#he thinks everyone else is strange and hes normal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

boneblushed · 6 days ago

Text

You can hear it in the silence

synopsis: everyone in the Figure Eight is convinced you and your best friend Rafe Cameron belong together. In a bid to prove them wrong, you attempt to set each other up with someone else. (And fail miserably.)

wc: 14.1k

a/n: I love this dumb OOC Rafe so bad 🤗 hope you guys love him too, any and all feedback is much appreciated!

You aren’t sure why you say it, the words tumbling out of your mouth all erroneous. Plain dishonest in the name of being evasive.

From the perplexed look on Rafe’s face, you’re pretty sure he’s thinking the same.

Stupid, careless word vomit. You lied to your mother about having a boyfriend and then expected her to drop the subject without so much as a name.

In your defence, you were only doing it to get her off your back. She’d glimpsed Rafe Cameron in your room during your fortnightly FaceTime call, hunched over your desk in all his handsome, pixelated glory. (He was copying your accounting assignment as close to word for word as he possibly could. Asshole.)

Naturally, she’d ushered him over.

Infuriatingly, Rafe had obliged.

Even more naturally, she’d alluded to something boyfriend, something girlfriend, partners, lovers, whatever.

And so of course you’d said, unblinkingly, “Actually, no.”

To which she’d replied, “and why not?” Sounding a pathetic mix of devastated and indignant.

Probably, a normal person would have used this opportunity to explain that the two of you were just friends. Guys and girls could be that… right? Extremely platonic, totally boring friends.

You weren’t normal, though. Neither was Rafe Cameron.

No, you guys were exes.

Sort of exes. In second grade, you’d played at the significant other thing. Held hands for two weeks straight, ran around the playground together, shared arts and crafts memorabilia. Kissed each other on the cheek, once. Got bored of the relationship once the novelty of romance wore off.

Basically not exes. Definitely just friends, with shared custody of cheek kisses.

Not that it matters to your mom. Or to Rose. Or really, to anyone who lives in the Figure Eight.

For some strange reason, they all seem to think that your friendship is a cover for something more serious. Fate, or a concept similarly ridiculous.

You’re fucking sick of it.

Hence the reason you say, “because I’m seeing someone else,” when your mother questions you on why you and Rafe aren’t together.

She’s at a loss for words. You’re momentarily chagrined.

“Oh!” She exclaims after a beat, sending Rafe a doubtful glance. “And Rafe is…?”

“Seeing someone else too.” Shit. You aren’t sure why you said that either. “We both are. Uh… right Rafe?”

If Rafe looked perplexed before, there’s something worse than astonishment on his face now. Alarm. You’ve dug your own grave and managed to drag him into it with you.

“Right?” He says it like it’s a question. You grimace.

“That’s… great,” your mother replies slowly, sounding unconvinced. You’re losing her. You need to think fast if you want her to believe this farce.

“And you get to meet him… and her — them,” you add quickly. “Um… this summer. They’re coming to the Eight for a few. Isn’t that great?”

Rafe’s had enough now — you’ve damn near given him an aneurysm with this revelation. He throws his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side, giving you a squeeze that says: shut the fuck up immediately.

Warm and firm, the rough lines of his palm like pumice, but there’s a gentleness to his touch that’s almost imperceptible.

“So fucking great!” He announces then, quick with his words lest you say more. “Shit — I mean… uh,” he balks, grinning sheepishly, “excuse my French Mrs Y/L/N. Just stoked that you’re going to meet my girl.”

Another rough squeeze, gentler still. Almost like you’re the ‘his girl’ he’s referencing. As if. “And blink’s guy. Obviously.”

Your mother raises her eyebrows. “You’ve met him?”

“Oh yeah. He’s great!” Rafe’s still grinning, a little pained now. “Anyway, we better go. We’ve got a shi—a lot left to go of this assignment. Nice talking to you!”

He uses his free hand to swipe the phone from your grasp and end the call, cutting off you and your mom’s farewell.

“Hey!” You frown at his haste, reaching for your phone again. “I wasn’t done with—”

“Yes you were,” Rafe interrupts, swivelling you around so you’re facing him fully. “You absolutely were fucking done.”

He has one hand on each shoulder now, your phone in his back pocket. You cross your arms over your chest and continue to frown at him, your irises dappled yellow by sunlight.

Rafe’s always thought your eyes are pretty — in a fact kind of way, totally platonic. He thinks your pretend boyfriend would probably agree with this sentiment, think the eye contact would make him lose it a little.

He glares at you, mean but soft. Like his touch. “Don’t look at me like that. The fuck was that about?”

You sigh. “I panicked, alright? Sue me.”

“Understatement of the century.”

“I just… I didn’t want her to start harping on about me and you,” you say, your crossed arms acquiescing a little.

“But why?” He adopts a sombre expression, hands moving up to cup your cheeks faux-tenderly. “We’re betrothed.”

You make a face, ducking out of his grasp. “Shut up. I’m serious.”

If Rafe focusses too hard, he’ll clock how soft your skin is. The thought flits away quick. He grins, watching you walk away and flop onto your bed in defeat.

“Why do you care so much?” He asks. “She can harp on about us all she wants, we both know that it’s complete bullshit.”

“Still,” you groan. “I’m fucking tired of it Cam. I want her off my back for good.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “So you invented a boyfriend?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, narrowing your eyes at him. “You went along with it.”

“Like I had a choice,” Rafe scoffs, walking up to your bed until he’s towering over you. He folds his arms over his chest, and you’re reminded of the fact that he’s like, super tall.

Annoyingly so, except for when he’s a pair of shoulders to climb onto at a gig. Or a windshield. A hoodie giver when he’s feeling particularly chivalrous (almost never).

“Regardless,” you say. “We’re in this together now.”

“Ha! Nice try.” He narrows his eyes in tandem. “You’re fixing this.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, blink. That’s why it’s you doing the fixing.”

“Rafe, c’mon,” you say then, looking pained. “You know I can’t do shit now. What’s said has been said. We need to follow through.”

“Dude, how the fuck are we going to find you a boyfriend on such short notice?” He reaches down to pinch your cheek, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “This is a face only a mother could love.”

That earns him a scowl. You push his hand away, scrubbing the skin he squeezed exasperatedly. “We need to find you a girlfriend too, remember?”

It’s a weird angle, you below and him above. He pivots to the thought of other girls instead of this.

“I’ve got plenty of those.”

“You’re awful,” you say, making a face.

“I am,” he agrees, grinning roguishly. “They love it.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Enough to come all the way to the Banks over summer?”

Rafe hesitates. “Maybe.”

“Liar,” you say. The timbre of his voice gets rougher when he’s bluffing. “They’d never miss a Malibu summer. Not even for Phi Delt’s chief exec.”

“Why not? The Eight’s pretty lit over summer.” He sinks down on the bed beside you, placing his hands behind his head. “Dalt and Heath are coming for a bit, and I think I could convince Adi to as well. And they’re all like… fucking Beverly Hills royalty or some shit.”

“Wait a minute…” you pause, an idea dawning on you, “they are?”

“Oh yeah, they’re fucking pumped. We’re going to —” he falters at the look on your face, frowning bemusedly, “what?”

“Dude.” Your eyes widen, a triumphant smile on your lips. “That’s perfect.”

Pretty eyes, as previously mentioned. Though his frown acquiescing a little, the questioning look on his face endures them. “What’s perfect?”

You turn so you’re on your stomach now, head propped up on your elbows. Your forearms are pressed against Rafe’s side, legs dangling over the side of your bed.

“Tell me, Cam,” you begin seriously. “Any of your boys got a thing for me?”

Rafe cocks his head toward you, raising his eyebrows. “What do you think, blink?”

You frown. “Um. Is that your rude way of saying no?”

“C’mon.” He sounds bewildered, which is odd. “You know they all do.”

Your cheeks warm, abashed. “Oh. Wait — really? Why haven’t any of them made a move then?”

“I didn’t think you wanted them to,” Rafe replies, an edge to his voice now. It undercuts his aforementioned bewilderment. “Didn’t realise frat boy was your type.”

“Guy that likes me is my type,” you say then. “Reciprocity is my type.”

Rafe scoffs. “Right. So ninety percent of the guys at UCal then. Got it.”

You think it’s a compliment, which is also odd. Like finding you attractive is this matter-of-fact thing Rafe’s well aware of.

You wonder whether he agrees with the sentiment. The skin where your forearms meet Rafe’s side heats traitorously.

“Very funny,” you deflect, rolling your eyes. “Moral of… one of the guys you’ve invited to the Banks over summer could be into me?”

All of them. Sometimes he thinks they’re trying to goad him with how often they bring it up. Not that he’d care if you went out with any of them — they’re good guys, textbook charmers, would treat you right if they knew you were into it. If they knew Rafe was critiquing them.

He’d be happy to see you with one of them, he thinks. His blink.

“Uh huh. So?”

“So,” you reply, grinning now. “I just like… get one of them to be my guy.” Rafe’s train of thought snags. Your guy? “We could even go on a date or two before summer break, so we’re legit seeing each other. Wouldn’t even be a lie anymore. It’s fucking genius — I’m a fucking genius.”

“Alright, yeah, that’s pretty good,” Rafe allows. “What about me though? Can’t exactly get one of them to be the girl I’m pretend dating.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Maybe you come out as gay this summer.”

“I’ve seen enough locker room dicks to know I’m definitely fucking straight.”

You let out a laugh, and it unfurls over Rafe like warm sunshine. He used to dislike the sound when he was younger, too loud, all brazen and unabashed. It represents different things now — you delighted, you happy, him being the root cause of both of these emotions.

This he likes.

“Fair enough,” you say, amused. “How about… alright, how about I invite some of my friends to the Banks too? I’m sure I can convince one of them to tolerate you.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “You have friends?”

You scowl, giving him a reproachful shove. He doesn’t budge, not even a little, just grins at you all roguish. Asshole.

“Very funny. I know you follow all of them on Instagram, Cam.”

Rafe nods solemnly, giving you a mock salute. “Loyal story liker, baby. Gotta maintain the Phi Delt rep, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got all of them under your spell,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to take one on a date if this is going to stick, though. Think you can do that?”

“I date,” he replies, defensive.

“Giving sorority girls a tour of your frat is not a date.”

You’re only teasing really, Rafe’s one of the good ones. Sometimes, when you’re alone, he lets down his armour of insouciance and acts like a chivalrous fool. Makes things feel less platonic — you know, if you were that way inclined. If you were his pretend girlfriend, for example. You think she’d eat that sort of thing right up.

Rafe grins then. “It’s hardly a tour if we’re in my bedroom for the majority of it.”

“Okay, ew,” you cringe, making a face. “Gross. Moving on.”

“Don’t be jealous, blink,” Rafe teases, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “You know you’ll always be my number one girl.”

“Focus, Cam. That’s the problem.”

Neither of you deny it, you being his number one girl. Like it’s obvious. You know, in a just friends sort of way.

“Alright, alright, you’re right. Who’re you going to pick?”

The tips of your ears warm. “Um. I don’t know. I could really choose any of ‘em?”

Rafe nods, bewildered again, because you being abashed doesn’t make any sense. He almost says: even me if you wanted, to properly drill in the fact that you really could have anyone on this planet.

Good thing he catches himself at the very last minute, speaking nonsense about his best just friend in a romantic sense.

“Ah,” your elbows tire from holding your head up, so you let it flop onto Rafe’s chest, chin to t-shirt. His heart beats steadily. “Why don’t you choose for me?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Me?”

“Uh-huh.” You pause, tilting your chin to him. “You know them better than I do, and you definitely know me better than I do, so who better?”

“True.” Rafe grins. “Alright, deal. I pick for you if you pick for me.”

You smile in tandem, nodding. He leans in then, the hard ridges of his abdomen tensing. “I’m a boob guy, by the way,” he adds conspiratorially. “Keep that in mind when you’re picking a worthy suitor.”

You make a face like you’re going to retch. “I won’t.”

“Good thing all your friends have default massive racks.”

“Rafe.”

“Speaking truth, blink. Anyway — once we’ve picked, how do we play it?"

“Double date this Friday? We bring our picks to that new Asian fusion place on the edge of campus?”

Rafe doesn’t think a double date is a good idea. It’ll probably ruin the mood, having you bear witness to all of his God awful flirting.

Or him yours, now that he’s on the subject. Whichever brother he picks too, all their moves the same as his, charming but terribly predictable. Their rough hands on you, your bare skin on display.

No, not a good idea at all.

“Hm.” He pauses. “Nah. How about we all meet in between lectures on Friday afternoon? We can plan our dates then. Better alone than double, don’t you think?”

You begin to raise your eyebrows, acquiesce when you deep it a little. Rafe, you, the beautiful friend you choose, him not acting like your him all evening.

Bad idea. You nod your agreement. “Okay, yeah. Deal.”

Rafe holds out his hand for a fist bump. There’s something oddly sacred about the touch of your knuckles when you meet it with yours.

—

Rafe chooses exactly who you think he’ll choose: Aditya ‘Adi’ Patel of Patel & Co law firm fame, the only guy you know who openly studies for A grades.

He’s bring home to your mother sweet, his dark hair always windswept and his eyes the colour of thick molasses. The sensible choice.

And though you want to believe you aren’t as predictable as he is, you pick his date the same way he picked yours — finding a mirror of his outward persona, not the inner one you know. Reciprocally, platonically.

Phoebe, your darling roommate and friend, is frat guy bait disguised as a 5’5 brunette. The kind of girl you’d see at the airport once and think about for months. Unforgettable.

When you and Phoebe meet Rafe and Adi on Friday afternoon, you fail to mention how reluctantly Phoebe agreed to it all. Adi’s hesitation isn’t disclosed either. The pair of them seem not to think this is such a great idea.

Which is weird, because Phoebe’s as perfect for Rafe as Adi is for you — romantically, the way it matters.

All you guys need to do is prove it.

Rafe and Adi stand in the shade of a viridescent birch tree, freshly mown grass underfoot. The latter wears a stylish crew neck and Ralph Lauren shorts, an easy grin on his face and a Rolex glinting on his wrist. He looks cuter than he usually does, like he’s trying to impress, and you feel your cheeks warm as this revelation washes over you.

The former does too, though that’s no longer your job to notice. Rafe’s taller than Adi by a noticeable inch, the dappled sun painting his dirty-blonde hair a lighter golden.

Also not your job to notice.

Rafe’s noticing things too, like the fact that there’s something iridescent—highlighter?—making your cheekbones shine. That’s new. The shorts you’re wearing are new too, he’s guesses they’re Phoebe’s by the way they fit. You know… well. His gaze moves from Phoebe’s bare legs to yours, equally exposed but somehow far worse. Rafe’s gaze snags.

Very new. Thank fuck you decided against that double date you’d originally proposed.

“Phoebe,” Rafe says, all charisma as he accentuates his Southern drawl. You try not to smile. He’s told you way too many times how adorable girls find his Carolina accent. “Boy am I glad you see you.”

As he leans in to hug her, you hear him whisper, “I was praying it would be you, by the way. Gotta start believing in the big G now.”

Your heart flounders a little at how smooth he is, even if the amused part of you almost lets that aforementioned smile break through. It’s Adi’s voice that shifts your focus.

“Hello gorgeous,” he greets, pulling you into an equally cozy embrace.

“Hello,” you respond, a little breathless. Pet-names are new. Rafe thinks so too.

Your hugs break in tandem, Phoebe laughing at Rafe’s silly pick up line as she pulls away. It’s a melodic sound, far less annoying than yours.

Apparently, Rafe’s ribcage disagrees.

“Adi was pretty set on Malibu this summer, blink,” he says then, faux-solemn. “You being a million miles away was the only thing that convinced him to change his mind.”

Your cheeks warm. You still feel a little breathless. “Well I’m glad you’re coming,” you say to Adi. “The Banks is the best place to be over summer.”

“Yeah?” Adi grins, raising his eyebrows. “Will joining you in the OBX unlock the story behind your nickname, blink?”

It sounds weird coming out of his mouth, Rafe thinks. He realises then no one else calls you that but him.

He prefers it that way. Your bare legs snare Rafe’s traitorous gaze again.

You scrunch your nose up at Adi playfully. You’re fucking good, Rafe thinks, because that move is textbook adorable. “Depends how well dinner goes, I guess.”

“It’s all about location, baby,” Adi replies seriously, his dark brown eyes sparkling. “C’mon. Can I walk you to your next lecture while we decide where to go?”

“Anywhere but Lillian, yeah?” Rafe says then, sending Phoebe a meaningful look. “Wanna book that entire place out for me and Phoebs tonight.”

Phoebs. It’s so cozy your eyes staccato on his handsome features.

Blink’s cuter, right? Not that it really matters.

“Phoebs and I,” you correct.

Rafe makes a face. “You’re such a cock-block, y’know that?”

“Shoo,” you reply, ushering them in the opposite direction.

Rafe grins then, nudging your soft jaw with his knuckles before throwing his arm over Phoebe’s shoulders. His touch raises treacherous goosebumps in still air.

“Someone’s eager,” he teases, sending Adi a grave look over your head. “Don’t let her take advantage of you, Patel. She’s a fucking menace when she wants to be.”

You clasp Adi’s hand, using your other to flip Rafe off before turning. Where Adi’s thumb grazes your wrist, even more goosebumps bloom. Less treacherous. You let go of his hand so you can entwine your fingers in his more surely.

Once you’re out of earshot, Adi breaks the silence again.

“You guys are pretty close, huh?” He asks, the bones of his knuckles brushing the raw hem of your denim shorts.

You look up at him grimly. “Unfortunately.”

He laughs at your expression, shaking his head bemusedly. “C’mon. You don’t mean that.”

“Maybe not,” you allow. “Although sometimes, I wonder whether we’re almost too close.”

Adi nods in agreement, ducking his head until his lips are at the shell of your ear. “I wonder that too,” he murmurs lowly, his voice softening. “Whether this whole thing is overstepping.”

You shake your head quickly, looking up at him in earnest. “It’s not! I swear it isn’t. The fact that you even think that confirms my point.”

Adi cocks his head to one side questioningly. “And what would that be?”

“That we’re totally overkill. We’ve got everyone convinced that we have a thing for each other, and it’s scaring away the people we’re actually crushing on.”

Adi’s knuckles press skin this time, lower now, a surer pressure. “People like…?”

“Fishing for compliments is totally lame, by the way,” you tease, grinning up at him.

“Shit, noted,” Adi replies. “How about giving them?”

You smile gentler now. “I’ll allow it.”

“You’re really fucking pretty.” Now free from the shade of the yawning birch trees, the yellow sun mutes the dark brown of his irises. Burnt sienna. “I get why Rafe refused to give us your Instagram when we first met him.”

You balk. “He did what?”

Adi raises his eyebrows. “Uh… refused to give us your Instagram? Pretty sure it was Dalt who’d asked — he’d seen you guys walking to a class together I think. Was pretty stoked when he found out you weren’t like, his girlfriend or some shit.” He grins then, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “We all were, to be fair.”

Your skin warms, but you’re still balking, eyes unblinking. “But… why?”

“Shit… I don’t know. We all thought it was cause he was into you at first.”

“He isn’t, though,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

Adi pauses, surveying you. “Right. So I guess it’s because he didn’t want the douchebag mob to lay any hands.” He shrugs. “Like I said, I get it. I’d probably do the same if I had such a hot best friend.”

You turn to him then. “You would?”

“Uh huh. He was being protective.”

This makes your skin feel even hotter, as if that’s fucking possible. Protective Rafe who acknowledges the fact that you’re sort of attractive, platonic status notwithstanding.

“Weirdo,” you joke, deflecting hard. “You guys can’t actually be that bad.”

“You’d be surprised.” Adi’s timbre drops, faux-sombre. “Not me, though. It’s why Rafe’s letting me take you out.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Rafe is? Or I am?”

“Shit.” Adi grins, reproached. “I guess you are, huh.”

“Dunno, Adi. Don’t think you’ve even asked.”

“Shit,” he repeats, ducking his head sheepishly. “You’re right. Dinner at 7? What kind of food do you like eating?”

He flounders more than you think Rafe would, less debonair and more endearing. It’s sweet.

Unlike Rafe, who’s as confident as he is charismatic, who has a way of making the most ridiculous pick-up lines work. Not that he’d ever use one on you. Even if he does think you’re beautiful enough to protect.

“Anything, honestly. You know LA better than I do Mr 90210. Let’s go to one of your favourite spots.”

“Damn. That’s a lot of pressure.”

You grin. “You can handle it.”

Several feet away, Rafe’s arm slinks down Phoebe’s back until he’s circling her waist instead. The exposed waif of skin he finds here is soft, glowing in the sun. Like yours.

“You’re crazy, Rafe Cameron,” Phoebe announces, breaking the silence first.

Rafe glances down at her in surprise, balking. “I am?”

“You are.” She looks up at him in tandem, raising her eyebrows. “You’ve got this beautiful best friend who’d do almost anything for you, and you’re just like… going to let some other dude date her?”

Rafe probably shouldn’t have eaten those two cheeseburgers at lunch, because there’s this sensation in his stomach like heartburn but worse. There for a second before it’s gone, with the same permanence as the words coming out of Phoebe’s mouth. Anything for him.

To be fair, he’d do just about anything for you too. In a best friend kind of way, obviously.

“As opposed to…?”

“Dating her yourself.”

Fucking burgers. It’s that fake Kraft crap they use instead of real cheese.

He makes a face. “No way. Blink’s a handful. Besides, I don’t like her like that.”

Phoebe cocks her head to one side, surveying him with interest. “You really believe that, huh?”

“You don’t?” He replies, frowning.

“Absolutely not.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows at that, trying for a grin but landing on a grimace. “Shit. She was totally right about all this.”

Phoebe’s brow furrows in questioning. “Hm? Right about what?”

“Everyone being convinced by this bullshit concept of us liking each other for real.” He glances down at Phoebe faux-sombre, giving her bare waist a squeeze. “Alright Phoebs, this shit is business now, you being seriously hot aside. You’ve gotta let me take you on this date, yeah? Think of it as charity work or something. You making sure my street cred’s intact.”

Phoebe lets out a dulcet laugh, softer than yours. Rafe’s ego swells, gratified by her amusement.

His heart doesn’t budge, though.

“Your street cred?” She echos, still laughing. “And how exactly am I taking care of that?”

“By proving that Blink’s not a massive fucking cock-block.”

Phoebe scrunches her nose up, mildly chagrined. “She isn’t! It’s not her — it’s girl code.”

Rafe raises her eyebrows. “Girl code’s stopping you from going out with me?”

“Girl code’s stopping half her friends from going out with you,” Phoebe returns, her cheeks growing pink. “You know we all totally think she’s hit the jackpot, right?”

Rafe grins. “The jackpot, huh?” He releases her waist to throw his arm around her shoulder again, pulling her closer so she’s forced to look up at him. She’s frowning, mostly playful, the light streaming through the trees mottling her face in golden shadows.

She’s really pretty up close, all flawless skin and rosy cheeks, a Cupid’s bow that makes him think devastating things.

You have a Cupid’s bow too. And flawless skin that nine-year-old him has kissed.

He blinks. His grin’s faded a little and he fears it might be that awful heartburn he was suffering from a moment ago.

“I won’t be elaborating,” Phoebe declares.

“Not even if I bought you dinner?” Rafe returns.

“Rafe Cameron buying me dinner.” Phoebe shakes her head, bleak. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

Rafe’s fingers brush the exposed skin of her forearm, raising amaranthine goosebumps. “Fucking hell Phoebs, if I’d have known that some bullshit girl code was the only reason you hadn’t shown any interest in me, I would’ve asked you out a long time ago.”

Phoebe glances up at him, raising her eyebrows. “Who said anything about not showing any interest?”

Rafe lifts his in tandem, intrigued. “Like I said… flattery will get you everywhere.”

Phoebe rolls her eyes then, but there’s a smile on her face that juxtaposes her exasperation. “So maybe we like bringing up how hot you are often… you know, to fuck with Y/N’s head a little. And maybe it works like, really well. Maybe she’s so sick of the ab and bicep talk that she’s banned all mention of it in our apartment.”

“Ab and bicep talk, huh?” Rafe’s grin returns, cheek-achingly fond. “How come this is the first I’m hearing of this?”

“Because Cameron,” she says seriously, “it’s top secret information. She’d kill me if she knew I told you this.”

“Ah.” Rafe raises his eyebrows. “You have to go on a date with me now Durrant. Otherwise I’m definitely snitching.”

She groans, mostly teasing. “Shit. I do, don’t I?”

“Don’t worry, though. I’ll let you cop a feel of my biceps and my abdomen.”

“Oh to be so lucky,” Phoebe jokes.

“Seriously though,” Rafe says then, meeting her gaze with an easy, almost charming look of sincerity, “let me take you to Lillian tonight. I can pick you up at 7.30?”

Phoebe raises her eyebrows. “You’ll let me keep interrogating you about Y/N?”

Rafe makes a face. “If I have to.”

She breathes a laugh, slightly amused. “Alright, deal. Guess you want this more than I thought.”

“Just call me pussy whipped, yeah?”

“Charming, Rafe Cameron.”

Rafe gives her a wink, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “Blink would disagree.”

—

Your date with Adi is nice.

He’s as charming as he is endearingly gauche, with innocent hands and less chaste lips.

Your farewell kiss at the end of the night is textbook — all soft and fleeting, the promise of more ever-lingering.

So it’s weird when you realise your heart isn’t in it. You’re all giddy and breathless and yet it feels like you’re performing.

Nice. Just like Rafe’s date with Phoebe.

With her bringing you up as often as she did, it’s no wonder his thoughts kept straying to you and Adi.

Interrogating, but it’s his heart working overtime not his brain. Adi’s hand on your back, on your waist, his calloused fingers pressed to your soft skin. No longer untouched. Awfully chivalrous all night, definitely sweet, funny enough to be on the receiving end of your laugh.

And kiss you, probably. Cruel.

Not that he actually minds for real, he’s just doing that platonic protective thing again.

Besides, once Phoebe’s sick of lamenting you and Rafe, she begins leaning into his flirting and he begins enjoying himself a little. Thoughts of you endure though, like that double date plague the two of you were avoiding.

It doesn’t stop him kissing her. A nice feeling, sure with teeth-scraping pressure, the lust it awakens urging his roaming hands to search for more.

Not as tender as he predicts your kiss with Adi was. Tenderly is how he’d kiss you anyway, if it was him in Adi’s shoes.

“Did you tell him?” Rafe asks in lieu of a greeting, handing you an iced coffee and taking a sip of his own. Beads of condensation roll down the plastic cup ominously.

You frown, bemused. “Tell him what?”

“Why I call you blink, blink.”

The pair of you exit the café in tandem, walking onto the sunlight pavement. Dry leaves crunch underfoot, a blur of ochre and terracotta.

“Oh.” Your lips pucker around your straw when you taste your own, leaving a chaste sheen of gloss. Rafe’s never noticed it before today. His gaze has flickered to your mouth a perplexing amount. “Nah. Didn’t really come up.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t come up, huh? What did come up then?”

“I don’t know, lots of things! We talked for ages.” You glance up at him then, smiling fondly. “He was sweet, Cam. Good choice.”

He was sweet? That’s all Rafe’s going to get?

He wants to ask exactly how sweet his friend was, whether he was saccharine enough to earn more than an embrace. Whether that shiny stuff on your lips left an imprint on his, whether the echo of his touch still lingers over your skin.

He wants to ask you whether you’re genuinely going through with this whole thing, but he knows this is unfair, it was his idea in the first place.

You and Adi in the Banks, visiting all your favourite spots as handsome tourist and cuter tour guide. Adi charming your family, meeting the old crowd from the Academy, buying you dinner at the Island Club and watching the sunset straight after.

Like you and Rafe always do. Fucking awful.

“How about you, though?” You ask then, breaking his train of thought. Hardly introspective, self-destruction in the name of being overprotective. “How was your date with Phoebs?”

Right, he has gorgeous Phoebe. It isn’t like he’s some sort of glorified third wheel, doomed to lie in the same grave he dug by suggesting this date thing.

You and Adi and him and Phoebe in the Banks, the pair of you playing tour guide, showing them the places you collectively favour. Together.

Better.

“Good,” Rafe replies, sending you a wink. “Think we did a little less talking than you guys did though.”

You make a face, trying for a jibe but landing closer to a grimace. This caffeine is making your heart race a little. “You’re welcome.”

“For setting me up with your hottest friend?” Rafe asks, nudging your arm with his. As you lift it to take another sip of coffee, the heat of his touch lingers. “Thank you blink, I owe you everything, including the bra she left in my —”

“Rafe,” you groan.

“Kidding.” Rafe grins, teasing. Golden sunlight reveals the specks of green in his blue irises. “Sounds like you’ve been gatekeeping her a while, huh?”

“Me?” You say, cheeks warming. You haven’t blinked in a bit and Rafe notices. “What about you dude? What’s up with the whole not letting your frat brothers follow me on Instagram?”

He balks. “Adi told you about that?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Told me they all thought you were into me because of it, too.”

If Rafe was hesitating before, he’s definitely buffering now. His poor heart flounders, troubled by the thought.

You’re nearing UCal business school now, the location of your afternoon lecture looming overhead.

He isn’t proud of what he says next.

“He’s fucking with you,” Rafe coughs out, taking another gulp of his coffee. “He just said it because he knew it’d piss me off.”

“Oh, yeah,” you reply. Unsure. “Sure.”

“Because he knows I’m not into you like that,” he continues, overcompensating hard now. “Would be pretty convenient if I was though, yeah?”

You splutter in surprise, full well choking on the mouthful of coffee you just attempted to swallow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shit. He was being sincere but perhaps that’s the problem. He looks down at you abashedly, his features rumpling into a grimace. “Uh, you know… we wouldn’t have to go to all this trouble to convince people that I wasn’t.”

You swallow. “What about me?”

“What about you?”

You’re avoiding eye contact when you ask, “How do I feel about you in this hypothetical?”

Rafe wants hypothetical you to be into him too, in a dangerously un-platonic way. He’s still looking down at you, taking inventory of the planes of your face. The smooth column of your throat, unblemished.

The mouth he’d kiss fondly, if this was all hypothetical and reciprocal and you weren’t just friends like you insist you are.

You and Rafe in the Banks, no Phoebe, no Adi, visiting the same haunts you’ve loved since you were kids. Rafe buying your mom flowers, playing golf with your father, making fun of you flailing when Wheeze manages to rope you into doing Tik Tok dances. You lounging on the same weathered sun deck his mother used to when he was younger, back when she’d supervise the hand-stand competitions you’d have in middle school.

Rafe blinks. He doesn’t know what the hell has gotten into him.

“The same as all your roommates, obviously,” he replies after a beat, grinning weakly.

You make a face. “Ew. So in this hypothetical, I’m totally pathetic. Noted.”

“So it’s true.” Rafe raises his eyebrows. “They’re all in love with me for real?”

You send him a playful glare. “I wouldn’t go that far, Cameron.”

“You’re right. Maybe it’s more lust than love, yeah? Because Phoebe did tell me something about my sexy fucking abs…”

This gets your attention. You glance up at him in surprise, looking equal parts pained and chagrined. “No she fucking didn’t.”

He knows he shouldn’t enjoy your embarrassment as much as he does, the way your eyes grow wide and your nose scrunches up.

It’s sort of adorable. He thinks he knows what Adi sees in you when your face is this sweet and abashed.

Amongst other times.

“Oh, she did,” Rafe returns, sending you a significant look. “Told me all about how talk of me is banned in your apartment.”

“For good reason,” you reply grimly.

“Cockblock,” Rafe teases.

“Hardly,” you scoff, making a face. “There are girls out there who don’t happen to room with me that’d hook up with you in a heartbeat.”

“And what if I want the girls that room with you, blink?” Rafe returns, nudging your shoulder jokingly. If his tongue faltered the same way his pulse did from the skin-on-skin, it might’ve skipped over “the girls that room with” bit and made a claim far more dangerous than this.

Even worse, you might’ve wanted him to. Your skin warms at the thought, and you send him a playful glare in retaliation. “You don’t, Cam,” you say. “You’d have to deal with me every time you came over.”

Rafe faux-grimaces. “Shit. You’re right.”

“Which means,” you continue, “now that you and Phoebe are dating, you’ll probably be seeing a lot more of me than you want to.”

In the beat that passes, Rafe thinks, no way. He isn’t sure there’s any amount of you that’ll ever be too much for him.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Tragic, blink. Guess all good things come at a price, huh?”

You glance up at him then, more curious than you should be. Almost wretched. This close, you can take inventory of every freckle that dapples his cheeks, trace the sharp line of his jaw even where the shadow of his stubble softens it.

He’d probably arrived to his date clean shaven, lest he mark Phoebe’s face when he kissed her. Smelling of something awful and woodsy probably, leaving his cologne where he touched her skin, where he embraced her.

You’ve held hands with your best friend Rafe Cameron before. Platonically. So you aren’t sure why the thought of his calloused fingers entwined in someone else’s is giving you a stomachache all of a sudden.

You try for nonchalance. “Your date went that well, huh?”

You fail miserably.

Rafe nods, almost thoughtful as he slurps down the deliquesced remains of his drink. “Way better than I initially thought it would.”

“How so?” You ask. The coffee you’re almost through with swirls uncomfortably in your stomach.

“Because it started kinda rough.” He looks down at you then, raising his eyebrows significantly. “Phoebe was fucking adamant we should be a thing. Didn’t know why the Hell I was taking her out instead of you.”

You balk. “She was?”

Rafe nods again, holding out his hand so he can discard of your plastic cup along with his own. Where his fingers brush your skin, unfamiliar goosebumps bloom.

Like they would have on Phoebe’s hands too, equally unblemished. Perhaps it’s the buzz of caffeine in your veins, but this revelation makes your pulse thrum a little faster.

Pathetic.

He says, “she was. Told her it was bullshit though, don’t worry.”

“Good.” You pause. It shouldn’t feel this awful agreeing with him. “Maybe she’ll believe it if it’s coming out of your mouth.”

“Maybe,” Rafe agrees. Another pause before he adds, “especially now that you’re seeing Adi, yeah?”

If it wasn’t him speaking, the same boy you’ve known since before puberty changed his Southern timbre, you might’ve missed the odd inflection in his voice as he says this.

Seeing Adi. As opposed to what? Seeing Rafe?

Reticence as you navigate the crowd gathered in the business school courtyard, thick as honey. As you ascend the steps leading to your lecture theatre, Rafe turns to you, brow furrowed in thought.

“You know what’d be good though?” He asks, pulling open the door. “If our next date was a double.”

As he ushers you in, you’re struck by the fact that his bicep is this awful, formidable shield of body heat and muscle. Your shoulder bumps it as you squeeze past him, expelling a traitorous jolt of static.

Pathetic.

You frown, bemused. “I thought we agreed that was a bad idea.”

“For a first date, yeah,” he replies, raising his eyebrows. “But now that we’ve got the ball rolling, it might be good for Adi and Phoebs to see how much we definitely aren’t into each other.”

“By going on a double date,” you echo, still skeptical.

“Exactly.” Rafe doesn’t really know where he’s going with this either. You’re wearing a new perfume, something floral and unfamiliar, and he’s dwelling on the fact that it’s probably for Adi’s benefit. It’s stuck to his bicep where the skin-on-skin stunned him, and he’s still trying to figure out why it’s making him feel so strange.

Bad strange, almost wretched. Like he wants to go on this double date to keep tabs, not prove your friendship status.

“Um.” You pause. “I mean… I guess that makes sense?”

Besides, it’ll be interesting to see just how enamoured Phoebe is with Rafe. And vice versa, more so vice versa.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

“It does,” Rafe agrees. “Next weekend, yeah?”

You nod, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth. The eye contact you share vacillates, and in the beat that passes, you’re sure you’re probably thinking the same thing.

That this is a bad idea, desperate as you are to see it through. That you’re totally fucking fucked, even if your traitorous heart doesn’t share the same sentiment that you do.

—

When Rafe’s red Ford ranger pulls up to your apartment, Adi hops out of the car to hold the door open for you.

Rafe stays idle, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, impatient. He hears your fond voice thank Adi, hears Phoebe do the same, and resists the urge to push down on the accelerator and rev the engine.

He thinks about all the times he’s picked you up over the years. Alone. Fresh-faced at fifteen driving his dad’s car on a learner’s permit, seventeen in his first car, nineteen in his second.

Twenty-one and sober when he drove yours home from Kelce’s birthday party, where you’d sworn you’d only have one but well overshot that number.

Where you’d called him cute whilst being cute yourself, all drunk and cross-eyed with shiny gloss on your lips.

Every summer since he’d got a car of his own, and never once has he offered to open the passenger’s side door for you.

It’s a dreadful revelation. He feels his throat burn like the belch of stale leftovers.

Except worse, because there’s something green and angry and wholly emotional about this. Something terrifying that he doesn’t think he’s ready to come to terms with.

“So you going to tell us what we’re doing tonight then Cameron?” You ask, getting into the backseat with Phoebe.

You’re wearing a blouse he hasn’t seen before with a heart-shaped necklace that he has, exposing kindling-like skin which makes his throat burn harder. And Phoebe looks gorgeous beside you, the way she always does, her brown hair styled in curls and her full lips a rosy pink.

That’s unfair. You always do too. It’s just that this fact is extra debilitating right now.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Rafe replies, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. He flicks on his blinker before pulling out onto the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the centre console.

His bicep in your direct line of vision, the entire length of tanned muscle bulging.

You narrow your eyes. “I hate surprises. You know I hate surprises.”

Rafe nods. “Exactly.”

“Don’t worry Y/N, Rafe said you’d love it,” Adi says then, grinning.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Sweet, näive Adi. He’s forgotten the importance of taking everything Rafe says with a grain of salt. “Are we going to mini golf?”

Adi balks at you through the rear-view mirror, bemused. “Wait. Shit. You don’t like mini golf?”

“I don’t like mini golf with Mr Island Club’s under par champion,” you correct grimly, glaring at Rafe.

“Under par champion?” Phoebe echoes, raising her eyebrows. “I’m almost impressed, Rafe.”

“Shit Phoebs, how do I get you the rest of the way there?” Rafe asks, grinning.

“Prove it tonight I guess.”

Rafe sends her a salute through the rear view mirror, faux-sincere. “Aye aye captain.”

Adi must notice that you still look fairly indignant, because he pipes up then, tender bordering on abashed.

“Don’t worry Y/N, he only planned half of the date,” he says. “The other half’s all me. We’re going to that restaurant in Wilshire you’ve been dying to try.”

Your frown acquiesces a smidge. “Wait… seriously? I don’t even remember telling you about that!”

“You didn’t.”

The look on your face melts into surprise, almost endeared. Rafe aches. “Then how did you…”

Adi raises his eyebrows, tapping the side of his nose conspiratorially. “I’ve got spies everywhere.”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” You ask then, turning your head toward Phoebe intently.

She raises her arms in surrender, shaking her head. “Wasn’t me, babe, looks like Adi’s got moves.” She sends him an approving look, her bright green eyes sparkling fondly. “Not bad Patel, now this I’m totally impressed with.”

Rafe’s ego takes less of a blow than his wretched heart does. “Oof,” he says, trying for a grin and landing closer to a grimace. “I’m wounded.”

Phoebe winks. “Thought man-eater was your type, Rafe Cameron.”

“Nah,” he returns, mirth returning to his features. “More like women so beautiful they can get away with fucking anything.”

“So Y/N then,” Adi says.

You smile bashfully, cheeks warming. “Okay cute, but definitely not Rafe’s type.”

Rafe disagrees — he thinks it’s pretty obvious that you’re his type. Not in a romantic sense, or anything, it’s just that he’s a straight guy that resides on Earth and he doesn’t think there’s any of those whose type you aren’t.

Not that he’s going to disclose that at a double date with your friend and his.

“No,” he accedes, lying through his teeth. “Blink’s way too Outer Banks for me.”

“Exactly,” you agree, raising your eyebrows significantly. “We’ve got to bring new people in before our shitty bloodlines destroy us.”

“Fucking hell,” Phoebe says then, amused. “You guys are doing a great job of selling this place as a holiday destination, y’know that?”

“Hey now, don’t judge the place by the people,” you admonish, nudging her shoulder with yours. “If it wasn’t for my overbearing parents, I probably would’ve picked a college in the Carolinas.”

You don’t tell them that it’s really Rafe’s family that catalysed the move, how his mother passed away and his relationship with his father subsequently disintegrated. You don’t tell them about the quiet abuse he endured, how it prompted him to apply for a university a six hour flight away. For you to follow him, no questions asked, because in what world would you have survived three years away from each other?

“We both would’ve,” Rafe agrees, his gaze hesitating on you before moving to Phoebe through the rear-view mirror. “Glad we didn’t though.”

Phoebe turns to you, smiling fondly. “I’m glad too.”

“For me, yeah?” Rafe asks, his momentarily stoic features softening into something playful.

Phoebe rolls her eyes, mostly affectionate. “Who else could I possibly be meaning?”

“Well I for one,” Adi declares then, faux-sombre, “am extremely grateful for you brother.” He glances at you over his shoulder, winking. “For having a friend as gorgeous as Y/N.”

Rafe makes a face. He’s trying for a jibe but his heart isn’t quite in it. Begrudgingly, he says, “I’ve got plenty of gorgeous friends.”

That I’m not this protective over, his mind privately adds.

“Me and the boys don’t count,” Adi replies, raising his eyebrows. “Besides, none of us tolerate you as much as she does. That shit takes superhuman strength, Cameron.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, sweet and unabashed. Not for Rafe. It makes his wretched heart feel awful. “Finally,” you say. “The recognition I deserve.”

“Hey hey, what about me?” Rafe asks, admonished. “We did grow up together, you know. If anything takes superhuman strength, it’s living through all of blink’s tragic phases.”

Adi meets your gaze through the rear-view mirror, his hazel eyes mirthful. “Phases plural? Please elaborate.”

You send Rafe a warning look. “Don’t you dare Cam.”

Rafe grins in response, a dangerously roguish expression on his face. “Don’t you think it’s time everyone heard what your first ever Instagram handle was?”

“Okay,” Phoebe says, leaning forward in anticipation, “now I’m interested.”

“Rafe.” You’re basically begging now. Pathetic. “C’mon. I’m serious.”

Rafe hesitates. He doesn’t think your eye contact has ever left him this debilitated, all wide and pleading with sunset speckling your pretty irises. “Alright, chill, a story for another day.” Another pause. “Besides, memory lane is probably easier to go down with some visual aids.”

You groan. Adi and Phoebe perk up, grinning playfully. “Stop,” the latter says. “Like baby photos?”

“Blink’s mom is a hoarder,” Rafe returns, nodding. “She’s got so fucking many photo albums filled with digis of us, it’s embarrassing.”

“Both of you?” Phoebe asks, meeting Rafe’s gaze. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like Ward Cameron’s much of a memory collector,” Rafe returns, suddenly diffident. He coughs. Your features soften on instinct. “Someone’s gotta keep track of us I guess.”

“Besides, my mom’s more than happy to do so,” you add, attempting to shift the focus away from Rafe. “Before she married my dad, she worked as a wedding photographer.”

“Shit, that’s pretty cool,” Adi says, smiling kindly. “I’ll have to get some tips off her this summer. I’ve always been pretty into that stuff too.”

You glance up at him in surprise, a little endeared. “Wait… really? I didn’t know frat boy prodigies could have creative interests.”

Rafe’s heart pulls, something terrible and envious threatening to rear its ugly head.

You’re lying, you do know that they can — it was your mom that gave Rafe his first camera as a young boy. This antiquated old thing with a scratched up Canon logo above the lens; it was your mom that told him he had a good eye, your mom that encouraged him to transform his pain into meaningful images.

He’s finding it difficult enough to share you with Adi, he isn’t sure he’ll be able to bear lending him his favourite hobby. Or your mom, basically his mom, especially after his own passed away.

It’s dreadful.

He turns into the mini golf carpark and pulls into the nearest spot, quick to turn off the ignition and unfasten his seat belt so he can be the first person out.

He’s going to hold the door open for Phoebe if it kills him.

And he’s quicker than Adi this time, making his chivalry difficult to ignore. Adi says, “you’d be surprised,” in response to your previous remark, but you’re too busy taking inventory of Rafe’s fond expression to register it at all.

Him and Phoebe are all sparkly eyed with tandem smiles, his hand taking hers and her figure proximal to his. Devastatingly proximal, almost skin-on-skin with this promise of more that makes your chest feel awful.

“Oh,” you breathe out. It doesn’t matter that Adi’s opened the door for you too. “Right, yeah. Clearly.”

“Alright,” Rafe declares then, throwing his arm around Phoebe’s shoulder. More awful now, cloying as it climbs to your throat. “We going to make this game of mini golf interesting or what?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Interesting how Cam?”

Adi falls into your step seamlessly, knuckles brushing yours a beat before he’s entwining your fingers. He squeezes your hand comfortingly, the rough ridges of his palm exerting a grounding pressure. Your shoulders relax a little.

“Well,” Rafe begins, turning his head to look at you over his shoulder. Faltering in surprise when his gaze drops to your interlocked fingers. “Uh… I don’t know. Loser pays for dinner?”

Phoebe frowns her disapproval. “Uh, no deal hot shot. If I have to pay for anything, I’m not counting this as a date.”

“Woah slow down, who said you’d be doing any paying?” Rafe returns playfully, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “Don’t worry Phoebs, I’ll make sure you aren’t the loser.”

“By being the loser yourself?” You ask, raising her eyebrows.

Rafe lifts his in tandem. “This coming from the girl who hasn’t made par in the history of the game.”

“Hey!” You defend, faux-admonished. “Every other time we’ve played I’ve been half cut on shitty beer.”

“So have I,” Rafe returns, grinning triumphantly. “Still manage to smoke everyone’s asses.”

��Not that it’s hard or anything. Kelce and Topper play more tragic than me, as if that’s fucking possible.”

Rafe lets out an appreciative laugh, his hold on Phoebe’s shoulders loosening a smidge. “Fuck, do you remember that time Top fell into the pond at Holey Moley?”

“Hard to forget,” you return, laughing in tandem. “Wasn’t that the night we took him out because we were sick of hearing him cry about John B and Sar?”

“Shit, it was! Back when Kelce was seeing that foreign exchange student… what was her name again?”

“Oh, um…” your hold on Adi’s hand acquiesces as you think on this, your brow furrowing in concentration. You don’t notice. Rafe’s arm has slipped down Phoebe’s back, lingering at her waist absent-mindedly before falling to his side again. He doesn’t notice. “F something…”

“Florence!” Rafe exclaims.

“Oh my god, yeah, Florence!” You reply. Adi and Phoebe share a look. The pair of you don’t notice. “Speaking of, did you see that hard launch he posted on his story? Since when does Kelce fucking Smith have a girlfriend?”

“Dude, fuck if I know, you know he’s always been so secretive about that stuff. Remember how long it took him to tell us him and Flor were a thing?”

Another amused laugh bubbles out of you, sweet and unabashed and all Rafe’s. His chest swells. “Until after she’d gone back to London,” you reply. “Classic Kelcey, huh?”

“So,” Adi interrupts then, sounding gauche. “This Kelce guy is one of your Outer Banks friends?”

You glance up at him in surprise; it’s as if you’d forgotten that he was there. That this was a double date with him and your gorgeous friend Phoebe, not just another Friday night hang-out with Rafe. The aftermath of this revelation is more sheepish than it is bashful, like a switch in your brain that reminds you that you’re supposed to be performing.

Double dreadful. You’re standing at the mini golf reception and you can’t even remember how you got here.

“Oh, yeah!” You reply, momentarily chagrined. “You’d like him Adi. He’s pre-law just like you.”

“Is he the hot one or the cute one?” Phoebe asks thoughtfully.

“Hot,” you reply without missing a beat. At Rafe’s raised eyebrows, you add, “not to me! They FaceTimed me the other day and Phoebs happened to get a glimpse of them.”

“Ah,” Rafe returns, and then he meets Phoebe’s gaze, looking comically grave. “Not as hot as me though, yeah?”

“Hotter,” she teases, smiling saccharine sweet. “Too bad they’re too polite to be my type.”

Rafe grins at this, sharing a knowing look with you. “Don’t know if that’s an adjective I’d use to describe Top and Kelce.”

You adopt a faux-bemused look, mirth hiding behind your expression. “Really? I don’t know. Remember that time Top politely told your dad to fuck off when he was wasted?”

Rafe cringes. “He’s lucky that the Ward Cameron didn’t press any charges.”

“Ha,” you scoff, “even if he had, it’s not like anything would’ve happened. Judge Thornton would’ve had that shit revoked within the hour.”

“C’mon, we can’t hate him too much for that. Remember when I got caught driving you guys around on my learner’s, and he managed to sweet-talk the cop out of confiscating my permit?”

Adi and Phoebe glance at each other awkwardly. They’re vying for a stake in this conversation and failing miserably.

Luckily for them, it’s in this moment that the receptionist beckons them over.

“Hey!” Adi greets in relief, springing into action. “Could we please grab four tickets?”

“Sure,” she replies, starting to ring it up. “Paying together or separately?”

“Together,” Adi and Rafe say in unison, just as you say “separately.”

You frown at the pair of them, shaking your head. “You guys can pay for dinner.”

“Loser pays for dinner,” Rafe corrects. “I’m paying for this.”

“You’re algood brother, I got it,” Adi insists, sliding his wallet out of his back pocket. “Besides, you’re going to be the loser that pays for dinner. The least I could do is cop this expense for you.”

Call it pride (even if it’s closer to something slightly possessive), but Rafe Cameron refuses to acquiesce on money matters. He has to pay, he always pays when it’s you and him.

Not that he particularly gives you a choice in the matter.

“Ha, very funny,” Rafe returns, activating the Apple Pay feature on his phone. “I’ve gotta pay Patel. If I don’t pay for this, I won’t have paid for anything tonight. It won’t even be like a real date. I’m paying.”

“Or,” you say then, sounding exasperated. “We could all pay for ourselves and not make a big deal out of this.”

The cashier lets out a beleaguered sigh, holding out the EFTPOS machine expectantly. “I assume you guys are on a double date? Why don’t the boys pay for their girls and we call it even?”

Rafe doesn’t like this idea either. The thought of Adi paying for you makes his heart drop to his stomach.

He knows this is kind of ridiculous. It’s why he’s forced to keep his mouth shut when the rest of you don’t share his sentiment.

“Very diplomatic,” Phoebe says approvingly. “I like it.”

Adi nods in agreement, tapping his card on the sensor once it’s ready for him. Rafe does the same, his lock screen displaying an old photo of you two before switching to his virtual credit card. His expression is almost unreadable — almost, perhaps to those who don’t know him very well.

To you, it’s clear as day. He’s resentful. It’s perplexing.

The emotion’s far too fleeting for you to comment on, melting into the same mixture of warmth and charisma you’re familiar with within a second. He grabs the equipment the cashier hands over, giving each of you a club with a charming grin on his face.

The yellow lights overhead speck his blue eyes with hints of aureate. As he smiles down at you, his ridiculous bone structure accentuated by the shadows they cast, you’re struck by the fact that your best friend Rafe Cameron is like… effortlessly handsome.

Double perplexing. You accept your club in a daze, missing the way his calloused palm lingers.

The rest of the night is similarly perplexing.

You and Rafe spend the first hole—which features an artificially azure pond—reminiscing over Topper’s aforementioned stumble.

At the fourth hole, he pulls a move that makes your traitorous stomach churn. When Phoebe hits it two under par, he lifts her up in triumph and twirls her figure around.

“That’s my girl!” He exclaims, the words tumbling out of his mouth all effortless. Holding her close with his strong muscles taut and looking like the absolute death of you.

“We’ll get them at the next one,” Adi murmurs comfortingly, ducking his head so his lips are at the shell of your ear. No sparks. He must think that your pained expression is a byproduct of your competitive spirit, not the surprise that jolts through you at hearing Phoebe is Rafe’s girl.

Not you. You could hold a mirror up to his resentment right about then.

It’s alright though, because diplomatic hole ten ensures you’re even.

When you struggle past par—and sure, perhaps more for Adi’s benefit than yours—it’s Rafe’s turn to feel his stomach pull despairingly.

“Here,” Adi says kindly, stepping toward you. “Mind if I…?”

When he embraces you from behind, chest to back with no regard for personal space, the crown of Rafe’s golf club forms a crater on the Astro turf.

At the tell-tale scrape of pressure, Phoebe glances down at the artificial grass, bemused. Adi’s rough hands find your waist and Rafe’s exert a punishing force on his handle.

“This is gonna sound like a line,” Adi murmurs, his deep timbre raising goosebumps on your neck, “but it really is all in the hips.”

He demonstrates by swinging them side to side gently, this effortless motion that makes Rafe’s heart flounder.

“Smooth Patel,” he calls weakly, trying for a jibe as if he isn’t attempting to throw him off.

Adi sends Rafe a pointed look just as you glance up at him, eyes widening in tandem. Unblinking. It makes him feel even more wretched, as if that’s fucking possible. Adi’s hands acquiesce on your waist so that they can fold over yours on the golf club handle. Arms and forearms touching, now.

No sparks. Maybe if Rafe knew this, he wouldn’t have left another dent in the Astro turf.

“So instead of pivoting with your wrists,” he continues, drawing your arms back with his, “you wanna pivot with your hips.”

When he brings the club down to take a hit, his chest presses closer to your back, emanating body heat and vetiver. He’s bigger than you, paradoxically strong as he is gentle.

Wearing a cologne you’re unfamiliar with. You’ve had Rafe’s woodsy cinnamon scent down packed since you were in high school together.

The golf ball rolls into hole ten easy. Rafe mistakes the triumphant smile on your face as a display of affection, hopelessly enamoured.

It fills him with this overwhelming urge to separate your figures now, to give his frat brother a baseless shiner, to replace his embrace with an even fonder one. He aches. You’re smiling an only-for-Adi smile that’s far from the platonic one he knows and he really aches.

“Hey,” Phoebe says then, breaking him out of his reverie. She’s staring at him with this funny look on her face that prickles uncomfortably up his neck. “Did you hear me Rafe? We’re heading to the next hole now.”

“Oh,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Right, yeah.”

Phoebe cocks her head to one side, continuing to stare. Something knowing in her gaze that terrifies him. “You good?”

“Of course I am.” He grins weakly. “You’re just really fucking distracting, y’know that?”

A beat before she responds. She shakes her head soberly, turning to follow you and Adi to hole seven. “You’re a terrible liar, Rafe Cameron.”

By the time you’ve reached the last hole, both of you have already sworn to never do this again.

Privately. For less platonic reasons than previously mentioned.

You think your last straw was probably Rafe’s hole fifteen victory, when he asked his lucky charm Phoebe to give him a kiss before his final swing.

On the cheek, but still.

He’d wolf whistled approvingly when the ball had landed near the hole, beckoning her over to help him get it in in two.

“Me?” She’d asked, raising her eyebrows. Mostly skeptical; you think you’re the only one who registered the bashful lilt to her tone.

“You,” he’d returned, lifting his in tandem. Ducking his head when she neared, angling his sharp jaw forward. Accepting her kiss as if it wasn’t making your wretched heart flounder, and having the audacity to send you a wink when the ball rolled into the hole thereafter.

Payback, probably.

Because Rafe’s is earlier, when you comfort Adi for fucking up par at hole thirteen.

When Adi’s ball lands several meters short of its destination, Rafe lets out a delighted laugh, amusement evident on his features. He says, “Shit Patel. That’s gotta be a record.”

“Yeah yeah,” Adi mutters in response, slightly ruffled. “I’m just giving you guys a chance to win, alright?”

“My hero,” you tease, circling his figure to give him a reassuring squeeze. On your tip-toes, lips at the shell of his ear, you add, “don’t worry Adi. It’s a par four anyway.”

Awfully proximal, awfully liberal with your touch and disposition, as if that’s fucking allowed, as if Rafe’s supposed to be okay with it.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to make it through dinner. You’re now at the last hole and it’s getting closer and closer.

“Fuck yeah!” Phoebe exclaims, getting the final hole in three. She was the last one to go; the rest of you have already made hole eighteen. “That’s us done, right? Because I’m fucking starving.”

“That’s us done,” you echo, smiling feebly. More a grimace than anything particularly delighted.

“And if my calculations are correct…” Adi says, squinting down at the scorecard in his hand, “Phoebe’s the one paying for dinner.”

Phoebe gasps, faux-scandalised, sending Rafe a playful glare. “We had a deal, Cameron! What happened?”

Rafe grins. “What happened is I can’t stand anyone else paying for my girl. It’s on me Phoebs, don’t worry about it.”

Your heart drops again, that ‘my girl’ phrase feeling a dreadful weight in your ribcage.

You miss the fact that he didn’t specify who his girl was on purpose.

—

The restaurant is a bustle of energy when you arrive, soulful jazz undercut by the steady hum of conversation. Retro wall sconces bathe it in muted auburn light.

The four of you approach the front counter, where a pretty waitress is scrutinising the laptop screen in front of her. When she glances up to greet you, you don’t miss the way her eyes linger on Rafe’s features.

It draws forth a hunger pang. What you presume to be a hunger pang.

“Hello,” Adi begins, sending her a smile. “Reservation under Patel? Should be for 7pm.”

The waitress’ gaze drops to the screen again before she nods her approval. “Oh yes, four for 7pm,” she says, grabbing some menus and stepping out from behind the desk. “Follow me.”

She leads you to the back of the restaurant, where a candlelit table is tucked into one corner. The orange flame flickers ominously.

“Here we are,” she says, placing the menus down with a flourish. “Can I get you still or sparkling water to start?”

“Still,” Rafe says, just as Adi says, “Sparkling.”

The pair balk at each other, hesitating.

“Uh,” Rafe glances at you, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, “sorry brother, force of habit. Blink hates sparkling water.”

Your cheeks warm instinctively. “We both do.”

Rafe frowns. “I don’t.”

“Why don’t you ever ask for it when we’re out for dinner then?”

“Because you don’t like it,” Rafe replies, like it’s obvious. It makes your warm skin burn even hotter, as if that’s fucking possible.

“Oh.” You look from Adi to Rafe, momentarily bashful. Behind them, you see swear you see the waitress raise her eyebrows. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Rafe replies, shrugging matter-of-factly. He takes a seat and gestures for the rest of you to follow, turning back to the waitress and repeating, “Still would be great, yeah?”

You slide into the banquette seat beside Phoebe, still abashed, the vivid merlot upholstery complimenting the orange mood lighting. She’s wearing a tandem expression to the waitress. You try your best to avoid eye contact.

“So Y/N,” Adi says then, passing the menus around, “I assume you already know exactly what you’re ordering?”

You grin at him, once gauche now a little more fond. “Obviously.”

“Good,” he replies, placing his menu back down decisively. “You can order for me too, then.”

Rafe sends Adi a pitiful look, faux-sombre. “Rookie mistake Patel. Prepare to eat the weirdest combinations of food known to man.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “This coming from the guy who dips pickles into peanut butter.”

“No way!” Phoebe exclaims then, letting out an appreciative peal of laughter. “I’ve never met anyone else who enjoys that combination before.”

Rafe regards her with surprise, this awfully pleased smile on his face that makes you rue bringing up the connection in the first place. “Holy shit,” he returns, his Southern timbre like smooth molasses. “We really are a match-made in heaven, aren’t we?”

Soulmates. The regret cloys at your insides, lamenting.

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely only letting Y/N pick my meal,” Adi declares then, looking mildly disgusted by the pair of them. “You guys are fucking weird.”

You nod in agreement. “Thank you.”

Phoebe sends you a reproachful look, mostly teasing. “Alright hot shot. What exactly are you picking for us?”

Rafe responds before you can, the menu held up to eye-level as his thoughtful gaze pores over it. The emblazoned restaurant name stares down at you in mocking.

“Let me guess,” he starts, and then he pauses, contemplating, “edamame beans and vege tempura to start, obviously.” He looks at you over the menu’s edge, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No comment.”

He grins roguishly. “That’s a yes. And…” he glances back down at the menu “uh, gotta be the rainbow roll and avocado roll, definitely no sashimi, and maybe… the teriyaki chicken?”

“You forgot drinks, genius.”

“Too fucking easy, you’re obviously going to get a yuzu sour.”

Your eyebrows lift in tandem, juxtaposing the amusement that softens your voice. “And you’re going to get a Coors light and eat none of the edamame. Is that supposed to be impressive Cam?”

“Guilty.” Rafe shrugs. Adi and Phoebe share another reluctant look. “Edamame is fucking nasty.”

The waitress chooses this moment to return to your table with a notepad. She glances at the four of you in turn before her pretty gaze stalls on your features, expectant.

“Um,” you falter, the tips of your ears warming in gauche abandonment. You turn to Adi and Phoebe, directing your next question to them. “You guys happy for me to order for us?”

Phoebe’s got a funny look on her face that makes your skin feel terribly see-through, bare to the bone save the Rafe-sized box of details in your ribcage. You swallow. “Yeah,” she nods after pause. “If you’re gonna order everything Rafe says you will, it sounds delicious.”

“Agreed,” Adi says.

“Okay.” You look back up at the waitress, who’s stolen a quick glimpse at oblivious Rafe beside her. Oblivious handsome Rafe. What you assume is another hunger pang sears through you like a bullet. “Um… we’ll grab the edamame and vege tempura to start if that’s okay.” A pause. “The rainbow and avocado rolls too, please. And, um… the agedashi tofu.”

Rafe sends you a look. “No teriyaki chicken?”

You shake your head, looking at the three of them in turn. “Not unless you guys want any?”

“But it’s your favourite,” Rafe says then, ignoring you. Like there’s no way he’d pass up a dish that you’re fond of.

Like there’s a you-sized box in his ribcage too.

“If it’s your favourite, we’ve gotta try it,” Adi declares, looking up at the waitress. “Can we grab that too please?”

She nods in response, jotting down the menu items. “Any drinks?”

“A Coors light and a Yuzu sour,” Rafe replies before you can, ordering for you. As if it’s you and him on this romantic rendezvous, not you and him on dates with two other people.

Just shy of platonic, almost chaste with his intentions. He glances between Phoebe and Adi as you balk, adding, “You guys know what drinks you’re getting?”

They share another secret look that you’re sure Rafe clocks too. You swear you catch his ears redden as his eyes dart to you, almost sheepish. Flecks of ochre juxtapose the bright blue of his irises.

He knows you’re pretty the same way he knows the Earth is a sphere, but he finds this fact extra debilitating when you’re sitting opposite Adi Patel. Not him. Flirting all saccharine sweet with his good friend Adi Patel, smiling with your eyes when you regard him, wearing shiny lipgloss for his benefit.

Not Rafe’s. It’s absolutely wretched.

“A negroni for me,” Phoebe replies, sending the waitress a smile.

“Coors light too, please,” Adi says. He has an unreadable expression on his face.

The remainder of the dinner proceeds in much the same fashion, progressively devolving into this awfully gauche nightmare. Every attempt you make at flirting begins to fall short for some reason, and you find yourself grappling for purchase on something familiar.

Something you know. Like Rafe.

He does the same, even if his teasing jibes land easier. He’s doing a winning job at courting Phoebe; it’s a shame her heart isn’t quite in it.

The four of you probably come to the same conclusion at different points in the night — that this double date thing was definitely a bad idea. That perhaps you don’t gel as well with each other as your hopeful minds once predicted.

Except you and Rafe. Obviously.

Phoebe and Adi aren’t shy to bring this up with the pair of you when the night is finally over.

After saying farewell to Adi and Rafe—no goodnight kisses, thank God—you and Phoebe walk to the front door of your apartment in awkward silence.

Phoebe breaks it first. “Well. That was interesting.”

You look over at her, pathetically hopeful. “Interesting fun?”

When she meets your gaze in turn, there’s an undercurrent of skepticism painting her green irises deeper verdant. Your stomach turns. “Interesting interesting.”

At your reticence, she raises her eyebrows, adding, “Interesting sort of weird, don’t you think?”

“Only because we’ve never done that before,” you defend, frowning. “We tend to stay out of each other’s love lives, alright?”

Phoebe guides her house key into the mortise lock, opening the front door. “I wonder why.”

The tone of her voice suggests she knows exactly why. Your cheeks warm. “Obviously because we’re grade A cockblocks to each other.”

Phoebe enters the apartment first, your figure following close behind her. At your response, she turns to face you, hands on her hips with an arch expression on her features. “I wonder why,” she repeats, eyebrows still raised.

“Phoebe…” you sigh. “Lesson learned, okay? No more double dates.”

“No more Rafe and me either,” Phoebe replies with a snort, shaking her head. “You can deny your own feelings all you want Y/N, but it’s pretty fucking obvious that guy is totally into you.”

You eyes widen, unblinking, your wretched pulse thrumming. “He isn’t,” you reply weakly, hardly convincing. “If he was, why would he set me up with his friend?”

“Why would you set him up with yours?”

“I…” the answer seems less obvious now than it did when you first devised this plan, “I guess I thought you guys would be cute together.”

Half true. You fail to mention how this whole thing was borne as a bid to get the Figure Eight off your back, because suddenly they seem less imposing than seeing Rafe with someone else. Romantically.

Selfishly, you think you might want him both ways. Familiarly platonic and now also a little less chaste.

It’s a terrifying revelation.

“D’you still think so Y/N?”

No. “Yes.”

She sends you a look. “Y/N.”

“He’s not into me Phoebe,” you return, hopelessly stubborn.

“He is,” she disagrees, crossing her arms across her chest. “He may not have known it before, but he sure as hell knows it now.”

She’s always been awfully perceptive; Rafe’s driving back to his frat now and his fists are tense against the steering wheel, troubled. He’s trying to find a way to tell Adi you’re his without saying it straight. He wishes his friend could just feel his cumbersome heart ache and just know it.

Good thing Adi’s pretty observant too.

Although is it that impressive when the pair of you make things so obviously un-platonic?

“You were right,” Adi announces suddenly, breaking the silence. “Blink and me really do make a good match.”

Rafe’s heart drops. “Yeah?”

Adi nods in response, hedging while continuing to sound painfully nonchalant. “No offense, but I kinda wish that was a solo date. The only reason I didn’t kiss her goodnight was because of you and Phoebe.”

Rafe thinks his heart is probably at his knees now, his ribcage empty. He forces himself to stretch out his fingers on the steering wheel, the tension in them beginning to hurt.

“Oh,” he says roughly. “Right, yeah. You think you gonna ask her out again?”

“I want to. She’ll probably say no though.”

“What?” Rafe frowns. “Why would she do that?”

“Because I’m pretty sure it’s you she wants, Cameron. Not me.”

Rafe falters, glancing at him in surprise. “Huh? No she doesn’t.”

Adi raises his eyebrows. “At the risk of getting us into a car crash, yes she does.”

“Fuck off,” Rafe scoffs weakly, feeling his poor pulse jolt. “Blink doesn’t like me like that. She’s the one who wanted us to set each other up with our friends.”

“Bro.” Adi’s tone is firm, almost determined. “The female race is a fucking mystery, what’s new? All I know is she’s as into you as you are into her.”

Rafe’s foot staccatos on the brake, bringing them to a jostling stop in front of a set of traffic lights. He coughs. His Adam’s apple bobs awkwardly in his throat. “I’m not into Blink.”

Lie. He doesn’t know who the fuck he’s kidding.

“Yeah?” Adi raises his eyebrows. “Cause I clocked the look on your face when I said I wanted to kiss her.”

“Do you actually want to kiss her?” Rafe asks slovenly.

“Of course I do, she’s fucking hot.” A pause. “It doesn’t matter, though. I know she’s off limits now.”

Rafe glances at him as the light turns green, accelerating forward hesitatingly.

He knows his friend is right. Because it’s dreadful, the highlight reel of Adi’s unwanted touches that’s playing in his brain right now, taunting him. He wouldn’t survive it if you and Adi were actually a thing, if you and anyone on planet Earth but him were a thing. Romantically.

You’re his earliest platonic memory and now he’s wondering whether you’re his earliest ardent memory too.

It’s a terrifying revelation.

“She… yeah. I guess she is.”

—

“You’re being weird,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes at Rafe over your laptop.

Rafe meets your gaze sheepishly, and you’re momentarily thrown. A beam of sunlight divides his handsome face in half, painting one eye brilliant teal while the other hides in shadow.

You haven’t seen much of him since your disastrous double date, and you attribute this to the stress of studying for finals. Two weeks later with three difficult exams under your belt, the pair of you finally organised to study for your last one together.

Which is weird, because you seldom fly solo during exam season. Last year, you’d spend all your time together at this library table, laptops touching with tandem tired eyes and concentration aging your features. Last year, you’d take turns buying each other sugary energy drinks, alternating your all-nighters between his frat house and your apartment.

So maybe it’s more than the stress of finals keeping you apart. Maybe being cognisant of your romantic feelings for each other is also wreaking havoc on the poor chambers of your hearts.

“No I’m not,” Rafe murmurs back, his voice deeper when it’s quiet.

“You are!” You exclaim-whisper, frowning at him. “You’ve barely looked up at me since you sat down.”

Rafe sighs; he knows you’re right. He just doesn’t know how to tell you there’s a good reason why.

He can’t just say that it’s because of the window of blinding sunlight behind you, that it’s because it creates this golden halo around your face as it silhouettes you. So beautiful it’s distracting. Feels like the understatement of the fucking century.

“Because we’re in a library Blink,” he lies, frowning back. His eyes drop to the shine of gloss coating your bottom lip. “C’mon. Let’s take a caffeine break.”

You falter. You, Rafe, coffee without a buffer, no physical Phoebe or Adi but the memories of your last conversations with them ever present .

Terrifying. You nod after pause, slowly closing your laptop. “Yeah. Okay.”

The two of you walk out of the library in tandem, awfully proximal, the tip of your shoulder brushing his upper arm intermittently. Shifting a very un-platonic jolt of static through your skin everytime it does.

Outside, the tepid warmth of summer unfurls over you. You join the footfall heading toward the plot of cafés at the fringe of campus, a cloudless blue sky stretching out overhead.

When you glance up at Rafe with earnest eyes, you find that he’s already looking down at you. Coffee seems less important now than it did a second ago. “So…” you ask tentatively, “what’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Rafe lies.

“C’mon, you can tell me. Did you bomb a final or something?”

Worse. “Way to believe in me Blink,” Rafe returns, looking somewhere between amused and exasperated.

You raise your arms in surrender. “I’m just thinking worst case here. What is it then?” You hesitate, the tips of your ears warming. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”

Rafe balks. If he thinks on this too hard, he’ll say yes.

Except is it wrong for you to have inadvertently forced him to come to terms with his romantic emotions?

“Shit.” Your eyes widen abashedly, and you groan. “I did do something, didn’t I?”

You take his arm and pull him onto the side of the pavement, lest the steady foot traffic snag either one of you away. This is serious now. You’re to blame for his gaucheness and you need to get to the bottom of it before it kills you.

“What is it?” Your hand acquiesces on his bicep, and the skin where your fingers were burns traitorously in their absence. “It’s the double date, isn’t it? I was a total cock block and you’re pissed at me for it?”

Rafe opens his mouth to disagree, but you refuse to be interrupted.

“Fuck,” you groan, your pretty features scrunching up. Sunlight dapples them golden and Rafe’s skin burns harder. “I knew it was a bad idea. Listen… I can totally make this right. Did you ask Phoebe out again or something? Did she say no?”

You look up at him expectantly, and he’s momentarily thrown by the eye contact. It takes him a second too long to recalibrate and you mistake his silence as confirmation.

You swallow nervously, your poor heart in your stomach. “Right, yeah, of course you asked her out. She’s beautiful, why wouldn’t you? She’s silly for saying no.”

“No,” Rafe interrupts then, “that’s not —”

But you’re not listening. “Don’t worry though, okay? I’m gonna make this happen for you. I’m going to get you another date, trust me, I just need to have a talk with her.”

“Blink —”

You’re rambling hard now, eyes wide, and Rafe feels helpless to it. He’s struck by the memory of the first time he addressed you by your nickname, at your fourth grade science fair when you were presenting an experiment.

Floundering through it, really, dreadfully anxious and unblinking.

It’s the first of your tells he learnt, and he’s ready to admit that he thinks it’s kind of cute. He’s watched your eyes grow with every callow crush you’ve had over the years, every nerve-racking presentation, every blunder and improvisation.

He’s pretty chuffed to be on the receiving end of it now, all things considered.

“I’m serious Cam, I’ll do it tonight. She’s into you, I swear she is, she just has this stupid idea in her head that you’re —”

It happens so fast, you’re momentarily caught off guard. One moment you’re shaking your head at the pavement and the next they’re cradled sweetly in Rafe’s large hands.

When he kisses you, it’s with a sense of urgency that leaves you breathless. His lips exert this devastatingly ardent pressure on yours that makes you think he’s wanted to do this for ages.

And he has, if he’s being really honest with himself. As you melt into the embrace, something in Rafe’s ribcage cracks. He feels the tender press of your body against his, firm on soft, and figures he’s probably incapable now of letting go.

And he tastes like this heady mix of peppermint toothpaste and the absolute death of you, his sloven hands on your skin like the peal of a siren song.

You don’t want to pull away from him at all. You think you could stand on this pavement and kiss him until your poor heart finally stops.

So it’s him that finally breaks away, more to marvel in the luxury of your closeness than anything particularly chaste. Your long eyelashes flutter open, and Rafe’s heart fucking aches.

“That I’m into you?” He murmurs roughly, his calloused thumb swiping across your cheek. “Yeah. Not so stupid.”

“Awful,” you reply softly, still breathless. “We aren’t supposed to be into each other.”

Rafe grins. “Yeah? So you’re into me too then, Blink?”

You make a face. “Apparently it’s obvious.”

“Not to me.”

“Not to you.” You glance up at him through your eyelashes, suddenly bashful. “How long?”

“Apparently forever,” Rafe returns, grinning sheepishly.

“Awful,” you repeat, mostly teasing now. “Does this mean your friends aren’t going to be coming to the Eight after all?”

“Of course they are!” His thumb continues to brush absent-minded circles on your cheek, and you lean into his touch instinctively. “Adi’s still pretty keen. Just… maybe don’t introduce him as your boyfriend, yeah?”

You grimace. Rafe thinks you’re adorable in a wholly un-platonic way. “Is he upset?”

“Not at all. He’s been trying to get me to tell you how I feel since our double date.”

“Seriously?” You ask then, smiling abashedly. “You know what Cam? Think we need to set him up with Phoebe. Because they totally think alike and she’s totally been doing the same to me too.”

Rafe grins in tandem, his tender heart soaring. “No way. That double date really was pretty shit, huh?”

“Needed though,” you murmur.

“Needed,” Rafe echoes.

“Awful,” you say again, the jibe bordering on fond now. “After all that, the Figure Eight still wins?”

“No way.” Rafe ducks his head to sear your lips in another heady kiss, the feel of his mouth on yours the delicious opposite of just friends. Wholeheartedly romantic. “If you’re into me, I’m the one who’s winning.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe x you #rafe cameron imagine

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letoasai · 11 months ago

Text

The Youngest Ancient

An idea where the JL has gotten word from Green Lantern that a planet has been destroyed. That threat is headed for Earth.

We could blame it on Darkseid despite the fact that i don’t actually know if that’s within his power set. Bad guy of your choice. Keeping it vague works too.

Danny finding out that one of his planets is gone and he’s not having it.

They were short on time. Monumentally short on time. Usually everyone would look to Batman in a situation like this. It wasn’t like his numerous contingency plans were a secret. The problem was time and an overall lack of information about the coming threat. All that was clear was the fact that Earth was in danger.

Not even a normal, run of the mill danger, but the planet bleeding out of existence kind of danger. Supposedly it could happen so fast that the citizens of Earth wouldn’t even know it had happened.

“There’s always begging an Ancient for help.” Constantine muttered, lighting another cigarette. As many members of the League as possible had gathered but brainstorming could only get them so far.

Multiple gazes snapped to him but it was Wonder Woman who spoke first. “You think petitioning the gods would be a wise course of action?”

“Could be the only course of action.” Flash muttered though no one looked happy about it.

“Nah, it’s a much crazier idea than that.” Constantine said flatly. “We’re not talking about any of those old hats we’re used to dealing with. I mean an Ancient. Their powers are next level stuff. Above the gods on the totem pole, if you will.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “You want to bring in a complete unknown.”

“I want the planet to fucking be in the same spot tomorrow, mate.” Constantine snapped back. They were out of time but he evidently had more practice at being reckless then the rest of the League. “Heard tales of a new baby Ancient. A likable kid that has many of the heavy hitters doting on `em. Word is the baby Ancient is rather agreeable. Makes deals. Likes to explore. That kind of thing.”

“Baby Ancient.” Superman repeated, clearly hearing the oxymoron in that title. “How does that work?”

“Well they gotta come from somewhere, don’t they?” Constantine shrugged. He didn’t know and he wasn’t going to ask.

“I’ve heard the same rumors.” Zatanna heaved a sigh, adding credence to Constantine’s claims. “Even if they can’t do anything themself, they might have enough pull with one of the other Ancients that can.”

Flash clucked his tongue. “We literally have everything to lose if we don’t do something. If no one else has any other ideas then we need to give it a shot.”

“How long do you need to prepare?” Batman asked, his frown obvious. He never fully liked ideas that he didn’t have a hand in.

Constantine sat up straighter, taking a pull from his cigarette and already looking exhausted. “Gimme an hour.”

“I’ll help.” Zatanna said, already standing.

“Forty minutes then.”

The light of the summoning circle was hard to look at. It was like a mini supernova right in front of them. The colors would have been amazing to look at if anyone could have opened their eyes to see it.

When it dimmed, leaving only a toxic looking green glow around the circle, a young boy floated in the center. His hair was white and flowed even in the tightly air controlled Watch tower. The freckles across his face seemed to glow just like his green eyes.

He was cute, and couldn't have been more than fifteen. He wore a skintight black suit, calf high white boots, and had a strange looking thermos hanging off his belt. So this was a baby Ancient. He looked utterly perplexed.

“Um…” He blinked, taking in every member of the Justice League slowly.

“Welcome to the Justice League Watch Tower.” Wonder Woman said, ever the diplomat. “We apologize for summoning you on such short notice.”

“Oh. Okay.” He was still blinking owlishly before his eyes locked onto one of the windows that currently had a vast view of space. The boy all but purred at the sight. “You can call me Phantom. What do you want?”

“You’re the new Ancient?” Constantine asked without as much tacked.

Phantom sighed, shifting to sit even as he floated. “So they tell me. I didn’t know there was going to be a superhero test.”

“We summoned you to request assistance if you are able to give it.” Batman said, taking over. “A threat is coming to destroy the Earth and we don’t have much time. Is there something in particular you would want in payment?”

“Besides souls.” Constantine muttered which subtly alarmed everyone within earshot.

“Destroy…Earth?” Phantom repeated slowly, head tilting. It was slowly occurring to everyone that maybe a baby Ancient really was too young to deal with something like this. “Why?”

Green Lantern sighed, arms crossed. “I’m likely the cause. Earth is the home base for Lanterns in this sector. The previous planet destroyed was also a home base.”

Phantom’s eyes jerked up, his full attention on Green Lantern. “Previous planet destroyed? Where?” He paused, “And when? I have been feeling a little off.”

No one knew quite what to make of the strange comment, but Lantern continued anyway. “A planet in the neighboring sector, 2813. It has been eight days, and before long, that threat will be here.”

“Is it possible you know of a way to prevent the destruction of Earth?” Wonder Woman asked, but Phantom seemed distracted.

He removed his gloves and was looking at the back of his hands. When that didn’t seem to tell him what he wanted, he tugged on his sleeve, making the fabric go invisible in small sections so he could easily look at his skin beneath it without the cumbersome task of rolling his sleeves up.

He was covered in glowing freckles, just like on his face, but one by one the League members took notice of the way they moved. Phantom would twist his arm one way and then another and each set of freckles would be replaced by a completely new set of glowing little spots. When that didn’t show him what he wanted, he kept looking, checking both arms first before moving down his chest slowly.

The League could do nothing but watch the strangeness before them as their follow up questions went ignored.

When he got to a spot under his ribs, Phantom screeched. “It’s gone!”

“Phantom…?”

Phantom looked out the Watch Tower window, his face morphing into one of fury. His eyes shined brightly and whatever he was looking for, he clearly found.

“T̢̜̞̮ͭ̓ͫͦh̨̻̼͓͓̜ͭ̈͆ȃ̴̩ͅtͯ̚͏͇̮̖̙ ̡̭͎̝̟͇͙̏ͣ̑͛m̵̭͉͈̳̟͎͈̲̋̋o͈̮̫͓̪͔͐͠t͉̬̉͒̈́ͪ͠h͉̠̭͓̞͎̺͓ͥͥ͘e̅͗̔̿҉̞̪̺̮̗̜r͙̪̼͈̐̉͞ ̫̥̳̿̾͒͑͞f͔̟͈͍ͯ̊̏́ù̶̯̬̫͈͕c̲ͣ̓̿͠ͅk̦̘̖̭͕͉̹̥̈̍̈́ͤ͘e͚̬͗͡ͅr̛̤̩̺͂̃̇̉ͅ.”

To say the Justice League was surprised by the shift in the boys tone was an understatement.

“Yeah, i’ll stop your threat.” Phantom growled, easily leaving the summoning circle. He shifted right through the wall and directly into space without a care.

Silence filled the room, no one entirely sure what they’d done by summoning a baby Ancient. “So that happened.” Flash commented. “Are we still planning for doomsday?”

“We’ll see…” Constantine muttered. “Though if that kid gets hurt, might be bad for the universe.”

“Not what we wanted to hear, John.” Wonder Woman said, looking out the window. Nothing looked unusual to her.

In an hour's time, Phantom returned just as distracted as he’d been when he’d left. He remained seated in the air as he held what looked like a cracked marble in his hands. It was surrounded by a mist, and inside sparked with many different colors.

Phantom seemed to be sealing the crack, a smile on his face.

Batman was the one to approach, and if he was anxious it was hard to tell. “Phantom.” He greeted cautiously. “You’re back.”

“Uh huh.” Phantom said, eyes glittering happily at the marble. “I got rid of your problem. Earth is safe.”

“Got…rid of.” Batman repeated slowly, a tinge of disbelief in his voice.

“So we’re good?” Flash asked. “Good work, kid.”

“Yeah, he deserved it.” Phantom said, finally cradling the smooth marble in his palm.

Constantine was still smoking, but his eyes were narrowed. “Do i wanna know what you’re doin’?”

Phantom beamed. “I got my planet back! It was a little broken but i fixed it.”

“Your planet?” Green Lantern repeated, adrenaline hitting him. “The destroyed planet!?”

“Yep.” Phantom looked pleased with himself. “Now i just gotta set it back in time eight days to get everyone back on track and i can put it back where it belongs.”

“Put it…back.” Batman seemed to have trouble with the skill set of one teenager.”

It was Superman who slid closer with a disarmingly charming smile. “May i ask what kind of Ancient you are. I admit i don’t know much about them.”

Phantom perked up. “I’m the Ancient of Space!” He ignored Constantine’s groan from across the room. “I’m really glad you guys called me about this! It would have taken me a while to find a planet destroyed out of the natural timeline.”

“And you have time abilities?” Wonder Woman asked softly. Time and Space was a heady combination.

“Nope! But Clockwork does.” Phantom said. “He’ll do it for me.”

“Will he?” The Flash stared.

Phantom didn’t seem to notice the incredulous looks. As far as he was concerned, everyone was simply taking his explanations in stride. Tilting his head back his eyes shimmered with power. “Clockwork!” he called, voice reverberating oddly. No one missed Zatanna paling or Constantine cursing. No one had time to ask either before a tear appeared just to the right of Phantom. It split the very air apart in a green haze before a portal opened and a man floated out. Wrapped in a purple cloak, the man floated like Phantom did but had a ghostly tail instead of legs and off putting red eyes.

He had a staff donned with clock gears and mechanisms that ticked in an unsettling way. No one needed an explanation, which was good because Constantine wasn’t going to give one.

This was the Ancient of Time. They had two Ancients in the Watch Tower.

Phantom didn’t seem bothered and held out his marble with a smile. “Fix!” he asked cheerfully.

Clockwork turned from what appeared to be an adult man to an elderly man in the blink of an eye. “You know time is sensitive, Phantom. Not everything can be changed on a whim."

Phantom’s smile lessened. He looked back and forth from Clockwork to the marble and back to Clockwork again. “I’ll cry. Swear to the Ancients, i’ll start crying.”

The elderly Clockwork shifted back into the form of a young man. “Do you think tears will alter the timeline?”

Batman smiled, almost. He knew a mischievous teen trying to get his way when he saw one. That theory proved correct when Phantom honestly did begin to sniffle, eyes becoming damp.

“An asshole destroyed a piece of me.” Phantom said, lips wobbling. “I felt it. I didn’t feel good.”

Clockwork’s form shifted again, this time into the form of a young child. He heaved a sigh, “If you start weeping you’ll summon the others.”

Phantom nearly whimpered, holding out the marble still. Every member of the Justice League watched with bated breath.

Clockwork crossed his arms. “How far back do you want it?”

“Yay!” Phantom beamed immediately, impressing upon how young he must have been. “Eight days! Actually, maybe nine. That might be better for them. I’m sure the…Green Lantern…people… can explain that they lost little more than a week in order to be brought back. That’ll be fine, right?”

Green Lantern was too stunned by the question to answer but it was fine since it seemed to be rhetorical coming from the young Ancient.

Clockwork turned back into an adult and held his staff out over the marble Phantom held. There was no discernible change other than the hands on the staff’s clock face moving. Phantom was nearly bouncing in place which was interesting to see considering his feet weren’t on the floor.

“Thank you, Clockwork!” Phantom said, looking delighted and completely missing the way Clockwork just sighed fondly.

“Hurry along home before the yeti’s start to look for you.” Clockwork said in a fairly familiar tone.

“Yes, yes.” Phantom said distractedly, tossing the marble up in the air where it disappeared. He tugged at his black suit right over his ribs and did the same invisibility trick again. He shifted twice until he found the patch of skin that held the group of freckles he wanted.

No one was close enough to see for themselves, but Phantom crowed happily. “Good! It’s back where it’s supposed to be!”

“It’s back?” Batman asked, a hint in his voice saying he had a hundred more questions.

“Yep.” Phantom said. “It’s really annoying to me when someone destroys one of my stars or planets before their natural life cycles have worn out.”

“Is that a map of the galaxy on your skin?” Wonder Woman asked, charmed by the constellation of freckles across his nose and under his pointed ears.

“No.” Phantom said. “It’s a map of every universe on my skin. They overlap so sometimes i gotta hunt for the one i want a little.”

“Every…” Superman sounded like he had the wind knocked out of him.

“Come, Your Majesty.” Clockwork said, opening a shockingly green portal with his staff. “You’ve had your fun.”

“Okay, okay.” Phantom mumbled.

“Majesty?” Zatanna whispered, confusion coloring her tone.

Phantom whipped back around to look at her with a sheepish grin. “Ah, yeah. I’m the King of the infinite Realm. Let me know if anyone else messes with one of my planets! Bye now.”

The Ancients departed and Constantine started wheezing.

“I take it no one knew the baby Ancient was a king?” Flash asked, a very startled silence taking over the Watch Tower.

I know i originally said that the planet had been destroyed but that somehow turned into it being eaten or absorbed or something so Danny got it back.

I really just wanted Danny to find a missing planet on his skin and freaking out over it.

Feel free to take this idea, though i’m sure something like it exists already. ^__^

Master List

#dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #Danny Phantom #The youngest ancient #justice league #Clockwork #Danny feeling the loss of a planet #whole solar systems on Danny's skin #star freckles

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greenwitchfromthewoods · 1 month ago

Text

text message. l Joel Miller

a/n : a while ago i got a message from anon asking me to write something for joel. i managed to do it today. sorry you had to wait so long. i hope you like it.

warnings : pre-outbreak Joel, some angst, misunderstanding, age difference (about 10 years), suspected pregnancy, argument, Sarah and Tommy mentioned, lots of uncertainty and fear

[Joel Miller masterlist] [my masterlist]

He shouldn't have done that. It was crossing all boundaries, violating your privacy and trust, but he couldn't help himself. When your phone made a series of strange noises that indicated a message had been received and you were in the bathroom at a gas station, Joel reached for it and looked at the screen. A cold chill ran down his spine a second later.

"Two weeks late? Did you take a test? You should see a doctor. What did Joel say?"

A heavy stone landed squarely in his stomach, and he felt his head spin. “Fuck!” he groaned almost silently, shaking his hand as he placed the phone back where you’d left it.

He immediately guessed what you and your friend could have been talking about, he had no doubts. If you were pregnant, that complicated everything.

Joel Miller wasn't entirely sure if he should do it, but when he met you on one of his bar crawls with his younger brother Tommy, he felt like fate had finally favored him. He was almost thirty-six, had a teenage daughter, worked hard, and couldn't remember the last time he'd met a woman. You, on the other hand, were simply beautiful, talkative, with a charming smile on your lips. You were also almost ten years younger than him.

It didn't bother him as much on your first date, or your second, or when you kissed on the couch, or after the first time you had sex. Joel felt younger and happier with you, and everyone around him noticed the change in him.

He fell in love like a stupid teenager, and you didn't make it any easier for him. It was only after a few months that he started to wonder. Maybe dating you wasn't so wise? Maybe you were really too young for him?

When you would visit him at work, bringing him lunch or something, guys would often make fun of him. Joel wasn't as immune to this as he thought. His insecurities grew, and worries about whether he was doing the right thing also grew in his mind too.

And now this. Pregnancy. When Sarah was born, he was too young, and now he felt too old to be playing in diapers. What if you, too, disappeared, like Sarah's mother? Would he be able to cope? What if no woman saw the possibility of a permanent relationship with him, and when the baby came, she simply ran away?

"Hey. Is everything okay?"

He didn't even notice that you had returned and were already sitting next to him. He nodded uncertainly and cleared his throat.

"Yeah. Tommy called, something at the construction site." he lied, quickly starting the engine.

"Do you want to go there?"

"What? No, I don't have to." Joel replied, "Sarah has a game today."

He didn't say anything else the entire ride home, and then to the game you went to with them. He seemed strangely distant, but you were certain he was constantly thinking about work. Even when you suggested ice cream afterward, Joel showed almost no interest.

You dropped Sarah off at a friend's for a sleepover and you were sure that you and Joel would go to his place, but when he suddenly said, "I'll drop you home." You already knew something was wrong.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked as he pulled the truck up in front of your apartment. Once again, you spent the entire ride in silence, which wasn’t normal.

He shook his head. "No, everything's fine."

“Joel? Look at me, please.” He did it reluctantly, but eventually your eyes met. “You’ve been out of sorts all day. What’s wrong?”

"I've had a lot on my mind lately and..."

"Please, don't lie to me." You interrupted him. You weren't mad, he saw concern on your face. "Did something happen?"

“I…” he began, but the words were hard to get out of his throat. He felt your warm hand on his forearm and it broke him. “Are you pregnant?”

"W-What?" you blurted out, completely surprised.

"I saw, quite by accident, a message from your friend. You're two weeks late. Something about a test and a doctor. I need to know."

You looked at him with slightly parted lips, a small wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows. You couldn't gather your thoughts in your head, but Joel clearly couldn't stop himself from talking.

“I think about it all the time. You’re still young, you have plans,” he said, and you felt every word hit you harder. “I know we should be more careful. This whole thing between us is still new and uncertain. You’re so young, I shouldn’t have… Fuck. I fucked it up.”

"What the hell are you talking about, Miller?" you gasped, completely stunned by his words "What do you mean - too young? I..."

"Look at us. I have a teenage daughter, and you're at the beginning of your career. You can leave this town anytime you want, because there's nothing keeping you here. But what if you're pregnant? That complicates things like hell and..."

"Stop it!" you raised your hand in warning "You're talking nonsense! I knew how old you were from the beginning, I knew about Sarah and it didn't bother me."

Joel rolled his eyes. "Now you say that."

“Oh! And you’re a know-it-all!” you snorted angrily. “So I think it’s safe to say you took advantage of a young and fresh pussy.”

Joel gave you a stern look, but you didn't even blink. You were ready to fight him if he wanted to. You were aware of his fears and insecurities, but you thought that by this point you had already shown him how much you cared about him. Age was just a number to you, and ten years didn't make much difference when you weren't a teenager anymore.

"I never thought of you that way." he replied, clenching his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning slightly white.

"I feel different now." you replied, shrugging. "Because you're acting like you're just looking for an excuse to break up with me. Because you read some message on my phone? Please! That's pathetic!"

“Pathetic?!” Joel raised his voice. How could you be so indifferent to how your life might change? No one in their right mind would decide to have a child so soon. But of course, you were still young, the romantic vision of a family still lingered in your mind, and you didn’t realize how much it would affect you.

Joel wanted to say something else, but you suddenly grabbed your things and got out of the car slamming the door. He quickly got out after you.

"Did you take the test? When are you seeing the doctor?" he asked, catching you before the door.

"Leave me alone." you hissed, ripping your arm out of his grip. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think I do."

You looked at him in a way Joel had never experienced before. Your warm gaze turned hard and angry, your mouth a thin line, and your entire body took on a defensive stance. You had never argued like this before.

"Fine." you finally said. "I'll tell you. I have an appointment on Monday. Are you happy?"

"I'll go with you."

“Don’t be ridiculous, this doesn’t concern you at all,” you laughed nervously. “And it definitely doesn’t concern you now.”

Joel looked at you in surprise. So he's already screwed everything up? He's already erased those few really good months?

“I’m not pregnant,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “My last checkup showed I had ovarian cysts. They caused my periods to be irregular, and now my period is a few weeks late. The doctor said I should see him if that happens.”

"Cysts?" Joel repeated.

"Yes! I didn't tell you anything because I didn't see the need." you replied "I'm not pregnant, Joel. And you... You, fucked up."

You turned around and disappeared through the door before he had a chance to say anything.

Joel had all night to think about what had happened. All night without sleep, when he kept seeing your angry face in his mind, when he kept repeating your words and feeling worse by the moment. He picked up the phone several times to call you, but he kept giving up, terrified you wouldn't pick up.

What would he have done if you hadn't picked up? Would that have meant the end for both of you? He couldn't believe that his own fears and insecurities had led him to attack you so suddenly. He could have done it differently, he could have waited for you to say something. Instead, he had cornered you and forced you to admit to something that was clearly your own personal issue, one that you wanted to resolve on your own.

He knew nothing about women's health issues. When Sarah got her first period, he managed with the help of a nice store employee, and then his daughter took over. For Joel, a missed period meant pregnancy, and that meant panic and everything he had experienced before.

No, he didn't want to make excuses for his behavior. He had screwed up. He felt like you were disappointed in him and he had no idea what to do about it.

It was still early when he showed up at your place. You opened the door, sleepy, with ruffled hair, in one of those oversized t-shirts you slept in.

"Joel?" you mumbled hoarsely, rubbing your face, "Did something happen? Something with Sarah?"

He shook his head. "No. I had to see you. I had to... Fuck." He scratched the back of his neck, nervously shifting from foot to foot, "Can we talk? I, I need to know that I didn't completely fuck this up."

You looked at him for a moment in silence, as if you were considering his words in your head. It was a really long few seconds, but you finally pulled away, allowing Joel to step inside. The apartment was bathed in morning sunlight, and Joel's eyes immediately went to the few framed photos of him and Sarah that you had at your place. Another needle stabbed him in the heart.

"So?" you asked, folding your arms over your chest. "I'm listening."

"I don't know where to start." he mumbled completely sincerely.

"I suggest you start from the beginning."

"I'm sorry, darling. I'm sorry for everything I said. I'm a fucking idiot."

You tilted your head. "Good start."

Joel took a deep breath. He wanted to do it right, he wanted to take advantage of the chance he was given. Maybe it was the last one he had.

"I know now that I should have been honest with you from the beginning. You're the most amazing woman I've ever met, and I still can't believe you chose me. I kept thinking we weren't right for each other, that we were too different."

“Are you still thinking about age?”

He nodded. "Yeah. See, you're young, and I..."

You rolled your eyes and cursed loudly. “If you’re going to give me this age difference bullshit, maybe just leave. Jesus! That’s not twenty or fifty. Joel, I’m an adult, I work, I pay taxes. I get to decide who I’m with?”

“You think so now.”

“I thought so from the beginning! When I met you, the first thing I thought was that you have gorgeous eyes and really broad shoulders. I felt good with you, I liked you, and I think you’re really sexy. It has nothing to do with your age.” You took a deep breath and put your hands on your hips, like you were trying to explain something really obvious. “Sarah is amazing, I love spending time with her. I love you, even though sometimes you drive me crazy, and yesterday you really pissed me off. I didn’t tell you about the doctor because there was nothing to talk about. But if you had any suspicions, you should have come to me instead of getting even more upset. I felt like you were just looking for a reason to break up with me.”

“It’s not like that.” Joel took a step toward you. “When Sarah’s mother left us, I was left to fend for myself. Yes, there was Tommy and my mother to help us, but single parenting is no easy feat. I was certain you would disappear, too. Not only would you leave me with a child, but you would simply conclude that I was somehow flawed, that I wasn’t cut out to be with you. I guess I preferred sabotaging us rather than simply facing my fears.”

You looked at him, trying to understand his words. His face, eyes, and body language told you he wasn't lying. Joel was full of uncertainty and doubt, but you thought you were past that stage. You told him many times that you loved him, you didn't belittle his needs, and you always helped him with Sarah or around the house. And yet he felt all of this?

“I’m trying to understand you, Joel, I really am.” You finally said, sighing softly. “But I can’t be the only one in this relationship fighting for us. I feel like no matter what I say or do, you’ll find a reason why we can’t be together. Do you even love me?”

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, moving closer and taking your face in his hands. “You have no idea how much I love you. And that scares me. I’m always afraid you’ll find all my flaws.”

"You have a lot of them. I do too. But does it matter when we're happy together?"

No, it didn't matter. The fear of losing you showed Joel what really mattered to him. He cared about you more than he could admit. He saw how perfectly you fit into his family, always trying to help everyone and make everyone happy. He didn't think he'd ever feel the same way about anyone again.

"I'm sorry, baby. I don't know what I could do to fix this." He whispered, you felt tears welling up in your eyes at how much he was going through. "But I don't want to end what we have. I love you, I'm sure of that."

"You think so now." You replied, parroting his words.

He smiled slightly. “I’ve known this for a long time, and I think the knowledge scared me. The fear that you’d disappear and I’d be left alone with this feeling. I don’t want you to disappear. I want to stay, permanently.”

"I want to stay too, Joel. Don't push me away ever again."

"Never again, baby."

He kissed you, softly and tenderly, as if he was afraid he still might. But when you kissed him back, Joel felt an unimaginable sense of relief. He had you in his arms again, all the dark thoughts swirling in his head dissipated and he felt happiness fill him. Your arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you, letting him kiss you like there was no tomorrow.

You could get through this, together. By being more honest, by giving each other a chance at happiness and love, by supporting each other. Joel knew he would do anything to deserve you, and you couldn't imagine not giving him another chance.

“I’ll go to the doctor with you on Monday if you want,” he said as you poured him a fresh cup of coffee and sat down next to him at the table.

“If you want. I could use some support,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.

He kissed the top of your head and smiled. He would give you anything, and you never asked for much. You just wanted him to love you, and Joel wanted that too.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us

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inkskinned · 2 years ago

Text

no, actually, where is the whimsy?

my ex had a best friend named larry who asked me once: what do you think comes after irony?

we were at the bar where larry worked. it was a quiet night, and he'd hopped over to sit with us on the patron side. i swirled the lemon around my limoncello martini.

earnest positivity, i said, while my ex said, art self-destructs.

i stared at my ex. he stared at me.

his argument was the cinemasins argument: look how bad media is becoming! look at the loopholes and the dumb shit!

it was roughly 2011. galaxy print was still in. at the time, i had a favorite shirt that was a wolf howling at the moon. it got ripped in half in the wash and i honestly still mourn it. i dressed like effie stonem, because everyone did. and irony was the name of the thing. men liked MLP "ironically." the internet liked the kind of crass, "anti-mainstream" vibes of things like fuck romance, touch my butt and buy me pizza. we put cats in sunglasses everywhere, which was because we only liked things in irony.

and media had the same vibe in it: anti-hero white men would be "hard to love" and then storm off the scene. nobody was just earnestly trying to save the world: they were jaded, angry, unoriginal. mad you even asked them to try to help.

my ex ends up not being wrong. cinemasins becomes super popular. a lot of people start viewing media with this lens that is the cruelest, most jaded depiction. it's wrong for your character to have unexplained powers, even if the entire movie is about how strange it is she has unexplained powers - that is still considered a "loophole." characters make thoughtless, panicked choices? loophole. characters are actually kind people, despite hardship? loophole. features a woman doing literally anything without assistance? loophole. movies become hyper-aware of scrutiny, and now irony rules the media.

which means you go to a movie, and the character has to turn to the screen and say "beats me!!" or one of the side characters has to have some kind of quip like "are you seriously telling me that you think this is normal?" because nothing can happen in earnest. like a sitcom laugh track, we now anticipate the fourth-wall break: the moment that the media acknowledges it is telling a story. the media has to apologize for itself, or else someone like my ex rolls their eyes.

but here's the thing: i wasn't wrong either.

the difference might be that i am (and always have been) so soft-hearted that any crack in the light of this world will spear me into the ground. and i was the poet in the relationship. (he thought that was the same thing as being naïve and stupid). i was making things daily. i knew how all of us artists are driven by some strange desire to evolve. he notably liked to critique art, not to create it.

so yes, i've made things that are bitter and angry and even ironic. i've made long, sharp poems with all capital letters, and i've made poems about how the silence stretches out like a song. someone wrote once that we will spend our whole lives just circling the place we grew up. i think it's more that we spend our whole lives trying to remake a home. i think it's that as we age, it becomes less exciting to build the castle on the beach - we become aware of erosion, of windforce. we realize what we really want is to come home to our dog, castle or not.

and while art in the foreground is mired in white male violence and irony, and aggression, and not taking anything seriously - i don't think that's true of all art. i think more and more artists are leaning in to the things we love. the world has changed so much. they have taken so many things from us. the only thing we have left is love. at the bottom of the moving box - all we get is the faint sense that we have to appreciate what little we've got. i can't enjoy this stuff ironically anymore: what room do i have for irony? if it makes me happy, that is an amazing thing. there are so few happy places left for me. i want to be happy because of how leaves shiver beside each other like nestling birds. i want to be happy because of the color pink, and how magenta doesn't exist. i have spent so much of this life suffering, i have earned my right to a gentle ending. if nothing matters, i get to assign meaning to the nothing. i get to create meaning. i am an artist first and foremost, which means creation is my thing.

where is the whimsy? wherever i fucking put it. because if this is my last fucking chance to do any good in this world - i want to do it earnestly. i want to write things that make you happy. that make people feel heard and seen. what comes after irony has to be positivity.

it was close to my 21st birthday. in 7 years, i would end up writing a book about this relationship, which is hopefully coming out somewhere around May 2024. i come back to this bar scene in my memories a lot. i keep thinking of how pale my ex was. the look that crossed his face. how i looked back at him. how for a moment, both of us couldn't recognize the other person. like the gulf between us was a suddenly wide and cavernous thing. like we were alien to each other. he never took my opinion seriously, and he always seemed surprised whenever his manic-pixie-dream-girl ever broke free of the plot. like in the whole time we were together, i wasn't human enough.

this knowledge: where he said nothing comes after, my only instinct was what comes after is love.

#spilled ink #writeblr #this is a real story lol #looking back i liked larry as a person SO much more than my ex hollyyyyy shitttt #compulsory heterosexuality will do you DIRTY #edit to correct effies name my apologies to effie and effies family

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ceoofsammonroe · 1 year ago

Text

Steamy - Sam Monroe Smut

Summary: Sam has been your best friend since you were kids. When he starts avoiding you and acting strange, you decide to take matters into your own hands and things get steamy…

Warnings: penetrative sex, shower sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (Sam receiving), handjob (Sam receiving), teasing, voyeurism, masturbation (Sam receiving), inexperienced!Sam, Sam finishes too fast, multiple orgasms (Sam receiving), thigh-fucking, nipple play?, slight dacryphilia, subby!Sam, edging, Sam whimpers a lot, maybe a smidge of degradation, Sam is down-horrendous.

Masterlist

Sam rested his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall as he relentlessly fucked his fist. His eyes were squeezed shut, trying to block out the guilt as his mind raced with perverted thoughts.

It wasn’t his fault, really. He hadn’t intended on showering in your bathroom as an excuse to touch himself. You had just decided to wear one of his old t-shirts today and that…that had sent him over the edge.

Sam had been fighting off these feelings for a long time. If he was honest with himself, they’d always been there. When you were kids, it was easier. He didn’t understand the mechanics of all of it. He just knew he liked being around you more than anyone else, so he spent all the time he could with you. You were best friends, after all. That was normal.

Then, puberty happened. You developed tits and he developed an innate need to see them, touch them, taste them, anything.

It was harder now. You were both in college and still spending all of your time with each other. Every waking moment of Sam’s was spent thinking of you, watching you, imagining all of the ways he wanted to be with you.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be your friend — he loved being your friend. You were the only person in the world that ever actually saw him for who he was. It was just that he couldn’t escape these desires that grew stronger and stronger every time you smiled at him or batted your lashes or laughed or…

Yeah, he was fucked.

He knew that he needed to get his feelings for you in check. His biggest fear was doing some dumb shit to lose you. That’s why he’d been trying to create just a little distance lately. He only resorted to that when he felt like he wouldn’t be able to control himself around you. It just so happened that, lately, that was almost all of the time.

When he’d gotten to your place today, he had told himself that he wouldn’t let his attraction get the better of him — that he’d be normal — but, the minute he saw you in his shirt he felt like he could’ve melted into the earth. It was so cute, hugging your frame perfectly and just barely covering those tight ass shorts you had on underneath.

He’d tried to contain himself, he really had. He tried looking anywhere else but at you, tried thinking of every unsexy thing his mind could possibly dream up, but his efforts were all in vain. No matter what he did, his gaze would eventually wander back over to you. His mind would run wild with different scenarios. You in his shirt with nothing underneath. Him bending you over, lifting the material up just enough to take you from behind. Giving you more of his clothes to wear so that everyone knew you were his.

He hadn’t even realized how painfully hard he had gotten or how labored his breathing had become until you asked, “Are you alright, Sammy?”

Fuck, he almost came in his pants from the sweet sound of your voice as you said his nickname that he only allowed you to call him.

He felt his face flame as his eyes widened and he pulled the covers from your bed further over himself to make sure his erection was hidden.

“Y-yeah, fine,” he sputtered, trying to will himself to get a fucking grip.

“Are you sure?” you asked, reaching your hand out to touch his forehead. “You look flushed.”

He had to fight not to moan as your skin came in contact with his, so soft and tender. Your eyebrows were scrunched up in that adorable way they did whenever you were worried about him.

He wanted to see them scrunched up for other reasons, for all the pleasure he knew he could give you if you let him try. He wanted to hear you say his name like a plea of desperation, begging him for more, more, more.

“I think I just need to take a shower,” he muttered, quickly getting up and rushing to the bathroom before you could see any evidence of his arousal.

He paced in the bathroom, fisting at his hair as he tried to calm down. This was getting a bit pathetic. He couldn’t even be in the same fucking room as you without being embarrassingly close to coming untouched.

He stripped down, tossing his clothes to the floor as he stepped into the shower and shut the glass door behind him. He turned the water on to the coldest setting, cringing as he stood beneath it.

C’mon, this needs to work, he thought to himself as he shook from the cold. The icy water caused goosebumps to erupt on his skin, but did nothing to calm the raging hard-on that was still standing proud and aching. He groaned in frustration, hitting his head against the wall as he tried his best to fight off his arousal.

Finally, he gave in and wrapped his fist around his cock. He gave himself a few slow, guilt-ridden strokes as he squeezed his eyes shut. He hissed at the feeling, relief slowly flooding through his abdomen.

He knew that he shouldn’t be doing this. Touching himself to the thought of you was already bad enough, but touching himself to the thought of you while you were in the next room? If only you knew how fucked up he truly was. You’d never look at him again…

He fought the urge to moan at the thought of your hand replacing his, or better yet — your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispered, biting his bottom lip as he thrusted into his hand.

He needed to get this over with. He needed to handle his problem and get back out there before you started to suspect that something was wrong.

He was desperately chasing his release but, despite how badly he wanted it, his own touch wasn’t getting him there this time.

He needed more.

You had worn his shirt on purpose.

You were tired of him avoiding the situation — avoiding you.

It hadn’t taken you long to figure out why he’d been acting so strange lately. You’d noticed the way his eyes would linger on your form, the way his face would flush when you called his name, the way he’d try to discretely adjust himself in his pants when you’d get too close to him.

You’d always wondered why he’d never had a girlfriend. It wasn’t that girls didn’t desire him. He had just always been oblivious to their advances.

In actuality, you’d realized, he was just too focused on you.

You’d always harbored feelings for Sam. Ever since you were kids. He was your first childhood crush. You’d never told him, though, too scared that he’d tease you relentlessly for it. It wasn’t until lately that you realized those feelings had been reciprocated.

Once you’d made the realization, you’d started trying to push him further and further. You’d hoped that he would snap, finally admitting to you what he’d been feeling.

He never did, though. In fact, he did the opposite. He kept avoiding you, frustrating you to no end.

You huffed out a sigh, looking over at the clock on your bedside table. He’d been in the shower for almost twenty minutes. You gnawed on your lip, contemplating your next move.

Finally, with a newfound determination, you got up from your bed and walked toward your bathroom. You were tired of waiting for him to get the hint. He’d left you no choice. You needed to take matters into your own hands.

You opened the bathroom door, shutting it behind you as you called out, “What’s taking you so long in here, Sammy? I have to shower, too, ya know?”

Sam yelped, startled at your entry. You could only barely make out his figure behind the frosted glass, but it made your heart race nonetheless.

“J-Jesus, don’t you knock?” Sam sputtered, his voice laced with nervous energy.

“It’s my house,” you retorted, crossing your arms as you leaned against the sink.

You heard Sam sigh before he said, “I’ll be out in a minute just…give me a second.”

You began undressing before you could talk yourself out of it. This was a bold move, even for you, but you knew that Sam needed something to be shoved in his face for him to realize what was right in front of him.

“You’ve already been in here for twenty minutes and I have things to do later,” you grumbled, pretending to be inconvenienced. “I’m just coming in.”

“W-what?!” Sam stuttered, his voice nearly jumping up an octave.

You opened the glass door, stepping into the shower as you tried to appear nonchalant. Sam quickly covered himself with his hands, his entire body flushing red as he looked up at the ceiling to avoid looking at your naked frame.

You took this time to unabashedly look him over. His cupped hands only left little to the imagination. You bit your bottom lip, drinking in the sight of him. Arousal immediately began pooling between your thighs as you stepped underneath the water.

You yelped at the temperature, jumping back and adjusting the valve.

“Christ, Sammy, why the hell is it so cold in here?” you asked, despite knowing exactly why he’d been taking a cold shower.

“I-I just like it cold, okay?” Sam retorted, attitude biting with his words.

You turned the knob until the water ran hot, letting the steam fill the confines of the shower. You sighed, contentedly, stepping back under the water.

“Much better,” you breathed, practically moaning as the warm water washed away the tension in your muscles.

As the steam filled the air, Sam’s head was spinning. It was suffocating. He was surrounded by your scent. It took everything in him to keep his eyes glued to the ceiling. Even the glimpses he caught of your body from the corner of his eye were nearly enough to make him fall to his knees.

He had a difficult enough time keeping it together around you when you were fully clothed, how could he be expected to keep his composure when you were naked and wet a foot away from him?

He could feel his still-hard cock pulsing beneath his hands as he tried his best to cover himself. He felt like he’d somehow entered one of his wet dreams. Confusion and arousal fogged his mind as he tried to make sense of what was happening. The two of you had never even seen each other naked, much less showered together.

He refused to let himself believe that this could mean that you wanted him the same way he wanted you. He wouldn’t give himself that kind of false hope. He could only pray that he’d be able to get through this without making a complete fool out of himself.

You reached for the shampoo, lathering it into your hair. You smirked when you heard Sam breathe in a little too deeply. Glancing back at him, he still had his head facing toward the ceiling.

“You don’t have to break your neck trying not to look at me,” you laughed, rinsing the shampoo from your hair. “It’s not like you’ve never seen tits before.”

“I’ve never seen yours…” Sam mumbled, quietly, a new blush rising to his cheeks.

“Mine are just like any others,” you shrugged, brushing your conditioner through your hair with your fingers.

Sam had to bite his tongue to keep from responding that nobody could be like you. He was fighting so hard to keep his gaze averted but now you were practically inviting him to look at you. Even on his strongest day, there was no chance he could pass up the opportunity. He’d just look once, he told himself. Just enough of a glance to embed the image into his brain for when he jacked himself off to the thought of you.

He took a deep breath before stealing a quick look over at you. He involuntarily squeezed his dick, trying not to come on the spot. None of his fantasies could’ve prepared him for the way you’d look standing naked in front of him, water dripping from your body.

He forced himself to look up at your face instead of your tits — your goddamned perfect tits — but that didn’t help his situation in the slightest. Not when you were smirking at him like you were privy to some secret that he was not. Or when you were batting your lashes, sending water drops down your cheeks. Then you bit your lip and Jesus fucking Christ he felt every cell in his body burn at the sight.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the way his eyes fought between looking at your face and looking at your chest. You could sense the stress he was putting himself through, and almost felt bad for what you were doing. You weren’t going to stop, though. Not when you finally had him right where you wanted him.

You moved to grab the bottle of soap, intentionally letting it fall from your grasp. Out of instinct, Sam reached out to catch it. You gasped quietly at the sight of his erection springing forward into view.

He was big. Bigger than you’d expected. He was hard and leaking, his tip red and aching. He followed your gaze down, his eyes widening as he realized what you were looking at. He quickly handed you the bottle of soap back, moving to cover himself again.

“You know,” you started, smirking as you poured the soap into your hand, “if you need to take care of that, you can. I don’t mind.”

“W-what?” Sam coughed, his face a deep shade of red. “No! No way.”

“It’s natural, Sammy,” you shrugged. “I do it all the time. Besides, it looks real painful. I won’t watch if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Sam wanted the earth to swallow him whole in that moment. He didn’t think his skin could burn any hotter than it was right then. You were teasing him, torturing him.

He didn’t know which part was worse — the way you said his name, the mental image of you touching yourself, or the attention you had paid to his predicament. His body felt like it was going to erupt into flames at any given moment.

You had to know. You had to. There was no way that all of this was just some random coincidence. The two of you had never breached that line of friendship and now, here you were, telling him to touch himself in front of you.

He couldn’t do that. There would be no coming back from that. There would be no way that he could recover. He’d come the minute he touched his dick if your eyes were on him, and how would he explain that?

However, you had said you wouldn’t watch…and he did really really need the relief…

Sam bit his bottom lip, breathing heavily as he contemplated his options. He knew that he shouldn’t, but the offer was so tempting…

“You promise you won’t watch?”

Your smirk grew as Sam gave in to his desires, just like you knew he would. You crossed your heart with your finger and Sam squeezed his eyes shut as his gaze was unintentionally brought back down to your chest.

Giggling, you turned back around to face the other side of the shower. You didn’t miss the way Sam’s eyes travelled down to your ass as you did. You began lathering the soap into your skin as you heard the wet sounds of his fist stroking his dick over the hum of the shower.

You bit your lip, focusing on the way he let little breaths escape him. You could imagine how hard he was trying to refrain from making any other noises. You wanted to hear him, wanted to know exactly how he was feeling.

Curiosity and the need to push him further getting the better of you, you asked, “Are you always this quiet when you jack off?”

He sucked in a breath and sputtered, “Jesus, fuck, you…you can’t talk to me right now.”

You stifled a giggle, feigning innocence as you said, “Why not, Sammy?”

“Don’t say my name,” he practically pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I thought it would help,” you laughed, done beating around the bush. “Don’t you usually imagine me saying your name when you do this?”

You turned back around to face him, cocking your head to the side. His eyes widened and his hand stopped moving as his mouth opened and closed repeatedly.

Your mouth practically watered at the sight of him, chest flushed and heaving, his fist squeezed tightly around his erection.

“W-what…I don’t…I haven’t…” Sam stuttered, trying to come up with some kind of denial to your statement.

“Oh, come on,” you huffed, rolling your eyes playfully. “I’m not oblivious and you aren’t exactly subtle.”

Sam’s face turned an even deeper shade of red as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Relax, Sammy, it’s okay,” you said, beginning to slowly lather the soap into your skin. “Keep going.”

“What?” He gulped, eyes shooting open as they focused on the way your hands moved across your body in an agonizingly tempting motion.

“Keep going, Sammy,” you repeated, not taking your eyes off of him.

He released a shuddered breath, licking his lips as his eyes locked back on yours. Slowly, he began to move his fist again.

His jaw fell slack as his gaze followed the motion of your hands, teasing him as you trailed suds across your chest. His hand moved faster, his eyelids fluttering as a strained noise sounded from his throat.

“Is this what you think about, Sammy?” you taunted, moving your hands lower down your stomach.

Sam gasped, nodding his head as he muttered, “Uh-huh.”

His chest heaved with heavy breaths, his hips thrusting into his fist. His hooded eyes were dark with desire as they traveled over your body. His movements became sloppy, his brows knitting together.

You could tell he was close, soft sounds involuntarily escaping his lips. His muscles were visibly tensing as his breaths started to come out in short spurts.

You’d had enough of being a bystander. Every nerve in your body was alight with desire and you wanted to close the distance between you two. You were done playing this game. If he was going to come, you wanted it to be by your hands.

Sam let out an involuntary whine of protest as you grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away from himself. His eyes widened as you moved him until his back was pressed against the cold shower wall.

“W-what are you…what’s happening…oh, fuck.”

Sam’s questions were silenced the minute you pressed yourself against him. He gasped, clenching his fists by his side, seemingly using all of his restraint to keep from touching you.

He looked down at you, his gaze pleading and questioning as he asked, “What is this?”

“I was tired of waiting for you to make the first move,” you shrugged, grabbing his face.

His brows furrowed, confusion etched into his features. His mouth opened and closed, as if trying to form the words he wanted to say.

“Waiting for…what do you mean?”

“God, you’re so oblivious,” you mumbled, pulling his face down to yours and pressing your lips against his.

He immediately buckled, leaning into the kiss. He couldn’t help but groan into your mouth, a sound that betrayed the intensity of his arousal. The pressure building in his groin grew, his need growing at an unbearable pace. He arched his hips forward, desperate for contact. You pulled back, biting your lip as you peered up at him.

Sam held his breath, the moment teetering on the edge of ecstasy. His heart hammered so loud that it threatened to drown out the sound of the shower. His eyes were dizzy and unfocused as he looked down at you. This was both the most exhilarating and most terrifying moment of his life. The anticipation was agonizing, maddening.

You glanced down at his pouted lips, as if daring him to make a move. His tongue darted out, flicking across them as his gaze moved between your eyes and your mouth.

Finally, after working up the courage, he leaned forward. You grinned as you tilted your head back, keeping your lips just out of reach. He furrowed his eyebrows, releasing a shaky breath before trying again. You let his lips barely brush against yours before you dodged him again, smirking at the teasing game you were playing with him.

He looked at you with pleading eyes, desperation etched into his features, as a needy whine sounded in his throat. He whispered your name, fists tightening as every muscle in his body tensed with longing.

“Please,” he whispered, his jaw clenching with the effort to keep his composure.

With that one word, he completely crumbled your resolve. His eyes were dark and glassy with desire and unshed tears and you were prepared to give him anything he asked for.

You tangled your fingers in his wet hair, pulling him into a heated kiss. His lips immediately parted, devouring your own. He kissed you like he was starved, like you were his only source of oxygen after he’d been suffocating with need.

There was still a hesitancy in his actions, a part of him that was restraining himself. Whether it was out of fear or lack of knowledge, you didn’t hesitate to guide him.

Your fingertips trailed down his arms, causing him to shiver. You grabbed his hands and placed them on your hips. He moaned into your mouth, his touch instantly beginning to wander.

The urgency in his kiss increased, his hands roaming your back, your sides, your legs. Years of built up tension came bubbling to the surface as you both began to drown in each other.

Sam’s voice was low and husky, barely coherent against your lips as he whispered, “Don’t stop.”

The pressure between his legs was a stinging reminder of his desperation. The need within him was leaking with each touch, each kiss. He reveled in the control you wielded over him. Sam’s mind was lost in a sea of lust. This was a moment he’d dreamed about for years. The thought of it was almost too much, the entire situation overwhelming.

You guided his hands up to your chest and Sam wasted no time in palming your tits. He squeezed gently, kissing you with blazing fervor. When his thumbs experimentally swiped across your nipples, you let out a sigh of pleasure against his lips.

Sam’s brain short-circuited the minute he heard your reaction. His hips surged forward, pushing his aching erection between your clenched thighs. He had been so worked up and the pressure provided just the right amount of friction. He gasped, letting out a strangled moan as he clutched onto you. His eyes rolled back as an orgasm ripped through him, instinctively continuing to thrust between the plush skin of your thighs.

Sam panted, slowly opening his eyes again as he came down from the high. His entire body flushed at the revelation of what had just occurred. He took in your amused expression, groaning in embarrassment as he buried his face into your neck.

You stifled a giggle, gently rubbing his back as you whispered, “It’s okay, Sammy. It happens.”

He whimpered against your skin, wrapping his arms around you. He was torn between wishing he could disappear, never having to face you again, and wanting to stay in this moment forever.

“Besides,” you smirked, leaning down to pepper gentle kisses across his shoulder, “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Sam inhaled, sharply, his breath hot against your neck. His body instantly responded, his arousal already stirring again at the prospect alone.

You grabbed his face, lifting his head back up to meet his gaze. His cheeks were still tinged pink, bringing out the bright blue of his dilated eyes.

You traced his swollen lips with your thumb and asked, “Do you think you can do it again for me?”

“Mhm,” he responded, nodding eagerly. “I’ll do anything for you.”

You grinned, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “Promise?”

He pulled you into him, closing the gap between you so that you couldn’t pull away again. He kissed you passionately, groaning as you bit down on his bottom lip.

“Promise,” he mumbled into the kiss, “anything you want.”

You reached up to grab his chin, tilting it to the side as you slowly kissed down his neck. His eyes fluttered shut, his body quivering at the tender attention. He cradled your head with a trembling hand, urging you on as your lips made their way across his skin.

Sam whimpered when you nipped at his pulse point, the hand in your hair tightening as you gently sucked a dark mark into the pale skin. You kissed across his chest, letting your hands run down his sides. He gasped as your teeth grazed over one of his nipples.

Your lips continued their descent down his body as you slowly sank to your knees in front of him. Sam let out a shaky breath, whispering your name as his legs nearly gave out.

You blinked up at him, water drops coating your lashes, as you rubbed your hands up and down his thighs.

“You’ll do anything I want?” you asked, kissing across his hips.

“Uh-huh,” he rasped, licking his lips as he nodded his head. “Anything you want. I swear it.”

Your mouth watered as you sat eye-level with his dick that was steadily twitching back to life. He gasped as you took him into your hand, his fists clenching tightly by his sides. You slowly began to stroke him, watching as he bit his lip to try and hold back the sounds threatening to spill from his lips.

“Then I want to hear how good it feels, Sammy,” you told him, pressing a teasing kiss to the tip.

“Shit,” he cursed, hardening again in your grip.

Your tongue traced a line up his shaft, slowly circling it around the head of his dick before taking him entirely into your mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, panting as he gripped the shower wall for support. “That’s…a-ah…that’s really good.”

The sight of you was overwhelming. He had only ever pictured you this way in his dirtiest dreams. You, on your knees with your lips wrapped around his cock, gazing up at him like the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed, peering down at you through hooded lids. “Your mouth feels so fucking good.”

You watched his chest heave as you worked him, using your hand to cover what your mouth couldn’t fit. His fist was still tangled in your hair, but he didn’t dare attempt to control your movements.

Sam’s eyes rolled back as he felt himself hit the back of your throat, the sensation causing his hips to stutter. You swallowed around him and his entire body threatened to crumble. Strings of lewd moans and whimpers escaped his lips as his back arched off of the wall.

“Oh, god,” he panted, throwing his head back against the shower wall, “I’m…fuck…I’m gonna…”

You pulled off of him and he let out a whine, thrusting to desperately chase your lips. You grabbed his hips, holding them still as you rose back up to your feet.

“Why’d you stop?” Sam pouted, scrunching his eyebrows together in desperation. “I was so close.”

Your hands roamed his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart beneath it, as you looked up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

“I didn’t think you’d want to stop before getting to be inside of me, but if you’d rather settle for my hands then I can keep going,” you taunted, cocking your head to the side.

“No,” he croaked out, his voice breaking off into a desperate moan at the mere thought of that privilege. “I wanna be inside you. Please, let me be inside of you.”

He clutched at you, pulling you into him as he crashed his mouth against yours. You immediately responded to the kiss, parting your lips and tasting his tongue with your own.

Without breaking the kiss, you pulled him forward and switched your positions so that your back was now pressed against the shower wall.

You reached down, grabbing his dick and stroking it as you lined it up with your entrance. He gasped, breaking apart to rest his forehead against yours. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he looked down between your bodies, watching you tease them finally joining together.

“Please, don’t keep teasing me,” he begged, his voice hoarse with need. “I can’t take it.”

You wrapped a leg around his waist and Sam held his breath, his mouth falling open as you guided his hips to slowly sheath into you. As his length filled you, stretching you out with a delicious burn, you couldn’t help but let out a breathy moan.

Once he was buried to the hilt, his hips flesh against your own, he finally released his breath in a strangled whimper.

“You’re so tight, fuck,” he breathed, unable to take his eyes away from the sight of you wrapped around him.

“Fuck me, Sammy,” you whispered, watching as his gaze snapped up to meet yours.

His breath hitched as he nodded, his body trembling with nervous anticipation. He pulled back, almost completely out of you, before pushing back in with a slow, experimental thrust.

You both gasped at the feeling, moaning into the shared air between your mouths. He repeated the motion again, familiarizing himself with the way your body practically pulled him in.

His thrusts got faster as his lips found yours again in a heated kiss. You clutched onto his shoulders for support, feeling every nerve in your body ignite in flames of pleasure.

“You feel so good,” you mumbled, arching into him. “Such a perfect fit.”

Sam groaned against your lips, his hips picking up the pace. He pulled back to look at you, his eyes dark with desire.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he confessed, the dam of his emotions suddenly breaking as he fucked into you. “I-I dreamed about you, every day. You were all…ah…I ever wanted.”

“I know, Sammy, I know,” you panted, reaching up to kiss him again. “I’ve always felt the same way, you were just too blind to notice.”

He whimpered at the revelation, his thrusts becoming more urgent. He grabbed your waist, using it as leverage as his hips snapped up into yours.

“Fuck,” he whined, breathing out your name. “I-I’m getting close. I’m not gonna be able to last.”

“I need you to hold on just a little longer, Sammy,” you told him, earning a desperate whimper as his eyes grew glassy again.

You grabbed one of his hands, guiding his thumb to your clit. You moved it in slow circles, showing him how to touch you. He picked up the action quickly, moving his fingers on their own accord.

You moaned at the added stimulation, feeling Sam’s hips stutter as you squeezed around him. Ragged breaths wracked through him as he tried desperately to hold on for you.

“Wanna hear you, Sammy,” you prompted.

A single tear drop fell down his cheek from the sheer effort of keeping his climax at bay as he began to mindlessly ramble.

“You feel so good. Squeezin’ around me all tight and warm. Could just stay buried in you forever. Never wanna stop. I’ll do anything to satisfy you. Anything you want. I’ll get on my hands and knees if you ask me to. Just wanna make you happy. Just wanna keep feelin’ you like this.”

He kissed down your neck, needing to occupy his mouth. He buried his face against your chest, gasping and whimpering as his movements chased the high he desperately craved.

“No one else gets to have me like this,” you promised, feeling that familiar knot of pleasure tightening in the pit of your stomach. Each stroke of his thumb against your clit, paired with the tip of his dick repeatedly brushing that spot inside of you, pushed you closer and closer to the edge. “You’re the only one I want, Sammy. The only one who can make me feel this way.”

He let out a strained cry against your skin, his fingers gripping the plush skin of your waist tighter.

“Please, I need to come,” he begged, the desperation making his voice raw. “I need it, baby, please.”

The sweet sounds of his pleading was the final thread that unraveled the knot.

“Come for me, Sammy,” you breathed.

You felt the white hot pleasure course through your veins as you tightened around him, feeling your climax wash over you in a tidal wave.

He came with a cry of your name, clutching onto you as he continued to thrust into you. His vision seemed to black out as he finally let go, giving you everything.

The world around you seemed to fade as you both came down from the mutual high. Sam’s body relaxed into yours, his hands still trembling as you both tried to catch your breath. You settled into a blissful haze, engulfed by the warmth of the shower.

You held him close to you, running your fingers soothingly through his hair as you smiled lazily, “You done avoiding me now?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, grinning sheepishly. He nuzzled into your neck, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “Never gonna avoid you again.”

“Good,” you responded, “it would be a dick move to avoid your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Sam asked, his head snapping up as he looked at you with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Well, yeah,” you grinned, biting your lip. “Unless you’d rather this just be a one time thing.”

“No!” Sam interjected, quickly, shaking his head. “I want this to be an all the time thing. Every day. Multiple times a day, if possible.”

You rolled your eyes, giggling as you playfully shoved him. He laughed, his entire face lighting up with joy and relief as he hugged you to him.

“You know, it was kind of a creeper move to barge in on me in the shower,” he joked, looking down at you with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Hey, you were the one jacking off to me in my own house!” you argued, laughing as you poked his chest.

He grabbed your hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss your knuckles before grabbing your face and sweetly kissing your lips.

He hummed softly and whispered, “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that.”

You beamed up at him, feeling your heart flutter in his embrace. You used up the remaining hot water to actually shower off, tending to each other as you did. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was how it was always meant to be.

Maybe it’s true what they say. Everything happens for a reason.

#hayden christensen smut #hayden christensen #sam monroe #Sam Monroe smut #smut #smut requests #Hayden Christensen fanfiction #Sam Monroe fanfiction #Hayden Christensen imagine #Sam Monroe imagine #Drabble #one shot #life as a house #life as a house smut

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loveletterlore · 4 days ago

Text

bucky needs a break ♡ b.b. x reader

pairing: thunderbolts!bucky barnes x thunderbolts!fem!reader THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS

summary: being a part of the team has had a strange effect on your lives, for you it has allowed you more freedom while for bucky it had given him more work - and the man needs a break.

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI smut, not an established relationship, use of pet names [doll, darling, babygirl, baby], kissing, touching, fingering, oral [f receiving], penetration [p in v], unprotected sex, cream pie, straight up porn, reader is described to have a vagina, aftercare, subspace if you squint

word count: 5.1k

authors note: i can't believe i just wrote 5k words of smut, strangely proud of myself, hope you enjoy! <3

Family life with the New Avengers wasn’t exactly what you had signed up for when Bucky had called you, asking for your help with investigating Valentina’s dark web goings-on. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission, finding Yelena, Walker and Ava and getting them to testify before the court. If only it had been so simple.

Nowadays, you found yourself amongst a team of misfits, the equivalent of a collage on a schoolgirl’s moodboard. Yelena and Bucky took most of the public facing work, being the two members with the least amount of public disturbances - which in itself is a baffling statement - while Ava and John tended to work background. Alexei, well, Alexei did what Alexei wanted and there wasn’t much any of you could do about that.

Bob was still largely unaware of what had happened to form the team, appointing himself the New Avengers #1 Cheerleader and Dishwasher. It had taken a couple of months to get over everything the Void had unearthed, a couple of months to stop seeing his eyes glow every time you looked at Bob.

Since then, daily life had consisted of more media and publicity than missions and saving people, which had taken a while to get used to. Bucky often found himself pacing the tower, already having experienced the world of politics through his time in congress and not wanting to get into it all over again. Yelena, on the other hand, finally felt like she was doing some good, helping people in the way that she had needed in the past.

For you, it was bittersweet. A part of you missed going on missions with the team, missed the moments in between the fighting where someone would tell a joke and nothing else would matter. In comparison, it was lovely not being woken up at 3am by some emergency that needed immediate attention. Some of the day-to-day normalities of modern life had seeped into your routine, making you feel more like a domestic goddess than a kick-ass assassin.

The abundance of free time had allowed you and the team to get to know each other better, beyond the basic questions of “who designed your suit?” and “how much ammo do you carry?”. Genuine friendships had formed as you learned of everyone’s pasts, likes and annoying habits. At least, these friendships had formed with most of the team.

Bucky hadn’t been too keen to join in with the morale building, usually holding back with tablet in hand, focused on the comms that never seemed to stop.

Sitting in the main room of the tower, the team were dotted across the sofas. Bob sat in a beanbag in the corner, listening in to the ongoing conversation while keeping his eyes on the windows.

You glanced around, eyes searching for Bucky, but coming up empty. It wasn’t uncommon for him to arrive later or leave earlier, he was never there for a whole conversation.

“But Yelena,” Alexei bellowed, standing with his arms open. “What is so wrong with wanting my name to live on in the world?”

“I don’t think starting a bear fighting show is really the way to go about it,” Yelena rolled her eyes, leaning back in her seat.

Alexei spun, eyes brushing over the rest of the team, “Bears are strong! Bears are fighters! I know in my soul, I am a bear.”

You just blinked at Alexei, questioning so many of the things he said.

“I think you’re onto something,” John stated, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut up, Walker,” Ava replied, a bored expression on her face.

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of the doors opening, revealing Bucky in his tactical gear. Your heart jumped at the sight and you shifted in your seat, turning towards him.

“Ah, Bucky!” Alexei started towards him before Yelena stood, marching towards Bucky.

“Bucky, have you seen this?” she pulled her phone from her pocket, turning him away from the group.

Your heart sank, a part of you hoping that he would have come to join the group. Bucky’s eyes caught yours for a second and you recognised the feelings instantly, the man was exhausted. It all added up - longer hours, being one of the public facing members of the team, constantly on the go - Bucky needed a break.

You began to wrack your brain for ideas on how to help him, knowing all too well the feeling that he was experiencing. The group continued chatting, Alexei louder than the rest, and while you were sure they were distracting each other, you stood from your spot on the sofa and headed towards Bucky and Yelena.

“Hey,” you spoke softly as the two turned to look at you, expressions serious and eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry, I just need Bucky for a moment before I head out.”

Bucky looked at Yelena before looking back to you, Yelena giving a quick nod before going back to the group.

“What’s up?” Bucky asked, hands settling on his hips as he turned his attention to you.

“Can you help me with something in the training room?” you asked, eliciting a curious expression on his face.

Sighing, he nodded and held out his arm for you to lead the way. Instead of heading to the training room, you took the turn that led you towards the dorms, causing a confused look on Bucky’s face.

“Okay, I lied,” you whispered, leaning in slightly.

Bucky’s confused expression deepened as he waited for you to continue. You reached the corridor with the doors to everyone’s rooms and stopped in front of yours, Bucky’s just a few steps further down the corridor.

“You’ve been doing so much lately, it kinda seemed like you needed a moment,” you continued, hoping you were on the right track. “I don’t know if saving you from Yelena was the right call or not, but it gives you an out to go and hide in a dark room somewhere.”

After a moment, the corners of Bucky’s mouth twisted upwards. He raised an arm, placing his hand on the wall, leaning his weight against it. He let out a breathy chuckle, running his other hand over his face.

“Was it that obvious?” his voice seemed lighter than usual.

“A lil’ bit,” you chuckled, a grin on your face as you watched his shoulders starting to relax.

“Damn, didn’t realise you could read me so well,” his hand dropped and his eyes focused on your face, studying the expression there.

You felt your cheeks flush under his gaze, hands clasping together in front of you as you leaned back against your door, “I’m just glad I got it right.”

A smirk grew on Bucky’s face as he watched your cheeks tint with a blush, his eyes softening at the sight, “Well, I believe I owe you a ‘thank you’.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you replied with a sweet smile. “Just go take a break, Bucky. You deserve it.”

His heart leapt at your words, he was always a sucker for someone showing him any form of appreciation.

“I don’t really know how,” he admitted, a bashful smile on his face. “Never had too much of a break before.”

Your eyebrows raised as he spoke, “Surely you’ve got some guilty pleasure that you never have time for?”

“Nope, not that springs to mind,” he shook his head, hands returning to their rightful spot on his hips. A cheeky grin grew on his face as he chose his next words carefully, “Why, what’s yours?”

You attempted to stifle the blush that threatened to grow even further on your cheeks, “Um, I don’t know, reality TV? I never get time to catch up with the latest seasons.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have time now, would you?” he grinned, eyes meeting yours again. “I think it’s only fair that since you saved me from work today, I return the favour.”

Your lips parted with surprise, mouth forming an ‘O’ before you realised and clamped it closed again, forming a soft smile, “As it just so happens, I do. I have everything logged in on my TV, I even have a secret snack supply.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised, “Secret?”

“I wasn’t about to risk all of my snacks being raided by Alexei,” you giggled, a smirk on your face. “Or Walker for that matter.”

Bucky nodded as he stood straight, “Seems like we have everything we need.”

You reached your arm out, still holding Bucky’s gaze as you opened the door behind you, “Come on in.”

Moments later, you found yourself sitting next to Bucky on your sofa, flicking through streaming services to pick the perfect show to watch. While reality TV was a secret love of yours, Bucky had yet to experience the highs and lows of middle aged women fighting each other on national television, so you were trying to pick the perfect show to put on.

“Okay,” you placed the remote down as an older episode loaded. “There are going to be lots of women shouting at each other, prepare yourself.”

An amused expression grew on Bucky’s face, more at your excitement for the show than the premise, “I don’t know how to prepare for that.”

“You’ll be fine,” you chuckled, settling into the couch and placing a variety of snacks on the table in front of you. “Just get ready to enjoy it.”

The show began to play and your brain finally started to quieten, your body relaxing into the comfort of the sofa beneath you. Throwing a quick glance at Bucky, you noticed how he had stripped off the majority of his tactical gear, left in a tank top and his combat trousers, boots left by the door. Your attention was pulled back to the TV by a shout and a dramatic sound effect, but what followed was even better.

Bucky laughed. Well, it was most of a laugh. Perhaps a sharp exhale from his nose would be a more fitting description, but in your mind it was a full-on belly laugh. Your heart fluttered at the sound and it took all of your effort not to turn and grab his face between your hands, forcing him to do it over and over again.

Forcing a breath in an attempt to calm your racing heart rate, you leaned further back into the seat, shifting slightly. Bucky reacted, adjusting his position as well, his thigh brushing against yours for a brief moment. You stilled, eyes fixed on the TV as you tried to ignore the rush that went through you at the contact.

Bucky noticed your reaction, of course he did. He also noticed the way that your heart rate had picked up and you had been nibbling on your lower lip for the past few moments. Cautiously, he shifted his seating, pressing his thigh against yours more firmly this time, paying attention to how your body reacted.

You gulped, eyelids fluttering for a second as a fresh wave of weakness spread through your body, warm and gentle. The communication was completely silent, just a hint of reciprocation as your thigh pressed back against Bucky’s.

A smirk grew on his face as he felt your body pressing back against his, his hand snaking across to rest just above your knee. His fingers began to draw slow, deliberate circles on the inner side of your thigh, his heightened senses well aware of how your breath hitched as he began.

If anyone walked in at this point and asked what you were watching, they would have received a garbled mess of sounds in response. Everything in you was focused on Bucky’s hands and how they were resting against your bare skin. Your lower lip was tucked between your teeth, absentmindedly running your tongue back and forth behind your teeth as you attempted to hide any reaction.

Bucky leaned in closer, his shoulder bumping against yours as his hand slid further up your thigh, delicately brushing the skin with his own flesh hand. He let out a quiet groan as electricity buzzed where your bodies met, jaw clenching as he tried to keep his movements controlled and gentle.

The sound broke any restraint you had left and you turned your head to face him, taking in the blissful expression on his face. The line of his jaw was hard as his teeth clenched together, eyes half closed as his hand caressed the bare skin of your inner thigh.

“Bucky,” you whispered, something between a moan and a whisper.

His eyes flashed open, immediately finding your gaze with a flash of desire and uncertainty. He pulled his hand from your leg, clearly thinking your voice was some form of denial. Rather than responding with words, you reached out to grasp his hand tightly, bringing it back to your thigh, higher than it had been before. His eyes darkened with desire, jaw still tight as he held himself back from doing anything too intense too quickly.

“Doll,” his voice was gruff with want, husky and hoarse. “We don-”

“I want to,” you whispered, cutting him off before he could continue his sentence.

He ran his tongue along his lower lip, hand squeezing the pudge of your upper thigh, thumb reaching the soft skin of your hip as he stroked it gently. A whimper escaped your lips, the sight of his tongue immediately sending warmth between your thighs. You pressed them together and Bucky growled at the feeling.

“If we’re going to do this,” he spoke, voice dark and dripping with desire. “We’re going to do it right.”

Excitement rushed through your veins like an icy wave, eyes fluttering closed for a second as your head fell back. Bucky watched this happen, seizing the opportunity and pouncing.

His lips attached to your neck, kissing and licking at the sensitive pulse point as his hand raised to your hip, clutching at you as if you could disappear at any moment. The rough texture of his beard prickled against the delicate skin of your neck, the feeling stimulating every nerve ending in your body as you let out a delicate mewl.

You lifted a hand to tangle in his hair, leaning your head back to allow him access as he continued to ravish your neck with attention.

“Buck,” you whimpered, tugging at the ends of his hair. “I can’t-”

“Can’t what?” Bucky teased, nipping at the spot under your ear that made your body melt into his touch.

“Can’t be a one-time thing,” you moaned, a part of you afraid that this would scare him off. The growl that escaped his lips sent arousal directly to the spot between your thighs.

“Who said it was a one-time thing?” he replied, hand lifting to pull the straps of your tank top and bra off your shoulder as his lips trailed down your collarbone. “I certainly didn’t say that.”

You let out a sigh, pulling at his hair to bring his face to yours, “I’m serious, Bucky.”

“So am I,” his eyes searched yours, desperate to show you that he was telling the truth.

You held his gaze for a moment, eyes darting between his eyes and lips before letting out a breathy chuckle, “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“I hope you’re gonna hold me to many things,” he teased, nose brushing against yours.

You rolled your eyes playfully before pressing your lips to his, a moan escaping your throat as you felt his grip on your hip tighten. Lifting your leg, you wrapped it around his waist and pulled him down towards you. His hips slotted between yours as he balanced above you, your back pressed to the seats of the couch. You kept a leg tight around him, holding him in place as your hands dipped under the hem of his shirt.

He whimpered at the feeling of your hands dancing across his skin, your fingertips sending tingles on his skin. His teeth nibbled at your lower lip, tongue swiping against it as a plea for access. You relented, tongues dancing as the kiss deepened. You could feel your arousal pooling between your thighs, hips pressed firmly against Bucky’s as he leaned his weight on top of you.

Bucky’s metal arm rested above your head while his flesh hand pulled the other strap of your shirt down, exposing your shoulders and collarbones to him. Reluctantly, he pulled his lips from yours, trailing them down your neck and along your collarbone. The way he kissed you was wanting but careful, as though he didn’t want to risk shattering you under his grasp. He placed a kiss to the top of your sternum, eyes glancing up to meet yours.

The look on your face was pure bliss and Bucky was completely addicted to the sight. The thought flashed through his mind that the main goal of the rest of his life was to see it as many times as he could before he died. His hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, pulling it up gently before he moved his face away, placing an arm behind your back to lift you in order to remove the shirt completely.

“Yours too, Buck,” you breathed, face flushed as you attempted to recapture your breathing.

He flashed a grin at you before pulling his tank top over his head, revealing his muscular chest to you. Your hands immediately lifted, fingertips tracing the scars and marks that dotted his skin, the touches gentle and caring. His smile turned soft at your actions, the realisation that this was something real for you, for both of you. His eyes closed as he enjoyed existing in your touch, letting you explore the parts of his body that had been hidden for so long.

Your hands drifted down, fingers hooking in the belt loops of his tactical pants before pulling his body back towards yours, lips crashing into his as your bodies collided. Your hips rolled upwards in search of friction, in search of him. He growled against your lips, hips pressing down into yours as his hand slipped beneath your back, arching your back to press your abdomen against his.

“Look at you baby,” he moaned against your lips. “Already so needy.”

“Someone got me all worked up,” you mumbled, hips rolling against his again as you bit your lower lip.

Bucky chuckled in response, the sound airy and breathless as he nuzzled his nose into your cheek, “Hmm, maybe we should do something about that.”

“Please,” you were well aware of how desperate you sounded, the word like a prayer on your lips.

Bucky smiled against your cheek as his hand slid beneath the waistband of your shorts, fingers brushing the dainty material of your panties. His movements were delicate, calculated, careful. The dance of his fingertips along your abdomen, inching closer to where you wanted him most, sent shivers through your body as you writhed beneath him.

The moment his fingers spread your folds you gasped, suddenly aware of just how much you wanted this, just how wet you had become. Bucky bit his lip as his finger slid over your clit and towards your hole, the sensation of your slick sending blood straight to his cock.

“Shit, doll,” he whimpered, which sent another wave of arousal through your body. “Didn’t realise you needed me this bad.”

Any response died on your tongue as his fingers began to draw sloppy circles over your clit, hips jittering upwards as you searched for more friction. Bucky couldn’t help himself, his clothed crotch rubbing against your inner thigh as you moaned beneath him, lips parted perfectly.

“Need you,” you breathed, forcing your eyes open to watch as Bucky’s blissed out eyes found yours.

“Use your words, baby,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, a wild juxtaposition to the insatiable movements his fingers were currently working on your clit.

“Need your fingers,” you groaned, lips pressed against his jawline. “Please.”

“Good girl,” Bucky praised, leaving a trail of kisses along your cheekbone before yanking your shorts down your legs.

You gasped at the sudden cold air on your folds, instinctively squeezing your thighs together. Bucky placed a hand on each knee, forcing your legs apart with a gentle tut.

“Princess, if you do that again we’re going to have an issue,” his eyes were serious before turning soft as you let your legs drop wider. “That’s better.”

You flushed at the praise, hips grinding against nothing as you gazed up at Bucky’s face. Shuffling down your body, Bucky lay flat until his eyeline was directly facing your panties. He took in a deep breath, pressing his nose to the dainty fabric before licking a stripe directly over your desperate hole. Your back arched at the feeling, causing Bucky to reach up with his metal arm, pressing your back down against the bed.

Nuzzling his nose against you, he nudged your panties out of the way before pouncing, pressing a chaste kiss to your clit. A moan echoed in your chest, guttural and raw, as Bucky began to lick at your delicate folds, slurping like a man starved. The sounds coming from the pair of you were borderline pornographic, all moans and gasps and squelches.

“Fuck, can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me,” Bucky muttered into your clit, unable to tear his lips from your taste.

Bucky teased your hole with two fingers, sliding them in as your walls fluttered around him.

“Shit Bucky,” you exhaled, hips grinding against his face.

“Tell me doll,” he groaned against you, his hips thrusting wildly at the sound of your voice. “Tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel.”

“So good, Bucky,” you rasped, eyebrows furrowed as your eyes squeezed shut. “Feels so fuckin’ good.”

Bucky hummed in response, tongue lapping at your clit as his fingers curled inside of you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, jaw going slack as you felt the familiar burning in the pit of your stomach. Unconsciously, you clenched around Bucky as he nibbled at your clit, following it up with a sloppy kiss.

“Can feel you’re close, princess,” Bucky teased, unrelenting with that tongue of his. “Show me, wanna see you fall apart on my mouth.”

The words were enough to send you over the edge, hips shaking as your thighs tightened around his head. Your walls fluttered around Bucky’s fingers as your orgasm washed over you. Your breath hitched in your chest as your entire body tensed, brain unable to comprehend the pleasure that overtook your senses.

Bucky began to press kisses to your thighs and hips as he let you ride out your orgasm on his fingers. Once your body began to still he lifted his fingers to his mouth, tongue poking out to lick your slick off of his digits with a groan. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he leaned down, his dog tags resting on your bare chest.

Your hands lifted to feel his chest, his heart racing beneath his warm skin, prickled with sweat. A finger wrapped around the chain of his tags, pulling him down to meet your lips as you pressed your faces together. Your other hand slid down his chest, teasing at the waistband of his tactical pants. It didn’t take long for Bucky to have them off, throwing them across the room before immediately returning to your lips.

You pressed your palm to his erection over his boxers, whimpering into the kiss as you felt the size of him. Pulling away from his lips, you glanced down to see him held in your hand, the girth sending a shockwave through your body. A wet patch had begun to form on his boxers as precum leaked from his tip, no doubt related to the way his hips had been rutting against the arm of the couch as he ate you out.

He hissed at your touch, evidently sensitive from the night's events. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck as you began to stroke him gently, pressing kisses to his hair. He thrust his hips into your touch, needing you just as bad as you had been needing him.

“Doll, as much as I love you touching me,” he moaned, pressing a kiss to the corner of your jaw. “I fuckin’ need to be inside you.”

You didn’t take any further convincing, pushing down his boxers to free his rock hard cock. He leaned back for a moment, studying the view before him as he stroked himself a couple of times. He lined himself up with you, one hand gripping your hip tight as the other came up to stroke your cheek as he eased himself into you.

Your eyes immediately fluttered closed, jaw dropping at the sheer size of him. Garbled sounds fell from your lips, it sounded like you were casting a spell in some long-forgotten language. Bucky stifled a deep growl as he felt your walls tightening around him.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he mewled, pressing a desperate kiss to your lips.

Any type of control Bucky had had before, the precision he had displayed while working on your pleasure, disappeared the second he felt your pussy clenching around his cock. He continued to enter you until he was fully sheathed, jaw clenched as he held himself back from immediately slamming his hips into yours.

He watched your face carefully for any hint of pain as he began to withdraw, gently sliding into your tight hole again. Your face contorted with pleasure, unable to force any words from your mouth as you succumbed to the pleasure radiating through your body. Bucky took that as a sign to continue, hips rolling back and forward as his cock pounded deeper and deeper into you.

Your fingers grasped at Bucky’s shoulders, searching for stability as your bodies moved together. Words defeated you, only lewd sounds falling from your lips as your forms united. The sound of wet slaps echoed around the room, punctuated by the deep groans elicited from Bucky’s chest as he felt the warmth of your body around him.

““Fuck,” Bucky hissed through his teeth, punctuated by the harsh slamming of his hips into yours.

Your entire body vibrated with desire as you heard just how bad Bucky needed you, just how bad he needed to fuck you. You reached up to place a hand on his chest, the other on his shoulder as you pushed against him, flipping him onto his back. You saw a flash of surprise on his face as you threw a leg over him, the look immediately replaced with one of desire and want.

Leaning down to kiss him, you pressed your lips against his before trailing kisses down his throat, tongue poking out to lick over his Adam’s apple. He growled at the feeling, hands clutching and squeezing at your hips. You felt his hips buck upwards against you, the head of his cock brushing against your clit as you let out a needy whine.

The sound broke something in Bucky and he grabbed your hips, pulling you down on his cock. He slid inside of you easily, even deeper than before as your eyes rolled back in ecstasy. You leaned back as you rolled your hips against his, grinding your pussy against him and hands resting on his muscular thighs.

Bucky thrust his body upwards, his balls slapping against you as the head of his cock hit the perfect spot inside of you, turning your body to jelly.

“Fuck-,” you moaned, the tip of your tongue poking out over your bottom lip as you focused all of your energy on staying upright.

Bucky sensed your weakness, bending his knees to plant his feet in the bed as he fucked up into you relentlessly.

“Shit, can feel you getting close babygirl,” he grunted, movements becoming sloppy as he felt his own high building in his abdomen.

You whined in response, hand drifting down to stroke desperate circles around your clit, “So close, so fucking close.”

“Where’d you want me to finish, doll?” Bucky said, movements beginning to stutter.

“Inside, please,” you moaned, eyes opening to look down at him. “Wanna feel you.”

The words sent Bucky over the edge as he leaned up, wrapping his arms tightly around your abdomen as he slammed his hips into yours over and over. Your orgasm washed over you, body tensing as you crumbled into his embrace. Bucky’s arms were the only thing keeping you from falling on your face as he bit down on your collarbone, stifling a scream as he shot hot ropes of cum deep inside of you.

His hips didn’t stop, fucking his seed deeper and deeper inside of you as you garbled nonsense into his scalp. After a few moments, his movements became languid before stopping entirely, his arms still embracing you tightly as your chests heaved with breaths. His lips placed gentle, sloppy kisses along your shoulder as Bucky turned your bodies to lay you on the bed. You whined as his softening cock slipped out of you.

“I know baby, I know,” he whispered, continuing to place kisses along your jaw as he laid you down.

Your eyes were still closed, lungs struggling to recover after the rigorous events that had just occurred. Letting out a gentle moan, you reached your arms out for him.

“One second doll, gotta get you cleaned up,” he spoke gently as he stood, moving to the bathroom to grab a washcloth and returning to the bed.

Carefully, tenderly, he wiped at your sensitive folds, eradicating any proof of your joint activities. He threw the washcloth to the end of the bed, then brought the blanket up to cover your bodies as he wrapped an arm over your midsection.

“You back with me?” he asked, stroking gentle circles against your delicate skin.

“Yeah,” you hummed in response. “Holy shit.”

Bucky chuckled, the sound chesty and real.

“I think you should take a break more often,” you pressed your lips to his chest as you snuggled in closer. His arm wrapped tighter around you as you did, kissing your hair and inhaling your scent.

“If it involved this every time,” he grinned. “I don’t think I’d ever do any damn work.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” you pulled away to look up at him. “Anytime you need a break, you come find me. I’ll be your perfect excuse.”

Bucky smiled down at you, realising just how much you truly cared for him. He hadn’t thought anyone had noticed how tired he was or how desperate he was for a break, but you had.

“You got yourself a deal, sweetheart, but for now, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

a/n: i'm a slut for bucky in thunderbolts

ever wish your favourite character could send you a personalised letter? now they can via my Etsy store <3

masterlist for more of my work <3

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yallternitive · 13 days ago

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Backstabber.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: You’re dating the infamous Winter Soldier. Bucky and Yelena go on a mission, to save themselves from being made, Bucky kisses Yelena. Everyone knows, except you…

Just some fluff and angst. Not in that order.

Takes place during Thunderbolts. I don’t believe there are any spoilers? Let me know if you see any.

Everyone had been acting…strange. More so than usual. Alexei even was quieter than usual. When you were around, he’d stop laughing about whatever he was talking about and start sweating bullets.

Bobs Adam’s apple was more prominent than usual due to how often he was gulping while looking at you.

Walker was clearing his throat a lot more than usual, adjusting his uniform as if it were a tie, choking him out.

Ava just grinning ear to ear.

What was going on? Buck and Yelena were acting like their normal selves. They had just gotten back from a mission yesterday, and everything seemed fine until you reunited with the rest of the team today.

“Is everyone alright? You all look like you’ve seen a ghost. No pun intended.” You point to Ava and she just smiles.

“Good one.” She says with a grin.

Alexei stumbled over his words, waving his hands around a little too animated like.

“Da! Everything is fine don’t you know silly girl? Why why would you think there is something wrong? No one would be hiding anything from you no no no why would you think somethi—oof” He is quickly cut off by Bob elbowing him.

You look up at Bucky, having just walked into the room with him, his hand gently placed around your waist. He shrugs, clearly not at all surprised by Alexeis response. Bob clears his throat.

“N-nothing (Y/N), don’t worry about it. Just…you know how it is. Right?” He asks shrugging and you just roll your eyes, gently pulling yourself from your super strong boyfriend and heading to sit next to Yelena who has her feet propped up on the coffee table, watching the news. Yelena too seems entirely unbothered.

Soon enough everyone walks out, but you can’t shake that feeling they know something you don’t. Bucky comes to sit next to you, a cup of coffee in his hand. He offers it to you before taking his spot.

“Bucky, I can’t shake this feeling. We’re trained assassins, you can’t tell me you don’t feel the tension. And why is it directed at me?” He raises his eyebrow and shrugs.

“Possible you’re just being paranoid?” He asks before taking a sip of his piping hot cup.

“I mean I guess that’s possible but I was hoping you’d have some answers because I’m definitely not.” You chuckled and he just smirked, looking down at you with admiration in his eyes. Like you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. The one person he’d rather die then lose. He leans in, cupping your cheek with his flesh hand, taking his sweet time, like he’d forgotten every time his lips had ever met yours before. Fireworks were always welcome, your face flush, your stomach on fire. You never got used to it.

“I love you, doll.” You can’t help but let the feelings of paranoia go, looking at him. He calmed your soul. Somewhere so deep inside of you that no one could ever heal, Bucky could. Because that same, deep soul crushing hurt that plagued you also tortured him, and only you could calm the storms in his heart. You were quite literally designed for each other.

“I love you too Bucky.”

Several hours had passed, Walker had found you training alone.

“Hey uh…(Y/N)…can we talk about…something?” He asks, waving his hand around like he does when he has something on his mind.

You, sweating and breathing heavily, nod and sit on the mat.

“Sure, what’s bothering you Walker?” He walks in and sits on the stool a few feet in front of you.

“Damn it. This isn’t gonna be easy, and I know it isn’t my place, if you don’t hate me after this everyone else will. But I guess that makes me the perfect one for the job because what else is new?” He chuckles, shaking his head. You raise your eyebrow and nod.

“Okay, go on John.”

“Bucky and Yelena kissed.”

******

AUTHORS NOTE;

It’s late, my husband just got home from work and I’m tired. I will write part 2 to this tomorrow, in the mean time, let me know what you think. Enjoy that cliffhanger 😉

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #thunderbolts

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retiredteabag · 24 days ago

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Wishful Thinking - chapter 6

arranged marriage Nanami with a people-pleasing reader

last chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

*please be wary, this chapter contains sexual harassment*

Your room was constantly empty growing up. That's not to say nothing happened or you were perpetually alone, but it was very rare for one of the workers at the family estate to visit you. Or anyone else for that matter. You were the one doing the visiting.

One of your greatest concerns regarding your inevitable marriage was simply the nature of sharing a room with someone else at all times. You wondered if your spouse would grow sick of you. If you were a strangely awkward companion. If perhaps you would be too clingy, or otherwise too hesitant. Maybe you were an uncomfortable bedmate, who knows?

All of these worries had ceased, however, with the onset of Kento in your life.

He was gentle and patient with you, friendly and curious to know you. This morning, you had awoken with recollections of the previous night. Had all that really happened? It seemed more than ever that perhaps you really had made a friend.

Your time in Kyoto was fun; you had enjoyed pretending to be normal, but when you would come home for break, you were reminded that your world was not one that could be escaped from. As much as you would have liked to have stayed friends with your classmates, that just hadn't been in the cards for you.

You felt luckier than ever, having stayed up late simply talking with someone you knew would remain present in your life. You had assumed marriage was something scary, something that only lead to more anxiety, but now, your worries seemed wholly irrational.

He called you by your first name, and you his. Even now, Kento stood before you in loose pajamas, his hair tousled in a way you had never seen, pouring you a drink.

"Have you ever been to the beach?" He asked, passing you the cup.

You shook your head, "No...not a real one anyway." He simply nodded.

"Me either." Shrugging, he sat down on his mattress, yawning and running a hand through his hair. It made you smile. How was it that he looked so attractive, unkempt?

It did come as a surprise that he hadn't been to the ocean. You had learned he was quite fond of the water- that, paired with the independence he seemed to exude, you would have expected him to have been at least once. His homeland was an Island after all.

"One time, in school, after finishing one of our missions," You stretch and pull one of your luggage bags to your mattress, "my classmates and I stopped by Lake Biwa." You shook your head, recalling the experience. "It's near Kyoto, and it's so big, it was easy for me to pretend it was the ocean."

Now you would get to see the real thing. You set aside your swimsuit and began to put a bag together for the days ahead of you.

You had arrived at the final destination (before the return journey, of course), the northernmost point of your trip, early that morning. You had been so busy getting to know your husband the night before that you hadn't packed for the days away from the mainland.

Organized as ever, Kento had the schedule mapped out to ease your mind. Today, you would stay in together until noon. After a brunch on the train, you would take a ferry to Pulau Redang, a beautiful island with crystal clear water. You needed to bring your luggage with you because you would not be sleeping on the train this evening, but rather, at a resort in the island.

You set aside the heels you had worn to dinner the night before, opting instead for a comfortable pair of loafers, flipping them upside down, you zipped up your bag. Recalling the contents you had just filled it with, you stopped short, knowing you would be changing into the bathing suit you had brought along before departing.

You had a loose pair of overalls to cover it, and everyone would be in swim attire. What did it matter, anyway? The truth was, you couldn't put aside the notion that you wanted desperately to look nice.

It was a modest one-piece; even so, your family would have some choice words if they saw you in it. When you compared it to the bathing suits the beautiful women you had seen on the beach wearing, you felt suddenly embarrassed.

In the bathroom, you fiddled with the straps of your linen overalls, checking around you for anything you might need while off the train.

When you came around, Kento did not even allow you to pull the bag off the luggage rack, insisting on carrying it for you.

You laughed a bit when his forearm came into view, lifting the case with ease and settling it at his feet. You looked up at him, "Don't you remember how strong I am?" Certainly, the higher-ups hadn't left out your skill in the jujutsu world from the man. Even if your family hadn't let you work towards a promotion, your rank was nothing to scoff at.

"When it comes to unburdening my wife, it's not really a matter of strength but, yes, of course." He smiled softly your way, lifting your bag so it didn't roll on the train's luxurious carpets. "I have no doubt in your ability, do believe me." He set the bags down then, maneuvering in the hall to turn off the lights. "But I can't say I wouldn't be pleased if you would let me do it for you.

An attendant took your bags when you made it to one of the restaurant cars. They had groups of workers bringing luggage to the resorts through a private service since early morning. It only took a reservation check to know where to deliver your bags.

You ate an early lunch with a small group of passengers before the Express had a private vehicle waiting to bring you both to the dock, where a large Merang Jetty boat awaited to carry you to the most beautiful location you had ever seen.

The voyage was comfortable with the way the breeze passed you by, and paired with the shining sun, you had never felt so alive. Every so often, puffs of sea spray would spritz and cool your face, making you laugh. Nanami had gone to the upper deck of the boat to bring you a beverage when suddenly another passenger came to greet you.

In all honesty, when you had boarded, you had thought he was one of the employees of the boat service. He had spent much of his time standing around the women serving the guests aboard, speaking loudly and waving his hands like he owned their attention.

He had a big grin on his face, and he stood awkwardly in front of you for a while. It made you quite nervous to have him silently staring. The boat was moving quickly, only a half-hour trip, and the man wobbled slightly with the movement of the waves beneath you.

He leaned over to grip a seat behind him. His brows were arched in a way that read as a concern. It felt strange to have him smiling so eerily before he spoke up, "Are you traveling alone?"

You wondered suddenly if he had been day drinking, what else could explain the volume of his speech? The joviality in his voice?

"Oh, no, I'm here with someone else." You smiled back. He seemed friendly enough. You weren't completely certain he wasn't just a worker welcoming guests; his eyes were already looking at other passengers, likely looking to strike up conversation once he was done with you.

The boat canted slightly, and he nearly lost his balance. You had a seat beside you that was open, but something told you not to offer it up. You instantly felt ashamed and guilty at the notion. "Are you alright? Why don't you sit?"

He tucked himself between a wall and the top of the seat to your right. He leaned down far, not sitting, but intruding on your space all the same. "Well, aren't you a sweet thing?" You squint, trying for an appreciative smile but not quite being able to, "Is this your first time in Malaysia? Where are you from?"

You turn away from him and wonder if Kento was stuck speaking to the bartender. "Um... yes, I've never-"

You jump slightly when he smacks a boisterous hand on the seat beside you. "Exciting! It's a great place, really, nice broads." He leans in close again, and you grip the edge of your chair so as not to pull away. "They love foreign guys, it's all super easy over here."

He laughs like he's said something funny, and you purse your lips. Some of the attendants from earlier seem to be making their way toward you, a tight smile on their faces. Before they reach you, though, the man is tugged back. You feel as though you can breathe again,

Nanami seemed to have returned, and in an incredibly swift motion, he redirected the man to face him. "Careful." Kento's face was polite as ever, but you had never heard his voice so deep, "We're being asked to find our seats."

The man didn't seem to be put off by it at all, patting the hand Nanami had on his shoulder. "Ah, thanks, man."

Kento wiped the touch off on his shorts and nodded with a curt, "Of course." Before facing you.

"What was that?" He was speaking much softer, and his sweetness warmed you. He narrowed his eyes in that way he does when he's trying to read your mind, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." You suddenly have an urge, and you act on it. Patting his arm as if you were petting a cat. A jitter rolls up his spine like the waves lapping at the sides of the boat. He looked down at your hand, completely distracted. Maybe the mist made him cold?

And what on earth had compelled you to do that?

He was still looking at your hand when you pulled away, shaking your head. You laughed it off, "I think he just wanted to talk to somebody."

Nanami made a 'hmm' sound and reached across you to retrieve the drink he had set aside when he saw the man so near to you. Silently, he decided not to leave you alone again, even in such a small space.

When you dock, it doesn't take long for staff to come and point you in the right direction. Some guests, already stripped down to swimming attire, make their way to a more crowded area of the beach. There are booths of people braiding hair, making drinks, and offering fruit.

The attendants of the ferry had handed out brochures depicting "The Blue Tears," a breathtaking bioluminescent glow of the beach. You knew immediately that this was something you wanted. You could only hope you would be lucky enough to catch sight of the natural phenomenon.

You are informed that your bags have already been checked to the hotel and that your rooms will be ready by evening. Soon after learning this, Nanami offers to take you around the island. And while you know that you would want to at some point, you could cover the whole thing by foot- you knew he was wanting to go to the ocean.

Kento was already dressed in a loose button-up and a pair of shorts that you realize might be swim trunks.

Your anxiety is turned up a notch, ceaseless thoughts consume your mind when you think about shedding some layers. The two of you pass by live music, stands offering food, and an elderly lady selling jewelry.

Kento has asked you suddenly how well you can swim, and you have to force your eyes off of his nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt and try to assure him of your ability.

You recall that Nanami had, in fact, witnessed you (even for just a moment) in some pretty raunchy lingerie; even so, you want to keep a loose cloth coverup over your black one-piece. Only throwing it away from yourself when your husband turns from you to walk into the ocean.

He was respectful enough to mind his gaze, but it was not so simple for you. The man was built in a dreadfully distracting way. The saltwater sliding down the tanned skin of his back brought wholly unwelcome thoughts of licking him clean, and at the notion, you dove headfirst to clear your mind.

Good Lord, what is wrong with you?

You watch him when you resurface, allowing the cool water to encapsulate your body, the necklace you wore tickles your clavicle with the motion of the tide. The water was so clear, everything was beautiful, and it was all so distracting that your brain was quiet, devoid of anxious thoughts for the first time in years.

A pair of teens splash each other, not too far off from you, their laughs are infectious, and you spin around to take in the image before you, wanting to commemorate it. You feel even better than you had at Lake Biwa with your classmates.

Kento came in close, and you shared meaningless conversations that had no reason to be as funny as the two of you found them. He seemed to monitor the distance from the beach every so often before leaning back and letting the sun warm his face.

Swimming was more tiring than you recalled it being, but nothing could have prepared you for the delight of the moment. The two of you floated on your backs, the water kissing your cheeks repeatedly.

Time falls away from you. The two of you swam all evening, and at some points, you would wade closer to the beach so you didn't have to swim as hard. You had a blast, and when you finally extricated yourself from the water, the two of you ate all kinds of foods from the nearby stands. Even after sunset, the beach was still comfortably warm despite the chill of the wind.

In the light of the lanterns, you feel more comfortable in yourself, just wrapping the cloth over your shoulders. And standing there, eating some kind of meat on a stick, soaking wet, and flushed from exertion, Kento smiles and whispers something. It takes you a moment too long to understand what he had said. He was already moving on.

"I hope you know how lovely you are."

You feel as though you have never left the ocean, still floating there with him an arm's width away. You probably looked ridiculous, what with your wet hair, sandy feet, and satay on your fingers? You use the back of your hand to wipe at your mouth and laugh at him.

Kento walks a few paces before you, shaking his head while you call him insane. The people you pass while trying different foods tell you to come out tomorrow night to see the bioluminescent hues. How lucky you felt in that moment, Nanami seemed just as thrilled as you were.

When you were younger and training so regularly, your stamina had never been an issue, but after eating, the weight of your exhaustion hits you. It had been a long time since you strained every muscle. You feel slightly annoyed that Nanami was not even remotely out of breath.

He was carrying both of your shoes, and your linen overalls hung on his arm. You knew that you would sleep well tonight after a shower, though a new side of this man might just keep you up. Thinking about just how broad his shoulders were, just how earnest he had looked when he called you lovely.

He must have been teasing, you know that, you very well could have had peanut sauce on your face when he said it, but it caused your heart to speed up nonetheless.

You bring a hand to your warm cheek, feeling the heat present despite the cool air on your damp skin. You huff a breath as you walk up the steps to the hotel you were staying at.

You wait in the foyer while Nanami gets your cards. He had insisted on allowing you to rest for a moment after he chuckled hearing how out of breath you were.

After taking a seat, you're embarrassed to realize that standing up from the position you were in might take a great deal of effort. Perhaps you had overdone it.

You were too distracted by the haze in your head to notice the familiar man making his way toward you. It didn't take long to recognize him, though. All loudness and indecency.

He laughs, making some comment of surprise to see you as if you had been more than brief, unfortunate acquaintances. "Funny seeing you here, hmm?" He wiggles his eyebrows at you in a very odd fashion. It was clear he felt closer to you than you felt to him.

"You're not following me, are ya, sweetheart?" The slight dampness on the back of your thighs from the salty ocean clings uncomfortably to the chair below you, and when the man leans in to touch the side of your face, you feel as though it is what keeps you frozen in place.

Just as you begin to shake your head away from his intruding hand, he pulls it back, still leaning all the closer. He smells of alcohol and laughs right by your ear, suddenly speaking lowly, "No, surely not...you keep out of trouble, doncha?"

You motion for him to move, a gentle, "excuse me." chokes from your mouth, your eyes attempt to find Kento, but the lounge blocks the welcome desk.

The man suddenly grabs at your arm and in an intoxicated motion, rubs it against his chest and belly. His shirt is unbuttoned and the feel of his skin makes you sick. You try to drag your hand away from him, not caring for niceties anymore, but he's closer than ever, and his breath puffs against your face when he talks, "No, you're a good girl, aren't you."

You're nauseous, your heart is pounding, and for some reason, you can't seem to call on your cursed energy. It's not even the exhaustion in your bones; you're having some kind of mental block. He seems to quite like touching himself with your unwilling limb, but once your hand starts to be brought lower, you jerk your hand free. A frightened "Stop it!" leaves you as you bring the arm to your own chest.

You've forced yourself to your feet, hoping he will take a step (or thirty) back, but he seems insulted by the action. Brows furrowing as if your apparent repulsion is incomprehensible.

He's got his hands on you in an instant, he's shoving your shoulders down, forcing you to sit once again. He's doing a strange shuffling motion on his feet, perhaps not having thought his actions though, and then, only a horrible moment later, it's as if he's climbing on top of you.

You hesitate to shove him off, for some reason, putting your hands back where they had just been forced feels jarring but thankfully, you don't have to.

In one starting motion, the drunk man goes from breathing on your neck, knee almost on your lap, to being completely knocked to the floor, prone on his back, his head cracking loudly on the marble floor.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Kento is shaking above him, having just yanked the man off of you, he doesn't waste a moment helping you out of the seat. He removes himself from you instantly, his eyes almost seem to jitter with how quickly he is taking you in.

You realize that he is trying to see if his touch has frightened you, but you're not backing away from him, you find his wrist, and stare, "I'm fine...I'm fine." You're shaking your head, it's like ice-cold water has been doused on you, and you're filled with sickening shame.

You were fine; he had hardly done anything to you, so why did you feel so overwhelmed? Why was your pulse rocketing in your ears? Why were you breathing so loudly?

Nanami extricated you from the scene with speed, in an attempt to not make too much of a scene for your sake, he controlled his tone when speaking to the staff who had come running at his shout. Informing them that they better get that man away from him before he did something unsightly. Something he wouldn't regret.

You find yourself patting his arm, telling him it's okay. You're so embarrassed that you had reacted in such a way, that there were so many people involved now, that it had even happened in the first place.

You massage your neck, a strange laugh escaping you. One of the attendants from the front desk brought you a robe and you try to turn the gesture away, but Kento takes it, and with incredible attentiveness, wraps you up. He holds the sides of the fabric, looking at you directly. It doesn't take long for the hotel manager to come and personally escort you to your room.

Time seems to move so slowly, you force yourself to keep up as he leads you down a nearby hallway. Kento has a hand on the small of your back, he's watching you closely, and you try to force yourself to focus.

You bite your cheek, and the hall tilts. Nanami keeps you from cantering to the side, but you have realized too late what exactly is happening.

It's been a while since something like this has happened, but from the exertion of the day, and moving so suddenly, you feel as though your blood pressure has dropped. Your vision pulses in and out of focus.

By all accounts, you do try your best to make it to the hotel room, but every step you take to follow, you become more discouraged by the distance. Nanami says your name, you hear it and you know there's nothing you can do.

You try to pull away from your husband to lean against the wall, but he misinterprets your action, holding you tighter, and before you can attempt to fall to a sitting position, you have lost all range of motion.

Consciousness leaves you.

Nanami had already been worried by your state when he began leading you after the hotel attendant, but the moment he noticed your breathing change, he surged with panic.

He followed you to the floor, gently laying your head on the carpet. He did not recognize his own voice calling for help. His heart is in overdrive, and he doesn't know what to do. Had you fainted from shock? Were you unwell?

He thought back to how flushed you had been when he had told you to rest a moment while collecting the key cards. Had you been feeling unwell since even then? Why hadn't you told him?

Thankfully it didn't take long for you to groan from your position on the floor. Nanami kept calling out your name like a mantra. The hotel manager had used a walky-talky to call for help, but you were already trying to sit up before anyone arrived.

Earlier, Kento had been so cautious, anxious that his touch would scare or upset you somehow. Now, he grabbed your cheeks in his hands, unable to control himself.

"What happened? Are you alright? Are you not feeling well?"

You silently encircle his wrist, leaning your face into his tender touch, "I'm okay, I'm sorry, I'm alright."

He squinted, shaking his head with furrowed brows, "You're sorry? Don't be sorry, what's happening?"

Someone turned the corner of the corridor, and they were in the very same uniform as the man on your left. He seemed concerned, sprinting to a kneel beside Nanami to feel your pulse, your forehead.

You tried to wave them off again, "I'm okay, I'm very sorry, I have anemia, I didn't think this would happen..."

The hotel attendant looked understanding, nodded, and asked if you needed anything, if they could do anything to be of service to you, but once again, you waved them off.

Nanami was looking at you closely; he was so focused on your face then, watching your every movement. He seemed almost upset.

You recall another angry face.

Years ago, something like this had happened, you had been training in the dojo at the family estate, everything seemed normal, you had been sleeping and eating well, and yet after one flailing movement, you had found yourself sightless, lying on the tatami mats.

When you had awoken, the family doctor was there, informing your father of this condition, he said that it was improper for women to be pushing their bodies in the way you had been, that such distress on such a weak form could affect fertility, could lead to weak stock, to hysteria common amongst women.

You didn't train after that.

You really were alright, that's the embarrassing part. You were quite sure you would be able to comfortably make it to the room just fine but Kento was having none of your actions to brush him off.

The room spun again, not with vertigo, but with the action of him lifting you sturdily against his chest. He was breathing tightly, and every so often, he would murmur reassurances. He was still off kilter though.

He didn't know you were anemic.

He felt that it was rather important information to have on his wife and yet, here you were, trying to convince him to let you walk on your own.

He wonders why you hadn't said. Was it possible that you thought it wouldn't affect you? Could it be that you had your condition under control until now? Or, he suspected, his stomach churning, was it that the higher-ups thought he would not want you unless your condition was perfect? Had you hidden it from him on purpose?

Anemia wasn't uncommon, but he hadn't seen someone faint like this before. Nanami recalls suddenly the past he so desperately had wanted to pursue. The life away from Jujutsu he had thought would bring him freedom. He recalled the boss who had overworked him to sleeplessness. The deep discontentment he found himself in when he lived to serve those around him.

In that moment, holding you closely to his chest, he wondered if that had been how you felt. If you had been trapped there, the same way he had been. Only now, with your body tucked into him, he wondered, was that your norm?

He couldn't let that happen.

The two men from before brought Nanami to the reserved room, and they opened the door for you both, asking repeatedly if you needed hot chocolate or a cold compress. You seemed more cognizant, turning them down. Your luggage was just beside the door, you realize.

Before you could turn them away again, the hotel manager pointed out some beverages and salty snacks on the table. Kento thanked them, and after the workers had turned to leave, he set you down on the desk that was in the main entrance of the room.

He murmuerd something about wanting to lay you down, that perhaps he should have your knees above your head, but his main priority was trying to keep you from jumping off the counter to prove you were really quite well.

So much embarrassment riddled your brain, and Nanami was too sweet to be anything but needlessly worried.

He bent his knees to look at you closely. Ignoring your words of assurance, he placed his palm gently on your forehead. He cracked open a water bottle, and you knew instantly that you were fine since your brain was quickly picking up on how tensely his muscles became when he tore the lid off.

You wanted to bite his arm.

Seriously, what is wrong with you?

He clutched your chin, watching you swallow the liquid, only satisfied once you set the bottle down yourself. He reached over to a small packet of peanuts in a basket amidst other treats laid out free of charge.

Ah, yes, you were just fine, you felt every stroke of his thumb on your thigh as he watched you eat away at the individual nuts. You found it funny, or maybe you were just laughing to ease your ruckus of a heartbeat.

Kento did not find it amusing; his brows were still tightly knit together, had pulled back after noticing how close he had become, and only once petted the back of your neck when you laughed at him.

You really just wanted to curb this deep-seated concern of his.

"You need to lie down." Before the man could pick you up himself, you swung your legs off the desk, he didn't exactly gasp, but he huffed a,

"Please don't do that..." Before you could promise again that you were right as rain. Cheeks flushed in explanations you didn't want to share. In silent prayers, he would leave this all alone and somehow forget this had ever happened.

He still walked you out of the foyer, only just barely passing by the archway that led into the bedroom, when your steps halted. Alerted almost instantly.

He looked down at you, palm gently rubbing your back, "Please. It's best for you to lie down, even if you really are feeling alright."

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, looking between your husband and the massive room before you, "It's...not that."

He follows your head a few times, "What's wrong?" He looks closely at your eyes, and you don't understand how he isn't getting it. He turns to face you completely, brows furrowing, hands encompassing your face. Perhaps he thought you were feeling weak again.

"Kento." You look distinctly from him to the scene through the doorway, drawing his hand from your face.

He slowly turns again, trying to understand your tenseness, it takes him a bit, silly man, before he stills. "Oh..." He straightens considerably, finally understanding.

It seems there was only one bed in your room.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

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mv1simp · 10 months ago

Note

max taking advantage of innocent!best friend!reader … like a dynamic where he spoils her a lot and has made him look her think that all his strange behaviors/touches are normal

I’VE BEEN OBSESSED WITH THIS IDEA FOR AGES THANK U FOR GIVING ME AN EXCUSE TO WRITE IT 🙏🙏🙏

Friends ♥️

Max Verstappen x Childhood Best Friend!Reader

And what the hell were we, tell me we weren’t just friends, this doesn’t make much sense, no

Max has been your closest friend since childhood, promising to always look after you. Sure, everyone gossips that you two are secretly dating, that it’s not normal for friends to be so close, so touchy - but Max blows it all off. So when you ask him for help when you want to get a boyfriend for the first time, it shouldn’t be a problem because Max doesn’t like you like that…right?

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, innocent virgin! Reader, manipulative dark best friend! Max, dubcon, size kink, dom/sub, somnophilia, recording, this is DARK 🥸 3.3k WC

You and Max had grown up close together, your families being good friends as your fathers had raced together back in the day. He had been shy and awkward when you met, age 5 and 6, but as soon as he had stepped in front of you in defence when you had been bullied in school the next day, you vowed to always be loyal to him. Your families approved the friendship, laughing and taking pictures when you two would play house - Max always being the husband doll to your wife doll, of course. You two did everything together - school, holidays, racing where you always came to support him bearing snacks and words of encouragement. So when he asked you at age 18 to move with him to Monaco you didn’t even hesitate to say yes - not imagining a life without your Maxie by your side.

Your move raised a few eyebrows from your family, who had been suprised that you hadn’t outgrown what they had thought was an innocent childhood crush. Your older sister had been especially worried at the thought of you alone in a new city with only Max there to support you. She noticed, sometimes, when he thought no one was watching - how his eyes would be watching you, in a way eerily similar to how a wolf watched a lamb he was about to devour whole. Althought it had taken a lot of pleading from your end to win her over, it had been easy enough to convince your parents to let you go, explaining you were enrolling in Monaco University - being bankrolled by Max’s new generous F1 salary - and yes, promised that you were staying in your own separate apartment. And that had been the plan, but when you stood in the entrance to Max’s penthouse a few weeks later, dripping head to toe with sprinkler water because somehow your up to code apartment had a fire when you had been out, he had insisted you stay at his until you found a new place - just for a short while. A short while then turned into a long while which then turned into the lockdown and at the end of it all Max had said you just couldn’t leave, he was too used to having you there that coming home to an empty apartment would be too hard. And although you had worried, saying that as you both got older it might be strange that you now lived together and people would talk, Max shot down all your concerns, reassuring you with a warm hug and sweet kiss to your forehead that the only opinion that mattered was yours, and as long as you’re happy Schat, I don’t really care what anyone else thinks. You had blushed from the affection and that was the end of that discussion.

You’d always been quite sheltered, naive even - and going to a strict private school meant you hadn’t had any romantic or sexual experience whatsoever. Growing up, it was clear to the adults around you that you had always held a crush on Max, and althought the older boy would always look out for you, he didn’t reciprocate to the same way - at least that’s what they thought. They hadn’t noticed that when you two had been gently separated one night when it had been deemed you were too old to sleep in the same bed anymore, Max had crept back and grabbed your hand as he lay next to you, mumbling he couldn’t sleep without you, liefje. No one noticed that this habit continued well into your teens, when Max would climb in through your bedroom window - initially making you freak out but soon reassured by Max’s words that your parents were just too strict, you were just two best friends wanting to spend time together.

And the first time you woke up one morning to feel something thick and hard pressing into you from the back, scaring you a bit, Max had gently rubbed your shoulder from the back while telling you it was okay, it’s just something that happens sometimes when a guy sleeps next to a pretty girl, you had blushed and accepted the compliment. And no one knew that behind closed doors your chaste goodbye kisses to Max’s cheek began turning into loving kisses on the lips when he had tilted your head up, saying he was going to miss you so much when he went on his first F1 race and he deserves a goodbye kiss for good luck from you, didn’t he?

And of course you would always give Max whatever he asked for since he was your best friend, your protector, the person you loved the most in the world. He’d pay for you, drive you everywhere, cheer you up when you were down, make you laugh, patiently take you shopping and rate every outfit you tried on, fight anyone who dared to give you a hard time - and the rest of the paddock had definitely noticed the lingering attentions of the Redbull driver to his childhood friend. Daniel and Lando constantly gave him shit for it, saying he needed to grow a pair and just confess instead of making puppy eyes at his “best friend”. Max always just rolled his eyes at their gossiping ways.

But it was hard to deny their claims when Max would pull you in to sit on his lap at a games night making everyone smirk at you, or when you would emerge from his hotel room the next morning since you two still shared a bed everytime you went away - it’s just like a sleepover when we were little, scatje, nothing wrong with it - or when at fancy award ceremonies or galas Max would be photographed in his tux, a vogue model at his side as his latest girlfriend - and you on his other side, wearing a luxury dress he’d brought for you. The paparazzi would eat up the dirty looks Max’s flings would always be shooting you, knowing they always came second to his best friend.

The thing was, even when sometimes doubt would flicker in your mind that things were too intimate, too romantic, between you and Maxie - you couldn’t bring yourself to want to draw back. You’d always secretly had such a crush on the older boy growing up, but since he had never directly reciprocated and was now a big world champion with women around every corner in Monaco after him, you’d learnt to accept your feelings were unrequited and you needed to stop reading so much into Max’s pure intentions to look after you. After all, that’s what best friends did, right?

And oh, did Max look after you. It seemed every week he’d level up more and more. Matching jewellery and heels to go with the designer dresses, and lately you had come home to find matching lingerie in Max’s favourite colour, dark blue. You had blushed furiously, feeling an indescribable icky pit in your stomach and remembering your sister’s warnings - Max goes too far, he pushes the boundaries of a normal friendship - but Max put all your worries to ease over the homecooked dinner you made him that night, explaining that the latest dress just happened to come with matching accessories and he wanted to make sure that you felt beautiful in all the layers you wore and it was normal to give your best friends gift, no? But he could return it if you’d prefer… prompting you to hastily accept his intimate gift, reassuring him that it was so thoughtful and you were so grateful. He’d looked so pleased with your response that when he ordered more and more sets, each one getting just a touch more lacier and risqué, you just thanked him for each one. And when he asked you how you found your gift, could he have a look at it, please schatje, I always help you pick your prettiest outfits right? You had nodded in agreement, blushing but shyly pulling his hoodie off your torso to expose the outrageously expensive La Perla black lace set you wore, accentuating your plump ass and pushing your tits up for him to hungrily look at. Max’s gaze had lingered there for a long time, his gaze turning dark and you had felt that same uncomfortable pit begin to settle in your stomach again when he saw the look on your face and patted your soft, chubby waist in reassurance, saying don’t be embarrased, schat, we always grew up seeing each other like this, right? Remember that photo of us swimming in that pool in Ibiza? Completely naked? Besides, you’ve seen me shirtless so many times, this is the same as that. That was true, you accepted dreamily, and not thinking anything of it when Max started asking you to send photos of you modelling the cute sets he’d get delivered to you when he was away. You happily snapped away mirror selfies, in all the different angles he wanted to see you from, even strange ones you weren’t quite sure about like bend over and stick your hips right up in the air, hmm schat?

He’d kiss you goodbye now all the time, saying you were his cute little good luck charm, with the expectation that you’d open your lips wide for him, letting him shove his tongue into your mouth and explore it to his hearts content. Gotta have a better kiss to get better luck. It felt so nice and made you feel all tingly between your legs so you would never turn it down. And since Max was away more and more with his racing schedule, often he would come home and fall asleep straight in your bed, saying he had missed being away from you so much. You had thought it was so sweet, no one else but you got to see Maxie like that, you were the only one he depended on. So you easily wrapped yourself up in his embrace, just like when you two had been little - except this time Max would say you’re so tense, schat, let me help you relax a bit, my physio knows this great muscle relaxation technique-

And it felt soo nice when he rubbed your sensitive little body up and down, you had no complaints, not even when some nights he would travel much, much lower down your plush little tummy than he had before. You just obediently parted your legs for him when he commanded in his deep voice, running his thick finger up your slit through your wet lace panties. And sometimes you’d wake up to feel that very familiar hardness of his behind you, soo warm now as he took himself out of his sweatpants and let his cock rest against you. Feels all tense, sweetheart, cause you kept rubbing against it last night and I didn’t get any sleep he would sigh.

You’d feel terrible, apologising profusely for interrupting his precious sleep when he trained so much, asking how you could make it up to him when Max had said just gonna let it relax out onto you, yeah? Don’t worry, you can even go back to bed, baby. You’d nodded sleepily, so grateful that Maxie was so sweet he always put your sleep first, even when his had been deprived.

He’d waited before you were comfortably nuzzled back against him, breaths turning deeper as sleep overtook you before slowly lifting your damp panties out of the way, and sliding his leaking tip just along the entrance to your innocent hole, making you moan, half asleep cause it felt soo good, and you felt so guilty that you felt so much pleasure while Max had just become frustrated overnight. With your eyes screwed shut you’d never notice the dark lustful look in his eyes, the evil smirk on his face as he had his way with you, letting him getting away with practically murder if it was for the sake of your friendship. You let him continue gliding his cock along your puffy folds, his tip repeatedly stimulating your sensitive clit, his large hands coming up to fondle at your boobs that has somehow slipped out of your camisole and gently flick your nipples before he tensed, holding you tightly against him as his breaths quickened. You has felt something warm and wet leaking out from the sides of your panties. You looked down, dazed, but Max shushed you back asleep, lulling you into his arms again. And when you woke up next you always had a clean pair of fresh panties on, camisole tucked back down over your thick hips, Max no where in sight.

As you grew up, your sexual curiosity eventually began to peak. When all of your friends in uni had gotten boyfriends and giggled to you about how good sex felt, you had gotten curious too. of course, you would never bring it up with Max even though you two talked about everything - because you should only be talking about sex with your future boyfriend, right? But one day when you had come home early from class you had heard lewd noises coming from Max’s bedroom. So lewd that you had been unable to stop yourself from peeking through a slight gap. The sight of Max thrusting himself into his latest girlfriend, her face pushed down into the mattress as he drilled into her from the back made you blush furiously. You’d stood there for a little while, your panties getting damp at the sight of sweat dripping down Max’s abs before you had caught yourself and scurried away, so guilty about violating Max’s privacy like that. You were such a creep, what was wrong with you?!

But that afternoon had also made you realize Maxie had so much more experience than you as you hadn’t been sure what a lot of the movement and positions you had seen that day were. And Max had said you could always ask him for help with anything, right? You couldn’t quite build up the courage to ask him - until your classmate asked you out one day, making you giddy with excitement but come crushing down when he had later found out on the date that you were a virgin, and had said maybe it was best for you to be with someone who was more on your level, that he didn’t feel comfortable being with someone so inexperienced for a casual fling. You’d come home sobbing, running straight into Max’s arms in your cute little dress and strappy heels, crying Maxie, he was so mean, you’d never believe what he said-

Max had been furious when you told him the story. He was so, so angry - not only at your classmate, but at you, for going on this date and not telling him, the way you would always tell Max about everything you did in your day. How could you be so careless, so slutty to go out with a guy like that? Max demanded, making your eyes widen and cry harder. It’s those new girlfriends of yours, aren’t they, they’re such fucking whores.

You’d never seen him so angry before, not even when he had a DNF at a race weekend. He’d only seems to calm down when you had looked up at him with innocent eyes, pleading Maxie, please, will you teach me how to be a good girlfriend, I don’t want to be so inexperienced anymore.

He’d sighed and run his hands through your hair, wiping away the tears that had made mascara drip down your cheeks. Of course, schat. I’ll show you exactly how to be a good little girlfriend. But promise me that you won’t talk to another guy without my permission first, okay? I have to protect you and make sure that you’re trained enough to have a boyfriend.

It was so, so sweet of Max to take time out of his busy schedule to help your embarrassing problem, you thought dreamily. You never noticed that your classmate never turned up to class again, but did have to go to hospital that week for a new black eye and bruised ribs.

Meanwhile, Max first started your “lessons” by showing you how to pump him from soft to a raging erection, guiding your hands into his sweatpants and moving your hands up and down, after you spit cutely into your palms to ease the glide. You didn’t notice the smirk on his face as he watched your struggle to jack off his entire sizeable length with your tiny palms.

Then he’d shown you how to use your mouth to make him feel good. You’d sat on your ass for hours in between his legs as he absentmindedly played his game, drawing kitten licks up his shaft before he’d taken over and told you to relax that tight throat of yours, baby, as he shoved his cock inside your mouth. He’d jackhammered away happily without any regard for the tears that emerged from your eyes. You had coughed, spluttered, throat raw for days as Max made you practise on the daily, tutting at you in mock disappointment when your gag reflux got in the way and you stopped halfway down his length. He’d pulled you up to sit on his lap, his hard cock wedged in between your plush thighs, as he put a dirty video onto the TV - petite ebony deepthroats massive white cock like a pro.

You had blushed and stuttered at the obscene video, looking away at one point but Max had forced your head back to look at the scene, saying don’t miss this bit, schat, look how she doesn’t forget about his balls, yeah?

You’d watched video after dirty video until you had perfected your blowjob technique exactly to Max’s likings. You look up obediently at him as he points his phone at you, flash on and all, recording your performance for reference, of course scatje, we need to track your progress, right? as you sloppily took his hard cock into your eager mouth, all the way to the base, gag reflux well and truly trained out of you from his daily discipline.

You’d woken up the next morning to find Max’s blonde curls between your legs, his tongue sweetly licking at your most innocent parts and you had squealed in shock, Maxie what are you doing ohmygod- but he quickly thrust his fingers into your drooling mouth to shut you up, just progressing to the next level, sweetheart, you need to learn to cum whenever I ask you too.

You’d squeaked and whined as his tongue didn’t stop flicking your clit, his fingers now joining in abusing your poor little virgin cunny until you begged him to pull away, Maxie please I feel funny, I think I’m going to pee- Ahhh!!! You’d ended up squirting all over his fingers and tongue, immediately passing out from exhaustion at the sheer intensity and missing the dark, pleased grin on Max’s face as he licked up your juices from his fingers. God, it was almost too easy to brainwash you into his perfect little pet. Soon he’d having you asking him to claim your virginity, he just knew it. And he would not hesitate, taking what had always belonged him anyways. He’d have made you his housewife a long time ago if your goddamn sister hadn’t kept cockblocking him.

Never mind that. Even she wouldn’t be able to withhold her blessing when you’d turn up at the next family gathering, glowing and expecting his child, he thought darkly. Smirking to himself, Max unbuttoned his pants, freeing his hard cock. In fact, why wait to feed you some bullshit excuse about how no baby, virgins can’t get pregnant the first time or no, I can’t use a condom, schat, it’s bad for you to have something unnatural inside you.

He might as well start now and give you a thick creampie as your present to wake up to later ♥️ After all, you’d take it like the good girl you always were for him.

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A/N: Chile anywaysssss don’t mind me and my depraved thoughts. Gotta go drink some holy water fr. Lmk what you guys thought! Feel free to request more x

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