elevator shudders like it's having an existential crisis.

Then everything stops.

The emergency lights kick in, bathing everything in a red glow that makes Paige look like she's starring in a very stylish apocalypse movie. The basketball stops spinning.

"Well," she says, tucking the ball under her arm and giving you a smile that definitely doesn't make your stomach flip. "Looks like the universe has other plans for us this morning."

You look at your phone: 9:14 AM.

Your advisor is going to kill you.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," you mutter, jabbing at the emergency call button like it personally offended you. "This isn't happening. This can't be happening."

The little red light blinks back at you, mocking your entire existence, as if to say, yeah, good luck with that, idiot. You hit the button again, harder this time, because maybe the elevator just needs some aggressive encouragement.

"I don't think that's helping," Paige says, watching you with a mix of amusement and concern. She's still spinning that goddamn basketball, the rhythmic thump-thump now feeling less like a heartbeat and more like a countdown to your academic doom.

"Yeah? Well, neither are you," you snap, immediately regretting it. Great. Now you're trapped in an elevator AND you've just been rude to Paige fucking Bueckers. "Shit, sorry, I just—" You run both hands through your already catastrophic hair. "My advisor is going to crucify me. Like, actually crucify me. She's probably got a cross picked out and everything."

Paige catches the ball mid-spin. "Dr. Martinez?"

"How did you—"

"The only professor I know who actually might own a cross for student crucifixions." She tucks the ball under her arm. "She made one of our freshmen cry last week just by looking at her."

"That tracks." You slide down the wall opposite her, your legs finally giving up on the whole standing thing. "God, I can't believe this. I've got my entire thesis presentation on this laptop, three months of analytics data that I haven't backed up because I'm an idiot, and now I'm going to die in an elevator with—" You wave vaguely in her direction.

"With?" She raises an eyebrow, and you swear there's a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

"With UConn's basketball savior who's probably missing practice right now because the universe decided today was a great day for some cosmic practical joke." You let your head thunk back against the wall. "Coach Auriemma's probably already got a hit out on me."

Paige laughs, and the sound does something weird to your chest. "Nah, Coach is more of a 'make you run suicides until you puke' kind of guy. Much less paperwork than murder."

"Fantastic. So I'll die from academic execution AND athletic retribution. Perfect way to start a Tuesday."

"You always this dramatic before 9:30?" She's definitely smirking now.

"Only when I'm trapped in elevators with pretty girls who should be at practice."

The words are out before your brain can catch up with your mouth. Your eyes go wide, and you seriously consider trying to pry open the doors and jump down the shaft.

But Paige just grins, wide and dangerous. "Oh, so you think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're deflecting from the fact that we're stuck in a metal box that's older than both of us combined," you say, proud of how steady your voice comes out despite the internal screaming.

"And I think you're deflecting from the fact that you just called me pretty."

You pull out your phone again, desperate for a distraction. "No signal. Perfect. This is fine. Everything is fine."

"Could be worse," Paige says, stretching her legs out in front of her. Her feet almost reach where you're sitting, and you absolutely do not notice how long her legs are. "Could be stuck in here with Dr. Martinez."

That startles a laugh out of you. "Jesus, don't even joke about that. She'd probably make me defend my thesis right here."

"Yeah? What's it about?"

You look up from your phone to find her watching you with what appears to be genuine interest. "You really want to know?"

"Well," she gestures around the elevator, "it's not like I've got anywhere else to be."

You narrow your eyes. "If this is some kind of pity conversation—"

"It's not." She cuts you off, her voice surprisingly firm. "I'm actually curious. Plus, you look like you might spontaneously combust if you don't talk about something other than being stuck in here."

She's not wrong. Your leg has been bouncing non-stop since you sat down, and you're pretty sure you're about to wear a hole in your bottom lip from biting it.

"Fine," you say, setting your phone aside. "But remember, you asked for this. And if you fall asleep, I'm using that basketball as a pillow."

Paige's eyes light up with something that makes your stomach flip. "Deal."

"Okay, so you know how current basketball analytics are basically just glorified box scores?" You shift to face her properly, your earlier panic morphing into the kind of enthusiasm that usually makes people's eyes glaze over. "Like, sure, we can track points and assists and whatever, but that's just the obvious stuff."

"And there's more than the obvious stuff?" Paige asks, settling in like she's actually planning to follow your inevitably chaotic explanation.

"So much more." You pull your laptop out, balancing it on your crossed legs. "Like, imagine being able to track not just who made the shot, but all the little things that made that shot possible. The way players move without the ball, how defensive shifts create spaces that don't show up in any stat sheet.”

Your hands start moving as you talk, painting invisible patterns in the air. Paige has stopped spinning her basketball, her eyes following your gestures with an intensity that makes you warm all over.

"It's like..." You pause, trying to find the right words. "You know how in chess, sometimes the most important move isn't the one that takes the piece, but the three moves before that made it possible?"

She nods, leaning forward slightly. "Like a setup play."

"Exactly!" You're fully animated now, previous elevator crisis temporarily forgotten. "But current systems don't track that. They don't see how Player A moving left makes Player B's defender shift just enough that Player C can—"

The emergency speaker crackles to life, making you both jump.

"Hello? Anyone in there?" The voice sounds bored, like stuck elevators are just another Tuesday morning inconvenience.

Paige reaches over and hits the call button. "Yeah, we're here. Two people."

"Alright, we've got maintenance heading up. Should have you out in about fifteen minutes. Sit tight."

The speaker clicks off, leaving you both in that red-tinted silence again.

"Fifteen minutes," you groan, letting your head fall back against the wall. "Dr. Martinez is definitely going to have that cross ready."

"Hey," Paige says, and something in her voice makes you look at her. "Tell me more about your system. How do you track all those micro-movements?"

You blink at her. "You actually want to hear more?"

"Would I ask if I didn't?" She's got this soft half-smile that does dangerous things to your ability to think straight. "Plus, you get all..." she waves her hand vaguely, "sparkly when you talk about it."

"Sparkly?"

"Yeah, like you're lit up from the inside." She says it so casually, like she hasn't just made your heart do a full court press against your ribs.

You clear your throat, trying to remember how words work. "Right. Well, um, I've been working with the computer vision lab to develop these tracking algorithms..."

The next fifteen minutes dissolve into a blur of technical explanations and basketball theory. Paige asks surprisingly specific questions, and you try not to look too pleased every time she leans in closer to see something on your laptop screen.

When maintenance finally gets the elevator moving again, it feels too soon.

The doors open on the fourth floor – your floor – and you scramble to pack up your laptop, suddenly aware that you've spent the last twenty minutes word-vomiting about analytics to one of the best basketball players in the country.

"Thanks for, uh, keeping me from completely losing it," you say, standing awkwardly in the doorway. "And sorry about the whole..." you gesture vaguely at yourself, "chaos."

Paige stands too, and even in the normal lighting, she's unfairly pretty. "Chaos looks good on you."

Your brain short-circuits. "Can I get your number?"

The words tumble out before you can stop them, and you immediately want to crawl into the nearest trash can. But Paige just grins, that dangerous one that makes her look like she knows exactly what she's doing to you.

"Tell you what," she says, spinning the basketball on one finger because apparently she's physically incapable of not showing off. "Come to Friday's game. If you can spot one of those micro-interactions you were talking about..." She lets the ball roll down her arm and catches it smoothly. "Maybe you'll find out if I give my number to random girls I meet in elevators."

She backs into the elevator, maintaining eye contact until the doors close between you.

You stand there for a solid thirty seconds, staring at the brushed metal doors like they might reveal the secrets of the universe. Or at least explain how you went from having a mental breakdown about your advisor to what definitely felt like flirting with Paige Bueckers.

Your phone buzzes: another email from Dr. Martinez.

Meeting rescheduled to 2PM. Bring coffee. The good kind.

You look back at the elevator doors, then at your phone, then at the ceiling.

Looks like you're going to a basketball game on Friday.

The security guard at Gampel's student entrance looks at your ticket, then at you, then back at the ticket with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for people trying to use expired coupons at Target.

"This is— courtside," he says slowly, like maybe you don't understand what those words mean.

"Yeah, I, uh,” You shift your weight between feet, very aware of the growing line behind you. "I got it in an email?"

It comes out like a question because honestly, you're still not entirely sure this isn't some elaborate fever dream. The past three days have felt surreal, starting with Dr. Martinez actually smiling during your rescheduled meeting (turns out that fancy coffee shop downtown does make a difference) and ending with an email from pbueckers@uconn.edu that made you choke on your morning cereal.

The security guard squints at his scanner like it's personally offending him. "These are usually reserved for—"

"Is there a problem?" A familiar voice cuts through the growing awkwardness, and you turn to find Mike, your elevator-lobby guardian angel, approaching with his signature "I've seen too much student nonsense" expression.

"Got a courtside ticket here, but—"

"Oh, yeah," Mike says, shooting you a look that's somewhere between amused and knowing. "This one's good. Let 'em through."

You mouth a 'thank you' as you pass, and he just shakes his head, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "kids these days" under his breath.

The student section is already packed, a sea of navy and white that ripples with pre-game energy. But your ticket directs you past all that, down, down, down the steps until you're so close to the court you can smell the fresh polish on the hardwood.

"This isn't happening," you mutter to yourself, dropping into your assigned seat—which is literally close enough to high-five players coming off the court. "This is fine. Everything is fine. You're just casually sitting courtside at a sold-out game because you got trapped in an elevator and word-vomited about basketball analytics for twenty minutes. Totally normal Friday night."

The woman next to you, wearing what looks like several hundred dollars worth of UConn gear, gives you a concerned side-eye.

"Sorry," you say, slinking lower in your seat. "I talk to myself when I'm having an existential crisis."

She just nods and shifts slightly away, which, fair.

The arena fills up quickly, the ambient noise growing from a buzz to a roar. You try to look casual, like you totally belong here and didn't spend forty-five minutes earlier having a breakdown about what to wear to a basketball game when you're sitting close enough to be on TV. (You'd finally settled on jeans and a UConn hoodie, figuring if you're going to have a gay panic on national television, you might as well be comfortable.)

The teams come out for warm-ups, and your heart definitely doesn't skip when you spot number 5 leading the layup line. Paige moves like she's got some sort of cheat code for gravity, each motion fluid and precise. She's got her game face on, all focused intensity and practiced routine, but then—

She catches your eye as she circles back to the line, and her serious expression cracks just enough to let through a hint of that dangerous grin from the elevator.

"Oh, I am so screwed," you breathe, and the woman next to you shifts another inch away.

The game itself is a blur of motion and noise. You try to focus on analyzing plays like you promised, looking for those micro-interactions you'd rambled about, but it's hard to think strategically when Paige keeps making passes that shouldn't be physically possible. Your laptop's probably having a stroke trying to track all these movements.

By halftime, UConn's up by twelve, and you've filled three pages of your Notes app with what started as technical observations but has devolved into increasingly incoherent capslock about various impressive plays. The latest note just says "HOW DID SHE EVEN SEE THAT CUTTING GUARD??? PHYSICS???? HELP????"

"Nice analysis."

You nearly drop your phone. Paige is right there, pretending to adjust her shoes by the bench but clearly smirking in your direction.

"I'm being professionally thorough," you whisper-hiss back, trying to ignore how your pulse is doing full-court sprints.

"Uh huh." She stands up, heading back to the huddle, but not before adding, "You look good in UConn blue, by the way."

You spend the entire third quarter trying to remember how to breathe normally.

The fourth quarter is when you see it—one of those perfect setup plays you'd theorized about. Paige moves left, drawing her defender, while simultaneously nodding almost imperceptibly to her teammate. The slight movement causes a chain reaction: the defense shifts, creating a gap that shouldn't exist, and suddenly there's a perfect passing lane that materializes out of seemingly nowhere. The ball flows through it like water finding the path of least resistance, resulting in an easy layup that looks simple but was actually three moves in the making.

You're on your feet before you realize it, pointing and probably looking deranged. "That! That's exactly what I was talking about! The head fake was the trigger but it wasn't even about the—" You cut yourself off, becoming aware that several people are staring at you, including the woman next to you who's now practically in the next seat over.

As the final buzzer sounds (UConn by 18), your phone buzzes with a new email.

From: pbueckers@uconn.edu

Subject: Nice catch

Body: 617-555-0147

PS - Your "professional analysis" face is reaaaaallly cute. Even from ten feet away.

You stare at your phone long enough that the arena starts to empty around you, afraid that if you look away the numbers might disappear like some basketball Cinderella story. The woman next to you finally gets up, edging past with the kind of caution usually reserved for wild animals.

"Sorry about all the,” you gesture vaguely at yourself.

She just pats your shoulder with grandmotherly sympathy. "Honey, I've been watching basketball for forty years, and I've never seen someone have a gay awakening quite that enthusiastically. Good luck with number five."

You're still sputtering when she disappears up the stairs, leaving you alone with a phone number and the distinct feeling that the universe is either laughing at you or playing matchmaker.

Possibly both.

Nah— Definitely both.

After what feels like an eternity of staring at your phone like it holds the secrets of the universe, your bladder kindly reminds you that you stress-drank an entire large iced coffee before the game. Fucking wonderful. You glance at the concourse—and immediately regret every life choice that led to this moment.

The bathroom line snakes around the corner like some kind of hydra-headed monster, full of people who clearly had the same brilliant beverage ideas you did. You briefly consider just holding it and dealing with the consequences later, but your body has other plans.

"This is karma," you mutter, taking your place at the end of the line. "This is definitely karma for all those times I made fun of people waiting in long bathroom lines."

The girl in front of you snorts. "If it helps, I'm pretty sure we're all suffering from the same coffee-based poor judgment."

Twenty minutes. Twenty. Entire. Minutes.

You've gone through every social media app twice, responded to three emails you've been avoiding, and played enough Candy Crush to rot your remaining brain cells by the time you finally emerge from the bathroom. The arena is practically empty now, just cleaning crew and a few lingering fans.

Your phone feels heavy in your pocket, that number burning a hole in your mind. You pull it out, staring at the digits like they might rearrange themselves into instructions on how to text your elevator-meet-cute crush without sounding like a complete disaster.

To: 617-555-0147

Hey, this is your favorite elevator analytics nerd. Great game tonight. That fourth-quarter setup play was chef's kiss

You hit send before you can overthink it, then immediately regret every word choice. Chef's kiss? Really? Maybe if you run fast enough, you can catch up to your dignity before it leaves the building entirely.

Your phone buzzes before you can fully commit to your shame spiral.

From: Paige 🏀

some of us are heading to murphy's for dirty shirleys if you want to continue your "professional analysis" in person? promise there won't be any elevators involved

You nearly trip over your own feet.

Will there be a formal presentation required? Should I prepare slides?

just your sparkling personality and maybe an explanation of how you knew that play was coming before I did 😉

Bold of you to assume I wasn't just gesturing wildly at a mosquito 

we both know you're too much of a basketball nerd for that. meet you there in 20?

You pause at the arena exit, looking down at your very casual, very not-prepared-to-go-out outfit. But then again, when has anything about this situation been normal? 

Your eyes shoot back to your phone and your frantic typing begins once again.

Only if you promise to explain how that behind-the-back pass in the third quarter didn't break several laws of physics

deal. and hey?

Yeah?

the hoodie really does look good on you

Your stomach shoots to your ass and you stand there grinning at your phone like an idiot until Mike, doing his final security rounds, walks by and shakes his head.

"Don't stay out too late, kid," he calls over his shoulder. "These love stories always get complicated when they start in elevators."

"That was literally ONE MOVIE," you shout after him, but he just waves without turning around.

You look down at your phone one more time, then up at the now-empty arena, and can't help but laugh. Somehow, a broken elevator, an understanding security guard, and a basketball player with a dangerous grin have turned your disaster of a week into whatever this is.

Time to find out if Dirty Shirleys taste better when you're sharing them with a girl who can bend physics on a basketball court.

Murphy's is exactly what would happen if a sports bar had a baby with a college town dive and raised it on a strict diet of neon signs and questionable decor choices. The walls are plastered with enough UConn memorabilia to fill a museum, if museums were into collecting signed napkins and mysteriously stained jerseys.

Your stomach is doing Olympic-level gymnastics as you push open the door, immediately hit by the smell of mozzarella sticks and what you really hope is just decades of spilled beer. The place is packed with post-game energy, and you're pretty sure your heart stops completely when you spot Paige at a corner booth, still in her game-day warmups because apparently she just casually walks around looking like a Nike ad.

"Analytics nerd!" she calls out, waving you over with that stupid grin that makes your brain cells commit mass suicide. "We saved you a seat!"

The 'we' turns out to be a collection of players who could probably stack on top of each other and touch the moon. You slide into the only open spot—right next to Paige, because the universe is clearly not done testing your ability to form coherent sentences today.

"Everyone, this is the elevator girl who knows more about our plays than we do," Paige announces, and your face goes hot enough to fry an egg. "Elevator girl, this is everyone."

"I have a name, you know," you manage, trying to ignore how her shoulder is pressed against yours in the crowded booth.

"Yeah, but 'elevator girl' has a better ring to it," she says, sliding a violently pink drink your way. "Plus, it's technically accurate."

"So is 'basketball menace' but you don't see me—" Your mouth snaps shut as her teammates start cackling.

"Oh, I like this one," says a girl you recognize as KK Arnold, grinning like she just got early Christmas. "She's got bite."

"She's got analytics," Paige corrects, but she's looking at you with something that makes your stomach relocate to somewhere in the general vicinity of Jupiter. "Speaking of which, you never did tell me how you caught that play coming."

You take a long sip of your Dirty Shirley to buy time, immediately regretting it when the sugar content threatens to give you instant cavities. "Holy shit, what's in this? Pure pixie stick powder?"

"Don't deflect," Paige says, poking your side. "We've got a whole team of analysts and none of them caught it. So spill."

"Fine, but only because you bought me diabetes in a glass." You shift to face her, accidentally-on-purpose letting your knee rest against hers under the table. "It was your head."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "My head?"

"You've got this tell," you say, getting into it now because apparently basketball analysis is your ideal flirting language. "This tiny little head tilt you do when you're setting up something sneaky. Like a cat about to knock something off a table, but make it basketball."

The entire table goes quiet, then erupts in laughter.

"She's got you there, P," Ice wheezes. "You do look like a menacing cat sometimes!"

Paige is staring at you with a mix of indignation and something else that makes your chest feel too small for your heart. "I do not have a cat tell."

"You absolutely do," you say, emboldened by sugar and the way her eyes keep dropping to your lips. "It's actually kind of cu—"

"SHOTS!" someone yells, and suddenly there's a tray of something alarmingly blue being passed around.

"Oh god," you mutter, watching the liquid slosh ominously. "Is this what happens when a Smurf dies?"

Paige nearly chokes on her drink. "That's terrible!"

"Just like these shots are about to be?"

She leans in close—too close, definitely too close for your remaining brain cells to function—and whispers, "Good thing I like terrible jokes."

Your stomach shoots to your ass (and possibly into another dimension) as she pulls back with a wink that should be illegal in at least forty-eight states.

"I hate you," you inform her, grabbing one of the Smurf funeral shots because if you're going to have a gay crisis in a college bar, you might as well commit fully.

"No you don't," she says with absolute certainty, and the worst part is she's right.

You really, really don't.

The night dissolves into a blur of increasingly ridiculous drinks (who knew they made something called a "Husky Howl"?), basketball stories that get more elaborate with each round, and Paige's thigh pressed warm against yours under the table. You learn that she stress-bakes before big games, that she once tried to teach her dog to play basketball, and that when she really laughs—like, really laughs—she snorts a little and it's possibly the cutest thing you've ever seen.

At some point, Azzi starts drawing up plays on napkins with increasingly chaotic drink-fueled creativity. Aaliyah Edwards keeps stealing her pen to "fix" the defensive rotations, while Nika Mühl throws wadded-up straw wrappers at both of them, critiquing their "absolutely trash spacing."

"No, no, look," KK follows imaginary lines with her finger across the napkin, accidentally dragging it through a puddle of spilled Shirley Temple. "If we run this here, and then—" she grabs your arm— "you're the defense, okay? Stand up."

"I absolutely am not," you protest, but Paige is already pulling you up with that stupid grin that makes your knees forget how joints work.

"Come on, elevator girl," she teases, positioning you near the booth. "Show us those analytics skills in action."

"I hate all of you," you mutter, but you're laughing as KK tries to demonstrate some elaborate defensive scheme that mostly involves her spinning in circles while Aaliyah provides unhelpful commentary.

"Your footwork is trash, bestie," Aaliyah calls out, now using maraschino cherries to build what appears to be a scale model of the paint.

"YOUR footwork is trash," KK shoots back, then promptly trips over nothing.

"Ladies, ladies," Paige steps in, all faux seriousness undermined by the way she can't stop grinning. "Let a professional show you how it's done."

She moves behind you, hands settling lightly on your hips, and your brain immediately flatlines. "See, proper defensive stance is all about—"

"Get a fuckin' room!" Nika yells, launching another straw wrapper that hits Paige square in the forehead.

"Actually," Paige says close to your ear, and your stomach does approximately seventeen backflips, "I've got that new analytics setup at my apartment if you want to see it. You know, for research purposes."

You turn to face her, very aware that her hands haven't moved from your hips. "Research purposes?"

"Mhmm." That dangerous grin is back. "Purely academic, of course."

"Of course," you manage, trying to ignore the way your pulse is doing a full drumline routine.

"Oh my god," KK groans from the booth. "This is worse than when Aaliyah tried to flirt with that barista using coffee puns."

"Hey!" Aaliyah protests. "That was smooth!"

"You asked if she wanted to 'espresso' her feelings!"

"And now we're dating, so who's the real winner here?"

Paige rolls her eyes at their antics, but her thumbs are drawing small circles on your hips that are making it very hard to focus on anything else. "So? Want to help me with some late-night analysis?"

Your stomach shoots to your ass as you meet her eyes, finding them sparkling with something that definitely isn't just about basketball statistics. "I mean, it would be unprofessional to turn down a research opportunity..."

"GET OUT OF HERE," Azzi throws a cherry that sails completely wide of both of you. "Your gay panic is ruining my plays."

"Your plays were already ruined," Nika points out, helpfully redrawing the vodka-smudged X's and O's with what appears to be lip gloss.

Paige grabs her jacket with one hand and your hand with the other, tugging you toward the door. "Don't wait up, nerds!"

"USE PROTECTION!" Aubrey shouts after you, causing several nearby tables to choke on their drinks.

"I mean, analytics can be very dangerous," you say with mock seriousness as you step into the cool night air, very aware that Paige hasn't let go of your hand. "All those numbers flying around."

"Absolutely hazardous," she agrees, pulling you closer as you walk. "Better stick together. For safety."

"For safety," you repeat, hoping she can't feel your pulse racing where your fingers are intertwined. "And research."

"And research," she echoes, giving you that sidelong grin that makes your heart forget how to beat properly. "Though I should warn you..."

"Yeah?"

She stops under a streetlight, turning to face you with eyes that sparkle with mischief. "My elevator works perfectly fine."

Your laugh echoes off the empty street. "Damn. There goes my backup plan."

"I'm sure we can find other ways to get stuck together," she says, and your stomach relocates somewhere in the general vicinity of Mars.

As you follow her down the quiet streets of Storrs, your joined hands swinging between you, you make a mental note to buy Mike the biggest coffee gift card you can afford.

Broken elevators might just be your new favorite thing.

Paige's apartment is exactly what you'd expect from someone who's somehow both a basketball prodigy and a complete dork—there's a literal trophy shelf right next to a collection of Star Wars Funko Pops, and her UConn jersey hangs framed above what appears to be a very elaborate gaming setup.

"Nice lightsaber," you say, nodding to the collector's edition propped in the corner.

"Nice deflection from how your hands are shaking," she shoots back, shrugging off her jacket.

"It's cold outside!"

"Uh huh." She disappears into the kitchen, and you hear cabinets opening. "Want some hot chocolate? I promise it's better than those nuclear waste shots Aubrey kept ordering."

Your stomach does a weird flip at how domestic this feels. "Only if you have—"

"Mini marshmallows and whipped cream? What kind of monster do you think I am?"

You follow her voice to find her already pulling out mugs, one of which has "Ball is Life" written in what appears to be glitter pen. "The kind that owns a bedazzled basketball mug?"

"First of all, Nika made this for my birthday and it's a masterpiece," she says, grabbing milk from the fridge. "Second of all, you're just jealous of my sophisticated taste."

"Oh, absolutely. Nothing says sophistication like..." you pick up a container from the counter, "unicorn hot chocolate mix?"

She snatches it back, fighting a grin. "It's limited edition!"

"Of course, my mistake. Clearly I'm in the presence of a fine dining connoisseur."

The kitchen fills with the smell of chocolate as she heats the milk, and you try not to stare at how she's rolled up her sleeves, forearms on full display as she stirs. You fail miserably.

"See something you like?" she asks without turning around, because apparently she has eyes in the back of her head.

"Just admiring your hot chocolate technique."

"My technique is excellent, thank you very much." She turns, holding up a can of whipped cream with a dangerous glint in her eye. "Want to see?"

Your throat goes dry. "I feel like this is a trap."

"Maybe." She takes a step closer, and your back hits the counter. "But you've been analyzing my moves all night. Shouldn't I get a turn?"

You're about to say something witty—really, you are—but then she's shaking the whipped cream can and all your brain cells collectively abandon ship.

"Don't you dare—" 

The words are barely out before she's spraying whipped cream directly at your face. You squeal (not your proudest moment) and grab for the can, resulting in a brief wrestling match that ends with cream basically everywhere except in the actual mugs.

"You're such a menace!" you gasp, trying to wipe cream off your nose while she cackles.

"Says the girl who called me out on my head tilt in front of my whole team!"

"That's different! That was professional analysis!"

"Oh yeah?" She steps closer, effectively pinning you against the counter. "Analyze this."

Your heart stops as she reaches up, thumb gently wiping whipped cream from the corner of your mouth. Time seems to freeze, your entire world narrowing to that point of contact and the way her eyes drop to your lips.

"Your technique could use some work," you manage to whisper, and she laughs—that real laugh, with the little snort that makes your chest feel too small for your heart.

"Maybe you should show me how it's done then."

Your stomach shoots through the floor as you reach up, threading your fingers through her hair (definitely getting whipped cream in it but whatever), and pull her down to meet you.

She tastes like chocolate and whipped cream and something uniquely her, and you can feel her smile against your lips as she wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. 

"How's that for technique?" you murmur when you finally break apart, both breathing a bit harder.

"Hmm." She pretends to consider it, but her eyes are sparkling and her hands are still firmly on your waist. "Might need more data to make a proper analysis."

"Oh my god, you're actually worse than me with the nerd references."

"You like it," she says with absolute certainty, leaning in again.

"Maybe," you concede against her lips. "But only because you're cute when you're being smug."

She pulls back just enough to give you that dangerous grin that started this whole thing. "Just cute?"

"And modest, clearly."

"I'll show you modest," she growls, and then she's kissing you again, deeper this time, backing you further against the counter until you're pretty sure your soul leaves your body entirely.

The hot chocolate goes cold on the counter, 

The hot chocolate goes cold on the counter, forgotten in the haze of warm laughter and sticky fingers. At some point, her lips found their way back to yours, sweet and a little messy, and now you’re on her couch, knees bumping against hers as you both settle into an almost tentative rhythm. She pulls back just slightly, her forehead resting against yours, and her breath fans across your lips in short, uneven bursts.

“You’re trouble,” she whispers, her voice low and a little breathless, her hands sliding up your arms to rest on your shoulders, thumbs brushing the curve of your collarbone.

“You like trouble,” you fire back, and there’s just enough of a spark in your tone to make her grin.

“I really do,” she admits, and before you can respond, her lips are on yours again, slower this time, deliberate. It’s not the playful teasing from before—it’s something heavier, something that makes your heart stutter in your chest and your hands curl into the soft fabric of her sweatshirt.

Her fingers tangle in your hair as she shifts, nudging you gently until your back hits the cushions. She hovers above you, her knees bracketing your thighs, her ponytail spilling over one shoulder as she leans down to kiss you again. This time, it’s a little rougher, her teeth catching on your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp, and the sound seems to light something in her eyes.

“You’re killing me,” you murmur against her mouth, and she pulls back just enough to look at you, her grin sharper now.

“Good,” she says simply, and her hands are on the hem of your hoodie, tugging it up. “This okay?”

You nod, swallowing hard, and she doesn’t wait for a second invitation. The hoodie’s off in a flash, tossed somewhere behind the couch, and her eyes sweep over you like she’s committing every inch to memory. Her hands are warm as they skim over your sides, fingertips brushing against bare skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“You’re gorgeous,” she says softly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and the way she says it makes you believe her, even with your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you manage, trying to sound casual even as she leans back down, her lips finding the curve of your jaw and then lower, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to your neck. Your hands find her waist, and you can feel the strength of her beneath the soft cotton of her sweatshirt, her muscles flexing slightly as she shifts against you.

“Should we,” she starts, her voice trailing off as she pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s a question there, unspoken but clear, and you answer it by pulling her back down, your lips crashing into hers with more urgency than before.

“Definitely,” you say between kisses, and that’s all the encouragement she needs.

Her sweatshirt joins your hoodie somewhere on the floor, and her hands are everywhere—your waist, your thighs, the curve of your hip. It’s all a blur of heat and soft laughter and the kind of clumsy, sweet desperation that only comes with two people trying to figure out how they fit together.

The couch is too small, the angles all wrong, and at some point, she pulls back just enough to breathe, “Bed?”

You nod, and then she’s pulling you to your feet, her hand sliding down to lace her fingers with yours as she leads you toward her room. There’s something about the way she looks back at you, her grin soft and a little nervous, that makes your heart ache in the best way.

The moment you’re through the door, she’s on you again, her hands sliding up your back as she kisses you like she’s trying to memorize every curve, every shiver. The bed is soft beneath you, and her weight is solid and warm as she follows you down, her knee nudging between yours as she leans over you.

“You’re really good at this whole ‘research’ thing,” you tease, and she laughs against your collarbone, the sound low and husky and so incredibly her.

“Don’t distract me,” she murmurs, and her hands are on you again, her touch firm and sure and just a little shaky in a way that makes your chest swell with affection.

And when she kisses you again, slow and deep, you think, for the first time all week, that maybe the universe actually got something right.

The mattress dips under her weight as Paige pulls back just enough to take you in, her hair falling loose from her ponytail, framing her face in a way that feels criminally unfair. There’s a glint in her eye now, something teasing but focused, like she’s about to run the most calculated play of her life.

“You look nervous,” she says, her lips curling into that sharp grin that’s been undoing you all night.

“I’m not nervous,” you lie, though your voice cracks on the last syllable like your body’s calling you out.

She chuckles, low and throaty, and leans down, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Good. Because I’m about to ruin you, and I don’t need you overthinking it.”

Before you can process what she said, she’s sliding down your body with deliberate slowness, her hands dragging over your sides, down your hips, and hooking around the waistband of your leggings. She raises an eyebrow, silently asking permission, and the second you nod, she pulls them down in one fluid motion, leaving you feeling bare and achingly vulnerable.

“Holy shit,” Paige mutters under her breath, her eyes locked on you like she’s just stumbled on a masterpiece at an art museum. Her hands settle on your thighs, thumbs tracing small circles that send shivers racing up your spine. “You’re so—” She stops, shakes her head, and looks up at you with that cocky grin. “Nah, I’m gonna show you instead of telling you.”

Her lips press to the inside of your knee, soft at first, but as she moves higher, her kisses grow hungrier, her teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave you squirming.

“Paige,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper, but she just hums against your thigh like she’s savoring her favorite meal.

“Patience,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your skin as she shifts lower. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

Your response gets caught in your throat as her mouth finally finds you, and every coherent thought you’ve ever had promptly evaporates. Her tongue moves with the same precision she has on the court, all calculated angles and devastating accuracy, and it’s like she’s figured out exactly how to dismantle you.

“Fuck—Paige—” Your hips jerk involuntarily, but her hands hold you steady, her grip firm enough to keep you grounded while her mouth does the opposite.

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, her lips glistening, and there’s a wicked glint in her eye that makes your stomach drop in the best way. “Hang tight,” she says, reaching toward the nightstand.

“What are you—oh my God,” you gasp as she pulls out a vibrator, the sleek little device gleaming like it was made for moments like this.

Paige winks, all confidence and mischief, as she turns it on, the low hum filling the room. “You trust me, right?”

You nod, because at this point, you’d probably trust her to lead you into a cult if it meant feeling like this.

“Good.” She leans back down, her mouth finding you again just as the vibrator presses against you, and the combination is so overwhelming it almost knocks the breath out of you.

Your hands fly to her hair, tugging as the vibrations send shocks of pleasure racing through your body, and her tongue works in tandem, teasing and relentless. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and you can feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece, with every calculated movement.

“Paige, I—” Your words dissolve into a moan that would make your ancestors weep, your thighs trembling as she doubles down, her grip on you tightening.

“That’s it,” she murmurs against you, her voice low and full of something that sounds dangerously like pride. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

And just like that, you do. The orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping and clutching at the sheets as your vision whites out. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you swear you hear yourself speaking in tongues.

Paige doesn’t stop until your legs are twitching, and even then, she presses one last kiss to your inner thigh before sitting back with the most self-satisfied grin you’ve ever seen.

“Did I just—” You pause, catching your breath, your voice hoarse. “Did I just have an exorcism?”

Paige laughs, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “If you did, I think I’m gonna need to start charging for holy services.”

“Fuck you,” you say weakly, though the way you’re still grinning probably ruins the effect.

She crawls back up to you, her body warm and solid as she settles next to you, her arm slinging over your waist. “Oh, you’re definitely going to want to do that next,” she teases, pressing a kiss to your temple.

And just like that, you’re laughing, still breathless and a little wrecked, but somehow more at ease than you’ve felt in ages. Paige grins down at you, smug but soft, and you think, maybe, that this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Sometimes the best love stories start with a malfunction.

Just don't tell Mike. He's smug enough already.

The End

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

A Surprise Visitor

Word count: 2.1k

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: After two years of watching from afar, Y/n surprises her boyfriend, Lando Norris, at the Monza Grand Prix, creating a buzz in the paddock and revealing their private relationship.

Requests are open

______________________________________________________________

The hum of the jet engines thrummed through the cabin, but I was too excited to care. This was finally happening. After two years of watching Lando's races from my cramped little apartment, I was on my way to my first Grand Prix. It had taken a miracle—or more precisely, a break in my grueling medical school schedule—to make it happen, and now I was on a plane bound for Monza. Lando had no idea I was coming.

For two years, we had been each other's biggest supporters, but always from afar. With my studies and his relentless racing schedule, we made it work through late-night FaceTime calls, stolen weekends, and text messages sent across different time zones. Lando understood how much becoming a doctor meant to me, and I understood how much racing meant to him. It wasn't always easy, but it was worth it. And now, finally, I was going to surprise him at one of the biggest races of the season.

The plan was simple: get to Monza, navigate through the labyrinth of the paddock area, and find Lando. But of course, it wasn't going to be that easy. After all, Lando had kept our relationship very private—mostly because of my request. I had wanted to avoid any extra scrutiny or attention that could interfere with my studies. So, not many people knew who I was. That anonymity had always been a blessing, but today, it might turn into a curse.

As I approached the entrance to the paddock, the reality of the situation hit me. The security was tight, and without a pass, there was no easy way in. I tried to remain calm and confident as I approached the guard at the gate, a stern-looking man. I put on my most winning smile.

"Hi, I’m here for Lando Norris. I'm his girlfriend," I said, hoping my nerves didn’t show in my voice.

The guard didn’t even flinch. He glanced at me. “Do you have a pass, ma’am?”

“Uh, no, I don’t. I’m surprising him. He doesn’t know I’m here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t have a pass, I can’t let you in. Anyone could say they're someone’s girlfriend.”

I felt my face flush. Of course, he was right. I had counted on my story being enough, but without any proof, I was just another face in the crowd. My mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, that would convince him. I pulled out my phone, scrolling frantically through my photos to find one of Lando and me that wasn’t overly intimate but still proved I knew him. Finally, I found one from his last birthday—a picture of us at a quiet dinner, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, both of us smiling like idiots.

“Look, this is us,” I said, holding the phone up to the guard.

He squinted at it, but it still didn’t seem to sway him. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but without clearance, I can’t let you in.”

I bit my lip, starting to panic. Would I really come all this way just to be turned away at the gate? Just then, I heard a familiar voice from behind the guard.

“Hey, is there a problem here?”

It was Charlotte, one of Lando’s closest friends who often accompanied him to races. Relief washed over me. She knew who I was, thank goodness. The guard turned to her, explaining the situation, and Charlotte’s eyes lit up when she saw me.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here!” she exclaimed, pulling me into a quick hug. “She’s with Lando. She’s legit,” she assured the guard, who seemed to visibly relax.

“Alright, you’re good to go,” he said, opening the gate for me. I breathed out a sigh of relief, thanking Charlotte profusely.

“Lando’s going to flip when he sees you,”

Charlotte led me through the bustling paddock, weaving between crew members, engineers, and the odd driver. My heart pounded with every step. I couldn’t believe I was finally here, in the thick of it, about to see Lando. I’d spent so many weekends watching him on TV, wishing I could be there to support him in person. Now, I was just moments away from making that a reality.

As we rounded a corner, I saw the familiar McLaren colors and a group of people crowded around, busy with last-minute preparations. And there he was, standing near his car, deep in conversation with his race engineer. I paused, taking him in. Lando looked focused, his brow furrowed as he listened intently. He was in his element, and seeing him like this—so determined, so alive—made my heart swell with pride.

Charlotte gave me a nudge and a wink. “Go on.”

Taking a deep breath, I walked toward him, trying to keep my emotions in check. With each step, my excitement grew, and I couldn't help but smile. When I was just a few feet away, Lando turned around, still half-listening to his engineer. His eyes skimmed over me at first, not really registering who I was, but then they widened. His mouth fell open in shock.

“Y/N?” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “What… what are you doing here?”

The smile on my face grew wider. “Surprise!”

For a moment, he just stood there, frozen, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Then, in a heartbeat, his face broke into the biggest grin I’d ever seen. He closed the distance between us in two strides, wrapping me in a tight hug and lifting me off the ground. I laughed, burying my face in his shoulder, his familiar scent wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.

“I can’t believe this,” he said, his voice muffled against my hair. He set me down gently but kept his arms around me as if afraid I might disappear if he let go. “You’re really here?”

“Yeah, I am,” I said, my own eyes brimming with happy tears. “I finally managed to get a break from school. I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did more than surprise me,” he said, pulling back to look at me. His eyes were bright with joy, his cheeks flushed with excitement. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

I felt a warmth spread through my chest, seeing just how much my presence meant to him. “I’m so proud of you, Lando. I’ve been watching every race from my apartment, but I’m finally here to cheer you on in person.”

His face softened, and for a moment, it was just the two of us, standing in the middle of the chaotic paddock, wrapped up in our little world. “I’ve missed you so much,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “I wish you could be here all the time.”

“I wish I could too,” I replied. “But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and full of relief. “I have to admit, this is the best surprise ever. But how did you even get in? Did anyone recognize you?”

“Not exactly,” I laughed. “It was a bit of a challenge. Charlotte saved the day.”

He glanced over my shoulder and waved a grateful hand at Charlotte, who gave him a thumbs-up and a knowing smile. “Remind me to thank her later,” he said with a grin before turning his attention back to me. “But seriously, Y/N, you being here… it just makes everything better.”

I felt my heart flutter at his words. “Well, I’m glad I could make your day a little brighter. Now, you better go out there and win, okay? I didn’t come all this way for nothing.”

Lando’s grin widened, and he nodded with determination. “With you here, I feel like I can do anything.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, and I felt a rush of warmth spread from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. “Stay close, alright? After the race, we’re celebrating. Just you and me.”

“Deal,” I said, squeezing his hand. “Now go be amazing.”

Lando jogged back to his team, but not before throwing a final, beaming smile my way. My heart swelled seeing how happy he was. I lingered by the McLaren garage, watching him fall back into his pre-race routine. As I waited, Charlotte stayed with me, giving me a quick rundown of the paddock scene. The energy was buzzing, filled with engineers shouting, journalists hunting for stories, and drivers moving from garage to garage.

As Lando chatted with his team, I noticed a few heads turning in my direction, whispers circulating among the crew. It wasn’t long before Daniel Ricciardo, Lando’s former teammate, appeared with his trademark grin, clearly having caught wind of the new face in the paddock.

“Oi, Norris!” Daniel called out, his voice cutting through the noise. “You’ve been holding out on us, mate! Who’s this lovely lady?”

Lando looked up, a sheepish yet proud grin spreading across his face. He glanced at me, then back at Daniel. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. She’s finally here to see me race.”

I felt my cheeks flush as all eyes turned toward me. Daniel's grin widened, his playful nature kicking in immediately. “Girlfriend, huh? And you kept her hidden all this time? Smart move, mate.”

He walked over, extending a hand to me. “Daniel, nice to meet you. I’ve gotta say, we all wondered if Lando had someone special cheering him on from the shadows. Now I see why he’s been driving so fast. Gotta impress the missus, eh?”

I laughed, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you too, Daniel. And yeah, I’ve been watching all the races from home. I’m finally getting a front-row seat.”

Before I knew it, more drivers began to gather around, curious to meet Lando’s mystery girl. George Russell approached with a friendly smile. “So, you’re the one who’s been keeping Norris in line? Good job,” he said, giving Lando a teasing nudge. “Didn’t know you had it in you, mate.”

Lando rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile. “Oh, shut up. Just because you guys didn’t know doesn’t mean I was keeping secrets.”

Charles Leclerc joined the group, his charming smile lighting up his face. “Y/N, right? I’m Charles. It’s nice to meet you. I have to say, Lando’s been very quiet about you, but now I see why. He was trying to keep you away from us.”

“Not a bad idea,” Lando chimed in, trying to sound casual, but I could sense a slight edge to his tone. “You lot can be a bit much sometimes.”

Charles chuckled, clearly enjoying the opportunity to tease Lando. “Come on, we’re not that bad! Besides, now that she’s here, we can all get to know her better.”

As the group chatted, I could feel Lando's arm subtly wrap around my waist, a gentle but possessive gesture. I couldn’t help but smile to myself; he was clearly proud to show me off but also keen to make sure everyone knew I was his.

Max Verstappen wandered over next, always one to enjoy a bit of friendly banter. “Lando, man, you’ve been hiding her from us because you knew we’d try to steal her away, huh?” he said with a playful smirk.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Lando shot back, his tone light but his grip on my waist tightening ever so slightly.

As we continued to chat, I noticed Carlos Sainz giving me a slightly lingering look. He flashed me a charming smile. “You know, if you ever get tired of this guy, you could always come cheer for Ferrari,” he joked, winking.

I laughed, enjoying the light-hearted teasing, but I felt Lando tense beside me. He tried to play it off with a chuckle, but I could tell the idea of me getting attention from his friends—even if it was in jest—was stirring a little jealousy.

“Alright, alright,” Lando cut in, his voice a mix of amusement and a hint of possessiveness. “I see what you’re all trying to do, and it’s not going to work. Y/N is here with me, and that’s how it’s staying.”

Daniel, always quick to pick up on vibes, grinned broadly. “Look at him getting all protective! I think we’ve found Lando’s kryptonite, boys.”

Lando rolled his eyes, but his cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. At least I have someone to protect,” he shot back, which earned a chorus of “ooohs” from the group.

I squeezed his hand reassuringly, leaning in close to whisper, “You know they’re just messing with you, right?”

He nodded, his expression softening as he looked at me. “Yeah, I know. But I still don’t like the idea of anyone hitting on you—even as a joke.”

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me at his protectiveness. “Well, you don’t have to worry. I’m exactly where I want to be.”