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marauroon · 2 days ago

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hellooooo! hope ur doing well :)

could i request a james fic where they are kind of the golden couple in school and everybody either envies them or wants to be like them because they just seem so affectionate when they are with each other and entertaining to be around and not so much of an annoying couple despite the fact they'd probably seem like they would be but when they are alone they are really quiet with their affection and they have quiet love for each other, showing their love with helping each other make pastries or one of them lying their head in the others lap while they read and it's all kind of shocking when the marauders find them quietly reading or something because they seem so hyper and fun but in reality are soo quiet-cuddly. thank you!

── . ☀︎ 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝘁. (𝗷.𝗽𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿)

you and james love each other loudly. even when there’s nobody else around to see it.

james potter x fem!reader 1.7k fluff masterlist.

AN | the lover boy of all lover boys

You’re used to the stares by now. They start the second you and James step into the corridor, your fingers laced with his like it’s the most natural thing in the world—which, for the two of you, it is.

The stares don’t faze you. They’re always there, the curious glances, wistful smiles, outright envy. You’re the golden couple. The couple. The one that first years whisper about and teachers look at with a kind of nostalgic longing, like maybe they once had what you do and let it slip away.

James Potter at your side, head thrown back in a loud laugh at something daft you just said, is an image burned into half the school’s mind.

You’re not trying to be enviable, honest. It’s just that loving James feels like a loud, bright thing sometimes. Like a firework. He talks too much when he’s around you, makes ridiculous jokes, and doesn't stop grinning. And you’re no better. You talk about him like he hung the stars in the sky—and to be fair, he may as well have.

“You want to know the secret?” you said once to Marlene, when she caught you smiling like an idiot after James kissed your cheek before Transfiguration. “He actually did hang the stars. Or at least, he’d try if I asked him to,”

Marlene rolled her eyes and muttered something like “disgusting”, but she was smiling when she said it.

James carries your books. Always has. Sometimes in his arms, most of the time levitating them just behind you with a casual flick of his wand like it’s second nature. You used to insist on carrying your own things until he said, “But why would you? I want to,” And you melted. That’s how he gets you—he always means it.

It’s always you and him in the Great Hall. James sits so close your knees knock under the table and he steals food from your plate like it’s a basic human right. You’re the kind of couple that never runs out of things to say. Half the time your friends have to tell you both to shut it during dinner. But they don’t really mind. You’re entertaining.

Together, you’re a show—but not a performance. That’s the difference. There’s no artifice. The handholding and the giggling, the way James lifts you into his arms to carry you across the muddy courtyard when it’s raining—none of it’s for anyone else. He just doesn’t want your shoes getting ruined, and he’s strong enough to do something about it.

When you laughed as he twirled you like it was a ballroom and not the entrance steps to the castle, people didn’t roll their eyes. They sighed. Because Merlin, wouldn’t it be nice to be loved like that?

But the thing that really makes you both the “blueprint”, as Sirius once so dramatically called it, is what nobody sees.

Or at least, what they’re not supposed to see.

—

You’re in the Gryffindor common room, curled in your usual corner, and the fire is soft and crackling, casting gold across James’s face. His head is in your lap, his glasses pushed up into his hair. You’re reading. He’s reading. Well, trying to. His eyes flutter closed every few minutes but he insists he’s not tired.

“You’re blinking like a cat,” you whisper, brushing a curl off his forehead.

“M’not,” he mutters, though the slur in his voice betrays him.

You smile, soft and fond, and go back to your book. His breathing evens out moments later.

You know you should wake him, but he looks so peaceful. So quiet. Nobody at school really knows this version of James—the boy who presses kisses to your temple in silence when you’re working on essays, who reads over your shoulder and murmurs corrections without teasing. Who rubs his thumb against the back of your hand absentmindedly, like he needs the contact just to think straight.

When you help him draft his Potions theory or he stays up with you past midnight working on Arithmancy, that’s love too. Not the flashy kind. Not the kind that gets you looks in the corridor or earns you snide comments from Sirius (“For Merlin’s sake, take a breath between sentences, you two,”).

No, this kind is deeper.

It’s in the gentle way James whispers, “You’re brilliant, you know,” when you manage to explain something he’s been struggling with for days.

It’s in the way you always keep a spare quill for him because he never remembers, and the way he always keeps your favourite chocolate in his satchel, just in case you’ve had a rough morning.

There’s something sacred about that kind of love. Quiet. Undemanding. Steady.

—

One afternoon, you and James are in the library, an unlikely occurrence if someone doesn’t know you properly. You’re sitting next to each other, your foot pressed against his shin under the table. There’s an open Charms text in front of you and a notebook filled with both your scrawls. He’s trying to come up with a mnemonic to remember a particularly finicky spell.

“Alright,” he says, tapping his wand against his chin. “Swinemuzzle Ensnare… Memory Eraser… Wormwood. That’s SEW. Sew what?”

“Sew a—” you pause, blinking. “I don’t know, a hat? A memory-hiding hat?”

James grins. “Ridiculous. I love it,”

You both laugh quietly, shoulders shaking, your laughter muffled by the thick library air.

And that’s exactly when the Marauders walk in.

They were probably looking for something—Remus’s notes, a textbook Peter lost, or maybe they just wanted to cause mischief in a new location. But what they find is the two of you hunched over a notebook, James’s hand lightly covering yours where it rests on the page, your eyes scanning lines of text, completely silent.

Sirius rolls his eyes fondly. “Gross, they’re revising together,”

Remus shushes him before Madam Pince can.

You look up, startled by their entrance. James blinks at them like he’s just woken from a nap.

“Oh. Hey, lads,”

Sirius stares at you like he’s seen a hippogriff do ballet.

“Why are you revising?”

James smirks, stretching. “What, you thought I was illiterate?”

“Honestly, sometimes, yeah,”

You snort and close the book. James sits back in his chair, the image of a smug, secretly cuddly boyfriend caught in the act.

Remus, ever the perceptive one, tilts his head. “So… She promised to shag you later if you actually focused?”

“Something like that,” you say, letting your fingers trail down James’s arm, not an ounce of embarrassment in your tone.

It’s not even true, but there’s no use in denying it.

Later, Sirius calls it “your secret language”.

“You two talk loud enough for the whole bloody castle, but then you’ve got this weird telepathy thing when you’re alone,”

James doesn’t even argue. Just nudges your knee with his.

You don’t think it’s weird. You think it’s love. Real love. Not just noise and theatrics, though you’ve got plenty of those. It’s in the silence. The comfort. The way you fit into each other’s lives so neatly it feels like you must have been built from the same material.

—

That night, you’re asleep before he is. Half passed out on one of the sofas in the common room by the time he returns from Quidditch practice, hair damp and messy, cheeks pink from the cold.

He finds you curled under a blanket with a book half-open in your hands.

“Hey,” he whispers, brushing your forehead.

You open your eyes sleepily. “Hi,”

James sits beside you on the couch, nudging your legs until you make space for him to lie down. You shift and let him rest his head against your chest, your fingers already finding his curls.

He exhales, long and slow, like the world has been holding its breath until now.

“Love you,” he murmurs.

You smile, bending low to kiss his forehead. “Love you more.”

And no one’s around to see it. No one to whisper about the golden couple or how perfect you look together. It’s quiet. And that’s when it feels the most real.

#marauders #marauders fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter fluff

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luna-azzurra · 16 hours ago

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Tips on Writing Breakup Scenes

✦ People don’t always cry. shocking, I know. sometimes someone just sits there like a polite zombie, nodding and saying “okay” while their soul quietly packs a bag and moves out the back of their skull. They might want to cry, but also they might just go numb and stare at the salt shaker for ten minutes. Both are valid guys.

✦ Most breakups aren’t a single moment, they’re a slow unraveling that ends in a conversation, so even if your character feels blindsided, it should still carry that surreal “I should’ve seen this coming” haze. Because breakups rarely just drop out of the sky.

✦ The dumbest details stick, like seriously, no one remembers the whole speech, but they’ll remember the scratchy napkin, the weird buzz of a light, that their ex had mustard on their cheek and didn’t notice.

✦ You can always feel a breakup coming. no one says “we need to talk” out of nowhere, because people act different right before. overly nice. extra distant. weirdly cold or weirdly warm. characters should notice that, even if they can’t quite name what it is yet.

✦ Sometimes people still love each other. like, actually still love each other. it’s not always about the love being gone, no. It can be timing, fear, baggage, a hundred other things that get in the way. let your characters say “I love you” and still not stay. It hurts and it’s real.

✦ Closure? lol. most people don’t get it. a lot of breakups end with “wait, that’s it?” or a message that never gets sent or that one thing you almost said but didn’t. There’s rarely a satisfying ending.

✦ No one speaks in perfect sentences mid-breakup. people ramble. they say sorry three times and mean something different every time. Someone’s trying to keep it light. someone else is cracking. sentences trail off. someone forgets how to use words entirely.

✦ After it’s over, people don’t always sob into a pint of ice cream. Some people shut down, some go out and party, some clean their entire room, rewatch a comfort show, or post a spicy selfie with “new era” energy. Everyone breaks differently, so let your characters be weird about it.

✦ And if your character is the one doing the breaking up, let them feel complicated... just because they’re ending it doesn’t mean it’s easy. They might feel guilty and relieved, or they might cry after. Maybe they might mourn the version of the relationship that only existed in their head.

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starkeyvhs · 2 days ago

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unhook

PAIRING: nerd!rafe cameron x nerd!fem!reader

SUMMARY: it’s rafe’s first sleepover with his first girlfriend – who is equally shy as him – but she needs help with unhooking her bra.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

WARNINGS: shy rafe & reader; she/her pronouns used for reader; slightly suggestive (?) but it’s soft and fluffy 🫶

EDITH SPEAKS: we don’t just have nerd rafe now, we now have nerd reader too 🥰 I loveddddd writing the two of them, just a couple of soft and shy teenagers who like each other so much but are just so anxious 🥹 I have a cool idea on the background lore of this pairing and hopefully I’ll be able to write their full fic one day 🫶 anyways! if you enjoy reading, please reblog and share any feedback you may have 💞💞 also, my inbox is open to discuss all kinds of thoughts && hcs!!! xx

masterlist / join my taglist / requests

Rafe Cameron was an expert at a lot of things: physics, maths, programming, robotics, chemistry, but there was one thing no book could ever teach him.

And it was how to act around girls.

Throughout his life, he thought keeping a safe distance from girls was best for him; relationships and everything else would come to him when the time is right.

But he definitely didn’t think that time would come this soon – in high school.

He was best known for his concentration, and how he could sit still and study for hours on end, not giving up until he was done learning what he wanted to. But this one girl, she was becoming a distraction. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was as if he could see her name hidden between the words of the book he was reading, tucked safely as a sweet memory of this new person who had just waltzed into his life.

And somehow, the one thing that made all of this sweeter was that the girl – you – was also just like him. Just as inexperienced, just as nervous, and, he didn’t realise it, but also just as adorable as him.

It was hard for Rafe to get his mind off someone who had so many common interests as him. You loved science and technology just as much as he did, and you both were somehow just always on the same wavelength with almost everything you talked about.

Now, fast forwarding past the awkward talking stage (well, what’s to say it sometimes still isn’t awkward), Rafe finally bagged you, yes, that’s right, Rafe Cameron got a girlfriend.

And a damn intelligent one at that.

So, after everything, he has you invited over to his place for your first ever sleepover. The nerves are even more than usual, but he’s trying his best to make this work, just for the two of you.

Starting from when you arrive till the dinner with his family, everything is super smooth. You both talk a bit, and Rafe can feel the nervousness between you two is beginning to die, to create something that’s more comforting and warm instead.

But, all the effort he puts to make everything light hearted comes crashing down when he realises nighttime is nearing closer and closer. Meaning, the time to share a bed is getting closer. He makes the offer of his own clothes for your nightwear, which he’s super happy you accept.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, his fingers fiddling nervously with the hem of his own shirt as he waits for you to finish changing and freshening up in the washroom. He can feel his mind go absolute berserk, an infinite number of thoughts looping themselves in his head and playing like a broken record. He’s attempting to get his mind off these thoughts, oh he is trying so hard, but he just can’t.

Rafe nervously looks up at the clock hanging on his wall and realises a little too much time has passed since you went to the washroom. It concerns him a tiny fraction, but he attempts to relax that thought by telling himself you must genuinely take time in the washroom to freshen up.

But then he hears your voice calling out your name – oh how he loves the way his name sounds so sweet on your lips, but more on that later – and it seems as if you’re a little uneasy.

“Yeah?” He asks, and his voice automatically takes that softness that somehow only comes up when he’s talking to you. He gets up from his bed and makes his way to the closed washroom door, gently pressing an ear to it. “Everything alright?”

A long moment of silence passes and Rafe doesn’t hear anything from across the door, which almost tempts him to call out to you again, but your voice finally crosses the wood.

“I uh… I need help,” Your voice is already muffled due to the hardwood barrier between you two, but the obvious timidness in your tone makes it even more difficult for Rafe to catch your words.

“Yeah yeah, what is it, sweets?” He says softly, the nickname rolling off almost effortlessly. Whoa, where did that confidence come from? Again, a topic reserved for a much later conversation.

Another long moment of silence passes, and Rafe can now sense the anxiousness through the door, understanding that whatever it is, it’s making you feel more shy than usual.

“My, my bra hook’s stuck… I need help with it,” Somehow, your voice has gotten even quieter.

Now it’s Rafe’s turn to get quiet.

It takes time for your words, and their implication, to settle in him. His limbs feel permanently tethered to the ground below him by a strong force, and that nothing can make him budge. But he soon realises that force is entirely superficial and it’s his own nerves keeping him fixed.

Fighting the strong nerves he musters the courage to speak up again. “You, you need my help?” He asks.

“Yes please,” comes your reply and he hears a heavy exhale escaping you along with your words, as if you’re letting go of the heavy weight of having to tell him what your current situation is.

But god, Rafe doesn’t have a single clue how he’s going to react on what’s bound to happen next.

He hears you unlock the door from inside, and he wraps his fingers around the doorknob, slowly twisting it to open the door.

You’re standing in the center of the washroom, your back towards the door. He can see you’ve changed into his old shorts he gave you, but the t-shirt is sitting on the counter and you’re standing in just your bra. When you hear the door creak open, you turn to look over your shoulder and meet Rafe’s eyes.

The moment you see him, you shy your gaze away from him. “Uh, it’s stuck real bad…” you mumble quietly.

“Oh uh, I’ll… I’ll have a look,” Rafe mutters, moving closer to you so there’s barely any space between you two. He can feel the warmth of your back against his chest and it seems so inviting and soft.

His heart begins to thump loud in his chest, and the deep curtain of silence that envelopes you two makes it even more loud to his ears.

Rafe swallows the lump in his throat and lifts his hand up. He brings his fingers close to your back so that the fingertips are almost hovering over the inviting skin.

Do it, Rafe, do it. You’re here to help her, that’s it.

Subconsciously nodding to himself, Rafe lets his fingertips gently press over your back and oh my god your skin is so damn soft. The situation is making heat rush to his face, and he just knows his cheeks are tinted with a champagne pink which is very hard to miss.

He can hear the hitch in your breath the moment his fingers touch your skin, as if the small contact is spreading an electric current throughout your body. Rafe lets his fingers linger over the bra hook, and he brings his other hand up too, attempting to sort the stuck hook out.

“It’s a little stuck…” he murmurs under his breath as he has his way with the hook, but also makes sure none of his movements are too harsh that it hurts you in any way.

“That bad?” You ask meekly, glancing at Rafe over your shoulder. He catches the look of sheepishness on your face, knowing how awkward you might be feeling in this situation.

“I just need a minute, yeah?” He tells you softly, and allows himself to be a little bold, letting his hand drift over your shoulder and squeeze it softly. As much as his heart is beating fast in his chest and his fingers are itching to feel the expanse of your soft flesh, he also knows he should be a little confident because that’ll help you feel a little more comfortable.

His actions do the expected, your tense shoulders relax a bit and you nod to let him continue. Rafe brings his hands back to the hook and lets out a deep breath. Okay, lets just look at this carefully. He takes a moment to inspect exactly how the hook is stuck, and then, carefully, he lets his fingers work through the stuck hook.

It takes a long moment, both him and you standing in the quiet space of the bathroom with bated breaths, but finally, Rafe pops open the hook. That is the moment when your body gets fully relaxed, and he understands how relieving it must be for you to not have a tight constraint around your chest anymore.

He can’t convince himself to bring his hands back down to his sides, his palms now fully resting on your back above your shoulder blades. You stand there, keeping a hand over the bra to keep yourself covered.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks softly, feeling a little more bold as his fingertips begin to trail over your back, tracing over the length of your spine till your tailbone and coming back up right at the nape of your neck with a touch so slow and gentle.

“Yeah…” you murmur, “thank you so much, Rafe,”

Rafe can’t help the small smile that pulls his lips at your words. He leans down to press a soft kiss to your shoulder, letting his lips linger against your skin for a moment. “You’re welcome,” he mumbles softly into your skin, before pulling back.

He clears his throat and reluctantly gets his hands off you, taking a step back towards the door. “I’ll uh, I’ll let you change yeah?” He says softly and watches you nod, but this time you don’t turn to look at him. He makes his way out of the washroom and steps out, closing the door behind him and resting his head back against the hardwood.

He closes his eyes, letting out soft puffs of air through his exhales as his mind plays back the last few moments: his fingers on your skin, soaking up its velvety feel.

He doesn’t know where he got the wave of confidence from which allowed him to touch you that beautifully, but somewhere, he’s glad he got it, because now, he absolutely can’t even think of anything else besides you, your supple skin, and how he might ultimately get to feel more than just your back under his hands.

Well, this only makes him ecstatic about the impending sleepover.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @inthelibrarybtw / @mccaffreyswifey / @chenslucy / @totalswag / @wearemadeofstardust0 / @percysley / @superswaggycooch / @kaileashiftz / @weirdowithnobeardo / @chimchimjiminie16 / @ursovaine / @mariamadison6-blog / @snowtargaryen / @htlkira / @hrtshapedblg / @cherrys-muses / @mattyskies

specific tags for this fic: @maybejj / @appleciderlove / @starkeyszn

tagging a few moots: @runningfrom2am / @ilyrafe / @zyafics / @nemesyaaa / @ladyinbl00d / @jjsbank444 / @b1mb0slvt / @maddsxfall / @congratsloserr

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dissociacrip · 2 days ago

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just because it's sometimes necessary for parents with strollers to use the larger accessible stall in bathrooms 1000% doesn't mean parents with strollers should have a get out jail out of free card for acting entitled or otherwise being weird towards disabled people with wheelchairs or who use other mobility aids that take up a large amount of space

one of my first times out using a wheelchair involved a mother with a stroller staring me down in a crowded bathroom like there is no way in hell she was going to let me get in the stall before she was, it was unsettling and humiliating at best, not to mention the fact there weren't any stalls actually big enough to fir my wheelchair in them in said restroom despite it being marked as accessible and how humiliating that was on its own, and there are plenty of experiences that are much worse than that

i don't care how much they also "need" the stall, people with strollers and kids can be just as shitty and ableist and weird towards us as anyone else, maybe we should be talking about the ableism and exclusion we experience involving a public space supposedly dedicated to us instead of centering the feelings of able-bodied people, or sometimes people who think visible disability or being a wheelchair-user is somehow magically a privilege

#cripple punk #cpunk #ableism #j

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makeitworse · 1 day ago

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SNAP OUT OF IT

── cheol’d be damned if he ever stole someone’s girl, especially a member’s. but how else is he meant to save you from that asshole?

ෆ ͜ ̩͙ f!reader x seungcheol. indent format. hurt/comfort. angst. reader’s bf is left unnamed.

what a pretty fuckin’ predicament you were.

seungcheol loves his group. bottom of his heart, he really does. they’ve been through years of practice rooms and stage lights and growing pains together. he’ll be the first to cover for them in interviews when they can’t find the right words, the first at their defence when netizens take things too far.

when it comes to the team, their public image, he’ll sure as hell keep them in line. but he won’t control what they all do behind closed doors, away from the cameras. that’s the limits of his responsibility. but lately, those limits have been staring him in the face with kind eyes and the softest goddamn voice he’s ever heard.

you. his member’s girlfriend. cheol doesn’t know where the fuck he found you and how the fuck he pulled you— better yet, how he’s managed to keep you this long. you’re sweet. polite. you greet them all by name, remember the little things they mention. the room lights up when you enter. you make everyone feel seen, known, like they matter. and you’re gorgeous— fuck, painfully so. cheol’s caught himself watching you more than once, eyes lingering too long, heart thudding with something that sure as hell shouldn’t be there.

you must’ve descended from the heavens and he was the first human you saw, and now you don’t know any better. because, pardon the french, your boyfriend’s a fuckhead when it comes to women. doesn’t know how to treat a girl right even if there was a gun to his head. everyone else tiptoes around it, keeps it cordial for the sake of the team— but cheol hears the whispers, the offhand comments.

minghao grumbling after last week’s party about your boyfriend raising his voice at you. jeonghan biting his tongue when your boyfriend made some offhand comment about your outfit. once, cheol was pulled aside by a conflicted joshua: “she looked like she was about to cry the whole night. should i say something to him?”

cheol doesn’t. because what’s he gonna say? “hey, treat your girl right or i will.” cheol’s not that guy. he’s not the homewrecker. even if the ‘home’ is made of straws and sticks. you can only tell so much to someone who won’t listen. and it’s not cheol’s place to manage his members’ private affairs, right? so he minds his business. stays in his lane. except, lately, he keeps veering off-road.

because whenever cheol sees you— bright-eyed and glowing before your boyfriend’s gotten the chance to dim your light— he thinks about what he’d do differently. cheol’d sweep you off your feet. he’d never raise his voice, always hold your hand in public. learn every little thing about you just to hear you talk. he’d make you feel safe— happy, goddamn it. it feels like complicity just witnessing a dime piece like you get mistreated. but cheol has to remind himself that you’re not his girl, and he’s not that type of guy.

you’re too sweet to ever be anything but faithful either. too loyal to ever stray, as much as your boyfriend doesn’t deserve it. that’s the worst part. even with the way he talks down to you sometimes, even with the doubt in your eyes, you’d never look at cheol like you were thinking of leaving. you love your man. cheol loves the idea of what could’ve been. and it tears him up inside when he sees you.

it’s a late weekend night. the boys are having a small gathering: bring your own drinks and a plus one. cheol figured you’d be there, but what he hadn’t expected was for your eyes to find him the instant you arrived— boyfriend’s arm still slung over your shoulder as you waved at cheol with the cutest smile ever. his stomach fluttered over the interaction, but he tries to not let it linger. you’ve always been nice to everyone.

until you’re seated next to him at dinner. the group and their partners are all scattered around the place, but you chose to take the spot right next to cheol, shyly asking if it was okay with him. your boyfriend was halfway across the room, scrolling on his phone between bites of the food and barely sparing you a glance. cheol’s trying, really trying, not to think anything of it. your shoulder’ll brush his every so often, soft giggles spilling from your lips like you forgot who you came with. it’s just a seat. just conversation.

but every time you lean in to whisper something, every time your hand comes to his arm as you laugh, there’s something deep and desperate coiling in cheol’s chest. your boyfriend probably forgot you’re here— meanwhile you’re telling cheol about your favourite movie you recently rewatched, this ramen spot that gave you food poisoning, the dumbest tiktok that made you laugh earlier. and you smile. god, you smile— wide and bright and so effortlessly real— and it fucking guts him.

cheol’s never seen you look like that with your boyfriend. he might not have even tried to pull that kind of light out of you. but here you are, radiant like the sun, and all cheol can think is how much he wants to reach across the space between you and tell you how he’d never let you feel anything but this. that you deserve the world and more, and cheol’s just a man but he’d sure as hell try. he wants you. it’s not right thing— but when your boyfriend’s done everything except that, cheol can have this one. he fucking wants you and he can’t do anything about it.

amidst the post-dinner chatter, your boyfriend approaches the table with a low voice, pulling you off into another room. the room’s shift in energy is palpable. conversations trail off. laughter thins out. heads turn as the door closes behind you— and there’s a sick twist in cheol’s stomach. he doesn’t know what was said, but he’s got a pretty good guess. jealousy’s a hell of a sickness, and your boyfriend’s terminal. cheol’s been trying to play it cool all night, but maybe he smiled too much, made you laugh too loud. maybe your boyfriend finally looked over and saw what everyone else had been choosing not to.

the group starts filtering out not long after. the mood’s gone— sliced by the tension hanging in the air. no one really says it out loud, but they all know why. cheol says goodbye to others from the table, choosing to stay behind. he chews the inside of his cheek as his eyes flick to that closed door every few seconds. he wants to check on you, but it’s not his place. not yet.

once the door opens, your boyfriend comes out. alone. avoiding anyone’s eyes, he rubs a hand down his face, muttering “we broke up.” like it’s nothing. like it’s just a line on the to-do list he’s finally gotten around to. cheol’s out of his seat before he can stop himself.

“you’re a fucking idiot,” cheol spits, louder than he means to. the whole room flinches, with your ex narrowing his eyes like he’s waiting for more. like he’s not the least bit startled that someone’s finally calling him out. cheol clicks his teeth in frustration, already turning away. your ex storms out without another word. you’re still there, in the other room.

cheol hesitates only a second before walking in. you’re sitting on the edge of a low bench, hands in your lap, eyes glassy. you don’t look up when he enters, and it wrecks him— how small and quiet you look. he crouches down in front of you, voice gentle like he might rouse you. “hey.” your lip trembles. you try to shake your head, act like you’re fine, but the tears come anyway. cheol doesn’t think— just opens his arms, and you fall into them like you’ve been waiting to.

you’ve broken up with him before. a dozen times. probably more. and somehow, he always crawls back to you— apologies and promises on a silver platter. but not this time. not if cheol can help it. he runs a hand soothingly down your back, chin resting lightly on your shoulder. “let me take you home,” he tells you softly. “you don’t have to stay here.” and when you raise your head with a nod, you’ve got a look in your eye— that same glint of relief from when you first arrived and saw cheol.

the drive’s quiet, but the comfortable kind. just full of things that neither of you need to say out loud. when cheol pulls up in front of your place, you don’t move to get out right away. just sit there, fingers fiddling with your sleeve before you glance at him: eyes still red-rimmed, voice soft. “do you wanna come in?”

he knows he probably shouldn’t. there’s lines that once crossed, can't be uncrossed. but you’re looking at him like you need him. not just anyone, but cheol. and it’s not about anything physical— he can see it clearly. you just don’t want to be alone. and god knows he doesn’t want to leave you alone either.

your home’s dim and quiet. you offer him tea like it’s any other night and he’s your guest— not the aftermath of a breakup, where he should be the one asking to get you anything. cheol follows as you sit on the couch, close but leaving a few inches of polite space. until you lean into him, head bumping his shoulder. and he lets you. of course he would. he even wraps an arm around you, holding you close.

cheol’s thumb rubs soothing circles onto your shoulder. when you sigh and nuzzle closer, the words slip from him: “you deserve so much better,” he confesses, voice low. “you know that, right?” you nod, but barely. cheol’s warm hand holds you, tilting his head down at you. “i would’ve treated you right,” he adds, quieter this time. “still would.”

you both let his words sit. at some point, your hand finds his, fingers shyly lacing together. cheol doesn’t move, doesn’t rush it. just breathes you in, chest aching like he’s waited too long for this. and when you raise your head to face him, eyes soft and searching, he knows what’s coming.

your lips find his— just careful, like a question. and cheol answers without blinking: leaning in, his mouth warm and soft against yours. he kisses you slow, unhurried. the kind that says i’ve thought about this more times than i should. cheol’s hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek in adoration. and even when your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, when your breath catches just slightly, he pulls away. just gently. he lingers close, forehead against yours, lips parted like he’s catching his breath— not from want, but from restraint. because he’s not going to ruin this by rushing.

“don’t wanna take advantage of you,” he murmurs, breath fanning your lips. “not like this. i need you to be sure. whatever you decide... i’ll be here. ‘m not going anywhere.” you smile at him all sleepy and soft, the kind of smile he’d go to war for. “i already am,” you whisper. “sure, i mean. you’ve kind of... ruined him for me.” cheol exhales a quiet laugh. something unspoken settles between you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he’s not aching with guilt.

you stay like that for a while; cheol just holding you close, lazily rubbing your side. and when he eventually moves to stand, thinking he’s overstayed his welcome, you tug on his sleeve. “stay?” just one word, looking up at him like he’s all you’d ever need. and he doesn’t hesitate.“of course.” you fall asleep on the couch together— limbs tangled beneath a shared blanket. and it’s not messy or rushed or confusing. you feel safe with him, warm. like something real is finally beginning.

a/n: ngh,... (i would so do a pt2 w smut if anyone wants it btw)

taglist (join here): @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @pinkpunkdynamite

#seventeen x reader #scoups x reader #s.coups x reader #choi seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x reader #scoups seventeen #scoups x you #seventeen x you #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #svt x reader

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mona-risms · 1 day ago

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perchance relationship headcanons for mira w/ a gn reader?? i don’t really have too many ideas in mind so you can do whatever feels right 😭

◆ MAIN COURSE: Mira x gn!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: N/A

◆ NOTES: This req came running in a matter of mere mins since sending out that annoucement my GOD 🥰 THANK YOU 🥰🥰🥰 I've been having their songs on loop I swear to god

I LOVE MY BABY I personally think it's a crime that when you think about it Mira and Zoey are very underdeveloped in the plot 😞 but that's not relevant rn ANYWAY

Mira is someone who holds her cards REALLY close to her chest. She's had to grow up that way—being considered the problem child meant whatever she did was scrutinised to all hell and back, so as rebellious as she was, sometimes that didn't necessarily mean feeling 'free' to express herself either. And when she does, it's blunt, cutting, usually ending up with her parents telling her to hush or soften her words to something befitting of......well........someone Not Her

That carries on to how she is with romance, unfortunately. Dating her would be, for simplicity's sake, difficult, and even getting to that point in the first place is even more so. But I swear, trust me when I say that the effort will be so incredibly worth it

Mira would tend to analyse your words a LOT. The other HUNTR/X members are one thing, she's so extremely close with them now that she's comfortable to let her guard down. But with anyone else? Even you? Oh god she is a SCEPTIC through and through; she's the type to prefer actions over words, otherwise she'll take everything you say with more than a grain of salt

And like I said, Mira would also be extremely blunt. She doesn't hold back with her words, so if she's pissed off or disappointed, she WILL make it known. I think it'd be even more so when it comes to someone she has feelings for as well, not for the sake of maliciousness but it's her own way of letting you know how she genuinely feels in the moment without mixing shit up

I think if you genuinely show her that you respect her agency and how she is, if you give her the time and space she needs, she'll slowly but surely start to open up to you and allow herself to not get her guard up all the time

"Hey."

Mira's sharp tone caught your attention, but you've learned to easily take it in stride. Where staff would've cowed slightly at the feeling of being intimidated, you simply lifted your head up and met the idol's gaze head-on. "Mira," you nodded in acknowledgement, "need something? I thought you were rehearsing."

Mira shrugged as she approached, the penthouse windows reflecting her movements for you to see, "We were, but Bobby needed to talk to Rumi about something and Zoey went to finish her rapping verse for the new song."

You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped past your lips, "I'd have assumed she went to eat her heart out."

"That girl can multitask," the corner of Mira's lips lifted in barely-contained amusement when she leans on the arm of the sofa across you.

"And you?" You tilted your head slightly, "What are you doing now?"

"Taking a break, obviously."

"I thought there was no rest for a K-Pop idol."

"That is Rumi's thing, you're talking to the wrong idol."

"Right, right, my bad, Ms. 'I came to the Met Gala in a sleeping bag'."

Mira huffed in slight laughter at the memory, "If everyone's just going to abandon all sense of comprehensible fashion, what does it matter if I wore a sleeping bag? Realistically speaking, I was the only one there who felt comfortable."

"Fair enough," is all you offer.

And really, the silence should've bothered her. Usually it did. Without Rumi or Zoey to fill the silence, the lack of.. anything would usually make her feel like she's being internally scrutinised for any reason—the way she dressed, the way she spoke, the way she presented herself in general.

But with you? Mira felt none of that. With interacting, the responses flowed easily, and she didn't feel like she was wittingly stepping on landmines whenever she said anything. In silence, there was no pressure, there was no prickling feeling of scrutiny, it was just.. comfortable.

Not quite the same sort of comfortable she had with the other HUNTR/X members, of course, but.. something different.

Honestly she didn't know whether she wanted to lean into it or pull away.

So she tests the waters instead, "You're weird."

"Am I?"

"Yeah, you are. People would either freak out, use us for clout, or give Dispatch the time of their lives," she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, "but you've done none of that. You're just.. here. "

"..Am I not allowed to be here?"

"Not my point. I mean you don't push yourself onto the three of us," on her, though that goes completely unsaid in favour for the feeling of protectiveness for what her trio had. "What's your angle?"

Maybe the question should've offended, but.. all you did was shrug as you answered with complete sincerity, your voice not wavering even once, "None. Is it that hard to believe that I just genuinely enjoy your company?"

Mira blinked. "Yes."

(Some small part of her mind, clearly unimportant, wondered whether you meant to refer to HUNTR/X as a whole.. or just her.)

And you laughed, a low chime in the otherwise quiet penthouse living room, "Not much I can do there, unfortunately. Guess you'll just have to trust me."

Trust.

That never came easy for her, not now and certainly not back then.

And yet.

"..Guess I do."

Once you actually end up dating, it's ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ UGH I love her

Yk how she'd be blunt as hell? See that still stays. HOWEVER. When you're not in, say, a professional or a life-or-death situation, her voice takes on a certain care and softness that she doesn't even have with HUNTR/X. It's not wholly noticeable, but you can hear it in the way she's slightly less sharp when addressing you, you can see it in the way that her expression softens subtly when she talks about you (and Zoey and Rumi tease her to the moon and back, mostly Zoey LMFAO)

I don't think she'd use nicknames personally, feels too cheesy for her. Actually, saying things in general is too cheesy for her, not to mention again she much prefers showing than telling. So instead of nicknames, it's sudden gifts like the jacket she clocked you eyeing up but didn't buy or even just your favourite snack from the convenience store. Instead of waxing poetry about what she adores about you, she expresses it in gestures. An example would be if you did makeup, she'd watch you and if there's something specific that she's noticed about your features but YOU didn't, she might even guide you or do the makeup herself so that your makeup is properly done justice

She won't be clingy, but she'd be EXTREMELY protective of you. Friends (and especially HUNTR/X actually) are one thing, but Mira letting herself date someone in the first place? Shit man that means she considers you as someone she genuinely wants to stay with. She recognises very well that you have your own life, and she has hers, and she wouldn't want to suffocate in the way SHE doesn't want to be suffocated either. But at the same time, when you're out together, she'd step a little closer, guide you through crowds like a bodyguard instead of your girlfriend (lol), and in the case of demons ever coming near you? Oooooh MAN it's over for them—no one, and I mean NO ONE, is taking the person who makes her feel like she belongs and she's lovable

I feel the need to add that if you like dancing or you ARE a dancer/fellow choreographer, then it's bonus points to you. Mira's bluntness actually helps here, since she'll freely give you feedback on your movements AND even demonstate the dances/suggest alternatives. And because the two of you are together? Yes. Yes she'll come close and guide you with touch without hesitation 🥰🥰🥰. OH OH OH AND LET'S NOT FORGET COUPLE DANCES TOO!!!! PLEAAAASE it'd just be the two of you in the dance studio and you're doing the tango or even ballroom dancing (you can tease her about it and she'll say she's multifaceted)

I think there are moments where she'd retreat to herself, especially during the beginning of your relationship or after the first few times you fight. It's already a huge insecurity of hers, being aware that she can be easily UNapproachable due to how brutally honest she can be. The time with Rumi was one thing, but you're someone who she willingly gave and entrusted her entire heart to—what happens if that's.. gone? Please give her space before the two of you talk again, she's genuinely a reasonable person. Reassure her that you're willing to give her whatever she needs, and over time she grows more comfortable with the new form of vulnerability, and she'll withdraw less when she realises that yes! You're staying, and nothing she does will change that

Also? Nap times. Relaxations in the hot springs. GOD yes. Couple spa dates? Genuine bliss 🥰🥰🥰 And speaking of dates, she knows she's busy as HELL. But she tries her best to either carve out time for you or she actually has you involved with whatever it is she's busy with, surprisingly (like having you watch her choreo to see if there's anything that sticks out, watching her and the other girls go on reality shows, etc)

Overall? It's like having a cat for a girlfriend. One that genuinely treasures you when she finds herself wanting your presence to be a constant bc of how you make her feel ☹️

#mona's main course...#mira x reader #kdh mira x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters imagines #kdh x reader #kdh imagines #huntrix x reader #huntrix imagines #huntr/x x reader #huntr/x imagines

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that-dreaming-dragon · 1 day ago

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Thanks for the tag @pogothefox-02!

Let's do this then..long post below cut.

I'm combining 1&2 so I don't repeat myself.

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to? 2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

We are a Median Constellations (I don't like to use system, since it's a bit complicated. And yes, our plurality is more a alterhuman phenomenon). I'm a Shapeshifter Dream Dragon otherkind & folcintera, others are also Dream Dragons, but cannot shapeshift.

Below are fuzzy who shares what, won't bother to distinguish. We also are/have:

Uzumaki Naruto otherhearted

Japanese pacific ocean dragon kardiatype

three-tailed enfield para-heartlink

Star dragon (collective) vaguelink, same species as Aurelion Sol

Mew Paraarchetrope

Bond Thread Weaver Archetrope

Ninja Archetrope

Flammie vague-flicker

We are collectively linking a digimon line vaguetype

Couple of hearthomes (deep ocean, ocean village, floating island, dreamworld)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

Yes. I'm near perma-shifted, so you can probably say my most common shift is phantom shift. The others are extranth, they don't associate with this human vessel at all. I also experience astral, dream, berserk, mental, and potentially other sorts of shifts that I don't bother looking up terms for. The shifts correspond to various different identitype.

Strangest is hard to say, there's nothing too strange. Most of my cameo shift happened with dream shift, I don't think I've ever experienced cameo shift outside of that, or I just didn't pick up on them. I guess me being a water elemental nymph, jumping the water like a dolphin, then flew up into the air to land on a low-hanging new moon like I'm filming the opening of DreamWorks was pretty interesting.

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

I'm pretty much discussing various aspects of alterhumanity daily with the community, in various platforms and places. Beyond that, alterhumanity is part of me, like my queerness, like my neurodivergence, like me being a artists. Sometimes I draw to express my alterhumanity, sometimes it's me making noises with my partner to be my critter self. Other times it's me feeling alone out in the world, or me feeling like things could be done differently when I read story, because I'm alterhuman, and my perspective is ultimately different.

5/ What do you think of the community?

Goods and bads like any community. I really wish we are more united, and our information be more unilateral. There's too much misinformation floating around and people making new things without seeing if something was already there. Or infighting, validity contest, and respectability politics.

But when we come together? It's an amazing feeling, because you aren't alone. I do love our community for its good--the scholars and nerds and philosophers, the creators and organizers. I love how we have so much vastly different experiences, life story to tell, worlds and cultures to share.

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

Acceptance, understanding, and a welcoming, safe space for me to just be, just exist, let me indulge in experiencing and talking about my alterhumanity.

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

Sometimes.

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

You made it! That's awesome! Welcome to our community, you are not alone.

Take your time, pace yourself to learn, to listen, to read. Don't just jump into things and trying to cast judgement to yourself. Research more in-depth, ask questions, but learn to trust your gut, your feeling, they are your own experiences. Alterhumanity is a self-journey first and foremost; nobody else can tell you how to feel or how to identify. But that means you don't get to decide that for others, too.

When it comes to information and terms, do your research and verify. We deal with an extreme amount of misinformation, don't go coining terms and flags willy nilly, we have a lot of terms, and more that people coined without consideration to the actual community, plus those coined within without some community input. Seroiusly people mistaken alterhuman for only human or alterhuman for only nonhuman (identifying-as) really, really, sucks. Stop it, please go read up on what exactly is alterhuman.

Lots of information on here, just, here.

And lastly, buckle up, and have fun!

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

I want some actual stuff, some that don't even exist. Like Uzushio's hitai-ate, or quadsuit of myself. But I do have some stuff, my tiny tail that works for my core form, and cheapie white feathery wings. I got some pins for my kitsune-enfield heartlink as well, those would be consider apparels instead of wearable gears.

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

My kintype is "donno dont care" Our hearttype has elements of potentially a past life, potential psychological. Our kardiatype is straight up just a especially significant past life, it's in there in the definition of kardiatype lol. My plurality is sort of spiritual. Our linked vaguetype is societal (wanna be with sourcemate), personal symbolism, and some psychological factors. The various hearthome are tied to various identitype, thus soul, spiritual, metaphysical, and past lives. Our linked hearttype has paratype embedded, which is sort of messy all of the above reasonings. Our archetrope each has different reasons--past lives, spiritual, general cultural spiritual. The flicker might be more psychological and neurodivergent, I'm not sure. But yeah, I'm alterhuman because I identify as one, and I don't really care about the origin theory sometimes.

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

@talon-dragonbeast @dinocanid @nimdreams @unearthlygamer @karak9

No pressure, I just like to tag in case yall would be interested in these sort of stuff.

Apparently I did this already, ah well. Sorry for the double ping tho *sweat*

If you are an alter/nonhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

#alterhuman #ask game #alterhuman ask game #I can't remember what tag I use for these kind of things #otherkin #otherkind #otherhearted #fictionfolk #archetrope #hearthome #otherlink #othervague #kardiatype #otherflicker #plurality #median plurality #maybe I need a personal tag for these sort of things #alterhuman community #community activity

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linedbycaro · 1 day ago

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𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 - 𝐃𝐨𝐣𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐭 (𝚸𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢) 𝐩𝐭. 1

“I have a secret” Azzi murmurs.

“Yeah?” Paige barely chokes out, tilting her head to disguise her nervousness.

Azzi crawls over, closing the space between them until she’s beside Paige, Azzi’s warm scent washing over her. She can’t breathe. Or move.

Then Azzi leans in, delicately whispering,

“I want you all the time. But you always stop me before I can say it sober.”

𝐎𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬. 𝐈'𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐀𝐳𝐳𝐢 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨. 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂— 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐃!!!!!!!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.4𝐤

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞.. 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐢𝐭? 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬.

The music had stopped hours ago, but Paige still feels something buzzing under her skin. The kitchen is dimly lit, solo cups litter the counters, their teammates are passed out in the living room, but Paige and Azzi are not tired in the least.

They're both the kind of hard-core tipsy where everything is funny.

"Okay, but listen," Azzi says, barely able to get it out between hiccuped laughter. She's doubled over so hard she can't finish her sentence. "If—if—if..."

Paige nearly chokes on her water.

"Stop, "I'm gonna—"

Water spews from her mouth and nose, and Paige has to cross her legs and fold over to keep from peeing herself.

They're gone.

Azzi collapses on the floor, dragging Paige down with her.

"Ow—my stomach!" Azzi wheezes, feeling her abs cramp.

Paige can't even respond; she just shakes her head, fist-pounding the floor.

They're laughing so hard it's gone silent—shoulders shaking, faces buried in sleeves. Just on the floor, side by side, hands swatting at each other in some useless attempt to make it stop.

But the hitting just makes it worse.

Which makes them laugh harder.

And God, how Paige loves moments like this, just the two of them. Goofy and connected and so utterly themselves in ways they can't be with anyone else. To be known this loudly, to feel Azzi's presence, it's like home.

And while there will always be a part of Paige that aches around Azzi, knowing she can never fully have her— moments like this make the pain worth it.

Until suddenly, Azzi goes quiet.

The air shifts, the laughter fades, and Paige feels it before she even looks. She turns her head anyway.

Azzi is staring at her.

Her face is soft, her gaze is bare. She studies Paige like she's something sacred and rare and desired. Her pupils are blown wide and unguarded—adoring in a way that makes Paige burn.

Azzi gives her a small smile and breathes out a short laugh like she knows she's been caught but doesn't care.

It's easy to write it off as drunk affection. Paige almost does. But there's something in Azzi's expression that feels too steady. Too sure.

It makes Paige's stomach flip and fizzle.

Makes her feel all kinds of things she knows she shouldn't.

And it sobers Paige up a little.

Because Jesus, when Azzi looks at her like that—like she wants her and means it—it makes Paige want to risk everything. Makes her want to throw away all careful boundaries and the restraint she trains herself into in order to preserve their friendship. Not that she doesn’t let them slip from time to time. She does.

Sometimes she can’t help but let Azzi look at her, touch her, kiss her in ways she shouldn't.

Falling into the dangerous game of 'we're just friends who sometimes kiss but never talk about it'—that's Paige's fault. She lets it happen. And it's killing her softly.

"Az," Paige shakes her head, voice slightly raw. "You can't look at me like that when we're drunk."

"Look at you like what?" Azzi hums innocently.

"You know like what."

Azzi shrugs goofily.

"No, I don't. Tell me."

"Az—" Paige shoves her playfully and sits up, leaning against the sink cabinets.

Azzi follows, settling across from Paige. She lets her knees brush Paige's as she leans back against the oven. Her voice comes out slightly slurred, like she's trying too hard to sound casual.

"What? I can't help it, so you might as well tell me."

Azzi pauses, her grin faltering.

"How do I look at you, Paige?"

Her voice is so goddamn flirty it should be illegal.

Paige wants to shove her up against the cabinets and kiss that smirk off her face— unravel her ‘til she admits she knows what she’s doing.

Instead, she just stupidly gives in to the baited question.

"Like... like you want me," Paige says lowly, almost a whisper.

"Well... maybe I do," comes Azzi's mischievous reply.

Paige's heart stops, unable to meet Azzi's stare. She wants to believe it’s a joke, but Azzi isn't laughing anymore.

"But only when you're drunk. You only want this when you're drunk."

"I do not."

Paige forces a smile. Deflect.

"Whatever, Az."

"No. Not whatever," Azzi protests, trying to get Paige to see her.

And then Azzi tries again, softly.

"I have a secret."

"Yeah?" Paige barely chokes out, tilting her head to disguise her nervousness. Heat pools in her stomach.

Azzi crawls over, closing the space between them until she's beside Paige. The blonde's pulse spikes as Azzi's warm scent washes over her.

She can't breathe. Or move.

This is the thing Paige hates. Feeling like she can't help but let her in. Can’t help but let Azzi get under her skin, say unhinged, bold things, and tempt her to believe she means it.

Azzi gracefully leans in, back arching slightly, breath hot against her ear.

And ho-ly fuck.

She whispers, delicate and deliberate,

"I want you all the time. But you always stop me before I can say it sober."

Azzi's voice snakes down Paige's spine, curling hot and low. Her brain short circuits. Dizzy. Her pulse screams danger, and her body— well... Let's just say she’s ovulating. Impeccable timing.

Azzi pulls back just slightly.

Enough to look at her.

Enough to where Paige feels like she's sick with how much Azzi affects her.

Danger, danger, danger.

She’s in full gay panic mode because now Azzi is staring at her— deadly serious, eyes upturned, lip caught between her teeth like she’s nervous.

It’s dirty as hell.

And oh so unwillingly, Paige's eyes drop down to Azzi's mouth, plump, and full, and slightly parted.

Azzi does the same—waiting, willing, wanting.

Automatically, Paige's forehead falls against Azzi's, letting their noses nuzzle, their breaths mingle. Her hands find Azzi's shoulders. Azzi’s fingers brush her cheek.

She lets them feel it for a moment, holds their gaze.

And then Azzi's eyes flutter closed like she knows what will happen next.

And Paige knows what will happen next because she's let it happen so many times before.

A sharp pain clutches her chest.

She's pulling back because she has to. Because if she lets herself fall again, she won't be able to stop. Not this time. She has to control it before she loses everything.

"Azzi, fuck. You have no idea what you do to me. You can't just say shit like that so casually." Paige breathes, voice gravelly.

Azzi's eyes blink open, her spine hitting the cabinet like she's suddenly aware of how close they are.

"I didn't say it casually," she protests breathily. Her voice actually sounds desperate. Pleading.

"No, you say it like it doesn't cost you anything... And it kills me every time. And then we—" Paige pauses, unable to say it out loud. More quietly, she admits,

"And then you get to forget it in the morning, but I never do."

"You think I forget? I don't forget, but you always make me feel like I have to," Azzi mumbles.

Paige blinks. She hadn't expected that.

Hadn't considered that maybe Azzi had remembered every slip, every almost, every kiss—and had been burying it, too.

But- but she never acts like she wants it in daylight. She’s dismissive. Has a whole ass situationship.

"You make it feel like something it's not supposed to be." Paige protests, voice on the edge of an argument. Her voice falters, "A-Azzi, you're literally talking to someone right now... a guy."

"I know, I'm sorry," Azzi murmurs.

"Don't be. It's okay."

It's not your fault you don't want me in the same way I want you, Paige thinks.

And then she admits, voice raw and cracked,

"I don't think you understand how hard it is to un-feel things for you. And it scares me because I can never really tell if you mean it."

Azzi, voice barely above a whisper, replies,

"It scares me too—how much I do."

And because Paige physically can’t stand being near Azzi another second— Azzi, ever overstepping, casually, or so un-casually it's hard to believe she doesn't know what she's doing.

Azzi, unknowing to the ways in which she affects Paige, the ways she tortures her— deeply, slowly— Paige can’t take the way her presence makes everything ache.

She gets up and walks away.

“If you really want this,” Paige says without turning back, “prove it.”

Because it's easier to pretend Azzi doesn't mean it. Easier than risking being wrong.

___

When Azzi wakes up, she blinks.

She squeezes her eyes shut, replays her conversation with Paige in her head, and opens them again.

You’re kidding.

Then Azzi rolls over and screams into her pillow.

Like fully screams. Until-her-voice-goes-raw screams.

Because nothing— nothing is more confusing than falling in love with your best friend. Who also happens to be a girl.

Who you’re pretty sure is at least a little bit in love with you back.

Who also walked away from you last night after you literally confessed you wanted her?

Like—hello?

She had said, “I want you all the time.” and, “I didn’t say it casually.”

Verbatim.

How much clearer could she get?

Okay, fine.

Maybe she gets how it could be a little confusing from Paige’s perspective. Azzi is technically kind of talking to a guy.

But it’s not like that. Not like it is with Paige. Not even close.

And what even is ‘talking’ anyways? They hang out a few times exclusively, kiss once and suddenly there’s a label?

The way she feels about Paige- with certainty— it terrifies her. Not just attraction, not just in want, but need. To the point where she can’t even verbalize it properly.

Azzi has tried. Even when she wasn’t talking to Theo. Been braver in ways she’d never thought she could be. And.....

Was she the problem?

She knows she’s being unfair. Talking to Theo, then saying things like that to Paige… it’s cruel, even if it’s unintentional.

She’s just scared. Overwhelmed. Unsure of how someone’s even supposed to navigate this.

Paige is the gay one after all. The one who is confident in her identity—in who she is and who she likes.

And Azzi’s feels like she's playing catch up. Late to the game. Still trying to figure it out— trying to unpack what liking Paige even means. What it changes. What it doesn’t.

Not that liking girls was a bad thing, and if she was really being honest with herself, it's something she'd always tucked away— something that felt too big to really name until now.

But if Paige actually felt the same way, wouldn't she have said something? Initiated the first move instead of just giving in to Azzi's temptations?

Because the kinds of girls Paige attracts—

they’re confident. Gorgeous. Sure of themselves.

And Azzi has a sinking feeling she’s not like them.

Not what Paige wants.

And it’s driving Azzi batshit crazy—not knowing if Paige actually wants her back, or just likes watching her ache.

Taunts her with shit like “If you really want this, prove it” like she didn’t see Azzi bleeding out— being vulnerable the only way she knows how.

Because Azzi is scared too. Scared Paige only ever sees her when it’s easy. Scared the rejection will hurt too much if she says it sober.

She shoves her thoughts down and slides out of bed. Because— joy, she has practice in half an hour. With Paige.

____

Practice goes... pretty much worse than Azzi could have imagined.

Paige doesn’t even fully acknowledge it.

Paige walks in all relaxed, friendly, nods her way like nothing happened and they’re back to playing besties. Like she isn’t the one who walked away before Azzi could even speak.

During warm ups Paige throws a few jokes her way, laughing in that effortlessly charming way of hers. That quirky and smooth and cocky persona that makes straight girls on the internet question their sexuality. How unfortunately Ironic.

When they're scrimmaging, Azzi’s shots aren’t falling.

She feels too quiet. Like she’s not leading in the way she knows she should. Not calling out plays, not making decisions during drills. Just… following.

And Paige is confident. Pulling the team into huddles, encouraging everyone, calling the offense. Talking mad shit to the practice players.

And it hurts, because how on earth has this not affected her? Is she really this unbothered? This indifferent?

But then Azzi sees through it.

It’s during a water break when Azzi reaches down to grab her bottle—resting beside Paige’s like always— and sees her stiffen. Just slightly. Just enough. An involuntary response to Azzi’s close proximity.

Paige tries to cover it up, scratching at her shoulder like she’s itchy or adjusting, but it’s too late. Azzi notices.

After that, Paige avoids direct eye contact. Every interaction too measured. Too controlled. Like they didn’t nearly unravel the night before.

When Coach calls for 1v1s, Azzi turns to Paige automatically. Because they always pair up. It’s a given.

But Paige doesn’t even glance at her. Just sidesteps Azzi seamlessly, pairing with Nika instead. Like it was normal. Like Azzi wasn’t already halfway turned her way.

And when they’re shooting around at the end of practice, Azzi doesn’t just catch Paige looking, she feels it. The weight of her stare, hot against her back.

She turns.

And there Paige is, gaze unflinching, face unreadable, eyes soft with something that looks an awful lot like longing. But then her expression shifts. It turns blank. Cold.

Paige turns around and walks out of the gym.

Hot and cold. Push and Pull.

So no shit Azzi is terrified to make a move.

She heads to the weight room after practice, wanting to get in an extra session in and clear her mind.

And guess who’s already there? Paige. Of course.

But Azzi ignores her. Walks over to a rack on the other side of the training room, and adjusts her headphones. Turns the volume up.

Azzi’s actually kind of fired up. Angry at the situation. Pissed they can’t get it together and that she played like shit. So she channels her thoughts into each set. Each press and pump of the dumbbells blocking out the stare she feels burning into her from the other side of the room.

Azzi syncs her reps to the rhythm of her music. Her arms burn. She blows away a stray curl sticking to her cheek and pushes through the exhaustion.

Lifting makes her feel empowered. And strong. And bad ass.

And something clicks.

Azzi Fudd is not a pussy.

And you know what?

Fuck it.

Yeah, what-if Paige is being a coward. Maybe she’s scared, or hurt or indifferent or whatever. But don’t they at least deserve to know? Haven’t they been dancing around it for too long?

Maybe Azzi is late to the game. Maybe Azzi is only now realizing she's into Paige in a more than friends way. But now that she knows? Like knows-knows. She's gonna find out hell or high water.

Paige literally taunted her, walked away and left with a “prove it” and nothing else.

Challenge. Accepted.

Paige wants to hide? Wants not to believe her? Fine. Azzi’ll be more obvious. More bold.

Because it was high time for Paige to Fudd around and Find out.

Azzi waits until Paige is taking a break between sets, elbows resting on her knees, not so subtly observing Azzi through the reflection.

Then Azzi sets her weights down gently and locks eyes with Paige through the mirror.

Smirking ever so slightly, she reaches down to the hem of her shirt, thumbing it. Tracking the way Paige's eyes follow her movement.

And slowly, performatively, Azzi lifts it up, peeling the sweat soaked fabric from abdomen, arching just slightly as she lifts it over her head, tossing it carelessly to the ground.

She cocks her head in the mirror, rolling her shoulders back once, then casually thumbs the band of her sports bra to adjust it— flashing the tiniest bit of underboob, nipples already peaked from the open layer of sweat hitting air conditioning.

Her chest is glistening. Her abs are sculpted. Her sports bra hugs her chest perfectly, skin tight and slick over miles of bare, gleaming muscles.

Azzi tugs at the waistband of her shorts, revealing the v line of her hips, fingers dipping under the material with mock innocence, rolling the top twice for good measure.

Azzi smiles as she watches Paige’s eyes jumping from Azzi’s back to her frontal reflection in the mirror. Watches as Paige swallows thickly, unable to tear her gaze away. Watches the red bloom across her cheeks when she realizes Azzi caught her.

Azzi just gives a little tilt of the head. What’s wrong?

She puts her headphones back on. Slips into her next set like nothing happened. But this time, each movement— each bend, each thrust is accentuated with taunting calculation.

When she finishes, she tilts her head back, panting, letting out a breathy groan of exhaustion.

She doesn't have to look to know Paige is watching— ogling the way her sweat glistens on her chest and neck, the way the over head lights catch the curve of her breasts, heaving with each pant.

And then—clang.

She looks over.

Paige, red-faced and scrambling, has knocked over a rack of resistance bands and sliders.

Perfect.

Azzi walks over slowly, each step intentional. She crouches beside Paige, smirking.

“Need help?” She keeps her voice low and sultry.

“Oh! Uh—sure. Yeah,” Paige stammers, eyes everywhere but her.

Azzi picks up a band and tosses it into the bin. “You should be more careful,” she says, intentionally brushing Paige’s shoulder with a hand. “You could hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Paige mutters, flustered. The blonde tries to stand, but trips over her feet.

Azzi steadies her.

One hand grips Paige's bicep, the other presses flat against her stomach.

Azzi feels Paige's abs clench.

She doesn't move. Not right away.

Not when Paige is looking at her like that— wide eyed and breath shaky. Azzi lingers. Studies her face, searching for a hint of truth, a hint of something real.

Is she nervous? Turned on? About to run again?

Paige's throat bobs. Her lips part like she wants to say something. Nothing comes out.

Azzi's gaze drops to her mouth, then back up, corner of her lips twisting. Then she leans closer, until there is barely an inch of space between them.

“You don’t seem fine.” Her voice is a syrupy calm.

Then, deliberately, Azzi's hand drags up Paige's body. Fingers working into her arm muscle, palm dragging up her abs, grazing the underside of her chest. And then she stops at the slope of Paige's shoulders. Starts massaging them out.

And Paige just lets her. Breathless. Rigid.

“You seem…” Azzi scrunches her nose as if thinking. Smiles when she lands on it. “Tense.”

She drags the word out like she's tasting it. Like she wants Paige to feel it, deep in her spine.

“I could help you with that too.” Her voice is sweet like sugar.

Paige blinks. Panting. Her voice barely audible when she gravells out, “What the fuck are you doing, Fudd?”

Azzi blinks up at her like it’s obvious. “I’m doing what you asked.”

I'm proving it.

She watches as Paige's eyes narrow into slits, trying to decode the ambiguity. Azzi smirks, savoring the moment realization flicker across Paige's face— confusion melting into recognition, and then something darker. Hunger. Want.

Paige opens her mouth to say something, maybe to kiss her or confess or tell her off, but Azzi doesn't let her.

Doesn't want her to, not yet.

She needs Paige to want for it. Ache for it. Feel it.

Prove it back.

So Azzi steps away, leaving Paige stunned and aching.

She stalks back to her rack. Picks up her gatorade bottle, and lazily squirts into her mouth.

She lets some of the liquid drip down the side of her lip, sticky red drops trickling down her chin, rolling down her neck and into the valley of her breasts, disappearing into her sports bra.

She swallows, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Holds the bottle out to Paige.

“Thirsty?”

And Paige Bueckers quite literally darts out of the room. Flees for the door, letting it slam behind her, abandoning her phone and her water bottle and all her belongings behind her.

Azzi just laughs.

This was going to be fun.

#pazzi fics #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi #uconn wbb #unresolved tension #homoerotic #azzi35 #pazzi is real #pazzi crumbs #tension #friends to lovers #dirty talk #paige buckets #azzi x paige

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urperfectcinnamonroll07 · 2 days ago

Text

Drinks And Threesomes

requested?: no pairing(s): john 'soap mactavish x afab!reader x smon 'ghost' riley genre: smut warning(s): threesome, smut, unprotected sex, reader is a virgin, oral (f&m recieving) doggy style, probably the best ever aftercare which has ever been written on this blog, masterbation, fingering, overstimulation, spanking (ass and pussy), orgasm denial, slightly oc!reader (she has a cat, change it if you want), simon not being a cat person (he calls reader's cat a rat), a LOT of mentions about sex before it acc happens, reader is rlly living the y/n life icl, dom!simon, dom!johnny, sub!reader, light choking, lap dancing (soap gets a lap dance from reader), breast-play, dry humping, kinda pervy characters icl, mentions of porn, johnny whimpers like once, reader is insecure about how her titties sit (dont be insecure about them my loves, you are all perfect), finger sucking, degredation, praise at the end, not proof-read (i was writing this at 1am and posted it today), hair pulling, squirting summary: 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘰𝘩𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 word count: 5.1k (i cooked bro) a/n: first ever threesome on this blog and the longest fic i have written thus far. remember to eat and drink something, love yas, mwah! -Cilla (p.s. i ate this up)

it was another sunday, the night before you went back on deployment with the rest of tf141. you were excited, but albeit nervous. price had debriefed you all and told you it would be an especially hard mission. he hadn’t told you what the goal was or what you would be doing while you were gone.

since it was so close to deployment time, you were all cutting down on alcohol since you all wanted to stay healthy. it was a tradition at this point for you, ghost and soap to go out for mocktails and a meal. simon went begrudgingly, only because you and johnny had begged him oh-so nicely to go with you both. he didn’t know why he agreed, but as much as he acted like he didn’t, he did enjoy being there with you both.

today was like no other, you were all laughing over drinks with no alcohol and the best burgers you had ever had in all of your lives put together. but this time, johnny was going on about a recent rendezvous he had with a woman a few nights prior. he was going into a lot of detail for someone who was usually so secret about his love and sex life.

as he was talking about the things he had done to her (eating her out, fucking her in doggy, etc) something twisted in your gut. you felt jealous, but also something else. you didn’t know how you felt, but one thing you certainly felt was jealousy. you squirmed in your seat as you chewed on the straw of your finished drink.

simon was an observant man. and he was also sitting next to you. he had seen you squirming in your seat, and he was definitely smirking under that stupid ghost mask he always wore. however, johnny didn’t realise how… ‘uncomfortable’ you were getting. he kept talking about what he had done to her, and god was it filthy.

you had always found johnny and simon rather attractive, especially since you had always seen them on duty, their big arms holding the guns they could very much end a life with. they could bith very much end lives with how massive their biceps were, and sometimes they did. you wondered sometimes what it would be like if they squished you in-between their biceps, how it would feel when you slept on them, how it would feel when you bit into them due to the immense pleasure they were giving you.

you saw almost every part of them. their chests, their abs, their v-lines, their massive biceps, their happy trails, every part of them. you saw them shirtless every single time you were laying low at a safe house during a mission. you went practically crazy every time, and almost every time, you ended up with your hands stuffed inside of your panties. you were never able to come from it. you needed more than just your nimble fingers playing with your clit.

you were broken out of your daydream when you felt a nudge. simon was looking down at you from where he sat. you were now slightly slumped in your chair, johnny still hadn’t stopped ranting about his one night stand with the girl he didn’t remember the name of.

“you alrigh’ lovie?” he asks gruffly, his chest moving with every word, you watched it move. his eyes squinted as you did so. he was either grinning or his brows were furrowed, either one would still make him look hot. you had only seen him without his mask once.

you remember it clearly. he was getting dressed after a shower. his mask was off as he didn’t expect anyone to walk into the room unannounced. you walked in as you had just gotten to the safe house after being separated on the mission. you were wanting to ask him what he thought about the choice johnny had made for dinner that night when you saw he had no mask on. your mouth fell completely open. you stood there and stared at him for a good few minutes before he finally snapped you out of your daze.

“like what you see, lovie?” he asked. and god, you did. his blue eyes, pale lashes. god, he looked amazing. you couldn’t even speak. and you didn’t.

you stood there and gawked until you heard soap bounding up the stairs. simon put his mask back on, though he still remained shirtless. you had your phone still in your hand, although it had turned off god knows how long ago.

“wha’s takin’ so long, bon? are we gettin’ a chippy or not simon, I fancy a kebab so it better be a yes” soap stood next to you in the doorway. you and simon stared into each other’s eyes for a moment longer, sharing something of understanding.

“lovie was just giving me ideas on what to order” johnny obviously took that to his advantage and began to talk about what was the best things to get from a chip shop.

eventually you had all come to a conclusion on what you wanted, and simon offered to go out and get the chippy. obviously, you wouldn’t forget what happened with johnny after that.

simon snapped his fingers in front of your eyes, bringing you back to the covert of the pub. you had all finished eating a while ago, and you just continued to chew on the plastic (shocker) straw of your mocktail.

“you alrigh’ bon? you’re very quiet tonight” soap observed (another shocker). you didn’t say anything and only nodded. he furrowed his brows, “ye sure, bon, you would’ve usually chewed my head off abou’ worrying about you by now” he asks, his tone slightly teasing.

“i’m fine, really, just thinking about what i’m gonna do when i get home tonight” it was a white lie. you were wet and you knew it, but you refrained from rubbing your thighs together as you felt it would make it a lot more obvious.

“are ya not gonna be a crazy cat lady when you get home?” he teases. you glare at him.

“i have one cat. one. besides, he’s in the catery for a while until i get back from deployment” you say, putting your empty mocktail glass down on the table in front of you. you fold your arms.

“wow, never woulda thought you would put that rat somewhere where he would be away from you for a long time” simon chuckles, you thwack his arm.

“i’m not gonna leave him for however many weeks without being looked after by someone nice” you defend “and he’s not a rat” you add pointedly.

“alrigh’ bon, enough abou’ the cat. what are you doing tonight?” soap interjected.

“dunno, probably just watch a movie. or a kids show to make me feel better about the fact we’ll be going god knows where doing god knows what for around a month” you speak, and as you finished, you looked down at where your hands were in your lap. you started picking at the skin around your nail.

simon discreetly placed a hand over your knee, stopping it from bouncing. you smiled appreciatively.

“how’s abou’ you come stay with me and simon for the night, bon? we was goin’ to stay together tonight anyway since we can jus’ get up and go tomorrow mornin’ it would be no trouble if you decided to stay. really bon” his voice started off uncertain, but by the time he reached the end of it, it sounded like he was pleading you.

“i would, really, i would, but my bag is at my house and i-“ soap cuts you off.

“we can go get it before we go over to mine. bon, i know you’re worried about the mission and what better stress relief than to stay with your best friends in the whole world” he says with that massive shit-eating grin on his face.

“i’m not sure simon is my best friend. especially not after he called dusty a rat” you say with a small smile after thinking for a couple of minutes. simon pats your hand that he was still sort-of holding.

“well, i didn’ hear a ‘no,’ did you, simon?” he turns to the man with the mask.

“i didn’ either, johnny” your smile got wider at the response simon gave.

“well, its sorted then, sleepover!” johnny cheers louder than he probably should have for a middle-aged military man. luckily, people were to engrossed in their own conversations to nosey over at your conversation.

you didn’t realise when, but somehow the bill had come over, you thought maybe simon had called it over while you were talking with johnny about your ‘sleepover’. but before you even tried to open your purse to pay your share of the bill, simon grabbed it and put it back into your bag. you furrowed your brows.

“what good gentlemen would we be if we didn’ pay the bill for our little bon?” soap spoke up, placing some cash on the bill, simon followed suit and put some more cash on the bill. both of them out on more than enough to cover everyone’s food and at least a twenty pound tip.

“home time” simon says as he gets up. you grabbed your bag before following behind the two men who were walking in a single-file line.

you eventually got back to soap’s car. you sat in the back while the two large men piled into the front and johnny started driving. it wasn’t long before you were back at your house, asking before you left the car if there was anything else you should bring with you other than your bag.

“only those nice little brownies you make, bonnie” you smile softly and jog towards your house, unlocking the door and going to the kitchen, grabbing a small plastic box and putting the rest of the brownies you had made inside of it. you grabbed your pink duffle you left by the door. you locked the door and made your way back to johnny’s car. both of the men were staring intently as you made your way back.

you got into the back of the car and rested the box of brownies on the seat next to you, johnny turned back and grinned at you.

“the best bon in the whole world” he grinned before turning his head back on the road and drove to his house. it was fairly far away from your house, and you had always been someone who was quickly able to fall asleep in cars.

you fell asleep fairly quick, and you had a weird dream. or rather, maybe you could call it a flashback.

the night simon left for the chippy that johnny had pre-ordered (you all chipped in with the bill, well, you tried to. they didn’t want your money even when you insisted), you were sat on the counter in the kitchen. you were sat sipping on some lemonade in nothing but johnny’s oversized tee and some skimpy knickers when johnny walked into the kitchen.

your legs were in the way of the cabinet johnny needed to get to in order to get to the non-alcoholic drinks you had stored. but instead of being a normal person and asking you if you could move your legs so he could get a drink, he spread them.

but then again, it was johnny, what did you expect? you were flushed when johnny patted your thigh and said a small, ‘thanks bon’ before he left to go drink his drink in the lounge. you never forgot about that, especially that night when your slipped your hand into your panties and failed to make yourself come for the umpteenth time in your life.

you only woke up when you were in someone’s arms, your cheek pressed against that someone’s chest. you opened your eyes and looked up at who is was. you were met with a ghost mask and concentrated eyes, not looking at you, but the way forwards. you closed your eyes again and squished your cheek more against simon’s chest.

soon, you were layed down on what you assumed was johnny’s sofa. you pretended to be asleep for a little while longer until you heard the tv turn on. it was a random tv show that was on way past a child’s bed time, and because they still thought you were asleep, it was on a very low volume. you opened your eyes and peeked at what tv show it was.

you eventually got engrossed in the tv and was fully awake watching it. you assumed the two other men knew you were awake, but your assumptions were wrong when they started talking. about you.

“simon?” johnny asked, simon grunted gruffly in response, “why’d bon get so quiet after i started talking about having sex with that lass?” he was so ignorant it almost hurt, simon shot him a sideways glance.

“maybe because she wanted to be in her place” simon shrugged. you were already rigid, but somehow you managed to become more stiff.

“what? i always though’ bon wan’ed to have sex with you. that’s why i laid off off her” you almost rolled your eyes at his foolishness. almost.

simon looked over at you. that’s when you knew you were busted.

“mornin’ lovie” simon drawled. you gulped as you took in how he was sat. legs spread, an obvious tent in his pants. since simon was fairly comfortable with you and johnny, he also didn’t have his mask on. you could see how his face darkened when he took in that you were fully awake.

you sat up and stretched.

“is it true?” johnny spoke up from where he was sat. his ankle was resting on his other knee, his large bicep laying along the back of the sofa, letting his elbow downwards dangle from the back of the chair.

“is what true?” you tried to play innocent.

“oh, come on, bon. don’t try to be all innocent. did you want to be in her place? the girl i was fucking” he said it so plainly, so seriously that you flushed red and shuffled where you were sat.

“does it matter?” you ask, avoiding both men’s gazes and instead looking and fiddling with your fingers.

you were so busy playing with your own fingers that you didn’t realise that someone else’s had begun to lift your chin. the two men stood directly in front of you, making you have to crane your head fully to look up at them.

“yes, it does” simon said gruffly.

“because we can make it happen if you wan’ us to fuck you, bon” johnny husks. it was his fingers that had lifted your chin, and they were beginning to trail down to your neck.

“we can fuck you good. make you cum all over our fingers, faces and cocks- so good you won’t want to be fucked by anyone else after we’ve done with you” simon lusts next to him.

you squeeze your eyes shut. they didn’t know you were still a virgin, you never shared anything about your sex life, not to anyone. it was now or never to tell them, you squeeze your eyes shut.

“i’m a virgin” you practically squeak, and when you opened your eyes again, looking up at the two men in front of you through your lashes, they were well and truly gone. well, mentally.

“oh fuck” johnny almost moans, “you tellin’ me that tigh’ little pussy hasn’t been fucked by anyone? haven’t even made yerself come?”

“i’ve tried, but it never worked” you say shyly, a faint blush creeping up your neck, painting your ears and cheeks a shade of light-ish red.

“what did you think about when you tried, lovie?” simon spoke up.

“you two” you blush harder, the light red now turning almost a wine-red colour.

“oh fuck” this time johnny did moan, the bulge in his cargo pants becoming more and more prominent. “you know how to lap dance, bon?” it was an unexpected question, so unexpected that you thought you turned redder, if that was even possible.

you didn’t trust yourself with words, you knew you would just become a stuttering and stumbling mess, so you let yourself shake your head.

“tha’s alrigh’ lovie, johnny‘ll show you” simon drawled.

as johnny sat down, you were practically hauled onto his lap by simon. johnny’s hands instantly found your hips, kneading, squeezing and guiding. out of your peripheral, you saw simon sit down not that far away from where the both of you were sat, having a clear picture of the two of you. johnny dragged your hips down until your barely clothed pussy came into contact with his bulge. you gasped and your hips jerked, but they jerked downwards, applying more pressure down onto his clothed cock.

“oh fuck, bon, yer makin’ me so hard” he rasps from beneath you. letting his head fall onto the back of the couch, his throat bobbing with a swallow.

he continued to move your hips, moving them in a circular motion. you were now wishing you had worn better panties instead of your skimpy light pink thong. at least they made your ass look good.

you glanced over at simon, which proved to not be a good idea at all. he was palming himself with a look in his eyes, watching the both of you with the darkest most lustful look in his eyes. it made your stomach flutter, hips stutter, but your stomach burn with confidence. johnny’s hand was now travelling up your body to your breasts. he was now watching you too, hypnotised, transfixed.

he gave you a look when his hand hovered above your breast. you nodded and he instantly began fondling with it. grasping, pulling, pinching. you were out of your mind, and with your new-found confidence? you felt almost unstoppable.

you took control, guiding your hips in a seductive way, wiggling them, grinding down on johnny with such force he actually whimpered. your ego was growing within the second. johnny’s other hand began to also travel up your body, and when your thought he was going to play with your other tit, he kept moving it upwards, around the collum of your throat. he squeezed slightly, not enough to cut off your oxygen all together, but enough to make a statement.

you continued to grind against johnny’s cock. at some point, you even threw your head back for dramatic effect.

that was until you were hoisted up over someone’s shoulder, your ass given a small slap when you instinctively kick. it was simon. you could tell by the blond hair. you looked up and saw that johnny was following and that simon was taking you upstairs.

you didn’t know where you were until simon threw you down onto what you knew had to be a mattress. nobody moved for a few seconds until you spoke up.

“what’re we doing up here?” you barely had time to get your words out before someone’s mouth was on yours. you instantly melted into it, tugging whoever’s hair that was kissing you. soon enough, your mouth was pulled away from the mystery person’s and another mouth was placed on yours. you couldn’t tell, but you had a sneaking suspicion you were kissing simon first before johnny wanted a turn.

who you thought was simon began to kiss down your body until he needed to pull the sundress you had on, off. johnny (you think) helped pull off the sundress before reaching over to the nighstand and turning on a lamp so everyone could see better. your suspicions were right when you looked up and saw johnny hovering over you with red lips and simon was down in-between your thighs.

“oh fuck” this time it was simon’s turn to groan. “these panties are the best fucking thing i’ve ever seen on you, lovie” he said lowly, kissing the inside of your thighs, wrapping his arms around them, “gonna keep these on while i make out with this pretty cunt, okay lovie?” johnny was watching the whole exchange before looking down at your panties.

you saw his eyes close and he took a deep breath, very clearly fighting the urge to take over from simon and ravage you until you were begging for him to stop. luckily, you didn’t have to wait much longer after a comment simon made about being drenched that its soaked through your panties before he moved the thin pink fabric aside, spread your legs and put his mouth on you.

he licked a large stripe up your cunt. from your hole to your clit, giving his tongue a flick when it got there. your hips jolted and hands flew to simon’s hair as he did so, a silent prayer, urging him to keep going. you honestly barely paid any attention to the fact that you were almost fully naked in front of the two men until johnny started suckling on one of your tits. you didn’t like the way your tits sat.

you had watched porn, obviously, you were curious. and whenever you saw a female’s tits, they always sat so nicely. yours didn’t, and you felt insecure about it. simon never stopped devouring you, not listening to the conversation you and johnny were having and instead focusing on making you feel good, plunging a couple of fingers in occasionally and scissoring them as well as curling them into a really good place.

“i- oh fuck- i know they don’t sit nicely-“ johnny looked up at you as you spoke, never disconnecting his lips from your nipple, but he looked at you curiously. “they don’t sit as nicely as other girls’ tits do- i don’t like how they sit-oh fuck, simon keep going”

“no, simon, don’t keep going” johnny sat up with furrowed brows. simon stopped sucking your clit with a wet pop.

“you should taste her johnny, so sweet” simon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sucking on the fingers he had just taken out of you.

“how do you think her tits look?” johnny asks, staring down at you intently. you try to sit up, but johnny placing his hand on your throat stopped you. you laid back down.

“they look perfect, why?”

“she doesn’t think they do”

simons eyes widen, you sigh.

you were then lifted up, turned around and forced on your hands and knees.

“simon, you fuck ‘er mouth. make sure she swallows and makes you come before she gets to. keep ‘er quiet from saying absolute bullshi’” you try to protest, but before you could even make a sound, simon’s cock was shoved down your throat.

he groans and keeps your head steady while he made sure you weren’t going to gag anymore. johnny then leaned down and ripped your panties straight off, discarding them somewhere in the room.

“they were my favourite panties” simon says through a groan as you took him deeper into your mouth.

“you never saw her in any others” johnny says pointedly before leaning down for his mouth to become level with your cunt.

“they were still my favourite” you moan around simon’s cock as johnny shoved his full face into your pussy, thrusting his tongue inside of you, hitting all the right places that make you moan and gasp around simon’s cock, making him pull your hair and groan back.

you didn’t know how long it would take to make simon come, but you knew by how johnny decided to make him fuck your mouth, he would last a while. johnny had already denied you an orgasm three times and you were beginning to feel hopeless.

and he did, every time you began to feel some kind of knot forming in your stomach, it would simmer away simply because johnny took his mouth away as his best mate hadn’t come in your mouth yet. simon gave you little to no warning when he was about to come.

the thrusting into your mouth became shallow and sloppy, you thought he was close, and he was. simon came with a low groan, spilling every little drop into your mouth. you swallowed instantly, since you knew johnny said if you swallowed and made him come that you could come.

simon pulled his cock out of your mouth, prying your mouth open with his fingers, looking to make sure you had swallowed every drop.

“how did it taste?” simon asks lowly, johnny was behind you, slowly rubbing circles on your clit.

“salty” you reply softly, almost gagging as simon shoved his fingers down your throat.

“she can come now” simon agreed along with johnny.

johnny got back to it, licking your clit, sucking and teasing, all the while, simon had his fingers in your mouth, making you such and gag on them. luckily, it didn’t take long before you felt the coil beginning to tighten in your lower stomach you felt unreal as you let go.

you let out an outright pornographic moan as you came on johnny’s tongue. your saliva dripped down simon’s hand, your legs were shaking as you came, your first ever orgasm.

when you came down from your high, you didn’t have long to adjust to being back before a cock was nudging at your hole.

“can i fuck you while johnny fucks your little mouth? please lovie, need to feel you wrap around my cock so well” simon practically begs.

“yes-oh please fuck me” you practically spread your legs a little, the two men chuckle as you do so.

you didn’t look down at simon’s cock as it entered your hole. it was full, and it burned as it stretched you out, johnny also gave you a couple of seconds before he opened your mouth, letting you take his cock into your mouth. you gagged as it hit the back of your throat. it was definitely big. like simon’s.

simon didn’t move until you were ready. you nodded slightly, moving johnny’s cock further into your mouth. you gagged, but it soon turned into a moan when simon slid his cock almost entirely out of your hole before slamming it back inside, making you take more of johnny’s cock into your mouth.

“oh god” you moan around johnny’s cock.

“not god, just simon and johnny, lovie” simon retorted.

“shouldn’ talk with yer mouth open, bon. ‘s not very polite” the scot pipes up.

“you’re right, johnny. maybe we should teach our girl some manners” simon coos, running a hand lightly down your back before slapping your ass harshly.

you yelped and jolted forwards onto the cock in your mouth, you barely had time to recover before you felt a hand come down on your clit. you were still sensitive from before, so you squeaked and your hips jolted away from the man who had just slapped your pussy.

you felt a few more spanks on your pussy and ass. each one as unexpected as the others before simon began to piston his cock in and out of your hole. your pussy was tight around his cock, he told you so. as did the squelching noises in the room. you were moaning, drooling, whining and completely in bliss as you tried to make johnny feel good.

“oh, just like tha’ bon” johnny moans out, gripping your hair when you did something right. you didn’t know what, so you let johnny take more of the lead.

they both moved in tandem, the only thing you were doing was making pathetic little noises, as well as occasionally bringing a hand up to cup and massage johnny’s balls.

you didn’t know how much longer you could last, especially not when simon had then reached forwards and began to fondle with your clit with his ring and middle finger. the lewd squelching sounds were bouncing off of the walls of the house. it was times like theses where you were happy that johnny lived in a semi-detached house so his neighbours would not have to look at you differently.

you couldn’t give any warning about your oncoming orgasm, partly because you didn’t know it was about to happen yourself. but before you knew it, you had screamed out, the sound muffled by johnny’s cock, but still loud enough that the two men had heard.

you were coming down from your high when you felt liquid dripping down both of your thighs. you were completely soaked, and you could say the same for the bed sheets.

“so pretty, lovie, so fucking pretty. squirting around my cock like that for me? oh i’m gonna fucking come, you’re so fucking pretty with your juices dripping down your thighs like a dirty little slut, oh, you fucking like that, don’t you?” simon’s thrusts were growing more sloppy, but harder at the same time, working you through your orgasm. “i’m gonna come, gonna come all over this pussy, paint it with my come-oh fuck, i’m coming” simon says through gritted teeth.

“oh i’m coming too- fuck, gonna swallow my come, paint your mouth all white with it- oh fuck” both men tensed around the same time, simon pulling out and spraying his come all over your pussy, whereas johnny came down your throat.

you eagerly swallowed again, it was almost the same taste as simon’s, but a bit different.

when you all caught your breath, johnny spoke up first.

“shower?” simon nodded and so did you.

both men helped you onto your feet and helped you to the bathroom. since johnny didn’t have a bath in any of his bathrooms (crazy, right?) you had to make do with a shower.

both men helped you stay upright as they both cleaned you, johnny wiping your cunt in order to keep it clean while simon washed your hair. you then cleaned the two men off, and got out of the shower.

the men let you have your privacy while you peed (you read it somewhere, don’t judge a girl, it’s what you’re meant to do, okay?) and they changed the bed due to your most recent orgasm, and simon’s.

and then, you were all comfortable in bed, your head resting against simon’s chest. you were laying on your side as johnny cuddled you from behind.

“that was good” you whisper with a yawn.

“yeah? who was better, me or simon?” johnny asked jokingly, kissing your shoulder. simon shot him a glare and instinctively pulled you closer. “oh come on, we know it was me. i gave her first ever orgasm”

“i made her squirt” simon adds pointedly.

the scot went in a huff, but still held you anyways, you didn’t hear them bickering, you were already asleep and off in dreamland where scots and englishmen weren’t fighting over who was better at fucking you.

155 notes · View notes

sunsetmade · 3 days ago

Note

hi, it's me again! the anon who requested “heatwave confusion”. I loved it so much. I have another request where the reader was scared to tell rafe that she's pregnant because she thinks he might crash out considering that they're only friends with benefits so she tried to avoid him. but then he finds out (you decide in what way). as cliche as this may be, I really love this trope and I want you to be the one who would write it. you can change details and no pressure! loots of love for you

I’m glad you loved the last one, hope you enjoy this one just as much!

Hoping to be Enough

Rafe Cameron x Pregnant! Reader

She hadn’t meant to fall for him.

That was the first mistake.

The second was letting him crawl under her skin—warm hands and bruised knuckles, restless eyes and a voice that got low when he whispered her name in the dark. The kind of mistake that felt good. The kind that made her forget she ever had rules about boys like him.

Because Rafe Cameron didn’t do real relationships. He was danger in an ironed button down, born from the kind of privilege that turned into poison. He was sharp words and sharper silences. He laughed too hard, loved too fast, and disappeared just as easily.

And yet—

There were nights when he was soft. Nights when his touch lingered. When he brushed her hair back with a gentleness that didn’t match the rest of him, and pulled her close like he needed her more than oxygen. He’d kiss her slow. Press his forehead to hers like it meant something.

It had felt like something more.

Maybe that was the third mistake—thinking it was something more.

Thinking he might want her in a way that wasn’t just skin-deep or temporary. That beneath the recklessness and the Cameron name, there was a boy capable of staying.

Now she was standing in the tiny bathroom of her apartment, arms wrapped around herself like they could hold her together.

Three tests lined up on the counter. All of them said the same thing.

Pregnant.

She stared at them, her heartbeat thundering so loud she could hear it in her ears. Her hands were cold. Her stomach twisted. She didn’t cry—yet—but her eyes stung, and her mouth felt dry.

This couldn’t be happening.

She backed up, bumping into the edge of the counter before slowly sinking to the floor. The tiles were cold against her legs, grounding her in a way nothing else could. She curled in on herself, like maybe she could disappear if she got small enough.

They weren’t even dating.

They had never talked about what they were. Sure, she’d catch him staring sometimes like he saw something he didn’t expect. Sure, his hoodie lived in her closet and he let her steal fries off his plate and kissed her temple like it was instinct.

But none of that meant he wanted this.

None of that meant he wanted her.

And now… now she was carrying something that neither of them had planned for.

The weight of it pressed down on her chest until she could barely breathe.

She didn’t know how he’d take it. Rafe wasn’t predictable. He could be sweet one day and distant the next. She didn’t know if he’d pull her closer—or push her away. She didn’t know if he’d be angry. If he’d walk out. If he’d look at her like she was just another problem to run from.

And that—that uncertainty, that not knowing—that was what scared her the most.

Not the pregnancy. Not the future.

But the possibility that he’d disappear without even giving her the chance to explain.

That he’d leave her to face this alone.

And the worst part?

Somewhere deep down, she already expected it.

⸻

She avoided him for the first three days.

Dodged his texts with vague replies that were all lies, all typed with trembling fingers and then deleted and rewritten until they sounded casual enough.

“You good?”

“You alive or what?”

“Come over. It’s weird not seeing you.”

That one almost broke her.

But she stayed home. Curled under blankets. Sat on the bathroom floor with her knees pulled to her chest and her hoodie pressed over her stomach like it could protect something that wasn’t even showing yet.

She was just a few weeks in. Barely pregnant.

And yet it felt like her whole world had shifted under her feet.

But still she left his last Snapchat unopened.

It was a video of him driving somewhere down by the coast, music blasting, the wind catching in his hair, sun streaking across his cheekbones. He looked so effortless, so alive. Like someone untouched by the kind of news that could reroute an entire life.

She didn’t mean to open it, but she saved it anyway. Watched it once, twice, three times—never letting it finish, swiping away before the video looped back. Like seeing too much of him might make her crumble.

When Sarah texted her about the beach party—“Rafe will be there, btw”—she lied again. Said she had a headache. Said she needed to catch up on sleep. Said anything that didn’t reveal the truth: that she couldn’t look at him right now without cracking open.

She didn’t go by Tannyhill either, even though she’d driven past it more than once, fingers gripping the steering wheel, wondering if he was out on the dock like he usually was around this time.

She could picture it perfectly—Rafe barefoot, shirtless, golden under the setting sun, leaning back on his elbows like the world owed him something. He’d glance at the water like he was bored, like nothing touched him, not really.

She would stay in her bed— the one where he would rub his thumb in small circles along her hip. Curtains drawn, world muted.

Her hands kept drifting to her stomach, as if the answer might be waiting there. She pressed her palm to the soft space just beneath her navel, not because she thought she’d feel anything yet—she knew it was too early—but because it made everything real.

It made them real.

There was something—someone—inside her now. Something growing. Something that changed everything, whether she was ready or not.

And she wasn’t.

God, she wasn’t.

She spent hours just lying there, staring at the ceiling, trying to breathe through the fog of panic and hope and guilt and longing. Trying not to think about his hands on her hips, or the way he used to mumble “you’re trouble, y’know that?” against her lips like it was the only compliment he had.

She wondered how long she could keep pretending everything was normal.

Pretending like her heart didn’t ache every time his name lit up her phone.

Pretending like she wasn’t carrying a secret that could blow both of their lives apart.

And worse—pretending like she didn’t care if it did.

But she did.

She cared so much it made her sick.

And every day she didn’t tell him, the weight of it grew heavier—settling in her bones, in the silence, in the spaces between her ribs where his name still lived.

How much longer could she keep avoiding the inevitable?

She didn’t know. But the days were getting harder. And she had a feeling Rafe Cameron wouldn’t wait forever.

⸻

By day four, Rafe stopped playing nice.

The knocking started around 8 p.m.—gentle at first, like maybe he was hoping she’d be soft, too. But when there was no answer, it shifted. Louder. Sharper. The kind of knock that came with a clenched jaw and too many questions.

She stood frozen in the middle of her dark apartment, heart in her throat, arms crossed over her chest like that could somehow shield her from the inevitable.

Then his voice came through the door. Low. Steady. But not calm.

“I know you’re in there.”

She flinched.

“You’ve got two choices, sweetheart. You can open the door, or I’ll keep knockin’ until your neighbors hate both of us.”

There was a half-second where she almost smiled. Almost. Because of course he’d make it sound like a joke when he was anything but joking.

She moved toward the door slowly, placing one hand against it like she could push him away with sheer will. Her forehead fell against the wood, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Please go away, Rafe.”

A pause. Silence so thick it wrapped around her ribs.

Then—“The fuck is going on with you?”

His tone wasn’t angry. It was confused. Frustrated. Like he’d spent the last few days pacing, scrolling, calling, rereading texts, wondering what he’d done wrong.

“I just…” Her voice broke on the edges. “I can’t do this right now.”

More silence. But this time it felt different. He wasn’t mad. He was scared.

“You’re freakin’ me out baby.”

That—that—was what broke her.

Her fingers fumbled over the lock, and she cracked the door open just enough to see him.

And there he was.

Leaning against the doorframe like he’d been there for hours, one hand still raised mid-knock. He wore another button down and some kaki pants— it made her sad. His hair was a mess, finger-combed and tangled.

And his eyes—God, his eyes.

They were sharp and narrowed, studying her face like it held all the answers. He looked tired. Not in the way that sleep could fix—but in the way that worry wears a person down.

When he saw her, something shifted in his expression.

Relief first. Then confusion.

Then concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, stepping forward before she could stop him. His voice dropped lower, more careful. “Did someone hurt you?”

Her head snapped up. “No—no, Rafe. It’s not that.”

His brow furrowed.

“Then what the hell is it?” he asked, not unkindly. Just raw. Honest. “You’ve been ghostin’ me. I thought we were past that bullshit.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. Her gaze fell to the space between them, to the floor, to the trembling in her own hands.

Rafe stepped closer, and she didn’t back away.

He reached out, barely brushing his fingers against her arm. Light, like he didn’t want to startle her. Like he was still trying to gauge just how fragile she was.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice rougher now. “You’re shaking.”

She blinked, confused for a second, then looked down—only to see her hands trembling in front of her like they didn’t belong to her at all.

She swallowed hard. Her throat felt too tight.

“I…” Her voice didn’t work. So instead, she just nodded, eyes stinging.

And without another word, she stepped aside.

She let him in.

Because as much as she wanted to run, she knew he’d never stop knocking.

And she was tired of being alone with the truth.

She didn’t tell him right away.

Not when he kicked his shoes off and followed her into the apartment with that carefully guarded look in his eyes. Not when he sat beside her on the couch, leaving just enough space between them to feel like a canyon.

The silence stretched, thick and brittle.

Rafe sat rigid, elbows on his knees, tapping his fingers against his thigh like he needed somewhere to put the energy crawling under his skin. Like if he didn’t do something, he might break apart.

His voice cut through the quiet, low and strained.

“Did I do something?”

She glanced at him, startled.

“Just—tell me if I did. You know I’m not always good at…” He trailed off, jaw tightening. “I don’t know how to fix it if I don’t know what I did.”

Her heart pulled in her chest.

“You didn’t do anything,” she whispered.

But he didn’t look convinced. If anything, his jaw locked tighter. His eyes kept flicking toward her like he was waiting for the moment she’d vanish again.

She could feel it all bubbling up inside her—guilt, fear, dread so thick it pressed on her lungs.

She twisted the hem of her sweatshirt in her hands until her knuckles went white.

Then she said it.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words dropped like a stone between them.

Silence followed, louder than before.

Rafe didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He just sat there, frozen—like his brain hadn’t caught up to the words. Like maybe he thought he’d misheard.

Her chest rose and fell with shallow, shaky breaths.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” she said quickly, her voice breaking around the edges. “I thought you’d be mad. Or tell me it wasn’t your problem. Or just… disappear.”

Still, he didn’t speak. His hands were clasped between his knees now, gripping so tight his knuckles were bloodless.

So she kept talking. She had to. The silence was eating her alive.

“I’m not asking for anything, I swear. I don’t even know what I want yet. I just… thought you deserved to know. I’m sorry if I ruined everything.”

That part came out in a whisper.

And still, nothing.

A cold pit opened up in her chest.

She stood abruptly, needing distance, needing air.

“You don’t have to stay,” she said. Her voice trembled. “I get it. This isn’t what you signed up for.”

That’s when he finally looked up.

And what she saw in his face stopped her in her tracks.

It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t resentment.

It was fear.

Real, naked fear.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, voice rough, like it scraped on the way out.

She blinked. “What?”

He stood too, slower than she had, like he didn’t want to startle her. His eyes didn’t leave hers.

“You think I’d just dip? That I’d leave you alone with this?” His laugh was dry and bitter. “Fuck, is that what you think of me?”

Her lip wobbled. “I didn’t know what to think. You always said you didn’t want anything serious.”

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “Yeah, well… this is serious. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna run.”

She stared at him, trying to read the truth in his face.

“You’re not mad?” she asked softly.

“Of course I’m mad,” he said without hesitation. But then his voice softened again. “Just not at you. I’m mad you thought you had to hide it. That you thought I wouldn’t show up for you. What kind of guy do you think I am?”

She looked down at the floor, throat tightening.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Look at me.”

She did. Slowly.

Rafe took a cautious step closer. His brows pulled together like he was still piecing her back together in his mind.

“Do I scare you?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered. “You just… confuse me.”

That made him huff out a shaky breath, the barest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well. You confuse me too, sweetheart.”

She could see it now—how pale he’d gone. The tension in his jaw. His eyes weren’t stormy anymore; they were shattered.

Then he said something she never expected.

“Rose told me once that I ruin everything I touch.”

Her heart broke clean in two.

“She said it when I was ten,” he continued, eyes faraway. “I broke this plate—some expensive Italian thing. She just lost it. Said I ruin things. People. Doesn’t matter if I mean to or not.”

She took a step toward him, chest aching.

“You’re not ruining anything,” she said softly.

His gaze snapped to hers, raw and searching. “You’re not scared?”

“I’m terrified,” she admitted, voice shaking. “But not of you.”

Rafe’s lips parted like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. He looked lost. A boy still carrying the weight of things he shouldn’t have had to.

“I don’t know how to be a dad,” he said. “I don’t even know how to be… good. At any of this. Son, boyfriend, whatever the fuck we are.”

She gave him a wobbly smile. “Me either.”

He blinked. Something softened in his expression.

“I’m not good at talking about shit. Feelings. All that. But I’m not gonna let you do this alone,” he said, voice thick. “I won’t let you.”

That was what did her in.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against him.

And Rafe—who always held himself like he was too much—wrapped his arms around her waist and held her like he finally believed she wanted him there. Like he didn’t have to be perfect to stay.

He didn’t squeeze too hard. Just enough.

And for the first time in days, she felt like she could breathe again.

Beacuse she knew they were going to be okay.

#outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron fanfics #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #obx fic #obx x reader #rafe cameron #rafe angst #dad rafe #rafe fluff #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fluff

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rabbitindisguise · 18 hours ago

Note

I got diagnosed at the optometrist that was freshly graduated and knew about all the fun and cool maladies but a lot of the doctors I talked to about it didn't understand it because "there's nothing mechanically wrong with your eyes" (yeah, because VSS is neurological). I definitely think it's a valid move to not get diagnosed 100%

if you (the anon, or anyone else) want to get diagnosed it's easier if you go to a neurologist on the VSS institute's recommended doctor list, since pretty much any other neurologist will be equally confused since it's so new. And, to give a picture from the diagnosed perspective: It might not be worth the effort now anyways. The medications they offer for it aren't always super helpful, and the therapy interventions/cane training aren't super useful (sometimes a flashlight will do), and there aren't any well documented accommodations, and no clear reason for it to be in your records (like how nearsightedness is important because it tells them to watch for detached retinas). The opposite of those four things are primary reasons why I suggest people do get diagnosed with things so *shrug* and it hasn't done anything for me, it just kinda sits there. Definitely ymmv since some people whose lives are negatively impacted participate in new drug trials and things like that, but it's worth knowing a concrete goal for getting diagnosed professionally since it's so easy to self-assess

(I do recommend learning yourself because there's settings you can change on your phone/computer that make life easier)

hey how did u find out u have snow vision? did u just reach that conclusion by urself or did a doctor tell u about it?

When I was a kid I could see dots buzzing around on my notebook and when I asked teachers what they were they just told me to drink water and sit down, like they didn’t know what I was talking about and thought I was passing out. So I just stopped mentioning it.

Then like a decade later when I had internet access I decided to do some research and found that it had only been proven to be a thing in like 2003, and every description matched my experience.

Then like a month ago I learned that other things I thought were normal are actually part of it, like “lag” around moving objects, light sensitivity, prolonged afterimages, bad night vision, etc

So like. It feels less like a self-diagnoses and more like looking at a red-green dot test and being like “oh near I’m colourblind”

Doesn’t feel like it needs a professional confirmation

#disability

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spicytattoo · 2 days ago

Text

The Last Flicker of Warmth - (18+ Angst)

Synopsis: Y/N is the last flicker of warmth in the wilderness. The human tether when everything else is slipping into myth, madness and hunger. It makes total sense that everyone would start to feel something for her - not always necessarily romantic, but primal. Deep. Needy. She becomes more than just a friend - she's a lifeline. (Multijackets x Y/N)

Content warnings: Violence, Dark themes, Sexual scenes

There's a point, weeks or months in, when everything starts to change.

They're not brushing their hair anymore.

They're not wearing shoes half the time.

They forget what month it is.

Their parents' faces blur.

But Y/N stays Y/N.

She still makes jokes. She still hums while skinning rabbits. She still smiles - not often, not wide, but real. She touches shoulders when she talks. Calls them by name, even when they've stopped calling each other anything at all.

And that's why they start to catch feelings. Not because she's beautiful - but because she's safe.

Lottie - with all her mysticism, starts watching Y/N like she's the only one not touched by the darkness. Like maybe she should be worshipping her instead.

Shauna - sits closer to her each night. She doesn't say anything. She just needs to feel her warmth.

Nat - half starved and angry at everything, only softens when Y/N hands her the last of the cooked meat and says, ''You need it more.''

Misty - starts mimicking her, how she talks, how she folds her sleeves. She starts calling her ''Buddy'' with a forced casualness, like she's trying to be in on a joke she doesn't understand.

And Y/N feels it too. She's not blind. She sees the way they look at her - hungry, yes, but not just for food.

They're starving for hope, and she's the last living scrap of it.

But it starts to wear on her. All those eyes. All that need.

There's a night - cold, quiet, moonless - where she walks out alone into the trees, just to breathe. And someone follows her. Could be Shauna. Could be Natalie. Could be Van.

Maybe that's where a confession happens.

Maybe someone says, ''I think i'm in love with you.''

And Y/N, soft and worn down, just says: ''No, you're not. You're in love with hope. I'm just the last place you saw it.''

Y/N - the one thing that still feels human - becoming less so because everyone keeps carving pieces from her just to survive.

She's their group 'girlfriend', in the most haunting, tragic way. Not in a possessive, romantic sense - but as a kind of shared emotional crutch, a warm body in the dark, someone to kiss or cry on or lie with when it's too much.

And Y/N lets them.

Because she thinks maybe that's all she's good for now.

She doesn't say no.

When Shauna starts curling into her at night, not saying a word. When Natalie, half-drunk on fermented berries, kisses her like it's an apology. When Van, bleeding from a failed hunt, presses her forehead against Y/N's and whispers, ''I don't want to be here without you.''

She lets it happen.

She kisses back. She holds them.

She whispers comfort. Runs her fingers through hair. Tells them they're not alone. Even when she's hollow. Even when she's freezing inside.

Because if they're okay, maybe she still has purpose.

And no one talks about it.

No one says, ''Who's sleeping with Y/N now?''

No one gets possessive.

It's understood: She's all of theirs.

The one they touch when they need to remember how skin feels.

The one they cry on when they can't handle their grief.

The one they look for after something terrible happens.

She's the blanket, the confessional, the first and last warmth.

And not one of them ever asks what she needs.

Inside? She's unraveling.

She doesn't know who she is anymore.

Her body is no longer hers. Her heart's not hers.

Sometimes she cries silently while holding someone, and they don't even notice.

She starts forgetting her own memories. Her own voice.

And the scariest part? She's not even angry. She wants to be used. Because at least then she matters.

It's not romance.

It's not even sex, not always.

It's hunger. Desperation.

A need to feel alive in someone else's arms.

And Y/N lets them. Every time.

She gives her lips to whoever needs to feel wanted. Her arms to whoever needs to feel safe. Her body to whoever needs to feel something. Her voice to soothe, her hands to hold, her warmth to share.

Not one of them asks for this dynamic out loud, and yet... they all reach for her in the dark.

And she never says no.

Because she would rather give everything she has than let anyone suffer alone. Even if it kills her.

One night, Lottie tries to pull her into something deeper - ritual, reverence, worship.

Tells her, ''You're what's keeping us alive.''

And Y/N finally breaks. Grabs her wrists. Eyes wild. Voice shaking.

''Don't you dare love me. Don't you dare make me into something holy. I'm just a girl who's too tired to say no.''

Misty brushing Y/N's hair. Obsessively, rhythmically. ''You let me touch you... No one else lets me touch them.''

Akilah crawls into Y/N's sleeping bag on a freezing night. Not saying a word. Y/N holds her without question.

Mari kisses her in the dark once, and Y/N lets her. They never speak of it again. Neither does Mari.

They all drift to her, like moths to a flame they know will burn out - but they need the warmth anyway.

And when she tries to set a boundary - it backfires.

Late at night. Everyone is asleep but Y/N and Shauna.

Shauna's been clinging closer lately. Touches turning into kisses. Into something more.

Tonight, Y/N gently pulls away.

Y/N - (quietly): ''I can't, Shauna. Not tonight. I'm just... not in me right now.''

Shauna stares at her. Like a thread snapped.

Shauna - (bitterly): ''So it's okay when it's Van? or Natalie?''

Y/N - ''It's not like that. I'm just... I'm tired of being everyone's comfort blanket.''

Shauna - ''Then don't be. No one asked you to.''

That hits like a slap.

Because Y/N knows that's not true.

Shauna storms off. The next day, she doesn't speak to Y/N at all. Neither do a few of the others. The absence is cold.

And Y/N? she folds.

She crawls back into Shauna's arms that night. She says nothing. Because being used still hurts less than being nothing.

And when someone truly loves her - it terrifies her.

On a rare, warm day. Nat and Y/N are alone. Skin sunburned, knees muddy.

They've just returned from a hunting trip. Didn't find much. They're exhausted. lying under a tree.

Nat turns to her. Staring, serious.

Natalie: ''You know, I think I'd still want you if we weren't here.''

Y/N - (dryly): ''Well, lucky for you, we are here. So you don't have to find out.''

Natalie - (earnest): ''No, I mean it. I'd follow you anywhere. Even if this all ended tomorrow. I'd still want you.''

Y/N goes silent. Her face goes still. The humour drains.

Y/N: ''No. Don't say that.''

Natalie: ''Why?''

Y/N - (tears in her eyes): ''Because if you mean it... then I'm not just surviving anymore. I'm hurting someone real.''

Natalie: ''You're not hurting me.''

Y/N: ''Not yet.''

And she stands and walks away. Because real love means consequences. And Y/N doesn't believe she's allowed to have that anymore.

The way the pain cycles through these girls, how love and violence bleed together in the wilderness. Y/N offering herself as a vessel for other people's hurt, even when it turns brutal, because she thinks that's what she's for. And Shauna - sharp edged, guilt ridden, spiralling - finally cracking and using her.

Wilderness. Cold twilight. Everyone else is asleep inside the cabin.

The only sound is the wind groaning through the trees and the quiet snap of wood as Shauna furiously breaks branches for the fire. Too many. Over and over. Her hands are raw.

Y/N approaches.

No one else would. But Y/N always does.

Y/N - (softly): ''Shauna.''

Shauna doesn't answer.

Y/N: ''You're hands are bleeding.''

Shauna drops the sticks, breathing heavy. Her face - shadows and firelight - looks feral. Tired. Like she's about to come undone.

Shauna: ''Why do you do this? Huh? Why do you follow me around like some... guardian angel? I'm not worth saving. I'm not kind. I'm not good.''

Y/N: ''You don't have to be good.''

Shauna: ''Then what the fuck do you want from me!?''

She steps forward - fast. Too fast.

And shoves Y/N.

Hard.

Y/N stumbles back, hits a tree. Doesn't react. Just breathes.

Shauna - (quieter now): ''You let everyone take and take and take from you. Does it ever stop? Do you even know who you are anymore?''

Y/N: ''No.''

Shauna hits her.

An open-handed slap. Not clean. Desperate.

Her eyes well up the second it lands.

But Y/N doesn't flinch.

She just looks at her. Steady. Like a mirror.

Y/N - (gently): ''Do it again, if you need to.''

Shauna stands frozen. Trembling. Her knuckles white. Her breathing ragged.

Shauna - (whispers): ''I'm so fucked up, Y/N.''

Y/N steps forward. Takes her hand. Places it softly on her own cheek - where the red mark blooms.

Y/N: ''Then take it. Take whatever you need.''

And that breaks her.

Shauna collapses into her, sobbing, fists curled against Y/N's chest. Y/N wraps her arms around her like nothing happened. Like it's okay.

Because to Y/N - it is.

She'll be the wall they beat against. The arms they cry into. The mouth they kiss like a prayer.

Even if it destroys her.

The woods are still quiet. Y/N's arms are still wrapped around Shauna, who's still sobbing - heavy like something inside her has snapped and is spilling out all over Y/N's chest.

Y/N holds her with steady, quiet strength. Her chin rests on top of Shauna's head, fingers slowly combing through her hair, grounding her.

And then - gradually - the sobs slow. The tension melts into something else. Something needier.

Shauna pulls back just slightly, eyes swollen, her breath brushing Y/N's lips.

Shauna - (hoarse): ''Do you think I'm a monster?''

Y/N: ''No.''

A long beat. The fire flickers. Shadows dance along their faces.

Shauna: ''Do you think i'm still someone worth... being touched?''

Y/N - (quietly): ''Always.''

And then Shauna kisses her. Tentative. Searching. Testing whether this is really happening - if she's allowed to be held like this.

Y/N doesn't hesitate. She kisses back, slow and warm and without urgency, like she's giving Shauna permission to be soft again.

Their bodies press together - awkward at first, trembling - but it shifts. Into something natural. Something familiar. As if this isn't the first time Shauna has needed this, or Y/N has given it.

Clothes aren't torn off. There's no frenzy. Just touch.

Shauna, desperate to feel something pure, to reclaim her body from the wilderness, from the blood, from Jeff, from everything she's done.

Y/N, ready to give all of herself if it makes the pain stop - for Shauna, if not for herself.

They lie down in the pine needles, slow and careful. Hands trace bruises, not to heal them, but to acknowledge them.

Shauna - (whispers, breaking): ''I don't even know why I'm doing this...''

Y/N: ''You don't have to. I'll just be here. That's all.''

And she is.

For the rest of the night, Y/N lets Shauna take what she needs.

The morning after, Shauna doesn't say a word. She's already building the walls back up.

But as she pulls on her coat, she pauses. Looks down at Y/N - still lying on the ground, eyes open, watching the sky.

Shauna - (barely audible): ''Thank you.''

Y/N just nods.

And Shauna leaves.

No kiss. No eye contact. No promises.

Just the wilderness, swallowing up the moment. As if it never happened.

Y/N wakes up because Shauna needs to be held.

Y/N eats because Mari will worry if she doesn't.

Y/N smiles because Van will break if she frowns.

She sleeps only when she's sure no one is crying in the dark.

But if one day... no one needs her?

That's the day the thread snaps.

She's equal parts to everyone. She makes sure of it.

Shauna gets her violence, her guilt, her craving for touch without emotion.

Lottie gets her spirituality, her stillness, her body when visions leave her shaking.

Natalie gets her cigarettes, her silence, her raw, wordless understanding.

Mari gets her comfort, her arms, her hair gently braided before bed.

Van gets her rage, her laughter, her aching loyalty.

Taissa gets her steadiness, her grounding, her protection.

Melissa gets her softness, her quiet encouragement.

Misty gets her attention, her acceptance, her rare, unflinching eye contact.

Akilah gets her curiosity, her kindness, her shared food.

Jackie - even in the early days - gets her charm, her attention, her light.

Travis, confused and wounded, gets her warmth too - when he can't face Natalie, when he's just a boy lost in grief. Y/N holds him like she does the others. And he lets her.

But who holds Y/N?

No one.

Not really.

Because Y/N won't let herself be held.

Not unless someone demands it of her.

Not unless someone sees her fully and insists, ''Enough. Now it's your turn.''

But they're all too broken.

Too consumed.

Too used to Y/N being there.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you so much for reading! This has been in my drafts for ages, I apologise for it being so long. It's a lot different to the content I usually write, but I'm still proud of it, so if you made it this far, I hope you enjoyed! Any feedback is welcome :)

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raekensluver · 3 days ago

Text

nsfw alphabet - arthur frederick

masterlist | main masterlist

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

arthur is the king of aftercare. he’s soft, attentive, a little doting. kisses your forehead, runs his hands gently up and down your back, whispers little “you good, love?” checks. makes you drink water. if it was intense? he’s tucking you in and spooning you like you’re breakable.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he likes your thighs. loves when they wrap around him, especially when they tense up while you’re close. he’ll grip them, kiss them, lie between them like it’s his favorite place on earth. on himself, it’s his hands. he knows what they do to you. he catches the way you stare when he flexes his fingers or works with them, and he uses that to his full advantage.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

arthur’s not big on mess. he likes things contained, clean. cumming inside is his favorite—whether it’s in a condom or you’re on birth control, he just loves the intimacy of it.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he’s fantasized about sharing you in a threesome - with one of his friends. it’s not something he talks about (because god, imagine the teasing), but the idea of watching someone else touch you while he calls the shots? it lives in his head rent-free. the control, the jealousy, the idea that you’d still be his at the end of it? it ruins him in the best way. he’s never brought it up, but if you did? he’d act shocked… then ask how serious you were.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he’s experienced enough to know what he’s doing, but not cocky. he listens to your body, learns your rhythms. if you tell him what you like, he stores it like gospel. bonus: he’s got a natural rhythm and is stupidly good with his mouth.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

missionary, but intimate - your legs around his waist, foreheads touching, his name falling from your lips. but he also loves when you’re on top. watching you, hands gripping your hips like he’s scared to wake up from a dream.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he’s mostly serious, especially when he’s focused on you—but every now and then, he’ll crack a grin, kiss your nose mid-thrust, or tease you with a cheeky, “you like that, huh?” he keeps it light, but when it counts, he locks in.

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

trims regularly. neat but not bare. keeps it natural but clean. carpet does match the drapes - warm, soft, a little scruffy.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

arthur is intimate to the core. he loves eye contact, loves hearing how much you want him. he’s the type to press his forehead to yours and whisper, “i love you,” just as you fall apart under him. he means every word.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he’s definitely done it thinking about you. especially before you got together. now? not as often - he prefers the real thing, but if he’s away from you, he’ll do it with his phone in hand, moaning your name into the pillow.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

praise kink, 1000%. he lives to hear you whimper “you’re so good, arthur.” also big on light dom/sub dynamics. he doesn’t need ropes or titles—he just loves taking control and making you feel small and safe under him.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

loves the bedroom for slow, drawn-out sessions, but he’s got a thing for risky spots: at the podcast office after filming, the car, a quiet room at a house party.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

your voice. your thighs. you in his clothes. you biting your lip when you look at him. sometimes you don’t even need to touch him - just look at him a certain way and he’s already half-hard, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he’s not into anything degrading or mean-spirited. he won’t slap, spit, or call you names - even in roleplay. he’s all about comfort and connection.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

giving: he could live between your legs. he eats you out like it’s a full-course meal. loves to have you tugging his hair and grinding on his face. receiving: also loves it, but gets flustered every time. he’ll try to keep eye contact but ends up moaning and gripping the sheets.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

can go slow and sensual or deep and desperate depending on the mood. if he’s been holding back all day? it’s rough, breathy, possessive. if he’s had a soft day with you? it’s tender and unhurried, all whispers and eye contact.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

into it if it’s a rare, spontaneous moment. not his favorite, but if you climb into his lap and whisper something filthy in his ear? he’s pulling your knickers aside and making it work.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he’s open to exploring, especially if you initiate it. not reckless, but curious. new positions? yes. toys? sure. semi-public where there’s a chance someone could hear? gets him going more than he’ll admit.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

can go for multiple rounds on a good day. he’ll start soft, build up slow, and keep you going until you’re wrecked and blinking up at him like you forgot how to speak. he loves edging - making it last as long as possible.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he doesnt own a a huge collection, but down to use them on you. loves a good bullet vibe while he’s inside you. seeing you fall apart from dual stimulation? it changes him.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

he teases you in that soft-spoken, “you can’t handle me right now” kind of way. leaves you whimpering before he even touches you properly. whispers filth in your ear while pretending to be innocent.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

high, whiney and breathy moans right by your ear is his kind of style. he says your name like it’s the only word he knows. when he’s close, he swears under his breath and holds you tight like you’re slipping away.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he adores when you wear his hoodie with nothing underneath. every time he sees it, he stops what he’s doing, walks over, lifts it up and says, “really?” with a smirk—and suddenly the hoodie’s on the floor.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he’s packing—nothing outrageous, but thick and satisfying. fits just right. veiny, curved slightly up. the kind you feel for hours after and daydream about constantly.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

he has a high sex drive, but he's not pushy. he’s always down, but respectful. he’ll initiate often with soft kisses, hands under your shirt, slow build-up. but if you say “now?”- he’s already lifting you.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

doesn’t fall asleep instantly. he holds you close, talks softly, maybe kisses your shoulder or runs his fingers down your spine. waits for you to fall asleep before he does. (unless he’s truly exhausted, in which case he’s out cold and snoring in ten.)

#arthur tv smut #arthur frederick smut #arthur tv x reader #arthur frederick x reader #arthur tv blurb #arthur frederick blurb #arthur tv #arthur frederick #arthurtv x reader #arthurtv imagines #arthurtv smut #arthurtv fics #arthurtv x you #arthurtv #british youtubers #uk youtubers #ukyt #uk youtube #ukyt fanfic

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fayelero · 3 days ago

Text

ⓘ 03. SUCH A PERV !

⤷ SMUT ﹫ bachira meguru x fem!reader ﹫ mdni ﹫ perv!bachira

⚠︎ highly suggestive, mention of sex, perverted meguru .ᐟ.ᐟ

From the beginning, you knew.

There was no moment of revelation, no grand shock that made you realize the truth. You didn’t stumble upon secret files on his phone or catch him ogling other girls. No — you knew because you had to. Because being Meguru Bachira’s girlfriend meant living on the edge of two worlds: the one where he danced around like a sunbeam, all smiles and innocence and weirdly philosophical soccer metaphors… and the one where he made sure your thighs stayed bruised from his grip every night.

To the rest of the world — his teammates, his fans, even your friends — he was pure. Kind, quirky, lovable. A golden retriever with insane footwork.

But you?

You were the only one who’d ever heard the way his voice dropped an octave when the lights went out. The only one who knew the meaning behind the way his hand would rest innocently on your lower back, only to slide just a little too low when no one was looking. The only one who’d ever been cornered by him in a locker room, with sweat still dripping down his chest, his eyes wild with adrenaline and something darker.

Bachira didn’t act like an angel.

He was one.

Just one with a filthy mind and no filter when it came to you.

⸻

It started small. Little things. His text messages, teasing in ways that only you would catch. Compliments that sounded sweet on the surface but had claws under them.

“Miss you. Can’t stop thinking about how good you looked in that skirt. Especially when you bent over in the kitchen. Dangerous, baby.”

Or the way he’d “accidentally” brush his hand over your chest when hugging you from behind. The way he’d squeeze your inner thigh under the table during a group dinner like he was testing just how still you could sit.

Then it escalated.

One night, you came home to him already sprawled out on your bed — no shirt, sweatpants riding low on his hips, a familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“I was thinking about you during practice,” he said, voice lazy, “and I got… distracted.”

His eyes dropped to his lap. He wasn’t hiding anything.

You’d barely dropped your bag when he pounced, hands grabbing your hips with a hunger that made your legs weak. His kisses were deep, messy, possessive. Not romantic. He wasn’t whispering sweet nothings — he was murmuring exactly what he wanted to do to you. Things that would make your face burn if anyone else ever heard.

And the worst part?

He said it all with that same smile.

The same boyish grin that made his teammates think he was harmless. The same stupid sparkle in his eyes that masked the fact that his hand was already under your shirt, tugging your bra aside like he’d done it a thousand times before — because he had.

“I bet you’re already wet, huh?” he whispered against your neck, breath hot, teeth grazing skin. “Just from hearing me talk.”

You shoved at his chest, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

“You’re such a perv.”

He tilted his head, licking his lips slowly as his fingers slid into your waistband.

“I know,” he said shamelessly, “but I’m your perv.”

⸻

Sometimes, you wondered how his friends didn’t know. Surely, someone had to have seen the way his eyes darkened when you walked into a room. The way his attention zeroed in on you like a predator spotting prey. But Bachira had a gift — he played the fool too well. No one ever looked twice.

Except you.

You’d learned him. Memorized every inch of that split personality. Sweet on the outside, sinful underneath. A dirty mouth paired with angel eyes.

And you’d stopped trying to figure out how he got that way.

Because really, you didn’t mind.

Not when his hands made your skin light up like fire. Not when his voice dipped into a low growl, pulling confessions from your lips without even touching you. Not when he had you writhing beneath him, pinned down by a body that moved just as fluidly off the field as on it.

And especially not when he looked down at you with that same playful grin — eyes dark with lust, voice dripping with mischief — and whispered:

“You knew what you were signing up for, babe.”

And damn it, you did.

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farfromharry · 2 days ago

Text

What the fuck? | Lando Norris

Transformers au

Summary: A successful date turns into a living nightmare when Y/N comes face to face with the alien living in Lando’s garage. Oh, and it also doubles as his car too…?

w/c 3155

a/n i rewatched transformers the other day and this came to mind idk, its pretty random but i had to get it out of my head

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Lando Norris was hot.

For months he had been coming into your work for coffee. He was that customer that every worker fawned over. There was a cat fight every time the bell above the door sounded and he stepped inside. Everyone wanted to be the one to take his order. He was polite to everyone, as he should be. There was only one person who he flirted with though. Y/N.

On the off chance that everyone else was busy and she finally got the opportunity to serve him, they chatted for ages. He was constantly asking her questions that had obvious answers, just so he could talk to her for longer. They talked about their days, he complimented her and she always drew a little heart by his name when handing him his cup.

Really it was only a matter of time before he asked her out.

For weeks he had been building up the courage. Coming into the cafe and pretending to stare at the menu until she was free. He saw how they bickered when he came in. It would have done wonders for his ego had he not been trying to impress someone specific. She hadn’t picked up on it though. Y/N thought it was just luck that everyone else was busy. If only she knew that he was there for her– he didn’t even like coffee.

“Would you like to go out sometime?” She was clearly caught off guard. “With me, I mean.”

Nervously, her eyes darted to the side, where an older lady stood watching them. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her around. He assumed she was the manager or something of the sorts. His mouth formed an O shape. Now wasn’t a good time for them to talk about this.

“Your total is £3.86.”

The man tapped his card, nodded at her and then moved off to the side to wait for his drink. There was no mention of his offer when she called his name to collect, but as he was leaving he did notice the number and the smiley face jotted down on the side of his cup. A laugh bubble in his throat. The little minx.

When a text from a random number came through to Y/N’s phone a day later, she grinned to herself. Lando was persistent, she would give him that.

It took all of 2 minutes to spill it to her roommate and given how often she talked about the hot customer that came in practically every day, she insisted she go for it. Who was she to turn down a man that looked like that and was very clearly interested in her? She was very quick to say yes.

He picked her up from her apartment, his pricey Porsche practically sparkling under the street lights. She was in awe. The dark green exterior was gorgeous, to die for. It must have been cleaned recently, but he did seem like the type to take care of his car. He was leaning against it when she emerged from her building, his arms crossed, stretching the material of his button up tightly over his chest and his arms. Those arms… She had no idea how she was going to survive this date.

But she did and she had a great time. He was funny, charming and a mighty good kisser. They could barely keep their hands off of each other. In the car on the way back, his hand rested on her leg, bordering on dangerous with how close it was to the hem of her dress. She loved it though and as soon as the car was stopped she was the first to launch herself at him. He was slightly caught off guard, but quickly kissed her back.

She didn’t expect him to push her away. Fear filled her. The idea that she had read something wrong or gotten mixed signals was horrifying. It must have been written all over her face. His hand settled on her cheek, silently asking her to look at him. When she did he was smiling.

“I’m not rejecting you.” That was a good start at least. He pulled the keys from the ignition and winked at her. “Just think we should head inside.”

The dread that had once been written all over her face was quickly replaced by lust. With how he looked in the moonlight right now, curls falling over his forehead, facial hair he was too stubborn to shave and just the right amount of buttons undone on his shirt, there was no way she was going to turn down that offer. “Lead the way, Norris.”

When she stepped out of the car the wind bit at her face, the chill sent down her spine forcing her to wrap her arms around herself. How she would love a bit of Lando’s body heat mixing with hers right now. Even just when his hand touched the small of her back she immediately felt warmer.

Like the gentleman he tried so hard to be, he unlocked the front door and let her in first. Only when she stood in the doorway awkwardly did he remember she had never been in his house before; she had no idea where she was going.

Lando laughed. “Right. My bad.”

After closing the door behind him, he laced his fingers with hers tugging her in the direction of the couch in the living room. He sat down first, sinking into the couch, legs spread and head leaning on the back, eyes staring up at her with a silent invitation. He looked edible. Any normal person would probably see the empty space beside him and claim that, but not Y/N. The most inviting place for her right now was that of his lap. Why waste time?

Apparently straddling him was a good idea. Helped set the mood. Lando enjoyed it anyway. Big hands came to hold her sides, the smirk sneaking onto his face annoyingly attractive.

“Hi,” he whispered.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, another finding its way into the long curls at the back of his neck. Not yet tugging, but considering it. “Hello.”

Neither of them were sure who initiated it. One minute she was practically drooling over the way he was gazing up at her, eyes dilated and lips slightly parted, the next he was mentally thanking whatever miracles had allowed him to be in this moment. Soft lips met his, stealing his breath. Their noses bumped. Teeth clashed. Lando never wanted it to end.

A loud crash from somewhere in the house stole her attention. Their lips briefly separated. As much as she would have liked to keep kissing him, the noise was loud and distracting. “What was that?” she asked, trying to ignore the way his thumb stroked her cheek. He was incredibly intoxicating in the best way.

He tried to shake it off. Of course he had heard it, but he knew exactly what the culprit was and really didn’t want to share. “I didn’t hear anything.” In his mind, denial was the best way to go, followed by distraction. The perfect distraction would be his lips in this case.

Gently, he grabbed her chin between his thumb and index finger, guiding her face back to his. Their lips connected again and she sighed heartily against his mouth. He smiled briefly, but it disappeared as soon as he found himself lost in the kiss again. His other hand was on her hip, keeping her pressed tightly to his body. He didn’t want even a centimetre of space between them. If anyone were to look at them they wouldn’t know where he started and she ended. The way she kissed was intoxicating.

Bang.

There was that noise again. Y/N pulled back, but Lando wasn’t done. Swollen lips found her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses on her skin. Her eyes fluttered but she quickly snapped herself out of it. Letting herself get distracted by his touch was exactly what he wanted. Whether he liked it or not, she was going to get to the bottom of that noise.

When she climbed out of his lap like a woman on a mission, his heart dropped. He had to keep her out of the garage at all costs.

“Y/N, hey. What are you doing?” The look on his face was far from calm. It would be obvious to anyone in a 10 foot range that he was hiding something. And if anyone was listening, she was praying it wasn’t something weird because he was just so hot.

“Tell me what that noise is.”

It wasn’t a question, it was an order.

Looking right at him was a face of fury. She had just wanted a good night, a normal date for once in her life. Lando was supposed to be a good one. The night had been going so well and now here she was. The man visibly deflated. Clearly she was upset, annoyed– a whole mix of different emotions, but none of them good. Maybe coming clean was the best idea.

A sigh, then a longing look at the Porsche beside them.

The next time he looked at her it was with such desperation that her chest actually ached for him. He didn’t know what to do. “Look, what I’m gonna say is…” How was he supposed to put it? There was no sane way of coming clean here. “It’s crazy. But I need you to know I am telling the truth. If you promise not to freak out I’ll show you.”

Understandably, she was hesitant. There was something in his eyes though that told her she could trust him on this. “Okay.”

With a nod, he tapped the roof of the car twice. “Show her.”

She wasn’t sure what she was witnessing was real. Right before her eyes the Porsche in front of her shifted from a car into something that resembled a… person. It even blinked, waved at her. She thought she was losing her mind. Surely this was some illusion, a trick of the light or something he used to impress women. When she turned to look at him, he looked completely unbothered, like this was something he was totally used to.

“What the fuck?” she yelled, eyes blown wide as she stared at the car turned… thing that she couldn’t even find a logical explanation for. Had she taken a drug that she didn’t know about, or maybe her world was turning upside down? Either way, she sort of felt nauseous. Lando’s hand was quick to come up and cover her mouth when she screamed again. The last thing he needed was his neighbours getting worried that someone was being murdered in his garage.

Wide eyes were frantically darting all over the place, trying to conjure up a reasonable explanation for whatever the fuck was happening.

Lando was just trying to soothe her. “Listen to me, I need you to calm down.”

That was a rich suggestion. Who was he to tell her to calm down? It wasn’t everyday someone saw a literal car transform into something almost human. Her chest was heaving, clearly startled, scared out of her mind. Maybe there were better ways he could have broken this news to her.

Just as he thought he might be starting to make progress, the robot opened its mouth and sent her spiraling all over again. “Hello.” It even waved.

Lando cursed, shooting the Porsche quite a harsh glare. Then he placed his attention back on Y/N, placing his hands on her arms in an effort to keep her focused on him. “Breathe with me. Come on.”

It took a while, but eventually she managed to match his breathing. Her mind was still racing, but she was definitely more relaxed. He smiled.

“Good. You feeling better?”

She let out a breath. “I think so. But can you please explain what the hell is going on?” She looked desperate. He was starting to feel guilty for dropping this on her.

The thing is, he didn’t really know himself. Months ago, Lando had been going through a crisis and thought the best way to fix it was to buy a run down version of one of his dream cars. Then he would fix it up, make it all shiny and new again. Only, one day had entered his garage to find it was exactly how he pictured it in his mind. He had paused, stared at it blankly for a few seconds and then it had done it for the first time. The car, his car, literally transformed into some sort of robot. It even spoke to him, assured him he was harmless. At no point did he explain why or how he was here, and Lando had never really asked.

“Um, well, he’s an Autobot, from space.” It was a shitty explanation, one that did nothing to make her feel better. This thing was an alien and Lando was standing here acting like this was normal. “He’s harmless, I swear. His name’s Mirage.” He added that extra bit of information like it would make everything better.

The next thing either of them knew she was hitting the group with quite the thump. Faintly she might have heard Lando’s panicked gasp, but she wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

When her eyes fluttered open she assumed it was a few hours later. It was darker now outside and she was laying in an unfamiliar living room. She groaned, rubbing at her head that was throbbing slightly— probably from how hard she hit the floor. Lando was by her side the second he realised she was awake.

“Hey, gave us quite the scare there. Feeling okay?”

She smiled softly, rather happy with how attentive he was being for a first date. “Yeah. I had such a crazy dream,” she laughed, “your car—“ Her brain seemed to suddenly catch up to what he’d said, her brow furrowing and her eyes darting to him. “Wait, who’s us?”

He smiled sheepishly. There was a tap on the window. Part of her wanted to ignore it, but another part of her was desperate to know if what she’d just witnessed was real. Even if it was terrifying. This time he didn’t try to stop her, just let her sit up and peer around the arm of the couch to look out the window. The moment she noticed was obvious. Her body went rigid. “Oh my god, it was real!”

His laughter was strained. This was the last way he thought this first date was going to turn out. She probably thought the same thing. The only problem was that even if she never wanted to see him again, he had to make sure she kept his secret. Unfortunately she was going to have to stick around.

“Look, about this whole thing… you can’t tell anyone.”

She scoffed. “Lando, you’ve just shown me an alien and you expect me to keep quiet?”

A frown crept onto his face. If he didn’t think he could trust her, he wouldn’t have told her the truth. He would have made something up to throw her off the scent. But things had been going well and she seemed like the kind of person that could keep a secret if she knew it was important. This was the most important thing in the world to Lando.

“No, Y/N, I’m serious.” His eyes were pleading with her. “Please, if anyone finds out about this I don’t know what they’d do to him. He left his planet to escape war, what do you think is gonna happen if people find out about this?”

It was understandable. Her fear was clouding her rational judgement. Once she managed to get her breathing under control, she felt like she could think more clearly. Lando’s words meant more sense. It wasn’t fair to ruin someone’s life because she was scared.

He could see her start to calm down.

“Okay.” She nodded. “I won’t tell.”

Lando let out a breath and his whole body sagged. The relief he was feeling was blatant. “Thank you.”

Silence settled between them. It wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable per say, but neither of them were sure what to say. It was a weird situation. Certainly not one people found themselves in every day, or ever for that matter. She didn’t know how to handle it. No one knew about Lando’s secret. Not even his closest friends. This was something he hadn’t had to deal with before, he didn’t know what to do or what to say.

“Do you, um, want to meet him properly?” Maybe if she could actually talk to him, see what he was like, she would understand. At least he hoped so.

The look on her face was hard to read. Clearly she was weighing out the pros and cons of meeting an alien. If Lando had been given that choice when he and Mirage had first met, he probably would have panicked too, probably even ran away. On the brightside, she had someone by her side to make this whole thing a little less stressful. He didn’t have that back then. He sure would have liked to.

“Okay.”

A sigh passed his lips. “He’s friendly, really.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but Lando was already taking her hand to guide her outside. Uncertainty was drowning her, but he seemed so sure. The thing– Mirage, she guessed– was waiting patiently outside to greet her. Upon first rational glance he seemed rather polite actually. She was surprised.

Lando felt like a parent introducing his child to someone. “Say hello.” Gently he nudged her forward. He knew his car well and he wouldn’t be on anything but his best behaviour.

“Um, hi there.” An awkward wave followed.

The man tried to stifle his laugh but considering the glare she shot his way, he suspected she might have heard it.

Mirage sort of smiled. “Hello.” He held out his hand, a hand shake being a gesture that Lando had taught him in a bid to make him more used to people.

Her eyes were wide. Nonetheless she took his… hand, and shook it. Her head was spinning. “This is fucking crazy,” she whispered.

Lando was beaming, his grin stretching from one ear to the other. He whispered right back. “I know, right.”

Looking at him now, she couldn’t believe she used to think he was just a normal guy that had become a regular at her job. “You’re, like, the coolest guy I’ve ever met.”

He really liked the sound of that. The compliment literally went straight to his head and he had no shame about it. “So, does that mean there’s gonna be a second date?”

She laughed. “I’m about to propose, so.”

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