#how to shoot in low light without flash

[creativekomal]

Mastering the Art of Low Light Photography Techniques And Gear

Mastering the Art of Low-Light Photography: Techniques & Gear

Low-light photography is both an exciting and challenging aspect of photography that allows you to capture stunning images in dimly lit environments. Whether you’re shooting a romantic dinner scene, a cityscape at night, or business portraits in a low-light office, understanding how to make the most of the available light is essential. Mastering the art of low-light photography can significantly enhance the visual appeal of your images and make your portfolio stand out.

In this blog post, we will dive into the low-light photography tips you need to know, the essential gear required, and techniques that will help you create sharp, captivating images even in the most challenging lighting conditions.

1. Understanding Low-Light Photography

Low-light photography refers to capturing images in situations where there is not enough light to create the desired exposure using a standard shutter speed. This often occurs in indoor settings, at night, or when shooting subjects under artificial lighting. While it can be more difficult than shooting in well-lit environments, low-light photography opens the door to unique and dramatic shots.

Challenges of Low-Light Photography

Noise: Increasing the ISO in low-light conditions can result in grainy images.

Motion Blur: Longer exposures may lead to blurry images if the subject is in motion or the camera isn’t stabilized.

Focus: Autofocus systems struggle in low light, making it harder to achieve sharp focus on the subject.

Despite these challenges, the right low-light photography tips and techniques can help you capture stunning, professional-grade images.

2. Essential Camera Settings for Low-Light Photography

Understanding how to manipulate your camera settings is crucial to overcoming the challenges posed by low-light conditions. The three main settings you need to focus on are ISO, shutter speed, and aperture.

ISO Settings:

ISO controls your camera’s sensitivity to light. In low-light environments, you’ll need to increase your ISO to capture more light. However, increasing the ISO too much can introduce noise into your photos, so it’s important to find a balance.

Lower ISO (100-400): Ideal for shooting in bright light or well-lit environments.

Medium ISO (800-1600): Works well in most low-light conditions without introducing too much noise.

Higher ISO (3200-6400): When shooting in very low light, you may need to increase your ISO further. Just keep in mind that higher ISOs often introduce noticeable noise, which may reduce image quality.

Shutter Speed:

Shutter speed determines how long the camera’s sensor is exposed to light. In low-light photography, longer exposures are often necessary to capture enough light, but this can lead to motion blur if the subject moves or if the camera shakes.

Use a slower shutter speed (1/60 sec or slower): A slower shutter speed lets in more light, which is essential in low-light conditions.

Stabilize the camera: To avoid motion blur, use a tripod, or place the camera on a stable surface. For handheld shots, try using a shutter speed of at least 1/60 sec to avoid shake.

Avoid overly long exposures: Extremely long exposures can result in light trails or overexposed images, especially in urban settings at night.

Aperture (f-stop):

The aperture controls the amount of light that enters the camera and affects the depth of field in the image. A larger aperture (lower f-number) allows more light to enter, which is crucial for low-light conditions.

Use a wide aperture (f/1.4, f/2.8, f/4): This helps gather more light, especially in darker environments. A wide aperture also creates a shallow depth of field, which can give your photos a dreamy, soft background.

Low-light photography tips for business settings: When photographing products or business portraits in low light, using a wide aperture can help focus attention on the subject, while blurring the background. This technique also ensures you capture as much light as possible without compromising the sharpness of your subject.

3. Stabilizing Your Camera in Low-Light Conditions

One of the biggest challenges in low-light photography is preventing motion blur. In dim lighting, you might need slower shutter speeds to capture enough light, but this increases the likelihood of blur if the camera moves even slightly. Here are some tips to stabilize your camera:

Use a Tripod:

A tripod is essential for low-light photography as it keeps the camera steady during long exposures. Whether you’re shooting landscapes at night or indoor product photos, a tripod ensures that your camera stays in place and your images are sharp.

Use Remote Shutter Release or Timer:

Even slight camera movement can cause blur when using slow shutter speeds. A remote shutter release or self-timer can help you avoid touching the camera, which can induce vibrations.

In-Body Image Stabilization (IBIS):

Many modern cameras come with in-body image stabilization, which helps reduce camera shake and allows you to shoot at slower shutter speeds without blur. If your camera has this feature, use it to your advantage in low-light settings.

Low-light photography tips for business: When doing business photoshoots in low-light environments, ensure that your camera remains stable at all times. A tripod and remote shutter release are particularly useful for corporate headshots or product shots, where clarity is key.

4. Using the Right Lens for Low-Light Photography

The lens you choose plays a significant role in how well you can capture images in low-light environments. Lenses with wide apertures allow more light to enter the camera, making them ideal for low-light photography.

Prime Lenses:

Prime lenses, such as the 50mm f/1.4 or 85mm f/1.8, are excellent for low-light photography because they offer wide apertures and are typically sharper than zoom lenses. The wide aperture allows you to gather more light, helping you take brighter photos in dimly lit settings.

Wide-Angle Lenses:

Wide-angle lenses (such as 24mm f/1.4) are ideal for low-light photography in urban settings or for capturing larger scenes. These lenses are great for night photography or cityscapes where capturing as much light as possible is essential.

Low-light photography tips for business portraits: For business photoshoots in Pune, using a prime lens with a wide aperture will help you capture crisp, well-lit portraits even in challenging lighting conditions. A 50mm or 85mm prime lens is perfect for business headshots and product photography in low light.

5. Post-Processing for Low-Light Photography

After capturing your images, post-processing is an essential step in low-light photography to enhance the quality of your photos. Software like Adobe Lightroom or Photoshop allows you to correct issues like noise, exposure, and contrast.

Reduce Noise:

Noise is a common issue when shooting in low-light conditions, especially with higher ISO settings. Use noise reduction tools in post-processing to smooth out grainy areas while preserving detail.

Adjust Exposure and Contrast:

Often, low-light photos can appear flat. In Lightroom or Photoshop, adjust the exposure and contrast to bring out the details in the shadows and highlights. This can make your photos look more vibrant and dynamic.

Sharpen the Image:

Low-light conditions sometimes result in slightly softer images. Use the sharpening tools in post-processing software to enhance the sharpness of your images, especially around key subjects like faces in business portraits.

Low-light photography tips for business and commercial photography: When editing business photoshoots in Pune, make sure your product images and portraits are as sharp and vibrant as possible without introducing too much noise. Adjusting white balance, brightness, and shadows can help achieve the perfect result.

6. Using Flash in Low-Light Photography

While natural light is preferred for its softness and warmth, using a flash in low-light photography can sometimes be necessary, especially for business photography where precise lighting is critical.

Use a Softbox or Diffuser:

If you’re using a flash, consider adding a softbox or diffuser to soften the light and reduce harsh shadows. This is especially useful for business photoshoots where you want flattering, even lighting on your subject’s face.

Bounce the Flash:

Instead of directing the flash straight at your subject, bounce the flash off a wall or ceiling to create a more natural, diffused light. This technique is often used for portrait photography to reduce the harshness of direct flash.

7. Conclusion: Learn the Best Low-Light Photography Techniques at The Lens India

Mastering low-light photography takes practice, patience, and the right tools. By following the low-light photography tips shared in this guide and using the correct gear, you can elevate your photography to a professional level, even in the most challenging lighting conditions.

For those who want to take their photography skills to the next level, The Lens India offers comprehensive photography courses and workshops that cover all aspects of photography, including low-light techniques. Whether you’re a beginner or an experienced photographer, our courses will help you improve your skills, gain hands-on experience, and build a portfolio that stands out.

Visit The Lens India Photography Courses and Workshops to explore our offerings and sign up for a course today! Start learning how to master low-light photography and other essential techniques that will help you capture stunning images in any lighting condition.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ) for Low-Light Photography

1. What is low-light photography?

Low-light photography refers to capturing images in environments with insufficient natural light. This often occurs in indoor settings, nighttime scenes, or areas with minimal artificial lighting. It involves techniques that help achieve proper exposure without overexposing or introducing too much noise.

2. Why does noise occur in low-light photography?

Noise appears in low-light photos when the ISO is increased to compensate for lack of light. Higher ISO settings amplify the camera’s sensitivity to light, but this can result in grainy or pixelated images. Learning how to balance ISO and post-process noise can help reduce this effect.

3. How can I stabilize my camera for low-light photography?

To prevent motion blur in low-light conditions, you can stabilize your camera using a tripod or by employing a remote shutter release or self-timer to minimize vibrations. Many modern cameras also feature in-body image stabilization (IBIS), which helps when shooting handheld.

4. What camera settings should I use for low-light photography?

The three main settings to adjust for low-light photography are:

ISO: Increase it to capture more light, but avoid going too high to prevent noise.

Shutter speed: Use slower shutter speeds for longer exposure, but ensure your camera is stabilized to avoid blur.

Aperture: Use a wide aperture (low f-number) to allow more light to reach the sensor, which is especially useful in dark environments.

5. Can I use a flash in low-light photography?

Yes, you can use a flash in low-light settings. However, to avoid harsh shadows and unflattering light, it’s best to use a softbox or diffuser to soften the light. Bouncing the flash off a wall or ceiling also creates a more natural, diffused lighting effect, perfect for portraits or product photography.

6. Which lenses are best for low-light photography?

Lenses with wide apertures (such as f/1.4, f/1.8, or f/2.8) are ideal for low-light conditions. Prime lenses like the 50mm f/1.4 or 85mm f/1.8 allow more light into the camera and often provide sharper results than zoom lenses.

7. How do I reduce noise in my low-light photos during editing?

Post-processing software like Adobe Lightroom or Photoshop offers tools to reduce noise. Use noise reduction features to smooth out grainy areas while maintaining detail. Additionally, adjusting exposure, contrast, and sharpness can further improve the quality of your low-light images.

8. What is the best tripod for low-light photography?

A sturdy tripod is essential for stabilizing the camera during long exposures in low-light settings. Look for a tripod that is lightweight for portability but stable enough to support your camera securely.

9. Is low-light photography difficult for beginners?

While it can be challenging at first, low-light photography becomes easier with practice. Understanding your camera settings and using the right gear, such as a tripod and wide-aperture lenses, can help you overcome common challenges.

10. Can I improve my low-light photography skills through a course?

Yes! Enrolling in a photography course that focuses on low-light techniques can accelerate your learning process. You’ll get hands-on experience and expert guidance, helping you improve your skills and enhance your photography portfolio.

At The Lens India, we offer comprehensive photography courses specifically designed to help you master low-light photography and other essential techniques. Our courses cover everything from camera settings and stabilization methods to post-processing and using the right gear. Whether you’re a beginner or an experienced photographer, our expert instructors will provide the tools and knowledge you need to take your photography to the next level.

Sign up today and start mastering low-light photography with The Lens India Photography Courses!

Stay Inspired and Informed!

Follow The Lens India on social media for more captivating content, photography insights, and the latest updates:

📸 Instagram: @thelensindia – Explore stunning visuals and behind-the-scenes stories! 👍 Facebook: The Lens India – Join the conversation and never miss a post!

✨ Let’s build a community of creators and storytellers together!

The Lens India 

Tirupati Co-op Housing Society, Tirupati Campus, Phase – 2, Bldg – B8, F.no 402, Adarsh Colony Rd no-2, Tingre Nagar, Vishrantwadi, Pune, Maharashtra 411015

Visit Us: https://thelensindia.com

Email Us: contactus@thelensindia.com

Our Social Presence :

Facebook — https://www.facebook.com/thelensindiaphotography/ Instagram — https://www.instagram.com/thelensindia

#PhotographyTips

#PhotographyGear

#CameraSettings

#PhotographyBasics

#PhotographyLife

#LowLightPhotography

#NightPhotography

#DarkPhotography

#LowLightTips

#PhotographyInTheDark

#LowLightMagic

#LowLightShots

#CameraGear

#PhotographyGearGuide

#PhotographyTechnique

#TripodPhotography

#UseYourLens

#ISOSettings

#WideAperture

#LearnPhotography

#PhotographyWorkshop

#PhotographyCourse

#TheLensIndia

#MasterPhotography

#PhotographySkills

#BusinessPortraits

#ProductPhotography

#CorporatePhotography

#PunePhotography

#ProfessionalPhotography

[bitters-n-sweets]

she's a menace — jack abbot x fem!reader While celebrating a coworker's birthday at a bar, Jack Abbot gets distracted watching his girlfriend dancing and turning heads.

warnings: suggestive content (minors go away), spicy, we love a supportive king (jack) masterlist

It's girls' night.

Meaning your dress is too short, and your heels are too high—but you feel amazing. You and your girls had pre-gamed at a bar earlier, and now on your way to the 2nd bar.

You needed this. A night to let go. A night to dance and drink overpriced cocktails and scream-laugh in a bathroom stall with your friends over absolutely nothing.

The bar is crowded, pulsing with music and low light, and when you spot the familiar silhouette at the other end, your heart does a small, surprised flip.

Jack.

He’s here. At this bar. Of all nights.

He hasn't spotted you yet, but you can see he's having a great time with his co-workers. Langdon is there, Collins too, and for once Robby is laughing without a care in the world. You want to say hi, but your friends are already dragging you to the dance floor. Besides, you're curious what he’ll do when he finally notices you.

But Jack’s already noticed.

He’s been stealing glances since you walked in, pretending not to look too long as you twirl and laugh under the flashing lights. Your dress clings in all the right places, dipping perfectly to show your cleavage, hugging every line of your body like it was stitched for sin.

Jack’s heart stutters.

The way you move isn’t for anyone in particular, but it damn well feels like a siren call—slow, confident, sensual. The dress rides up slightly as you spin, and your thigh peeks out just enough to make his breath catch.

If it weren't for Langdon calling for his attention, he would've jumped you by now.

"Yo Abbot— Damn," he whistles, "Someone’s out to kill tonight."

"You're tellin' me." Jack mutters, a proud yet hungry smile etched across his lips, "My girl knows how to put on a show, alright."

"Wait, that's your girl??" Langdon follows his gaze.

Jack nods once.

"I don't believe it." Javadi says.

"And you let her dress like that when you’re not around?"

Jack’s expression doesn’t change. "I don’t let her do anything. She can dress however she wants."

Langdon raises a brow. "Alright, modern man."

Jack sets down his glass and says calmly with a smirk, "Besides, she knows who she belongs to."

The table goes in waves of "oooh"s and whistles for half a second before someone murmurs, "Damn, okay," and they all take another shot.

Back on your side of the bar, you’re oblivious to the murmurs about you, caught up in the music and the high of the night. You wander to the bar for another drink, separated from your group for just a moment, when an uninvited man decides to make his move on you.

A guy—tall, clearly drunk, and way too confident. "Hey, beautiful," he slurs. "You look like you could use some company."

"No thanks." You say curtly.

He laughs and leans in closer anyway, eyes dropping to your dress. "You whores always try to play hard to get..."

Then his hand reaches out—fingers grazing your lower back.

He doesn’t get far.

A hand closes around his wrist, firm and alert.

"Hey, buddy—" the guy starts to protest, turning slightly, only to find himself face-to-face with your lover.

"You should walk away." Jack says with the kind of presence that makes everything in the room feel suddenly still.

The guy scoffs. "And who the fuck are you, old man?"

"I'm her man." Jack says proudly.

The guy lets out a sharp laugh. "You??"

Jack tilts his head, smile slow and cool. "Yeah. Me."

He steps in like he’s trying to size Jack up. "Why don't you go play hero somewhere else?"

"Last chance." Jack exhales once. "Back away."

Instead of listening, the guy sneers and reaches to you again—like he’s about to brush against your hip.

That’s when Jack moves.

He grabs the guy’s wrist mid-motion and twists. Not enough to do damage. Just enough to send pain shooting through the idiot’s arm.

The guy chokes out a curse, dropping back, eyes wide now.

Jack leans in slightly, stares at him like looks could kill. "You don’t want to find out what I’d do next. Now walk away."

And this time, he does. Muttering while rubbing his wrist, vanishing into the crowd.

"Hi, hero."

"Hey, trouble." He smirks, hands draping around your waist, making sure he covers the area that asshole tried to touch you. "You okay?"

"Mm-hmm," you hum. "That was kinda hot."

Jack chuckles, "Oh, honey, you're drunk."

"Yes I am," You confirm. "So what are you doing here, handsome?"

"Donnie's birthday," Jack explains, "we're celebrating. Wanna come say hi?"

"Of course." You smile.

As you approach the table, conversation dips for a beat before Santos lets out a low whistle. "No way. This is your girl, Abbot?"

Jack doesn't answer, just gently pulls you closer and kisses you to make a point. His hand settles just above the curve of your ass, thumb brushing slow circles while you lean into him.

Langdon raises his brows. "My mind is blown right now. How'd you convince her to put up with you?"

"He didn't," you say sweetly, crossing one leg over the other. "I just like a man who can handle power tools, bruised ribs… and knows exactly what he’s doing in bed."

Jack nearly chokes on his drink, and the group erupts with laughter and a few scandalized woo-hoos. He clears his throat, glancing at you with a half-smirk. “Remind me to keep you away from tequila.”

You say goodbye to Jack's coworkers and your friends—they all had their jaws on the floor when they finally saw Jack in the flesh. With screams of "you go get it girl" and "someone's gettin' some tonight" following you out, you finally leave the bar, ears flushed, heart hammering in your chest.

You take a deep breath, finally breathing cool, fresh air. Jack's given you his jacket, like the gentleman he is, and now you're walking home, hand in hand.

"You okay walking? Want me to carry you?" Jack asks, glancing sideways.

You shake your head. "Need to walk off the alcohol anyway."

He hums, "So how was your night?"

"Fun!" you say brightly, then wrinkle your nose, "Until that asshole tried touching me. Ugh."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Jack says, kissing your hand.

"It's okay, you were there to save me. And you made it all okay." You smile, draping his arm around your shoulders. "Though maybe it’s the dress. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn this."

"No, no, we're not gonna do that." Jack stops walking. "You said no, and he didn't listen, he's an ass, and karma will get him one day."

You hum, though Jack can tell you're still not convinced.

Jack turns to you and gently cups your cheek, his thumb grazing along your jaw. "Sweetheart. You can dress any way you like. You look stunning tonight. You always do."

You smile softly. "Okay."

His mouth curls into that slow, grinch-like smirk you know too well. "Besides... I love being the one to take off those clothes once you're done showing off."

Your gasp, then narrow your eyes playfully. "Is that a threat, Dr. Abbot?"

"Oh, baby," he says, sliding his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck, "That’s a promise."

----

a/n: kill me now || side note I have like 5 drafts all wip about this man, so help me god

[hoshifighting]

WARNINGS: idol!reader getting injured (arm), accident mention, smut, fingering, oral (f. &m. rec), ovulation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, handjob, attentive sex? (due to reader's injury), dirty talk.

staff!seungcheol who’s got that severe look, eyes attached to every inch of you like he’s memorizing it. he’s standing close, flashlight in hand, checking every damn speck of glitter on your face like he’s planning on personally suing each one that doesn’t sparkle just right. like you're some kind of precious artifact he needs to make sure is flawless. there’s this faint crease between his brows as he leans in, like he’s got a checklist of your entire existence in his mind, murmuring “lemme see, hold still,” like you’re the one shifting around with his hands practically cupping your face. the makeup artist’s just nervously holding her breath in the background.

doesn’t even flinch when he sees the tiny smudge, just calmly points it out while you try not to roll your eyes. “needs fixing,” he says, stepping back only when he’s satisfied, waving the makeup artist over with a quick hand gesture.

“alright, open up,” then there’s staff!seungcheol who’s already one step ahead, holding up that tiny spray bottle of propolis like it’s the holy grail of vocal cords. he gives you a knowing look as you open your mouth for him to spray it down your throat. “don’t choke on it this time,” he says, like you didn’t just cough last night but committed a fucking crime. the spray hits your throat, sharp and herbal, and you pull a disgusted face.

“that’s awful, seungcheol,” you croak, trying to rub it off your tongue.

“and it works,” he fires back, deadpan, already watching you like you’re gonna start talking back too loud. but there’s this smirk tugging at the edge of his lips, like he’s clocking the way you’re fussing.

staff!seungcheol who’s already got a scrunchie on his wrist just for you, flicking it like a badge of honor when the fashion team rushes in, hands full of fabric and pins. “back up,” he tells them, waving them off like some sort of bodyguard-turned-stylist. he steps in, gathering your hair up with this weirdly gentle touch, pulling it back like he’s done this a million times. and he has. you’re used to the low murmur of his voice, saying stuff like “look down,” or “tilt your head,” pulling your hair back as you rip off one outfit, practically wrestling yourself into another.

and yeah, he's seen it all, seen you stripped down to a bunch of mismatched pieces of clothes, practically naked with pins and sequins scattered around. he’s the only one who gets to stay in the room when it’s time to swap outfits, hands moving steady over zippers and hooks without batting an eye. he’s too professional for that.

but sometimes you’ll catch the way his eyes flash, quick as anything, over your bare shoulder, the curve of your waist, or the bend of yourback. lingering just a second too long before he’s tugging fabric back over you. “hold your arms up,” he says, voice so steady it’s almost annoying, but there’s this barely-there flush on his face, one he probably thinks you don’t notice. only once you're decent does he call in the fashion team again, his hand lingering on your shoulder just a second longer, like some silent encouragement.

“think i’ll survive tonight, boss?” you shoot over your shoulder as he tightens up a corset, his fingers brushing your back.

“if you can keep that mouth of yours shut for two minutes, maybe,” he mutters, yanking the laces just a little too tight.

staff!seungcheol who seems to have every little detail about you learned by heart, right down to the shade of foundation that works best under stage lights and the exact temperature of water you like before singing. he’s like a walking encyclopedia on “you,” this intense manager who somehow knows you better than you know yourself some days. it’s kinda crazy when you think about it—how much attention he puts into the smallest things, like checking your posture right before you step onto the stage, brushing an imaginary dust speck off your shoulder, or even noticing when you’re tired just from a tiny slump in your stance. there’s this wild, almost comforting feeling in knowing someone’s watching that close, picking up on what you need before you even have to say it.

staff!seungcheol who doesn’t just care about the professional side of things but pays attention to you as a whole person. you’ll be pacing before a show, a mess of nerves, and he’ll pull you aside, hands firm on your shoulders, telling you to breathe, to ground yourself. “hey, it’s just one show out of many,” he’ll say, like he’s reminding you that this isn’t the end of the world. sometimes, he’ll even pull out a joke, something random to get you out of your head, his voice warm, more calming than he probably even realizes.

staff!seungcheol who’s a human wall when it comes to fans or any kind of chaos. he’s got this built-in radar for spotting trouble in a crowd, and the way he just moves through people, ushering you along like he’s a bodyguard instead of just your manager—it’s unreal. you know the crew’s got security, but it’s always him who stands closest, always him who angles himself slightly in front of you, making sure nothing gets in the way. he’s not overbearing, either; it’s this subtle, constant thing, like he’s built to be in tune with you and the space around you.

and it’s not just the big stuff. like, he’s a fiend about the little things, too. if he sees you adjusting your outfit or tugging at your sleeves, he’s immediately there, straightening the hem or re-pinning a loose detail. he’s the kind of guy who’ll silently hand you a tissue if he sees a tiny smudge of lipstick on your teeth, or he’ll have that emergency stain remover in his pocket just in case you spill something on your outfit last-minute.

staff!seungcheol who somehow makes you feel both overprotected and ridiculously independent. he’s right there if you mess up, catching you before you can fall—literally and metaphorically. he’ll laugh about it after the fact, maybe make some quip about how you owe him for always “saving your ass,” but in the moment, he’s solid as hell, totally serious. it’s like he lives for making sure everything in your world runs smoothly, yet he’s always subtly pushing you to handle things yourself, too.

then, there’s the crazy amount of trust he has in you, even though he’s like the over-prepared captain of the team. like, he’ll go through the checklist with everyone—makeup, wardrobe, lighting, sound—and he’s triple-checked it all, down to the damn microphone battery. but when it comes time for you to perform, he just gives you this look that says he knows you’re gonna kill it, and in that weir silence, it’s like he’s handing everything over, telling you without words, “i’ve got the logistics; you just be you.”

staff!seungcheol who, when you’re touring his hometown, suddenly seems way more focused on making sure you’re comfy than anything else—an entire list prepared, of all the places he wants to show you. but first, there’s the “family dinner” situation. he’s practically droning with nerves as he introduces you to his family, calling you his boss, and you’re just gritting your teeth, whispering to him with a grin, “seungcheol, quit it—i told you, just my name.” he just smirks, playing it off, even if it’s clear he’s a little embarrassed, especially when his mom starts calling him out on every little thing he used to do as a kid.

staff!seungcheol who, thanks to your fans, has become practically famous on his own. every time you two walk through an airport, you can hear them calling his name, practically chanting it at this point, pointing out “the hot manager.” and there he is, looking away, rubbing his neck or practically burying his face into your shoulder

he’ll tug at your sleeve like a kid hiding behind their mom, he gets especially flustered when you turn it on him, all smug, saying, “y’know, i must be the luckiest one here, getting to have a handsome manager like you walking me around.” he rolls his eyes, a rare laugh slipping out as he mutters something sarcastic, trying so hard to brush it off, but you know he secretly loves it, the tips of his ears going pink.

and it’s not just for show. once you’re on your off time after a show, seungcheol’s literally all over the place, making sure you don’t lift a finger. he’s there, picking up menus, already knowing what you’ll want and what to skip (yes olives or goodbye olives). he’s at the counter, practically fighting to swipe your card before you can even think about it. it’s like he’s taken the whole “manager” title to heart, as if your well-being is his full-time mission.

he’s got this sixth sense for how you’re feeling too. the second you’re showing signs of exhaustion, he’s hunting for a place to sit, guiding you to a cozy bench or a shady spot under a tree like he’s found the red dot on a map. he even maps out little stops he thinks you’d like, you can’t even remember the last time you needed to decide on where to go.

staff!seungcheol who’ll walk around the city with you, way more relaxed now that he’s on familiar ground, all while pointing out tiny things he remembers from his own life. he’ll say, “used to skip class and hang out here,” or, “this place has the best coffee.” and it’s casual, but you can see how he’s sharing a bit of himself with you, almost like letting you in on these little secrets.

he’s the same guy who’ll quietly, without a word, take off his jacket and drape it over your shoulders when the night air gets too cold, muttering something like, “can’t have you freezing out here,” while you just laugh because he’s the one walking around in a t-shirt in the middle of the night now.

staff!seungcheol who watched you perform on the backstage through the reflector and in the second he sees you stumble, heart pounding harder than it should as his instincts kick in before he even thinks—he’s moving, pushing past a cluster of crew members and ignoring the calls of the other staff, all his attention zeroed in on you. the moment he reaches you, he’s crouching down, there’s this tremor in his voice as he says, “hey, stay still, don’t try to move,” reaching to gently check your injury while his jaw is set tight, his hand firm yet shaking ever so slightly.

he’s not even sure if it’s because he’s furious at the award organization for being careless or just terrified that he saw you go down at all. there’s this split second where he holds you, practically hovering over you protectively, and when you hiss in pain, his hand moves gently, brushing hair out of your face. “i’m so sorry, it’s gonna be okay,” he mutters, his voice way softer than he means, almost sounding choked.

and that’s when it really hits him—this worry clawing its way up his chest, tearing through the professional armor he’s kept on so tightly. all the stuff he’s tried to ignore, to brush off as “just his job,” it’s all boiling over now, searing him. because the sight of you hurt, struggling to get back on your feet, it’s affecting him way, way more than it should. he’s clenching his jaw so hard he thinks it might break, like he’s trying to hold back this tight feeling in his throat, but it’s too late. all he can think is this can’t happen again, this can’t happen to you.

“look at me, alright?” he says, his voice steadier now but barely. he’s doing everything to stay calm, but his hand is still on your shoulder, squeezing just a bit tighter than usual. “i’ve got you. we’re gonna get you checked out, and you’re gonna be okay.” it’s like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he is you. when you try to shrug him off, muttering that you’re fine, he doesn’t even flinch—just picks you up like he’s done it a thousand times before, ignoring any protests, keeping you close to his chest as if letting you go is an option he just can’t entertain.

walking off stage, you’re half-leaning against him, but he can’t look at you without this flood of guilt hitting him. why wasn’t i there faster? he keeps thinking, like he could’ve somehow prevented this whole thing if he’d just been a second sooner, a second more vigilant. he knows it’s irrational, but the thought eats at him. with every step, the weight of what he’s feeling presses harder and harder, making him realize, damn, this isn’t just the job anymore, hasn’t been for a long time.

and now, backstage, with you in his arms, his mind’s racing through a million scenarios of what could’ve happened if the injury had been worse, if he hadn’t been there. it’s almost infuriating, how much he cares, and for a split second, he feels like he can’t breathe, like every single barrier he’s tried to put up to keep things professional has just crumbled into dust.

when the medical team comes over, he still can’t bring himself to fully let you go. he steps back just a bit, giving them space, but his hand’s still resting on your shoulder, thumb unconsciously tracing soft, slow circles like he’s grounding himself in knowing you’re still right there. he catches your eye, the way you give him that reassuring smile despite the pain, and he feels this indescribable surge of… something he’s afraid to name, afraid to admit even to himself.

you’re talking to the medics, brushing it off, laughing even, and he’s half-listening, locked in his own head. he’s known all along he’s cared about you, sure, but seeing you hurt, actually holding you like this, it’s made him realize it’s different now. this is something deeper, something he can’t hide behind a professional mask or dismiss as just his responsibility. you’re not just his artist-boss not just the person he’s assigned to take care of. you’re everything—everything he wants to protect, to keep safe, to make sure stays as perfect and unbreakable as he sees you.

staff!seungcheol, who practically moves in with you after the injury, showing up almost daily with bags of groceries, adjusting the pillows on the couch just right, and doing anything he can to make your life easier while you’re stuck on this forced hiatus. he’s meticulous as always, organizing everything, but he still lets you do the simple things on your own when possible. he knows how much you hate feeling dependent on anyone, even him, so he keeps it balanced. still, every now and then, he steps in—like now, as you awkwardly try to pull on your pajamas with your one good arm, refusing to ask for help but struggling all the same.

“you’re gonna tear the sleeve,” he murmurs, chuckling softly as he crosses the room, gentle hands helping guide your arm through the pajama top like it’s nothing. “and before you say anything, you don’t need to feel embarrassed, alright?”

“yeah, easy for you to say,” you grumble, feeling your cheeks heat up as he adjusts the fabric against your shoulder, the familiarity somehow making it worse. he’s done this a million times on tour, yet here, in the privacy of your own home, with your messy pajamas instead of a flashy stage outfit, it feels… like a shame. hard to ignore.

he just shrugs, glancing at you with a small, reassuring smile. “you’ve got nothing to prove to me. trust me, i’ve seen you through worse—like that one time in paris when you twisted your ankle and tried to walk it off anyway?”

“ugh, don’t remind me.” you roll your eyes, but the memory actually makes you laugh a little. “that was your fault for letting me go out in those ridiculous heels.”

“you’re the one who insisted they looked good,” he teases, smoothing down the collar of your pajama top as if that final adjustment could make this whole thing feel less awkward.

it’s only a few minutes later, as you’re both sitting at the dining table, the food he’s prepped steaming and smelling way too good, that he seems to pick up on the shift in your mood. you’re quiet, picking at your food, trying to ignore the ache in your back and the faint, familiar discomfort building up, reminding you it’s that time of the month—again.

“you feelin’ alright?” he asks, studying you with that same, observant gaze. he reaches over, pressing a hand to your forehead to check for a fever, but you instinctively pull back.

“i’m fine,” you reply a little too quickly, shrugging him off as you try to mask the irritation in your voice. but you know he’s already suspicious. he’s been keeping track of your recovery, and since your doctor had him install that app to sync with your cycle and show schedule, he’s way too aware of these things.

you glance at the notification before he turns the screen down. you groan, “god, i hate that you’re this observant.”

he chuckles softly, “comes with the job..”

“yeah, well… it’s just—look, it’s… i’m on my second ovulation since this stupid injury,” you admit, cheeks heating up as you glance away. “and i can’t… y’know. can’t do anything about it. feels like i’m losing my mind.”

he’s silent for a moment, probably a bit stunned, and you peek up, expecting him to laugh or maybe even crack some joke, but his face is serious. finally, he clears his throat, and his voice is so quiet you barely catch it.

“y/n, you—you could’ve told me. if this is, like, getting to you, there are… other ways.”

your heart races, both from his words and from the way he’s looking at you, and you try to shrug it off with a half-laugh, but your voice wavers. “yeah, and what? you planning on giving me a hand?”

he doesn’t laugh. “if that’s what you need.”

“cheol… whatthefuck?”

“don’t want you suffering alone. if you need me, just say it,” he murmurs.

and in that moment, with him sitting across from you, earnest and willing, you realize maybe you’ve been holding back more than just your pain.

staff!seungcheol watches you carefully, still as a statue except for his hands, which are gripping the underside of the table so hard you swear you can see his knuckles turning colorless. he’s waiting, practically holding his breath, watching every small shift in your expression, and you know he’s waiting for any sign you’re second-guessing. but all you can think about is how much you want him. your eyes slip shut, and you let out a shaky breath, the idea of him, his hands, his mouth on you making you dizzy. when you open your eyes, you meet his, still fixed on you.

you don’t even realize you’ve let out a soft moan until his lips twitch into a faint smile, and he pushes back from the table, coming around it with measured steps. “you sure about this?” he asks, he’s close enough now that you can see every detail of his face—the stray strands of his hair falling across his forehead, the slight flush on his cheeks, the sharp cut of his jawline.

“cheol, please?” you murmur, because god, you need him to close this space, need him to touch you.

he doesn’t need to be told twice. he scoops you up, carefully laying you back on the bed, his hands sliding up your thighs, thumbs rubbing slow circles as he moves higher, taking his time. he’s studying every reaction, every small sigh or shift, until he reaches the waistband of your shorts. he glances up one more time, giving you a moment to stop him, but when you nod, his fingers hook under the fabric, peeling it down slowly.

“fuck, you’re drenched,” he murmurs, as his fingers dip between your thighs, gathering the wetness that’s practically dripping, and spreading on your clit. he raises an eyebrow, glancing at you with a smirk. “been waiting for this?”

you squirm under his touch, cheeks flushing as he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, his stubble grazing your skin as he trails his mouth higher, breath warm as he hovers above the wet cunt, your pussy clenches, making a wet sound, his eyes flicking up to meet yours again.

“stay still for me,” he whispers, before his mouth finally, finally connects, and the first touch has you gasping, fingers fisting the sheets. his tongue is slow, and you can feel his tongue sucking your juices inside his mouth. mortifying, delicious. you can’t help but arch your hips toward him, wanting more, but his hands press down on your thighs, holding you in place.

he pulls back just enough to murmur, “turned on?” and his fingers slide in, curling faultlessly as he starts moving, his mouth resuming its work on your swollen clit in a way that makes you disoriented. he doesn’t let up, alternating between teasing you and giving you exactly what you need, fingers curling tight, making the wet sounds louder, pressing against that spot that has you writhing.

“god, look at you,” he whispers, voice rough in your ear as he presses his fingers deeper, his breath hot on your skin. “you’re soaked, y/n. dripping all over my fingers… you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

your hips move instinctively, grinding down on his hand, but the way you’re shifting causes a sharp pain to shoot through your arm, making you gasp.

“hold on, wait,” he says immediately, pulling his fingers out, his other hand already moving to your side, gently easing you back down. his eyes scan you for any sign of discomfort, and then he places his hand firmly on your chest, palm pressing between your breasts as he pins you to the bed, keeping you steady. “just like this, okay?” he murmurs, fingers slipping back inside you, his thumb circling your clit. “you can still move down here, but let me do all the work.”

your breath catches as he holds you down, the feeling of his strong hand keeping you in place making you stumble breaths. you’re completely at his mercy, pinned under his hand, unable to do anything but grind against his fingers, and with every thrust, every word he murmurs, you’re spiraling further, faster.

“you’re so perfect like this,” he whispers against your skin, moving his fingers deeper, rougher. “such a mess, taking me so good… you’re gonna cumm for me? yeah? that’s it, just like that…”

your orgasm hits hard, your body clenching around his fingers, thighs trembling, and his hand on your chest keeps you from arching too much, grounding you as your entire body pulses he holds you steady, whispering soft, filthy praises into your ear as you come down, his fingers finally slipping out but his hand staying over your heart, steady and reassuring as your breathing slows.

you look up at him, the aftershocks still tingling, and he gives you a soft, satisfied smile, brushing his thumb gently over your collarbone. “now that’s my good girl.”

seungcheol hovers over you, his face an inch from yours, eyes locked on you like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing. your breaths are shallow, still struggling to steady, and without another thought, you lift your neck and press your lips to his. he melts into it, kissing you deeper, tongue brushing over yours in a way that makes your skin tingle. he’s careful with his hands, keeping his wet fingers from your hair but awkwardly gripping the pillow, while the other hand slides down, lightly brushing over your chest.

“fuck… cheol,” you mumble into his mouth, feeling almost embarrassed by the way your body’s reacting. the word just slips out, and then it’s followed by, “want your cock so bad. just… just give it to me, please.”

he pulls back, and you’ve never seen that look before—his lips parted, brows raised, the most i-want-pussy-so-fucking-bad face you ever saw. he shakes his head softly, voice a little raspy, “you know i’d ruin you if i could right now,” he says, breath catching. “but it’ll hurt… don’t wanna push it too much.”

“please, cheollie,” you murmur, giving him a sly, knowing look. “you’re gonna be careful with me, right? just… give me a little. i need you so bad, been thinking about it all day…” your voice trails off, and you feel his hand grip a little tighter, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your chest through the thin fabric of your pajamas.

he takes a shaky breath, a low groan slipping out, and suddenly, he’s sliding off the bed, hands trembling just enough for you to notice as he pulls his shirt over his head. his skin is warm, tan, muscles rippling as he unbuttons his jeans, and you can barely breathe as he pushes them down along with his underwear, freeing himself. his cock is thick, flushed a deep pink at the tip, and the way he’s stroking himself, like he’s savoring every second, has you practically drooling.

unable to resist, you tilt your head up, parting your lips, tongue out as you bat your lashes at him, silently begging. he’s already at the edge of the bed, and he lowers himself, the weight of his cock pressing against your lips, and you can’t help the moan that escapes. it’s warm, heavy, and you lean forward just enough, taking him between your lips, letting your tongue glide along the underside.

he strokes a hand over your cheek, thumb grazing just beneath your eye, and his face looks wrecked, like he’s fighting every instinct to just take control. but he holds back, lets you set the pace, lets you tease with your mouth, your tongue swirling over his tip, tasting every inch of him.

you take his whole length in your mouth, sucking him slow, then pulling back to focus on the tip like you’re savoring the best thing you’ve ever tasted. you hear his breath catch, and when his knees falter, his hand grips your shoulder, the sound of his hissed “stop… stop,” barely reaching you over the rush of your own heartbeat. you pull back, licking your lips, watching his eyes go dark as he catches sight of his precum shining on your mouth.

he climbs back onto the bed, sliding between your legs, and you shiver as his rough hands smooth over your thighs, steadying himself, each touch leaving a trail of heat on your skin. his tip brushes your clit, slick and throbbing, and his head falls back, eyes squeezed shut like he’s holding himself back, muttering to himself as if he’s praying to keep control, like he knows he’s on the edge of just losing it. “what a fucking idea, seungcheol.” you can practically hear him thinking, fighting to keep the restraint that’s barely holding on by a thread.

but you want him to break just a little—so you reach down, your smaller hand wrapping around him, tugging him gently, aiming him just right. his eyes snap open, catching you in the act, and he’s on you in a second, his large hand covering yours, guiding himself to press against you, so close but not quite there yet. his forearm braces beside your head as his face hovers above you, dark hair brushing your forehead, and you feel the heat of his chest pressed to yours, your nipples tight against him.

a giggle escapes frpm you, bubbling up from the tension, aroused and just a little wicked, and his gaze sharpens. he bites his bottom lip, a smirk playing on his face, and asks, “think it’s funny to watch me suffer, huh?”

“me?” you bat your eyelashes at him, feigning innocence. “wouldn’t dream of it… i’m just thinkin’ how it’s almost cute how fucked you are already. big, strong seungcheol, lookin’ like he’s about to cry before he’s even all the way in…”

he laughs, pushing just an inch further inside, making you moan, eyebrows scrunching as the heat between you builds. “gonna make you take back every word, babe,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of threat and promise, breath warm against your cheek.

you can’t help yourself, smirking up at him. “well, you better prove it then, baby. or i’m gonna have to tell everyone you barely held up through a single round.”

“oh, you think that’s how this is gonna go?”

and with that, he presses forward, sinking in deeper, your mouth dropping open as he fills you slowly, letting you feel every inch of him.

your walls tighten around him, barely able to take him in, but your body’s greedy, slick and warm, desperate to pull him in even further. your calves wrap around his ass, urging him, and in one move, you tug him, forcing him deeper, filling you completely. you cry out, head rolling back, but seungcheol groans, nearly collapsing onto you, his hand catching himself before he lands too hard.

“what the hell are you doin’,” he pants, shaking his head, his voice all gruff as he looks down at you. “you’re crazy, you know that? what if i’d fallen on your arm?”

you smirk, unashamed, reaching up to tug him down closer. “couldn’t help it… i needed all of you,” you murmur, voice dripping with need, your walls pulsing around him. “need you so deep you’ll still be there tomorrow.”

he laughs, but it melts into a growl as he starts to move. “you know i can’t take it too fast with you today.” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead. “but damn, you’re tight.”

your hips tilt up, meeting him, matching the slow grind, and you look up at him, gaze heavy-lidded. “bet you’ve been thinking about this,” you purr, your fingers trailing down his chest. “probably losing it in that dressing room, thinking how wet i’d get for you.”

“fuck, don’t start with me,” he grits out, his hips faltering for just a second as you clench around him, and you can feel him twitch inside, pulsing as your words hit home. his hand finds its way to your neck, not squeezing but just holding, grounding himself as he slowly fills you over and over. “goddamn, y/n..”

“oh, i know,” you say, breath catching as he leans down, lips brushing yours, barely ghosting as his hips keep that steady, perfect rhythm. “i know exactly how you look at me, seungcheol. like you wanna destroy me.”

his breath hitches, and his hand flexes on your neck as he groans, forehead pressing against yours. “careful what you ask for.�� he warns, voice low, but you pout up at him, lips pressing into the slightest pout, all needy.

“i don’t think you’re really up for it, anyway. maybe i need someone who can give it to me for real,” you murmur, words practically melting into his ear, and he stops mid-thrust, his eyes flashing as he studies your face.

“you’re pushin’ it,” he says, voice rough as he resumes moving, but you keep the playful look, barely biting back a smile as he grits his teeth. “if you didn’t have that arm to worry about, i’d have you crying right now, you know that?”

“oh, i know,” you coo back, dragging your nails down his back, just enough to make him hiss. “but what about now? all you can do is hold back ‘cause you’re too scared of hurting me. maybe it’s you who can’t handle it, huh?”

the muscles in his jaw tighten as he leans in close, hips still rolling into you with a slow, maddening rhythm that makes you squirm beneath him. “trust me, i could handle you just fine,” he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “but you’re so damn tight right now, i’d probably split you open if i went harder.”

“maybe i want that,” you whisper, your voice breathless as you shift your hips, taking him even deeper, feeling every inch stretch you with each slow grind of his hips. “maybe i want you to fuck me so good i forget my own damn name.”

seungcheol’s resolve nearly snaps. he groans, his hands gripping your waist to steady you, his thumb brushing along your ribs, and he lets out a shuddering breath, muttering under his breath. “god, ovulations are somethin’ else,” he says, voice cracking, clearly fighting for control. “you’re wet wet—like i might drown in you, damn.”

he lets out a low chuckle, his eyes clouded, almost in awe. “look at this mess,” he murmurs, pulling out just slightly to feel how soaked his length is before sliding back in, feeling your warmth close around him, every muscle clenching down on him, pulling him deeper, your eyes rolling back. “you really think you can handle it if i just… give you what you’re beggin’ for?”

you arch up against him, that challenging spark back in your eyes. “why don’t you just try me?”

he lets out a slow exhale, hand moving from your waist to cradle your face as he picks up the pace, still careful but with a bit more force this time, making you gasp. you whimper, nodding at him to continue, the tension building with each deep stroke, and you can see the satisfaction flash in his eyes as he keeps his rhythm steady, watching the way you start to fall apart beneath him.

he pulls out slowly, just enough to let you feel every ridge, every vein along his length, before pushing back in until his tip is pressed snug against your cervix, making you gasp. the pressure alone makes your head spin, and you can feel his balls, soaked and heavy, pressing against you with each movement, sticky with how drenched you are.

“you still think i’m not giving it to you right?” he taunts, his voice dipping low as he watches your face, one brow lifting just slightly, teasing. “you wanted it rough, didn’t you?” he grins, dragging a hand up your thigh, holding you open for him. “tell me, where’s that attitude now?”

“it’s—it’s…” you trail off, breath hitching as he thrusts again, slower, letting his hips roll so he’s as deep as possible, and you can’t help the shaky whimper that slips out.

“what was that? i couldn’t quite hear you,” he murmurs, voice smug as he leans down, kissing your jaw, your neck, every inch of you that he can reach while still keeping that maddeningly slow pace. “you were talkin’ so big before, and now look at you.”

“i… i can take it,” you stammer, clutching at his shoulders, though the words barely come out with how your voice keeps faltering, his rhythm somehow leaving you more breathless with each thrust.

he chuckles, brushing his thumb across your cheek, his eyes never leaving yours. “that so? ‘cause you’re already all teary,” he points out, a hint of affection in his tone, even as he keeps that teasing look in his eyes. “am i really that deep, baby?”

“y-yeah,” you manage to whisper, but your voice wavers, and he grins wider.

“tell me what you need, then,” he says, his hips moving just a fraction faster, the sound of skin meeting skin growing louder, wetter, echoing through the room. “tell me what you want so bad.”

“need… need you to make me cum,” you whimper, the words tumbling out, barely audible. “need to feel you.”

he huffs a little. “you’re falling apart just from this? and here i thought i had to really work for it.”

“i—i can take more,” you manage to gasp out, your body responding to his every movement. “just… just give it to me, seungcheol.”

he shakes his head, smirking as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck. “you really think you can handle it? with that arm and everything?”

“you know i can!” you protest, trying to keep your voice steady, but your hips betray you, rolling against him. “i’m not fragile, you know? just—just don’t stop.”

“is this what you’ve been craving? sum' good cock to make you cum?”

“yes, yes, god—yes!” you whine, the heat pooling in your belly, threatening to spill over at any moment. the sounds of skin slapping together mix with the sweet squelch of your wetness, making it even more intense.

“fuck—my balls are practically soaked from you. you like how that feels, huh? my cock in your sweet little cunt, makin’ a mess of you?”

“you’re so deep, it feels too good—”

“you okay? i’m not hurting you, am i?”

“no, it’s… it’s perfect,” you manage to breathe out.

“what do you think? you think you can handle more?” he asks, almost a growl as he quickens his pace just a bit, sending your mind spinning even further. “or are you just gonna cry for me?”

“shut up!” you whimper, tears finally spilling over as he hits that spot inside you.

“too good, huh?” he teases, biting his lip to stifle a groan as he watches your face contort with pleasure. “do you think i could make you cum like this?”

“yes! yes, just like this!” you gasp, the words tumbling out of you as you feel the familiar tension building in your core. “oh god, seungcheol—”

“what do you want to say?” he presses, leaning closer. “i want to hear you, babe. tell me.”

his thrusts become more insistent, and your body instinctively responds, clenching tightly around him as the waves of pleasure crash over you.

“that’s it, baby,” he encourages. “let it go. i want to feel you cum around me.”

“seungcheol, i—” your voice catches in your throat, your body convulsing as the pleasure overwhelms you completely, every thought dissolving into pure ecstasy. the world around you blurs as you finally let go, and all you can manage is a soft whimper as you surrender to it.

his eyes widen, watching you, makes your heart race even more, and as you tremble beneath him, you feel him pulse inside you, the sensation of his cock sending you spiraling deeper into that sweet oblivion. “my girl..” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe as he rides you through it, feeling your walls contract around him. “so fucking beautiful.”

staff!seungcheol who’s always attentive, watching you as you recover from your last high. he knows how much you need him, but he’s also so damn careful, ever the dedicated staff member. even as you beg him to keep going, to let him cum deep inside you, he hesitates.

he slips out of you, but you’re not ready to let him go. raising your hand, you grab him by the cock, your fingers wrapping around him with a tightness that makes him gasp. “what the hell? oh fuck!” he exclaims, almost stumbling forward as he’s pulled back toward you. his voice shifts from reprimanding to moaning, the scold dying on his lips as he feels your hand start to stroke him.

“i just want to make you feel good, too,” you whisper, your breath hitching as you give him a few slow, teasing pumps, enjoying the way his hips instinctively thrust forward, chasing the pleasure you’re giving him.

“you’re gonna get yourself hurt,” he warns shaky, his hands gripping your wrist, but there’s no real force behind it. he’s clearly enjoying it, his breaths coming faster as you continue to stroke him, your fingers gliding effortlessly over his length. “you shouldn’t—”

“shh,” you hush him playfully, biting your lip as you watch his expression morph into one of pure desire. “just let me do this for you. i want you to feel good.”

“god, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that,” he groans, his voice trembling, but the way you’re working your hand up and down, your palm brushing the sensitive tip, it’s too much.

“then cum for me,” you whisper, a seductive promise in your tone. “i’ll take care of you, just like you take care of me. let go.”

staff!seungcheol, who can’t resist the way you look at him, all teasing yet so earnest, the way you squeeze him with just the right amount of pressure, your hand slick with your cum and sure as you stroke him.

staff!seungcheol, who gives in because he can’t help it, because every part of him is craving you, has been for so long. his hips jerk, thrusting up into your hand with a roughness he usually holds back. his eyes are dark, fixed on your hand working him, and he bites his lip, trying to keep himself steady, but it’s no use—you’re so close, whispering his name, brushing your lips over his with every stroke, and he’s already too far gone.

“i can’t hold back when you look at me like that.”

you laugh deliciously, the sound bubbling up from your chest as you lean in, licking his lips.

staff!seungcheol, who can’t hold back any longer, feels the heat rising in his cheeks as he realizes he’s about to spill over. his breath hitches, and just like that, he’s cumming—hard. it’s a mix of deep, throaty moans and soft whimpers escaping his lips, echoing in the quiet room. your belly and fingers are coated with him, and you can’t help but grin at the sight.

“yes, just like that! keep going, let it out, look at you, all moaning like a little slut. how does it feel?”

“shut up,” he mumbles, half-heartedly trying to glare at you, but his eyes are glassy, the words only making him blush deeper.

you smirk, lifting your hand to your mouth, where his cum glistens on your fingers. you start to lick it off, each slow drag of your tongue making his breath hitch in his throat.

staff!seungcheol who’s mortified, wide-eyed as he grabs your wrist, halting your movements and making your tongue stay out, eagerly waiting. “no, no, don’t do that!”

you pout at him, eyes big and pleading, your voice coming out in the sweetest “please?” he hesitates, visibly torn, but eventually lets go of your wrist, swallowing hard as you close your eyes and bring your fingers back to your lips. the way you lick it all up slowly, savoring each taste with a big-ass smile, drives him crazy. it’s like you’re teasing him all at once, every nerve in his body alive with the sight of you, so effortlessly and unapologetically indulging yourself.

staff!seungcheol who’s at a complete loss, his eyes wide as he watches, helplessly captivated by the way you move, the small smile on your face showing just how aware you are of his reaction. he shifts, clearly trying to gather himself, but you notice his fingers flexing at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to pull you close again.

[sofiaswrittendelusions]

“Drift”

synopsis: Forced proximity with Caleb 😋

warnings: mentions of dying, sitting on someone’s lap.

The emergency lights pulse a dull red, painting the cramped cockpit in flashes of color as the ship drifts aimlessly in deep space. Systems are fried. Oxygen’s low. And you’re stuck here—with him.

Caleb sits across from you, slouched in the co-pilot’s chair, his bionic fingers flexing and curling in a slow, restless rhythm against the metal armrest. The damage control panel blinks weakly behind him, but there’s nothing either of you can do. Not without power. Not without help.

You’re both stranded.

The temperature’s been dropping for hours, and the chill has settled deep into your bones. It’s making you shake despite the heat blanket you’ve wrapped around yourself. You refuse to look at him, refuse to meet that sharp gaze you can feel lingering too long.

Until he speaks.

“You’re shivering.” His voice is low, almost calm, but there’s a tension underneath. Coiled tight.

You exhale through gritted teeth. “Yeah, well. No heat. Funny how space works.”

He leans forward, the soft whir of his bionic joints audible in the quiet. The ship creaks slightly under the stress, and you swear you can feel the weight of his stare now, heavier. “You’re going to freeze.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

You narrow your eyes. “And what do you suggest, genius? There’s no power, no heat, no—”

“What if you—”

“If you seriously suggest that I sit on your lap, I will shoot you.”

A beat of silence. His lips part, then press back into a tight line, but his gaze never wavers. The red light flickers across his face, sharpening the intensity in his eyes—darker than usual.

“You lost your gun in the blast,” he murmurs, almost too softly.

Your stomach flips.

The worst part is, he’s not even wrong.

Caleb tilts his head, and the glow catches the curve of his cheekbone, the scar that cuts just past his temple. His bionic arm rests on his thigh, fingers twitching slightly, but his flesh hand— that one’s clenched into a fist.

Possessive. Unnervingly so.

“You’re shaking too hard,” he says again, voice dropping further. “C’mere. I run warmer than you. Just until—”

“No.”

He doesn’t blink.

“You’re freezing. And I’m not watching you die out here.”

Something in his voice cracks on the last word, and for a second—just a second—you see it. The way he’s been watching you, the way he’s been waiting. Obsessive, protective, just barely keeping himself in check.

You’re too cold to argue anymore. Too tired.

But when you finally drag yourself forward, closing the space between you with trembling steps, it’s worse up close.

The candlelight glow of the emergency lights. His eyes—

“Your eyes are really pretty,” you mutter, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Caleb stills. His lips part.

And the grip of his bionic arm tightens just enough to make the metal creak.

[satrs]

Wet Wars!

SYNOPSIS; Hope you like losing your mind– twice.

FEAT; caleb x Satoru Gojo x fem!reader

TAGS;MDNI! threesome. oral fixation. bestfriend!caleb and bestfriend!satoru. competitive. panty ripping. desperate and püssydrunk guys. overstim. cunnilingus. dirtytalk. petnames. cocky gojo. possessiveeee caleb. squirting. cum eating. cl!t smacking. püssy smacking. dacryphilia. spit and drool. messy. slighttt dumbification from satoru once. praise. begging. size k!nk. tummy buldge. satoru jerks himself off and is pathetic. 3.3k.

A/N; sighhhh ANOTHA ONE!!!!! they r both my fav bois so I rlly had my fun on this one hihi^^ THIS is my dream blunt rotation man.

Who can make you cum first?

It starts like a game— at least, that's what Satoru calls it.

You're sprawled out on silky sheets, thighs parted indulgently over a stack of plush pillows.

Caleb kneels at your left, grey sweats tight around his hard-on, eyes glowing with quiet hunger while Gojo lounges on the other side, shirt off, grey sweats hanging low, all-too-familiar cocky smirk plastered on his moist lips.

Seeing your two closest, bestest of friends like this is— well, not exactly something you're used to.

Yeah, sure you three goof around all the time, and sure Satoru sometimes comes up with dirty jokes about you that Caleb makes quick work to and sure there was one time they both taught you how to properly kiss guys— but this?

This is new.

“Aaaand? Watcha' sayin? Yer' in?” the white-haired drawls, that wicked glint lighting up his cerulean eyes as they slide from Caleb to your exposed, dripping center. He swears your panties are practically pasted to your folds. “Winner takes it all.”

Caleb just smirks, trailing the back of his fingers along your inner thigh. “Hell yeah. Buuuut,” his voice dips, husky and pointed, “you sure you can handle her? Bet you don’t even know where the clit is.”

Satoru whistles, clearly entertained. “Woah. Cocky-much.” Then he flashes you that wicked grin, muscles twitching from the possesive grip on your thigh. “Yer' lettin' him talk ta me like that?”

You roll your eyes at their banter, hips twitching into the empty space between them. “You guyssss, seriously, quit it and do.... something already.”

“Aight, aight,” Caleb murmurs, voice thick with amusement as he hooks his fingers into your panties, sliding them to the side. He’s just about to slip a finger through your slick folds when Satoru's hand swats! his away.

“I know where the damn clit is, starboy,” Satoru's grin is all teeth. “Riiiiiiiight—”

He presses down, finger circling with maddening precision until it hits your bundle of nerves dead-on. The pressure is just enough to make your thighs jerk, threatening to clamp shut around their heads. But both of them shoot out an arm without missing a beat, pushing your legs apart and holding them there with synchronized ease.

“—here,” he finishes, eyes glittering with smug satisfaction.

“That’s a no-brainer.”

Caleb snorts, unfazed. “Well duhhh. She’s soaked, Satoru. You could find it in your sleep.”

Satoru chuckles low in his throat, still teasing slow circles with his soft pad. “Then maybe ya oughta put in some effort before I win. Or not. Couldn't care less.”

Caleb's eyes narrow slightly, then he leans in without warning, tongue flicking out to replace the others hand, making your entire body jolt. “You talk too damn much." he murmurs, lips brushing your clit just barely, ripping your flimsy panties almost completely off with one strong pull, earning a shocked yelp from you. “Earn your keep.”

Then he licks, a slow, devastating stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring it like he’s been starving.

And suddenly, they're both on you at once, two hot tongues, slick mouths feisting upon you as if as if you were the last thing on earth they'd ever get to taste.

Satoru dips low again, mouth locking onto your clit with practiced ease, his tongue rolling and circling like he’s studied every nerve under a microscope. He hums against you, the vibration sending a ripple up your spine before he ends the barely holding on annoying strap of your cloth off you completely to further suckle at your buttony clit.

Caleb's grip tightens on your thigh as he kisses the soft skin, soft brown hair tickling your thigh as he moves up closer, his mouth dragging open kisses along the crease where your leg meets your needy core.

“Sweet fuck,” he mutters, dragging his tongue flat against your entrance now, slow and savoring, wanting to memorize your taste.

Satoru glances up, eyes gleaming. “Yer' takin’ your time down there, or just scared I’m gonna make her cum first?”

Caleb answers by sucking hard, just below your clit— just close enough for your hand to fly and latch onto the brown bush of hair while Satoru increases the pressure right on your swollen clit, tongue flicking in sharp, teasing pulses.

"Nghhhh! Y-yes r-right there!," you cry out, hips bucking, but their hands hold you down, keep you spread, keep you right there with nowhere to squirm or run to.

Caleb groans in response and fuck— he could cum by just listening to your sweet cries, hips deseraptly humbing deep into the matress.

You're sweet—so damn sweet. He can't breathe, can't be, except in the act of devouring you whole like you're the only thing he's ever wanted. He'd always imagined tasting you but this? This is heaven for him. And there's no way in hell anyone can take this honeyed cunny from him.

Only over his dead body.

And Satoru? God, he's an idiot.

An idiot for not dragging you into this sooner. A goddamn fool for letting this sappy bastard Caleb share in your sacred juices. And the biggest fool of all for grinding into the sheets like some needy, feral mutt, each spurting of your essence landing right on his tastebuds and he's sure he's addicted by now.

Because you are addictive.

You can't think.

And from the way your vision's already going white at the edges, legs desperatly shaking as the overwhelming sounds of slurp slurp slurp numbs your senses, and you're not sure who’s winning.

But you're definitely losing— in the best way possible.

You feel Caleb's tongue sliding lower ashe parts your folds gently, sucking one side into his mouth before dragging his tongue up the other. He's so gentle, so reverent, but there’s an edge to him now, a heat in his breath that promises he’s not going to let the cocky white-haired win.

Satoru's not having it.

He quickly flattens his tongue against your clit and starts flicking the bud so fast and devastating, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you still.

“Gonna make her cum first,” he says like it’s fact, “watch.”

Caleb only narrows his eyes, clicking his tongue in irritation before diving back between your legs, sliding his tongue deep into you. “Not if I get her gushing first.”

His words come out muffled, barely audible, vibrations of his voice adding onto his nasty tongue gliding through your hole, hitting your sweetspot with one swift roll of his tongue.

Bingo.

God, you would snap your thighs together if you could, but their strong hands make it impossible for you to escape from this overwhelming pleasure.

You're at your wits end at this point, tummy sucking in as Satoru pulls back just enough to smirk, placing a teasing smack! to your clit.

“Oh? Playing dirty already?”

Caleb doesn't care to answer. His tongue moves in slow, deep strokes, licking into your pussy while his lips seal around your entrance. You can hear it— the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth fucking you, tongue curling, nose brushing your clit.

The white-haired would love nothing more than to yank that jackass away from you and taste you himself, show you just how deep his tongue can bury itself inside you, how much better he can please you— but he holds back.

He wanted this game, after all.

“Fine. I can play dirty too.”

He reaches up, lifting your hips slightly before he sucks your clit into his mouth— hard. His tongue flicks fast, merciless almost, desperate to force your attention onto him.

You choke on a sob as your hips buck up into his mouth, hand tangling in the snowy hair while one of your legs hooks over Caleb's shoulder, heel digging into his back.

They're working together now, without even meaning to.

You're thrashing, hands now clutching the sheets, legs twitching as heat coils tight in your belly. You're—

“Close. She's close,” Caleb mumbles against you, thumb circling your inner thigh, "C'mon, baby. Cum for me."

“I'm still here, ya know,” Gojo purrs, then moans into your clit as you slightly yank at his hair. “Cum for me, cutie. Wanna taste ya.”

“M' gonna— gonna eat it up. Allll of it,” Caleb adds, breathless, lips gliding over your slit desperatly, selfish tongue draaaaging over your cunny, begging for you to just squirt right into his mouth. “You want that, pretty?”

With a nod and a quick glance at the cerulean eyes yearning for a reaction on your features and those lilac hues trying to suck your soul into his, you break.

“Thereee she is.”

Caleb's a madman now, fingers bruising into your thighs as if trying to keep you wide open, greedy for more. “So sweet, baby. Such a messy cunny— f-fuck.”

Your orgasm hits sudden and hard, whole body shuddering, thighs clamping around their heads. Voice cracking, cries and rambles of their names barely reaching their ears. Tears form at your lasline, toes curling at the massive wave of pleasure as your face contorts.

“Hahhh, ya should see yer face, pretty.”

Satoru's lips shine with your release, big fat beam plastered on his face as his tongue flicks one last teasing stroke over your clit just to make your body jolt.

They don't stop, keep going, mouths locked on you, dedicated as they suck and lick and pull every single drop you're offering out until you're twitching uncontrollably.

“Fuck,” Satoru breathes, pulling back to admire the mess. “Poor baby 's wrecked already."

He leans up to kiss you, slow and filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. It's so nasty but still adicting, him devouring your mouth like a man starved as Caleb glares up at you, placing a possesive kiss to your thigh followed by a jealous bite to your flesh.

His hands begin to slide up your sides, and then he's at your other ear. “Still hungry,” he growls so deep you can feel the wetness oozing out of you. “Want more— g-gonna cum for us again, you can do that for me, yeah? Be a good girl and cream alllllll over me? Hm? Pleaseeee, baby."

"Hmm? M-more?"

"Mhmmm," Satoru conters, fingers brushing your soaked folds as he stares daggers into the brunette, placing a quick kiss to your temple. “Gonna give me one now?” he teases. "Fair's fair, cutie. Can't let him be the one takin' the win.”

The snowy head dissapears between your legs now, attacking your pussy again, mouth latching onto your pussy like he’s got something to prove, because he does.

His tongue flicks and curls, lips sealing around your clit in a maddening rhythm. He moans into you, and the vibrations make your back arch, sparks racing up your spine.

Caleb tilts your face to his, claiming your mouth with a possessive, greedy kiss. His fingers trail upward to pinch your nipple, rolling it just right while his tongue tangles with yours.

You're gasping into him, breathless and overstimulated, caught in the push-pull between their mouths, thighs locking around Satoru's head, white locks peaking from the gap as your hands grasp for the brunettes biceps.

“Feel that?” Caleb pants against your lips, teeth nipping just enough to make you twitch. “He's working reaaal hard for that second one, huh? But I’m still your favourite, right?”

"You wish." Satoru's pace quickens now, two fingers slipping inside you now, curling right against your g-spot as his tongue keeps torturing your clit.

“God,” you sob through breathless kisses, “you're both—fuck!—both insane—”

They moan in sync.

"W-wanna have you i-inside."

Both sets of eyes snap to yours. Wide and starved, ridiculously pretty for two men who already pulled an orgasm out of you— more incoming.

“Who?”

They ask together, like some twisted choir of temptation.

"D-don't care, just wanna—”

Satoru is the first to move.

You barely register the shift of weight before he's positioning himself beside you, hard-on of his pressing through your side, threatening to break free from his grey joggers, warm hands sliding under your thighs, smacking your pussy hard before he muffles a moan between biten lips.

“Greedyyy,” he murmurs, voice dipped in silk and sin. “I love it.”

Caleb shoots Satoru a look that could kill, jaw clenched, fists tight, barely holding himself back. He's twitching with restraint, knuckles white, his teeth gritted. But he doesn't speak, not yet. Instead, his hands go to the waistband of his boxers, yanking them down with a rough, frustrated grunt. His cock springs free, hard, flushed and leaking from the torture of holding back for hours.

He leans over you, guiding himself to your soaked entrance, knuckles brushing your hip like a silent apology he doesn’t have the words to speak. “I-inside. Inside.�� he pants, voice frayed at the edges, trembling with desperation. “Gonna— gonna let me fill you up?"

You nod, hips twitching upwards and his tip catches the hood of your clit— that’s all it takes.

He pounds his entire girth into you in one swith thrust, burying himself to the hilt with a groan that sounds damn near feral. His head drops to your shoulder, breath hot and uneven as he starts to move, hips grinding into you, deep and raw, like he can't stand another second without being inside you.

Meanwhile, Satoru slides down again, mouth back at your clit, tongue relentless, his hand now freeing his hard cock, wrapping around the base as he spits down onto it, spit and your juices mixed, serving as lube.

He's jerking his length, hand locking around his blushed tip, hips stuttering as he watches your stuffed cunny streeeetching around Caleb's cock with needy, desperate gushes of your juices.

"Oh f-fuck." He's stroking his cock in firm, hungry fists, pace matching every brutal thrust Caleb drives into you. His breath hits your thighs in hot bursts, and his tongue doesn’t quit, flicking, curling, lapping at your clit like it's the only thing keeping him alive.

“Shit, shitshitshit—fuck,” he whimpers, almost delirious, dragging his tongue up your swollen bundle of nerves, circling it with the flat of it, slow and mean. His voice cracks into a moan as he stares down, wide-eyed, at the taut swell forming just beneath your bellybutton, his jaw going slack, eyes rolling to his skull. “Look at that. Fuck, look at her. Stuffed full and still takin' it— like a champ, baby. Yer' made for this.”

Caleb can't even form a word.

He's gone, eyes glazed, lips parted as he watches your cunt suck him in over and over again, the obnoxious sound of your crying pussy causing goosebumps to arise on his skin. His control is snapping thread by thread, hips pounding into you with frantic need, every movement fueled by the way your walls grip him like they own him, like they don't want to ever let him go.

His brain's fried, lost, so goddamn lost in your vice-like grip, your delicious, honeyed moans and that gorgeous face of yours contorting into the cutest grimace. All he can do is fuck you harder, bullying his cock deeper into you, eyes glued to the bump at your tummy, hand pushing down onto it.

You're gasping, twitching, mind unraveling with every thrust, every hot, wet flick against your clit when both their faces lift at once, hovering over yours.

Then it happens.

They both go for your mouth, lips colliding—messy and hot, and you're caught between them. Caleb growls against your cheek as Satoru laughs into your mouth, and suddenly both of them are fighting for your kiss like lions would for their prey.

“Mine,” Caleb snarls, pulling your face toward his with delicate force, crashing his lips to yours, shoving your body higher against the headboard with every ragged snap of his hips. You're crying out into his mouth, helpless against the feral need behind every movement.

“Nahhh,” Satoru pants, laughing breathlessly as he licks along the edge of your lips, stealing kisses where he can between Caleb's frantic ones. His hand works faster on his cock, slick and twitching in his grip, precum smearing across his knuckles. “She knows where home is,” he growls, voice pitched low as his thumb swipes his tip, eyes locked on your teary, bliss-wrecked face.

Your vision is a blur of white hair, brown curls, sweat, and tears. You're full, stretched around Caleb's cock still pumping into you like it's the last thing he'll ever do, while Satoru's tongue slips between your parted lips, your neck, nipples— messy and open-mouthed everywhere as he drinks down your moans.

“Say it,” Caleb gasps, pulling away just enough to pant against your lips, his voice shattering with need. “She's mine, right, pips? Fuckkk, tell me your pussy 's mine—fuck, baby—t-tell me."

"Awww, think she's gone dumb", Satoru coos, jerking himself faster, watching your stomach bulge slightly with each desperate thrust Caleb drives in. “Look at her cryin' on ya.”

Caleb shoots him a warning glare, fighting the urge to punch him in the face before he leans in, knuckles brushing your side as his eyes meet yours. “Shh shhh, baby. It's alright, you're doin' sooo well baby. So perfect f' me, yeah?”

And you are.

Tears streaming, mouth open in a silent cry, trembling beneath them. And when your orgasm hits again, it wrecks you. No warning, no build—just a sudden snap that makes you seize around Caleb's cock, milking him so hard he shouts, hips stuttering.

Satoru watches the exact second you cum, and that's all it takes.

Caleb's thrusts get rougher and sloppier, like he's afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn't fuck you deep enough, hard enough. His hands dig into your waist, grounding you in place as he slams into you, panting brokenly against your jaw.

“Fuck, baby— so p-perfect—'m not gonna last—” he chokes out, voice cracking with the strain. “Wanna cum with you—i-inside you—please, pleasepleaseplease.”

Caleb's whole body tenses, and then he's spilling inside you with a deep, broken groan, hips grinding against you to stay buried as deep as possible, pushing his hot white seed further into your womb while your poor cunt flutters around him.

“Fuuuuck, that's hot— yer so— fuh-fuck! so damn sexy, baby.” Satoru desperatly tugs at his length, lips tugged between his lips has his eyes jump from your messy cunt to your blissful face.

You blink up just in time to see him stroking his cock, slicked in precum, veins bulging down his shaft. His face is flushed, lips swollen from kissing and licking you raw, saliva trailing down his lips before it drips down onto your flushed skin. His snowy bangs stick to his forehead, eyes glued to where Caleb's still inside you, cum dripping out of your stuffed, stuttering hole.

He's such a mess, drool leaking from his mouth like he's a helpless, lust-drunk addict, completely dumb on you, eyes vacant, every twitch of his body a desperate plea for release.

“'M gonna—shiiiit, I’m gonna— gonna paint your stuffed tummy like a canvas.” He groans as his dick twitches at the thought, and then—

Thick ropes of cum spill across your stomach, hot and heavy, painting your skin in messy streaks. Satoru curses through gritted teeth, milking himself with sharp jerks, never looking away.

When he finally lets go of his cock, his chest is heaving, grin half-drunk. “Goddamn,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a filthy kiss to your cum-slicked stomach. “You’re a walking wet dream.”

There's a beat of silence, your breathing shaky, brain half-melted into the sheets until Caleb, still nestled deep inside you, strokes your thigh soothingly, littering kisses to your jaw.

“Sooo,” he begins, voice low and smug against your ear, “who rocked your world harder?

You groan. “Oh my god. Really?”

He grins, biting lightly at your shoulder. “Dead serious.”

Satoru shifts to your other side with a dramatic sigh, propping himself up on one elbow. His fingers trail up your stomach, lazily circling the mess he left there, before he leans down to whisper near your lips, eyes gleaming.

“I mean, we could settle a rematch,” he murmurs, tongue swiping the corner of your mouth. “But 'm pretty sure ya screamed my name when ya came just now.”

“Delusional,” Caleb mutters into your neck, but his hips twitch forward just slightly, like the challenge is already baiting him.

Gojo smirks, dipping to kiss your collarbone. “Hey, sweetie, still got one more round in ya'?” His hand slides between your thighs, teasing. “'Cause I'd really like to win this time. Fair and square.”

Caleb's mouth curls into a grin against your skin, grip tightening around your hips.

“You're on.”

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 2025.

Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 7: Firsts

Kyle bought you lunch before your set time. To make sure you ate, he said. He still asked about five times if you felt like you ate enough or needed water even after sitting across from you while you downed a to-go container of pad se ew and your fourth ounce bottle.

You just laugh and point to a piece on your knee. “Babes I got this with nothing but a trenta iced coffee and two hours of sleep in my system. I’m fine, I promise.”

John made a baffled noise at that. Kyle looked like he was going to throw up. That look remained as he went through the process of setting up in John’s studio room. Kyle is meticulous about it. Each step done with care. You feel a bit silly sitting around and twiddling your thumbs.

“Just breathe. It’s fine.” John murmurs in a low rumble that somehow has you relaxing more than the indented party.

“It’s almost more scary doing someone I know.” Kyle huffs.

You laugh. “Can’t be worse than the blown out piece of shit on my left arm. C’mon, I’ve seen what you can do. You’ve got this.”

John nods, sitting on the other side of you.

“Besides, even if it sucks I’ll still be honored to be your first real apprentice tattoo.” You pipe up.

Kyle chuckles, low and unsure. Part of you wants to give him an out, to say he doesn’t have to, but you can see the set of his jaw even as his eyes flick between his supplies and the stencil in his hand nervously. He’s determined as much as he is scared. There’s no getting him out of that headspace until he’s done.

You chose something easy. One of Kyle’s more dainty, simple flash designs for the back of your thigh, just below the curve of your ass. A little bow with minimal shading. Something he’s practiced a thousand times and an easy enough starting point. Plus, you already mentioned having him do a matching one on the other side when he’s ready for it. Easy practice.

“C’mon, at least get the stencil on before you have a panic attack.” You try to keep your voice light, turning your back to him.

Kyle sighs. You hear his stool roll forward as he scoots in close to place it. John shuffles around to stand over him. A nasty part of your brain complains about exposing your cellulite to these two fit men but you push that deep down into nothing. A second, more embarrassing part wonders if you should have chose a more appropriate spot… that maybe you shouldn’t be standing in front of your boss and coworker in teeny-tiny biker shorts that barely cover you. You shove that down right next to the other mean thoughts.

You pointedly ignore the heat that shoots up your spine as Kyle’s hands feel out the shape of your thigh to get it centered - keeping your eyes forward as he slowly presses the paper against you. You could swear a thumb traces the curve of your cheek as he smoothes it but that’s probably just wishful thinking.

“Good job, kid.” John claps a hand on Kyle’s shoulder as soon as the paper is pulled away. You turn around in the mirror to check it, expecting to probably have to move it, but from what you can tell it really is perfect.

“Damn, dude, on your first try!” You grin, clapping happily.

Kyle nods stiffly, but you see the way the corner of his mouth quirks up. You unceremoniously clamber onto the table, moving around so your back doesn’t hurt from laying flat for the next few hours with your arms folded under your head.

“Hey.” You whisper while John steps away to grab something. “Get through this without freaking out and I’ll give you a reward.”

“A reward?” He tilts his head, smile turning from an nervous curl of his lip to a boyish grin.

You jokingly bat your lashes. “I’ll give you a kiss.”

Kyle chuckles. “With tongue?”

You gawk, face hot. “Mr. Garrick! Where’d my knight in shining armor go?”

“Just tryin’ t’ figure out exactly what I’m workin’ toward.”

You hum, pretending to mull it over. “We’ll see. Depends on how well you do.”

Kyle levels a look at you, something heated as his lip catches between his teeth. It’s only there for a moment, gone as soon as he turns to his tools. Replaced by a laser focus.

“Alright.” John settles back into his seat on your other side. “Let’s do one line and then see how we all feel.”

Kyle nods. You shuffle a little to make you’re you’re as comfortable as possible for the next however long. You know it’s going to be a while even if it isn’t a simple design. He’s new and precise with means slow.

The familiar whirr of the gun starts up. You shut your eyes, waiting, hoping that you aren’t projecting any more tension into the room than Kyle is. The needle stings when it finally touches you, but not as badly as you braced for. His touch is light.

He pulls the gun away and let’s put a giant sigh. “How y’feel, luv?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m all good. You?” You tilt your chin a bit to meet his eye.

“Better now that it’s started.”

“Good.” John nods, chest bumping your leg as he leans forward to look. “Looks good. Keep on.”

The room is nearly silent as he works. You turned down the music before coming back so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed - at least that was your reasoning. You’d get overwhelmed. Kyle is more levelheaded than you are, though.

“Thassit.” John smiles - or at least that’s how it sounds in his voice. “Her skin takes ink so well, yeah?”

Fuck, that totally should not do it for you. Gravelly voiced British bastard. You keep your eyes locked onto the flash on the far wall as you attempt to cool down.

Kyle just hums, seemingly unable to talk as he concentrates. He probably is with how dialed in he looks. You take a break before he gets to shading, stretching and getting some water. It takes a while, but not as long as you assumed. You start to get that ache in your skin partway through the shading - that feeling when your nerves are so tired from firing off pain receptors they just all sort of start burning dully.

However long later Kyle pulls away. “I… think it’s done?”

“You think?” John challenges.

Kyle sighs before speaking with more finality. “It’s done.”

There’s a few beats where John assess and you hold your breath. He points to a couple spots where Kyle’s hand slipped a bit or he applied too much pressure, but when you check it out in the mirror yourself you don’t see that all. Perfectionists.

You can’t help but squeal and jump, clapping happily and barely standing still while Kyle puts the saniderm on. You’re just to happy! Not only did Kyle get his first tattoo done but now you have brand new (free) cute ink to show off. Kyle looks tired, though, so you try not over overwhelm him while he cleans up. Concentrating like that with anxiety must have really taken it out of him.

You sort of forget about your promise of a reward for the next week. Too busy focusing on taking care of your new tattoo. The only downside to the placement is sitting in your office chair itches - especially once you take the saniderm off. You’ve mostly taken to standing while working and wearing shorts and skirts to let it breathe. It’s worth it, though. You’ll have to ask Kyle how soon he wants to do the other one. Without being pushy, of course.

You quietly hum to yourself as you get the cash drawers ready to lock away in the backroom safe. Triple checking the bags and making sure tips are divided correctly, etc.

“Hey, lovie.” Kyle saddles up behind you suddenly, hands on your hips.

You jump. “Holy shit, you scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry.” He chuckles. A hand slips down your hip, palm tracing the hem of your tennis skirt to lightly rest over the little bow. “How’s she healin’?”

“It’s, uh, it-“ You stutter, eyes wide and skin hot. If it were Johnny, you’d laugh and swat him away - maybe let his hand wander to your ass first - but Kyle doesn’t do this. Not that you don’t like it - the problem lies in that you’re liking it too much. If the patter of your heart is anything to go by. “It’s good. Not itching yet or anything.”

Kyle hums. “Good.”

“Th-that all?”

“Think you forgot somethin’.” He turns you around, hands firmly planted on the softness of your waist. When you just give him a bewildered look he continues. “I was promised a reward, I think.”

“O-oh?” Your face burns, eyes wide. Is he serious? Part of you wants to say no - to push him away. You’re coworkers, after all. Until your eyes meet his, so big and warm and his lips forming a perfect pout. “John….?”

Kyle chuckles ans crosses his chest. “John won’t care. Cross my heart.”

He gives you a moment to mull it over. You don’t think he’s making fun of or bating you - Kyle wouldn’t do that. There’s no way he’s interested either. That’s one delusion you can firmly plant in the ’purely imaginary’ category.

Whatever. What do you have to lose from a little back room make out?

Your lips meets his. Fuck, they’re soft. He steals your breath - greedy and gentile. It’s been so long since you’ve been kissed, much less kissed well. One of the hands on your waist moves to your low back as Kyle leans into you. Your hands grapple onto his shoulders to steady you. He takes advantage of your gasp at being tilted back to swipe is tongue between your lips.

You mould together, breaths heavy and tongues dancing. A needy, pathetic little part of you wishes the hand that drifted from your waist to your hip would hook under your thigh. That Kyle would tilt you all the way back onto the desk and throw your leg over his shoulder, eagerly pushing up your skirt-

An ‘I love you’ dances on the tip of your tongue and you reel back harshly, hand flat on his chest to separate you.

“Alright?” He murmurs, eyes half lidded and dark.

You swallow roughly and nod, breathing hard. “I, uh, I need to finish the safe.”

Something passes across his face briefly as your eyes flick between his. Whatever it was, it’s replaced by his usual easy smile as he returns to standing at his full height, the hands on your waist steady you before disappearing. Your stomach drops as they go.

“See you tomorrow.” Kyle murmurs, pressing one last little peck on your cheek before striding away, leaving you alone in the back room with a hot face and whirlwind thoughts.

Fuck.

A/N: brought to you by the time a tattoo artist told me my skin takes ink well in the most haunting bedroom voice I’ve ever heard😵‍💫 killed me right then and there

[lazysoulwriter]

who's that woman? - Pedro Pascal.

requested! thank you so much for sending, hope you like it. ♡

---

The after party buzzes with static energy — music, flashing lights, laughter bouncing off the walls. You feel it in your chest like a second heartbeat. Your heels are killing you, your curls are sticking to the back of your neck, and someone spilled something suspiciously sticky near the bar. But none of it matters.

Because you're dancing.

Dancing like no one’s watching — even though everyone kind of is. The DJ is deep into a 90s setlist, and you’re in your element. You know every lyric, every beat drop, every over-the-top bridge. And you don’t care how you look doing it. You’re having fun. Real, shameless, sweat-slicked fun. And the people around you? They’re feeding off your energy. Laughing when you point to them mid-verse, clapping along when you hit a dramatic air guitar solo.

You’ve always been the life of the party without even trying.

What you don’t know is that, from across the room, Pedro Pascal is watching you — completely mesmerized.

He’s leaning against a wall with a half-empty drink in hand, tired from small talk, already plotting his escape when he sees you. And it stops him cold.

Your smile, your joy, your wild abandon — it’s unlike anything he’s seen in a long time.

“Who is that woman?” he murmurs out loud, not meaning to be heard.

But someone beside him answers casually, like it’s obvious. “That’s Y/N. You don’t know her? She’s the indie singer of the moment. Absolutely magical.”

He repeats your name under his breath. Y/N. It sounds good already. His eyes never leave you — not even when the song ends and you finally step off the dance floor, cheeks flushed, skin glowing, laughter still lingering on your lips.

You head to the bar, needing water more than another drink. And he sees his chance.

He walks toward you — slowly, calmly — but just before he reaches you, someone else gets there first.

A man leans in close to your ear. Says something low. You throw your head back and laugh.

Pedro stops in his tracks.

Of course she has someone, he thinks. Why wouldn’t you? You’re radiant. Magnetic. Everyone wants to be near you. And he isn’t the kind of guy to flirt with someone who’s taken. Even if all he wants to do is hear your voice. Ask what song you were dancing to like it was saving your life.

He’s just about to turn away when the man — whoever he is — looks up and locks eyes with Pedro.

And then he smiles. Waves him over like they’re old friends.

Confused, Pedro approaches. “Took you long enough,” the guy says, easy and amused. “Pedro, right? I’m Luca — co-producer on the indie you’re shooting next month.”

Pedro laughs in recognition. “No way. I didn’t recognize you without five assistants and a clipboard.”

Then Luca turns to you and says, almost too casually: “This is my sister. Y/N.”

You smile at Pedro with that same effortless warmth that had everyone watching you dance. “I love your work,” you say, offering your hand. “Your voice? I’d listen to you read my grocery list.”

He laughs, starstruck and completely at ease. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

And from there — the rest of the night falls into place like it was always meant to.

The party fades into background noise. You end up sitting close, knees brushing under a tiny table, talking like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

He’s funnier than you expected. A little shy at first, but playful, too. Sharp. Thoughtful. You tell him you write better lyrics after two drinks. He confesses he’s cried at every animated film he’s ever seen. You tease him for dancing too well for a man over 40. He tells you you’re like his childhood best friend — the one who dared him to do ridiculous things just to see if he’d say yes.

You feel it. That pull. That click.

And you can see he feels it too.

He looks at you like he’s remembering something. Like you remind him of a version of himself he thought he’d outgrown — but misses more than he realized. You’re loud where he’s quiet, fearless where he’s careful. But underneath? You’re made of the same stuff. Passion. Curiosity. Heart.

Six months later.

You’re sitting on the kitchen floor in mismatched pajamas, eating cold risotto straight from the container. He’s across from you, eyes soft, cheeks a little pink from the wine.

He doesn’t kneel. Doesn’t have a speech. Just pulls a small box from his hoodie pocket and says your name like a question.

And you say yes before he even finishes.

Now, in a quiet interview for a glossy magazine, Pedro leans back in his chair, fiddling with the silver ring on his hand. The journalist asks about you — how you met, how it happened.

He smiles, slow and sure. “I never believed in love at first sight,” he says, voice warm. “Not until her.”

---

[maiamore]

THREE STRIKES

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 2k

Summary: Joel fucks you in his truck.

Tags: road rage, cockwarming, orgasm denial, husband!joel, public sex, car sex, p in v, unprotected sex, use of the word daddy, grumpy!joel

A/N: swung this out in eight hours through pure adrenaline and proofreading with my homie MASTERLIST

If there was one thing you knew about Joel Miller, it was to never fuck with him when he was on the road.

It wasn’t that he was a bad driver, per se. Joel just had pretty low tolerance with shitty drivers, as evident by the dozens of times he’d changed his horn out in the past couple of months. You learned to sit pretty & let him grumble—being on your merry way as the passenger princess you were, humming along to whatever country station he flipped to.

“Left in the lane up ahead,” you cut in, interrupting Joel’s long-winded rant about the signages being too small. Which of course, his old man vision was probably more of the reason why, not the state's fault. Joel at the same time, refused to use a GPS, a stubborn stance that had already led to him missing an exit earlier. Considering the two of you were now running late to dinner to his younger brother,Tommy, and his wife’s place—you’d been on edge.

Joel glances at you, annoyance flickering across his face. “I know where I’m goin’, sweetheart.”

“Sure,” you replied, the sarcasm practically dripping from the single word.

“Joel!” Your arm whips directly in front of his face to point at the lane he was supposed to be in. He shoots you a sharp look in return, his palm pressing down on the base of the wheel, rotating it clockwise as he finally shifts over. You could tell, just from the tension in his jaw—that you’d hit strike one.

“I was about to,” he countered, his voice defensive.

“Yeah, didn’t seem like it.”

“My signal was on.”

“Oh, great, you announced your signalling intentions five hundred meters away from the lane. Can I please just put the GPS on?” you bit back, exasperated.

“We’ll get there. Quit fussin’.”

You’d slumped back into your seat, attempting to not let it affect you, Joel knew better though. He could tell you were ready to pop up with a “we need to turn here!”—despite your piss poor attempt at behaving for now.

His truck comes to a stop behind a Blue Toyota Yaris—with a slow rumble from the engine. Fingers drumming steadily against the steering wheel to fill the silence. Finally, he breaks the tension. “You plannin’ on sulkin’ all the way there?” 

“I’m not sulking.” You shot back.

Joel raises a brow, giving you a once-over. Gaze flicking to your thighs, clamped together and turned away from him. Well, that’ll do it. His lips twitched like he might’ve smirked. “Mmhm. Sure looks like it.” His voice a smooth drawl.

You turned your head just enough to shoot him a mocking look, trying not to let it show just how much the hum in his response caused a visceral reaction in what went on below. 

Joel’s jaw clenches at that, the faintest crease forming between his brows.

Strike two. 

The light turns green.

With a long, drawn out sigh—Joel eased his boot off the brake, released the clutch and wrapped a firm hand around the gear shift to nudge it into first. The truck rolled forward with its familiar low rumble. He continued driving without saying a word, his patience teetering on the edge with how he was now holding the steering wheel with a white knuckled grip.

You shift in your seat, mindlessly scrolling through your phone when the click of a tongue snaps your attention back up. “You gotta be shittin’ me.” He breathes out. Gesturing angrily at the Blue Yaris driving way below the speed limit, you couldn’t really fault Joel for this one. You lean backwards, fully prepared to hear the end of it. 

He behaves for a while, but after a few miles, his patience snaps. With a grunt, he slams on the horn and flashed his lights, the sound cutting through the air like a gunshot. 

You groaned internally at his obnoxious habit. Before you could get a word in, the Yaris brake-checks him, sending the both of you careening forward.

Your face lights up in pure and utter amusement. You let out an audible hah! Karma was kind, you supposed, for the Yaris at least. But not for you. Definitely not for you. By the time you turned to look at Joel—

He was already looking your way.

That was three strikes.

“Oh, that’s funny now is it?” He says, with no humour in his tone.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so obnoxious with your honking. Just because you’ve got old people hearing—”

Joel swerves, stopping on the shoulder of the road. You twist your body a little when you feel the lock of your seat belt snapping open with a dull click.

“Up.”

You blinked. “Up where? Onto the dashboard?” You mused at his audacity. His eyes twitch. With a sharp tug of your arm, he attempts to pry you over the console towards his side. “Ow!—Okay, okay!” You huffed, unsteadily sliding over, your ass hitting the honk in the process, sending the both of you jolting.

Joel’s hand tightens around your wrist to pull you snug onto his lap. “Christ, Joel, what the hell?” You tried, effectively shutting up when you felt his very hard erection pressed against you. Your eyes widen, looking at Joel who didn’t have an ounce of embarrassment on his expression.

Clearly, someone liked you being a brat.

“Nothin’ to say now, mouth?” Joel tugs you by the back of your waist, your palms steadying yourself against his shoulders. You bit down on your lips to withhold just how much you enjoyed this “punishment”. With the thin material of your skirt, you’d felt every-single-fucking-thing. And god did it feel good.

So much for putting me in my place. You thought. 

Your heart was already thumping with how the truck was still illegally parked, surely, he wouldn’t fuck you into obedience here now would he? And risk getting arrested? Goody-two-shoes Joel?

Your gaze trails down as Joel snaps his belt buckle off. Nerves frayed in both trepidation and exhilaration. He brings his hand up to his mouth to wet his fingertips before slipping them beneath your skirt. 

You shudder at the motion, feeling his knuckles graze the sensitive skin, legs parting where it was tucked underneath your thighs. A thumb pushes the flimsy fabric of your thong aside, his knuckles grazing your clit. You jumped at the sensation. He gathers the slick to rub against the entrance of your folds before sinking two fingers into you in a go. You groan, tipping your head back at how full you already feel. 

“Fuck the lube, I guess.” He murmurs more so to himself. Lips quirked into a lop-sided grin as he curls his fingers up steadily into your slick pussy. Thrusting in and out. Iiiiin and out. You ground your hips impatiently to take his fingers deeper. Which surprisingly—he lets you. Normally you’d be met with a stern warning to stay still. 

He wasn’t that cruel to you, yet. A rough palm comes up to knead your tits over the pretty blue sundress you had on. You were on the precipice from coming with the adrenaline alone.

But just as you tightened around his fingers, your pussy clenches around….nothing. Your half lidded gaze meets Joel in confusion when he pulls his fingers out. You feel two heavy palms lift your hips, which you oblige without complaint.

“Upsy-daisy.” He grunts, stuffing you to the brim with his cock. The both of you let out a groan in unison. Your hand slams up onto the headrest, your pussy greedily swallowing all eight inches of him up. 

You attempt to plant your palms back onto his knees to ride Joel’s cock when a sturdy palm on your waist stops you, tugging your back towards his chest. You look back at Joel, a brow furrowed.

The truck then whirrrs back to life.

What the fuck.

What the fuck?

Your lips parted in disbelief, you feel the truck swerve back onto the road, the slight jump making his cock nudge deeper into you. A pitiful moan left you. “A-Are you kidding me? You’re driving like this? We’re gonna crash!” You protested. 

“We won’t if you keep your head down.” He emphasizes the down with a hand tugging the back of your neck till’ your cheeks smushed against his shoulders—eyes steadily welling up in tears from the growing ache.

“Wanna be my GPS so badly dontcha’, sugar?” He taunts,“go ‘head. Tell daddy how many miles he has left.”

You grimaced at his tone. You should’ve known punishment wasn’t going to taste sweet. 

Every goddamned dip in the road had you biting back a moan. Weakly, you glanced outside the car windows. “T-Two.” You manage. Eyes fluttered shut with hot tears staining Joel’s flannel. 

Your cunt tightens around Joel’s cock involuntarily. You lift your hips an inch to give yourself the bare minimum stimulation, gasping softly at every single jerk of the truck. 

“You best quit doin’ that if you want daddy to fuck you, baby.” He warns. 

You hiccup, forehead rubbing against Joel’s shoulders pitifully. “Joel…” You whined against his chest. 

“I know, sweetheart. How else are you gonna learn, huh? Testin’ me all damn—...“ He heaves, rocking you upwards until you come slamming down back onto his cock. “—day.” Grunting at the way your pussy grips around him like vice. You let out a stifled cry against his shoulder.

Thighs quivering now at the lack of proper attention to your cunt. 

“I-I’m sorry—…can’t—…Joel.” You begged, lifting your head up to trace the curve of your nose up the scuff of his jaw. 

Joel wasn’t a man of steel for sure, just feeling the wetness of his wife’s tears against his chest was enough for him to give in and fuck her like the pretty little slut she was for him. 

He clenches his jaw. Letting you pepper needy kisses up his neck. “Please…please please—…” 

“Need him, baby.”

The car nearly comes into a screeching halt when Joel stops in front of Tommy’s garage. 

You feel a firm tug at the back of your head. Cheeks flushed visibly. “Poor baby, you need him now do you?” He mutters softly. Joel gazes at you. Your pretty, tear stricken face making his cock throb even harder than he knew possible. 

“Even after you were such a fuckin’ brat?” You shake your head, not daring to move your hips in the slightest, in fear he might deny you. You didn’t think you could endure it any longer. 

“I’m sorry—…M’sorry.” You babbled, not even sure what exactly you were begging for anymore. You just needed something, anything to ease the ache.

With a content smirk, Joel’s hands run down your back in a soothing effort. 

“Keep quiet f’me?” He whispers. 

Your head tips back with a groan when Joel’s cock slams hard in you once, and again. 

And again. And again. 

He steadies your hips with a firm grip, snapping his hips upwards to meet the effort you took to grind your hips back down. Joel leans his head back against the seat. “Shit.” He whispers. 

It was bad enough he held back cumming into your tight little pussy for twenty minutes—but the way you were milking him now had him groaning in pain just to make sure you came before he did. 

“Sweet girl.” He coos. A rough palm sliding upwards to hold your jaw firm, facing him. “C’mon. Can’t come without you.” 

His thumb massages steadily against your clit, giving you the nudge you needed. Your palms shift to grip around his thighs. Arching your back in a way you didn’t know you even could before your entire body tenses. It doesn’t take long after for Joel to grunt with a heaving effort, flooding your pussy with his thick spend. He slides his hand down your throat, cupping around your waist to hold you against him.

The both of you remained there, panting heavily in the wake of what was possibly the best orgasms you’d had since your honeymoon. 

The haze of lust was short lived when the loud sound of Tommy’s garage door opening caught your attention. 

Joel laughs and you do too, he leans in to kiss the valley between your breasts up to your collarbone. You were officially a whole hour and a half late. 

“Think they’ll ever invite us again?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

[digitaldaydreamm]

unspoken claim

rafe cameron x childhood friend!reader

| summary | he doesn't find your little joke funny...

warnings: none

masterlist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

Kelce’s house was alive with noise: music softly playing from a speaker in the corner, laughter echoing through the living room, and the clinking of bottles as someone handed out drinks. You hadn’t planned to come tonight, but Rafe had insisted, picking you up before you could think of an excuse.

Now you were perched on the armrest of the couch, hovering near him like you always did. Rafe lounged beside you, beer in hand, his other arm stretched lazily across the back of the couch, just shy of touching your waist. You didn’t think much of it—it was just Rafe. You’d been around him like this a thousand times before.

Kelce, Topper, and a few others crowded around, swapping stories and cracking jokes. You were halfway through laughing at something stupid Topper said when Kelce leaned back, a smug grin spreading across his face.

“You two ever spend a second apart?” he asked, nodding between you and Rafe. “Seriously, you’re like a married couple. I mean, look at her sitting right there, practically on his lap.”

Your face flushed, but you brushed it off with a quick laugh. “Please. Like I’d ever put up with him long enough to marry him.”

The group erupted into laughter, and you didn’t notice the shift in Rafe’s expression until it was too late. His jaw ticked, his fingers gripping the neck of his beer bottle a little tighter than necessary.

Without a word, Rafe’s arm dropped from the back of the couch to hook around your waist. Before you could react, he tugged you off the armrest and straight into his lap.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and just for you. His breath tickled your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Try saying that again, kid. Let's see how far you get.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in proximity. “Rafe, what are you—”

“What?” he interrupted, smirking as he leaned back, his grip firm on your waist. “You looked uncomfortable sitting up there. Now you’ve got the best seat in the house. You’re welcome.”

The others barely glanced at you, too distracted by Kelce’s next wild story. But you could feel every inch of Rafe’s attention, the way his fingers pressed just a little too firmly into your hip, keeping you anchored to him.

“Rafe,” you hissed under your breath, turning your head slightly to glare at him. “I can’t sit here.”

“Why not?” He tilted his head, his lips brushing your temple in what felt more like a taunt than an accident. “You’ve done it before.”

“That’s not the point—”

“Relax,” he cut you off, his voice a little quieter, a little sharper. “You were falling off the couch anyway. I’m just keeping you steady.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure how to respond without drawing more attention. From the outside, it probably looked like you two were just being your usual selves—close and comfortable, like always. But something about the way Rafe’s hand slid from your hip to rest on your thigh, possessive and unmoving, made your heart race.

Someone across the room called your name, and you instinctively leaned forward, trying to get a better view. Rafe’s grip tightened instantly, pulling you back against his chest.

“Where you going?” he asked, his tone light but his actions firm.

“I was just—”

“You’re fine right here,” he said, cutting you off again. He leaned back further, one hand casually draped across your thigh as if to make a point.

You sighed, shooting him a look. “Are you serious right now?”

He grinned, his eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite place. “Dead serious, sweetheart.”

The group around you continued chatting, oblivious to the silent exchange happening between you and Rafe. To them, it was just another night, another example of how inseparable you two always were. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, that Rafe wasn’t just playing around this time.

You didn’t say anything else, unsure of how to handle the way his thumb absentmindedly brushed over your knee, or how his smirk only grew when you stopped trying to move.

“Good girl,” he murmured, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

And just like that, the conversation moved on, leaving you sitting there, unsure if you should be annoyed, flustered, or both. Meanwhile, Rafe leaned back, looking completely at ease, as if you weren’t a storm of emotions in his lap.

He’d won this round, and the worst part? You weren’t even sure he’d been playing.

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Close Coverage // Chapter 5

a/n: readers were split on what they wanted next and i was closer to finishing this chapter so here you go! as always, appreciate all the reactions and comments and love 🫶

wc: 5.2k

warnings: cussing i think?

**** Chapter 5: What Stays With You ****

The plane hit the tarmac with a low jolt, just enough to pull Azzi out of the spiral she’d been free-falling through since wheels up in San Francisco.

She blinked against the shift in light—cloud-filtered morning bleeding through the oval window, muted and gray like the inside of her chest. New York again. One last trip before Valkyries camp started. One more shoot. One more appearance. One more long weekend of pretending this campaign wasn’t doing things to her she didn’t know how to name.

Her stomach turned, unsettled—not from turbulence. From everything else.

She’d told herself this Nike campaign would be surface-level. Easy. Professionally beneficial, personally distant. A story she could script in third person and exit clean. But now it was following her. Under her skin. Behind her ribs.

Like a side effect she forgot to read the label for.

Or maybe—annoyingly—like a crush.

Which it wasn’t. Obviously.

It was just—

No.

Not that.

That was just Kate being annoying and putting words in her head.

Loud, unserious, entirely-too-observant words.

She reached for her phone, not to scroll—just to anchor. Check the time. Pretend she was grounded.

Three texts from Lili. One from Kate.

Lili: y’all looked tense on that panel 😭 Lili: like “someone's sleeping with one eye open” tense Kate: u good?

Azzi swallowed down a breath and locked her phone without answering.

She didn’t even remember exactly what she’d said. Not the specific words. Not the tone. Just the sudden heat behind her cheeks and the soft pressure of the mic against her thigh when the moderator turned to her and asked what it was like working with her campaign rival.

She’d meant to keep it neutral. Factual. All about contrast—game style, public image, intensity.

But then she heard herself say:

“I mean, I think some things are… performative. Not always real.”

It had hung in the air like something sharper than it was meant to be. Not a dagger, but not harmless either.

Paige had smiled. Of course she had. That same practiced, press-ready smile. All teeth and posture and golden-hour charm.

But Azzi had seen the flicker before it. The beat between the breath and the grin. Like something pulled taut had snapped. Not quite shock. Not quite embarrassment.

Something quieter. Contained. A ripple of real emotion in a performance space.

Annoyance, maybe. Or anger. But if Azzi was honest with herself—and lately, that honesty had started showing up without permission—maybe it was hurt.

She hadn’t meant to cause that. She wasn’t even sure she could. But the second Paige’s eyes flicked sideways, like a camera flash had gone off in her brain, Azzi knew she’d said too much.

She'd replayed it at least seventeen times since. On the train to the airport. In the hotel mirror. While brushing her teeth.

Which—why?

Why did she care that much? Why did she keep thinking about the exact moment Paige’s smile twitched? Why did it matter if the word performative landed in the wrong spot?

It wasn’t like Paige hadn’t been called worse. It wasn’t like Azzi hadn’t said worse—in her head, at least.

But still. It clung to her. Stupid, unnecessary guilt.

Or something that felt enough like guilt to be annoying.

The plane taxied toward the gate, a soft mechanical whine underfoot. Azzi glanced out the window again—pavement and jet bridges and the low haze of city skyline barely in view. Even the sky looked tired.

This campaign was supposed to be clean. Exposure, visibility, narrative. A chess move for her brand. 

That’s what her agent called it: “A smart step.”

Azzi had repeated that phrase until it calcified. Until she believed it. Until she could say it out loud without flinching.

This is good for your career. This is good for your brand. This is good for your future.

So why did it feel like every part of her was bracing for impact?

The arrivals terminal smelled like cinnamon pretzels, burnt espresso, and overpriced cologne—the sensory trifecta of a city that never shut up. Azzi stepped off the jet bridge with her hood already up, sleeves pulled halfway over her hands. A little armor. A little camouflage. She moved through the terminal with practiced detachment—shoulders squared, eyes forward, earbuds in. This time, she actually hit play.

Hit You Where It Hurts started in her ears, the first thump of drums already syncing with the low-grade tension pulsing behind her eyes.

It seemed fitting. She wasn’t sure why. The title felt like a dare.

As she wove past people dragging carry-ons like anchors, she finally texted Lili and Kate back—ignoring their previous messages entirely.

Azzi: landed. made it to NY.

The reply was instant.

Lili: you & the golden girl. promo soulmates 🥲 Lili: have fun in nyc don’t fall in love Kate: too late lol

Azzi rolled her eyes, but it didn’t stop the flush that crept into her cheeks. She pretended it was from the recycled cabin air.

Outside, the city hit her in the face like it always did—humid concrete, cab horns, pigeons that didn’t move when you got too close. She gave the rideshare driver the address without thinking. Brickley’s gym. Not the hotel.

She could’ve dropped her bag, taken a nap, decompressed.

Instead, she was heading straight into a two-hour workout.

Movement made more sense than feelings. Ball echoing. Sweat on her neck. A simple, explainable ache.

It was just a reset. That was all.

Just reps. Breath. Control. No emotion.

No Paige.

****

The gym door clicked shut behind her with a mechanical hum, locking out the chaos of the street. Azzi stepped into the space like she belonged there, even though her body was still buzzing from the flight and the faint metallic tang of plane air clung to the back of her throat.

It was cooler inside than she expected—industrial AC pumping through exposed vents, the faint echo of a ball hitting the hardwood somewhere out of sight. Familiar. Predictable. Clean lines and clear expectations.

She exhaled slowly, letting her shoulders drop.

The front court was empty. For a second, she thought she had the place to herself.

Then she heard it. A bounce. A squeak of sneakers. Another bounce—faster this time.

She rounded the corner and there she was.

Paige.

Hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. Cutoff Sparks tee damp with sweat, untucked and clinging in a way Azzi immediately decided was unnecessary. She was mid-rep—driving into a left-handed stepback, landing smooth, and flicking the shot off with that same stupid, effortless wrist snap.

The net swished like punctuation.

Azzi froze for half a second—just long enough to register the injustice of it.

Of course she was here. Of course the one place Azzi came to get clear had already been fogged up by someone else’s energy.

Brickley spotted her from across the baseline, waving casually like this was all very normal.

“Overlap today,” he called. “Should be good for both of you.”

Azzi gave a nod that could’ve meant anything. She didn’t move.

Paige finally turned around, towel in hand, half-grinning like she’d seen her five seconds ago instead of five days.

“Hey, Fudd.”

Azzi blinked, adjusted the strap on her duffel.

“Didn’t know this was a group session,” she said flatly.

Paige’s smile widened, all sunshine and subtext. “Me either, guess we just got lucky.”

Azzi didn’t answer. Just dropped her bag near the edge of the court and started lacing her shoes like it was a solo mission.

She could get through this. She could keep it professional. She could pretend her heartbeat hadn’t already gone traitor.

Just sweat. Just reps.

Nothing more.

Azzi started with dynamic stretches, slow and deliberate, like she could stretch the unease right out of her body. High knees. Lunges. Shoulder circles that cracked with stiffness. She moved like muscle memory could save her from whatever this was.

Paige tossed the ball to Brickley, shook out her arms, and jogged toward the far sideline to stretch out her hip flexors, eyes flicking briefly toward Azzi.

Brickley said something low, and Paige laughed.

Azzi didn’t catch the words, but the sound grated anyway.

Not because it was fake. But because it wasn’t.

Azzi dropped into a squat hold, elbows pushing into her knees. Inhale. Exhale. Again.

She could’ve gone to the hotel. Taken a nap. Recentered.

But she came here instead—chose this. And now Paige was here, too. Because the universe had a great sense of humor.

Brickley clapped once. “Partner flow. One moves, one feeds. Catch-and-shoot into footwork reset. Then switch.”

Azzi blinked. “You’re pairing us?”

Brickley raised his eyebrows without looking up. “Problem?”

Paige stepped forward, spinning the ball between her hands. “What, you don’t wanna play with me?” she teased lightly.

Azzi exhaled, already rolling out her shoulders. She moved toward the wing, catching the ball Paige tossed her without fanfare.

They started.

Catch. Shoot. Relocate. Again.

Azzi didn’t look at her. But she could feel Paige’s gaze tracking her steps. Every curl, every cut. Paige passed clean, sharp, unbothered.

Azzi focused on the rim. On her balance. On her breath.

Still— There was a part of her clocking every flicker of movement in her peripheral vision. Every time Paige smoothed a hand down her shorts or pushed her ponytail back. Every breath that felt a little too close behind her.

They switched.

Azzi tossed passes without flair. Paige still made them look pretty. She bounced into a jab step, drove middle, stopped short on a dime. Net. Again. Then she passed to the wing, just a little too sharp. Paige caught it clean anyway, rose up, and sank another one like it was easy.

Azzi looked away, shook out her hands.

Then, under her breath—barely louder than the bounce of the ball— “You ever miss?”

She didn’t mean to say it. Or maybe she did. She just didn’t mean for Paige to hear.

But Paige caught the next pass, didn’t shoot right away. She dribbled once, slow and casual, and glanced over with a grin that had teeth in it.

“Not when you’re watching.”

The line landed right between Azzi’s ribs.

She felt the heat crawl up her neck before she could stop it. A flush—light, immediate, absolutely unwanted.

She was not blushing.

Except she was.

Third time today. Because of her.

Azzi clenched her jaw, forced her face neutral, and sent the next pass hard to the top of the key like maybe the velocity would clear the air.

They didn’t talk for the next ten minutes. But the silence? It felt louder than the ball.

Paige

She didn’t mean to look.

Not really.

But she caught it anyway—the way Azzi’s ears went pink after her stupid little "not when you’re watching" line landed.

And that was… something.

Paige missed the next shot. Brickley didn’t say anything, but she felt it—just barely. The shift in energy. The thud of her own pulse climbing for no good reason.

They wrapped up the drill in silence. Sharp, efficient, like they were both trying to un-feel the last ten minutes. Paige wiped her face with her towel, jaw tight. Her heart was still racing, but not from the workout.

She told herself it was just adrenaline. Endorphins. One of those post-practice chemical rushes.

The kind of lie that works better when you’re not halfway to believing the opposite.

The locker room was colder than the court. Not freezing—just still. Echoey. The kind of quiet that settled in your chest and made everything feel louder than it was. Like even the air was waiting for something to happen.

Azzi was already inside, hoodie half-zipped, curls damp and frizzing around her face. She was crouched near her locker, carefully gathering her things into her bag with the kind of focus that looked practiced. Like staying busy might keep everything else from cracking open.

Paige dropped her bag a few lockers down, peeled off her Sparks tee, and turned toward the open locker like it meant something. Like if she moved with enough ease, she could trick her body into forgetting the tension sitting between her shoulder blades.

She caught it then—just the flick of Azzi’s gaze, quick and clean, like she hadn’t meant to look. But she had. Paige knew the difference. She always noticed that part. The not-looking that was actually looking.

And still—Azzi didn’t say anything.

It was maddening. The way she could be in a room, in the same space, and somehow still feel entirely unreachable. Like she’d built a wall and installed a security system and then added cameras just to be safe.

Paige had tried to laugh it off. Tried to chalk it up to the whole “ice queen” thing everyone online liked to say. But it wasn’t just ice. It was something deeper. Something that stayed with you.

And Paige couldn’t figure out why she kept wanting to get past it.

Or why it bugged her that she couldn’t.

She grabbed her towel from the bench, slung it over her shoulder like she was heading to the showers, tried to shake the feeling. Her skin was still too warm, her chest still too tight—and none of it had anything to do with the drills.

She smirked before she could stop herself.

“It’s okay,” she said, tossing her towel onto the bench. “You can say it. You’re impressed.”

Azzi didn’t respond. Didn’t even flinch.

Paige turned a little more, catching the side of her face. “Not even a little?”

Azzi stood up slowly, tugging her hoodie sleeves over her wrists like armor. Her eyes stayed somewhere near the middle distance.

“You always this loud after drills?”

There was no bite in it. No smirk. Just that same careful tone. Like Azzi had sanded the emotion out of her voice on purpose.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “You always this allergic to giving a compliment?”

Azzi rolled her eyes—but didn’t bolt. Didn’t pack up. Didn’t slap her usual shut-it-down expression across her face and walk out.

Paige lifted her hands halfway, like relax. “Dude, I’m just joking.”

But even she could hear it. That thin, low thread under her voice that made it not just a joke.

The silence settled around them—thick and damp and full of things that hadn’t been said yet.

Paige cracked the seal on her water bottle, took a sip, and stared straight ahead.

She didn’t know what she’d done. Or if she’d done anything at all.

Sometimes it felt like Azzi just decided who got access and who didn’t. And clearly, Paige hadn’t made the cut.

But then—there were these moments. A glance that lingered. A laugh that almost slipped. A blush that definitely wasn’t imagined. And Paige would start to wonder if she was imagining the rest of it, too.

If she was chasing a wall that wasn’t even hers to climb.

She exhaled slowly, jaw tight.

Enough was enough.

“Okay,” she said, voice low. “Seriously. What’s your deal with me?”

Azzi blinked. “My deal?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, quieter now. “You’re not exactly subtle. And that thing you said at the panel…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. It had been looping in her head for days, wordless but sharp. Not even about the words anymore—just the way they landed.

Azzi shifted her weight, hooked her thumb under the strap of her bag. Her eyes dropped, then lifted again—never quite meeting Paige’s.

“It was a panel,” she said finally. “I said a thing. You said things.”

It wasn’t flippant. But it wasn’t honest, either.

Paige waited. Let the silence do the rest.

Azzi’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of her hoodie sleeve, picking at a loose thread she hadn’t noticed before. Or maybe she had.

Then, softly—almost like she regretted asking the second it left her lips— “You want the truth?”

There was no sarcasm in it. No challenge. Just… something real.

Paige blinked. Her heart kicked once, like it knew something her mouth hadn’t caught up to yet.

Did she? Want the truth?

Because the thing about the truth was: you didn’t get to un-hear it. And part of her already knew—whatever Azzi was about to say, it wasn’t going to make anything easier.

But she still nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

Azzi looked at her for a long moment. Like she was deciding whether or not it would wreck something.

And then, quietly—too even for how much it hurt—

“I didn’t go to UConn because of you.”

The words didn’t feel dramatic. There was no edge in them. Just fact.

Paige’s mind scrambled to connect the dots. But Azzi was already somewhere else—already in the past, standing in a memory she’d never been able to shake.

Azzi Eight Years Ago – UConn Visit

The air smelled like floor polish and nerves.

Azzi tugged at the hem of her sweatshirt, trying to play it cool, even though her stomach felt like it was holding a plank. She’d spent the afternoon walking through practice facilities, sitting in the film room, listening to Geno talk about legacy and versatility and how he saw her as a perfect fit.

He’d made her feel like she belonged there.

Like it could be hers.

CD had told her to head to the locker room to meet some of the girls before they went to dinner. She’d planned to walk Azzi down, but got pulled into a conversation near the offices and waved her off instead.

“They’ll love you. Go ahead—I’ll meet you in there.”

Azzi had smiled, nodded. Told herself she was fine.

But now she stood just outside the corridor, one foot in, one foot out, trying to get her heart to slow down.

She heard voices up ahead. Laughter. Someone tapping a ball on tile.

She took a deep breath, fixed her face.

Just as she was about to take the step, she heard her name.

Stopped cold.

There was something in the tone. Familiar, but sharp. And she knew that voice—Paige.

They’d orbited the same spaces for years: USA basketball, elite camps, media pieces that mentioned them in the same sentence like it was a rivalry neither of them had signed up for. 

Azzi had always kept a little distance. Paige had been warm, sometimes, but always too big, too loud, too seen. And Azzi—she had learned early how easy it was to disappear next to girls like that. There was that moment, once, too. Small, forgettable. But it stayed.

Not because of what was said, but because of what wasn’t. Because she’d walked in hoping to be seen—and wasn’t.

That was the first time she felt it. That low, quiet ache of being an afterthought. Like maybe she wasn’t someone people saved space for.

She didn’t mean to listen. That’s what she told herself.

But the truth was—she couldn’t make herself walk in.

Something about the sound of Paige’s voice, steady and too familiar, held her in place. Like her body knew before her mind did that whatever came next would be the kind of thing you carry. The kind that doesn’t leave clean.

She stood there, still. Not brave enough to go forward. Not ready to turn around.

So she stayed. And she listened.

“Look, Azzi is a decent player,” Paige was saying. “She’s got a good shot, sure. But her game’s not complete. We don’t need her. You’re the one who makes this team run.”

The words landed like they’d been waiting for her.

Azzi went still, every part of her body suddenly weightless and heavy at the same time. Paige kept talking, but it blurred—low and muffled, like someone pressed a pillow over the sound.

Decent. Not complete. We don’t need her.

Azzi didn’t even know who Paige was talking to—but it didn’t matter.

She stood in the hallway, one hand pressed lightly to the wall. Like she needed something solid. Like she wasn’t sure what would happen if she let go.

And then—

“Azzi?” CD’s voice behind her, too bright.

Azzi startled. CD ushered her forward with a smile.

Paige looked up as she and CD stepped in. Christyn beside her.

And Paige smiled.

That same golden-girl smile. Easy. Bright. Like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just said Azzi didn’t matter five seconds earlier.

“Hey, Azzi,” she’d said, like they were friends. Like Azzi hadn’t just been standing in the hallway, listening to her get reduced to a line of commentary.

And later—at dinner, over pasta and recruiting talk and small jokes that felt like performances—Paige had leaned over, all warmth and charm, and said she’d love to see her at UConn.

Said it like it was a gift.

Azzi had nodded. Smiled back. Said me too.

But something had already shifted. Quietly. Completely.

Because in that hallway—before she ever walked into that room—she’d learned everything she needed to know.

She couldn’t play with someone she couldn’t trust. And she couldn’t trust someone who could talk shit and smile in the same breath. Who could decide she wasn’t needed, and then pretend like they were on the same side.

Not then. Not ever.

Paige

It didn’t register at first.

Like maybe she hadn’t heard her right. Or maybe Azzi hadn’t meant it like that. But she had. Every word.

Paige stared at her. The edges of the locker room went kind of soft, the corners blurring like her brain needed a second to catch up. Like her body understood before her mind did—this is going to stay with you.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, voice too quiet, too careful. “I—what does that even mean?”

Azzi looked at her. Not angry. Not bitter. Just… resolved.

“You were talking to Christyn,” she said. “In the locker room. During my visit.”

Paige blinked. “Okay, and?”

“I was supposed to meet the team. CD told me to head in on my own. You didn’t know I was there.”

Paige shook her head, slow. “Azzi, I don’t—”

“You said I was decent. That my game wasn’t complete. That the team didn’t need me.”

The words landed harder this time, like they were freshly cut. No space between them. No air.

Paige’s mouth opened, then closed. She searched her own memory—tried to reach back and find the moment—but it was fog. Half-formed. Something she might have said, in the way people talk when they’re trying to hype someone else up. Trying to sound confident. Sound like a leader.

“I—” she started, but the words didn’t come.

“I heard it,” Azzi said, softer now. “And then I walked in. And you smiled at me. Like nothing happened.”

That part hit hardest.

Because that part sounded like her.

Paige felt something in her stomach twist—slow and sharp. Embarrassing in its precision.

She didn’t remember saying it. Not exactly. But she believed that she had. And somehow, that was worse.

Because maybe this was the thing Azzi had seen the whole time. Not the version Paige gave in interviews. Not the one who meant well, tried hard, smiled often.

But the version who said things like that. Carelessly. Easily. Who could cut someone and not even know she’d done it.

Paige took a step forward before she even realized she was moving.

“Azzi… I don’t remember saying that,” she said, but even as the words left her mouth, a knot pulled tight in her stomach.

Because she could’ve. She could absolutely hear herself saying something like that. In that voice. That tone. That moment.

And wasn’t that the whole problem?

Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“You did say it,” she said. “And I don’t really care how you meant it.”

That landed harder than anything else so far. Not the memory. Not even the name drop. Just the flatness. The finality of it.

Paige’s chest tightened. She tried again, slower this time.

“I was probably just—I don’t know—hyping Christyn up. Making her feel confident. That’s how coaches talk. That’s how everyone talks. It wasn’t meant to be—”

“It was to me.”

That stopped her.

The room felt quieter than before. Like even the air had backed up. Like the sound had gone still out of respect for the thing that just split open.

Paige’s words stuck in her throat, jammed somewhere between guilt and something she didn’t quite have a name for.

“I didn’t know you heard,” she said. “If I had… I would’ve said something. I would’ve explained—”

Azzi gave a laugh, but there was no humor in it. Just breath. Just edge.

“No, you wouldn’t have,” she said. “You smiled at me. You said you’d love to see me at UConn.”

And there it was.

The worst part.

Because Paige remembered saying it. Not the exact words, but the vibe. The delivery. The smile. The warmth. The way she leaned into it like it was something generous, like she was doing Azzi a favor.

Like it wasn’t the second half of a contradiction.

And maybe it hadn’t felt fake to her in the moment. Maybe it hadn’t felt like a lie.

But now, standing here, it did.

Because maybe that was the truth Azzi had been carrying all along.

Performative. Fake.

Not just a jab. A reflection. A mirror Paige hadn’t wanted to look into.

“I did hope you’d come,” she said quietly. But it sounded hollow now, like an afterthought.

Azzi just looked at her. Tired in a way that made Paige feel ten years younger.

“You just didn’t think I’d hear the part that came before it.”

There was a long pause.

Paige didn’t know what she was supposed to do with her hands, so she let them hang by her sides. Her palms felt hot. Her stomach was a fist. She felt exposed. Not in a media way. Not in the way she could charm her way out of. This was the kind of naked you couldn’t walk back from.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I mean it.”

Azzi’s eyes flicked up, but not for long. She nodded once—barely—and pulled her bag onto her shoulder.

“I’m not telling you so you’ll apologize,” she said. “I’m telling you so you’ll stop acting confused.”

She didn’t say it to be cruel. She said it because it was true.

And Paige didn’t have anything left to say.

Azzi turned toward the door, each step quiet, steady, like she’d already made peace with the part Paige was just now catching up to.

She didn’t look back.

And Paige didn’t stop her.

She just stood there. Still. Staring at the space Azzi left behind. Heart pounding. Mouth dry.

Thinking about all the times she’d felt Azzi pull away—without ever knowing why.

And now she did.

Not everything broke loud. Some things cracked in silence. And just kept splitting.

And maybe she was exactly what Azzi had said she was. Maybe she always had been.

Azzi

The hallway was quiet behind her.

Azzi didn’t rush. She walked like it was just another casual Friday. Like her heart wasn’t still kicking the inside of her ribs. Like saying it hadn’t pulled something loose.

She didn’t look back.

Not because she didn’t want to. But because she knew how that would end. Paige, still standing there. Still figuring it out. Still wearing that same look — like the world had only just shifted, but for her it had been tilted all along.

Azzi reached the end of the corridor and leaned against the wall just past the stairwell, pressing the back of her head into the concrete.

She exhaled, slow.

It didn’t feel good. Not exactly.

There was no relief. No cinematic release. No sense of triumph.

Just… quiet. And something underneath it. Like grief, but smaller. Older.

She pulled her phone out of her hoodie pocket, just to do something with her hands. Four unread texts from Lili. One from Kate.

She didn’t open them.

The screen dimmed and went black in her palm.

She hadn’t planned to say it. Not then. Not like that.

She’d thought about it, sure. Wondered what Paige would do if she ever knew. If she even remembered.

But when Paige had asked—“What’s your deal with me?”—Azzi had looked at her, really looked at her, and just felt tired.

Tired of holding something that heavy, that long. Tired of pretending it hadn’t shaped everything that came after.

The thing was… Paige hadn’t meant to hurt her. Azzi knew that now. She probably hadn’t even thought twice about it.

And that was almost worse.

Because for Paige, it had been nothing. Just a sentence. A throwaway comment in a room full of noise. But for Azzi? It had rewritten everything.

She closed her eyes for a second, pressing the heel of her hand against her temple.

Not everything shattered on impact. Some breaks just deepened over time—quiet, clean, and easy to miss if you weren’t the one carrying the crack.

She didn’t say it to make Paige feel bad. That wasn’t the point.

She said it so Paige would finally understand the space between them. Why Azzi had never stepped closer. Why she’d pulled back before they ever started.

It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t change what happened.

But at least now, Azzi wasn’t the only one carrying it.

She stayed against the wall a few seconds longer, eyes closed. Long enough to count the beats of her own pulse and wonder what came next.

The campaign.

That was the next thing.

There was still a whole shoot tomorrow. Photos. Press snippets about the upcoming match up. Maybe a behind-the-scenes video where they had to answer questions side by side like nothing had ever happened.

She’d been dreading it since the last panel. Since that “performative” comment slipped out like a dare. Since Paige had looked at her with that frozen smile like she’d been hit across the face and told to thank her for it.

And now?

Now it felt like they’d both been standing in the dark and finally someone turned on a light. Not comforting. Just exposing.

Azzi sighed and shifted her weight, phone still clutched in one hand.

Part of her was worried the campaign would tank now. That everything would be awkward. That Paige wouldn’t be able to look at her without wincing.

But another part of her—quiet, honest, worn thin—hoped maybe this would actually help.

Maybe now they could just… stop pretending. Stop smiling for the sake of optics. Stop walking around each other like it was all fine.

If Paige wanted to be cold now, fine. If she didn’t want to try anymore, even better.

Azzi didn’t need fake.

She could handle distant. She could handle real.

At least then the tension wouldn’t be so weird. At least then it wouldn’t hurt in that confusing, unspeakable way—like something almost was, but never could be.

Maybe now they could just get through the rest of it.

Two pros. Two players. Nothing more.

[yunh0hotteok]

Our Rag Doll

Yunho x Mingi x Reader

Warnings: ‼️

Filthy teasing, dominant tension, build-up, Sexting, D/s dynamics, praise, light degradation, possessiveness, oral fixation, anticipation, choking, spit, orgasm control, spanking, wax play, gag, pain and pleasure, humiliation, biting, rough sex, double penetration

The car door slammed shut behind Yunho with a satisfying thud. He ran a hand through his hair, still slightly damp from the last shot—shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, exposing the lines you knew too well. Mingi was already sprawled in the back seat, long legs spread lazily, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

They were buzzing.

Not from the shoot, not from the camera flashes still echoing in their minds—but from the fact that you weren’t there. You hadn’t been on set today, and that had driven them slowly insane. Every suggestive pose, every shirtless shot, every low murmur from the stylist had only made them think of you: your voice, your skin, your obedience.

Yunho glanced at his phone. His thumb hovered for a second before he opened your chat.

Yunho 🖤:
Still in bed, baby?
You’d better be naked. We’re five minutes into the car and Mingi already has a problem.
And it’s not gonna wait.

Mingi leaned forward from the backseat, reading over Yunho’s shoulder with a low chuckle.

“You’re too nice,” he muttered, unlocking his own phone. “She needs a warning.”

Mingi 🔥:
Hope your throat’s ready.
Because I’ve been hard since the shirtless shot, and I plan to use your mouth the second we walk through the door.

A heartbeat later:

Mingi 🔥:
No touching yourself.
We’ll know if you do.

Yunho tilted the phone slightly, snapped a picture of the bulge in his jeans—impressive and unmistakable—and sent it.

Yunho 🖤:
Look what you’re doing to us.
Bet you’re dripping already.
Be a good girl and wait for us in nothing but that collar.

Mingi hissed softly, palming himself through his pants as the car hit a red light. “Fuck, she better answer soon. I’m gonna lose it.”

“Send her a voice message,” Yunho said, his voice already lower, darker. “Let her hear what she does to us.”

Mingi didn’t hesitate. He hit record.

Voice Message from Mingi 🔥:
“You hear that, baby? That’s my belt unbuckling. Thinking about how your legs shake when we hold you down. I wanna see your mascara ruined before we even fuck you. Be ready.”

Yunho grinned, eyes dark. “She’s going to beg.”

Another message pinged into the chat. This one from Yunho, simple but lethal.

Yunho 🖤:
Ten minutes. On your knees when we walk in.
If we see panties, we’ll rip them off with our teeth.

You’d barely managed to crawl to the center of the living room rug before you heard the front door open.

Their footsteps were slow... Like predators approaching their prey.

You swallowed hard, pulse racing as you kept your eyes low just the way they liked. Naked, collar clasped snug around your neck, hands resting on your thighs—exactly how they trained you. You couldn’t stop your thighs from pressing together, even though you knew they’d punish you for it.

The door clicked shut. Mingi’s voice came first—low, dripping with amusement.

“Oh, baby,” he drawled, stepping into your periphery. “Look at you.”

Yunho’s chuckle followed, deeper, darker, from behind you. “She’s shaking already. Guess someone was touching herself.”

“I didn’t!” you gasped automatically—but your voice was too soft. Too high. Too needy.

They heard the lie through your soft and plump lips.

In a flash, Yunho’s hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back so you had to look into his deepened chestnut eyes. The look on his face? Absolutely devastating. He didn’t even need to speak for your breath to catch in your throat.

“You dare lie to me, sweetheart?” he asked, deadly quiet. “What’s rule number one?”

Your lips trembled. “N-no touching without permission…”

“Exactly.” His fingers tightened. “So unless you want your punishment tripled, I expect the truth. Did our little slut touch her pussy while we were gone?”

You nodded, shame burning your skin, and Yunho clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. “Mingi. You hear that?”

“Mmhm.” Mingi was already stripping off his shirt, standing in front of you now, abs flexing as he undid his belt. “She’s getting cock in her throat before anything else. Might help her remember her place.”

Yunho pushed you forward. “Hands behind your back. Mouth open.”

You obeyed immediately.

Mingi stepped closer, towering over you with that infuriating smirk you loved so much. He gripped his cock at the base. Leaking precum.

“Stick your tongue out, babygirl,” he ordered. “I want to see where I’m fucking.”

You obeyed, eyes wide as he ran the tip across your tongue slowly—back and forth—before spitting into your mouth and tapping his cock against your lips.

“Swallow it.”

You did.

“Good girl.”

Yunho knelt behind you, one hand sliding between your thighs while the other wrapped around your throat. “She’s so soaked,” he growled. “Fucking dripping down her legs.”

“Then let’s ruin her.”

Mingi shoved his cock into your mouth, slow but firm, groaning as your lips wrapped around him. His hands went to your hair, holding your head in place as he thrust deeper—Yunho still teasing behind you, fingers barely grazing your folds.

“You don’t cum until we say, okay?” Yunho hissed in your ear. “Tonight’s about us using you. You’re just a toy.”

Mingi groaned above you. “Our perfect little cocksleeve.”

You moaned around him, overwhelmed already—heat building so fast it felt cruel. Yunho’s fingers finally slipped inside, two at once, stretching you as he sucked a mark into your shoulder leaving his mark on you.

“God, she’s so fucking tight,” he muttered, pulling his fingers out and holding them up to show Mingi. “You wanna taste?”

Mingi grinned wickedly. “Always.”

He pulled out of your mouth just long enough to suck Yunho’s fingers into his mouth, eyes locked on yours as he did it. The sight made you whimper, hips shifting back to chase contact—only to be met with a harsh smack from Yunho on your ass.

“Still disobedient,” he said with a sigh, though the smirk in his voice gave him away. “You’ll learn.”

He stood, unbuckling his pants, and within seconds was lining his cock up behind you.

“Open up, baby,” Mingi purred, sliding back into your throat.

Yunho pushed inside at the same time—and God, you saw stars.

Filled in both ends. Held in place. Used, like they’d promised.

The rhythm they found was merciless—Yunho pounding into you from behind, one hand gripping your waist, the other pulling your collar like a leash, while Mingi fucked your throat with a growl, tears falling from your eyes as he hit the back of your throat. Flushed in the face.

“You look so pretty like this,” Yunho said between thrusts. “Completely ruined.”

“Our little toy,” Mingi echoed. “Just how we like her.”

You were lost in them.

Your face was wet—spit, tears, precum—your mind fuzzy from being filled and fucked. You barely noticed when Yunho slipped out of you, his hand stroking himself lazily as he admired the way your hole fluttered, clenching around nothing.

“She’s trembling,” he said with a smirk. “Mingi, grab the bag.”

Your stomach dropped.

The bag meant punishment toys. Not soft touches. Not praise.

Pain.

Mingi reappeared moments later with the familiar black leather kit in hand, placing it down in front of you with a soft, ominous zip. “You remember what this means, don’t you, baby?”

You whimpered, nodding.

“Color?” Yunho asked, voice deep but careful.

“Green,” you breathed.

“Good fucking girl.”

Yunho pulled you up to your knees again, fingers gripping your chin to look upwards. “You touched yourself without permission. You lied. You thought you could get away with it?”

“No, sir…”

“You’re going to learn tonight,” Mingi muttered, already pulling out a set of silver nipple clamps, thin and cruel with a delicate chain between. “We’re going to break you open.”

Yunho knelt in front of you, running his thumbs over your nipples, pinching and tugging until you gasped, arching into the pain. “Still sensitive,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

Then he nodded at Mingi, who leaned in, attaching the clamps one by one.

Pain lanced through your chest as they bit down, making your whole body jolt.

“Breathe through it,” Yunho said soothingly, even as his hand trailed down to deliver a brutal smack to your inner thigh. “Let us hurt you.”

“Let us use you,” Mingi added, now holding up a thick white candle.

Your eyes widened. He grinned.

“You didn’t think we forgot about the wax, did you?”

He lit it with a click, holding the golden flame high above you as Yunho pulled you over his lap, your ass raised perfectly in the air, thighs already marked from earlier.

“You’ll count,” Yunho said simply. “Ten drops. If you miss one, we start over.”

“Yes, sir…”

The first drop landed on your lower back—hot and immediate, like a spark sinking into your skin. You hissed, fists clenching.

“One,” you gasped.

Then another. Then another.

Each drop was spaced with a pause, each landing lower than the last—down your spine, over your ass cheeks, across the back of your thighs.

“Eight…”

“Such a good girl,” Mingi praised darkly, his fingers tracing over the hardened wax.

“Let’s see if she can take this,” Yunho growled, delivering a harsh spank to your right cheek, then another to the left, alternating until your skin burned and tears pricked your eyes again.

The pain was unbearable. The arousal? Worse.

Mingi reached between your legs, two fingers sliding through your dripping cunt.

“God,” he laughed. “She’s wetter than before. You like being tortured, baby?”

“Y-yes—sir—!”

Yunho yanked the chain between the nipple clamps suddenly, drawing a cry from your lips so loud your throat went raw.

“You’re our perfect little masochist,” he snarled. “So desperate to be…. ours”

“Say it,” Mingi demanded. “Say you want to be used.”

“I—I want to be used—I want to be ruined—I’m yours—!”

Yunho shoved you down onto your back, the wax cracking and flaking off your skin as you hit the floor. He straddled your chest, cock slick and ready again.

“You wanna cum, baby?”

“Yes, please—”

“Beg.”

You sobbed. “Please, please let me cum—I’ll be good, I swear, I’ll take everything, please sir—”

Mingi was already kneeling between your thighs, two fingers inside you, curling just right. His mouth hovered over your clit, but he didn’t touch.

Not yet.

“Please—Mingi, Yunho, I need you—I need to cum, I need you to ruin me—!”

Yunho climbed on top of you. Cock between your voluptuous tits. Rubbing the tip on your tightly squeezed nipples.

That did it.

Mingi slammed his fingers into you as his mouth sucked hard on your clit, finally giving you what you were sobbing for.

Yunho shoved his cock into your mouth again, cutting off your screams as the orgasm ripped through you—violent, overwhelming, painful and perfect.

Your whole body convulsed. You were crying, gagging, choking around Yunho’s cock, but you couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

And they didn’t stop.

Not until you collapsed, completely spent, the clamps removed, wax peeled away, body trembling from everything they'd given—and taken—from you.

Mingi kissed your cheek softly. “You did so fucking well, baby.”

Yunho stroked your hair, voice low. “But we’re not done.”

His hand wrapped around your throat again, possessive, hungry.

“You’re gonna cum again.”

“And again.”

“Until you forget how to say anything but our names.”

Your body felt like it had been turned inside out.

Muscles twitching, nerves fried, lips raw from sucking, cunt aching from being used—and you hadn’t had enough.

Yunho looked down at you, brushing the sweat-matted hair from your forehead. “Look at her, Mingi. So beautiful.”

Mingi chuckled darkly. “She’s not ruined yet.”

From the toy bag, he pulled out the soft black ball gag with the leather strap—your safe word gag. The one they only used when they wanted to really play.

“She’s drooling already,” Yunho murmured. “Might as well finish the look.”

You whined weakly, but didn’t resist as Mingi strapped it into place. The ball nestled against your tongue, stretching your jaw just enough to remind you you couldn’t speak—couldn’t beg, even if you wanted to.

A click.

The collar.

Thick, black leather with a single silver ring. Yunho buckled it around your neck slowly, like he was marking you all over again.

Then came the leash.

He clipped it on, gave a firm tug.

“Crawl.”

You hesitated. Your arms shook. Legs wobbled.

Another tug.

Yunho’s voice dropped, icy and commanding. “I said crawl.”

You dropped to your hands and knees, every inch of your body screaming in soreness as you obeyed. The tile was cool under your skin. Your juices dripped down your thighs as you moved, eyes glossy behind the gag.

Mingi walked beside you, stroking your hair mockingly. “Look at our fuck toy. Can’t even walk. So pathetic.”

“Mmff—!” you moaned through the gag, thighs clenching.

And then, in front of you—just a few feet from the edge of the bed—they stopped. You froze too, panting, confused.

But then Yunho tugged you closer and stepped back.

And you saw it.

Mingi was palming Yunho’s cock. Slow. Teasing. His eyes locked on you, lips curled in a smirk.

“She wants this,” he said, letting his thumb tease over Yunho’s tip.

Yunho groaned, rolling his hips forward. “But she doesn’t get it.”

You whined, eyes wide and desperate as you watched Mingi drop to his knees. Big, hard, glistening with your spit.

You started crawling forward again instinctively—but Yunho yanked the leash hard.

“No. You stay there and watch.”

Mingi wrapped his lips around the tip, sucking slowly—lazily—like he had all the time in the world. His hand worked Yunho’s shaft with practiced strokes, twisting just right.

Your pussy throbbed and was on fire.

Yunho moaned. “Fuck… her pretty little mouth is open and drooling behind that gag. Look at her. She wants it so bad.”

Mingi hummed in agreement around him, the vibrations making Yunho grunt.

You pressed your thighs together, the ache unbearable, clit throbbing. You needed friction. Anything.

Yunho saw it instantly.

“Did you just grind on the floor like a bitch in heat?” he growled. “You really want to cum that bad?”

You nodded frantically, moaning behind the gag.

Mingi popped off Yunho’s cock with a wet sound, then turned to you. “Go on. Rub that filthy little cunt on the floor. Show us how desperate you are.”

You cried out—humiliated, overstimulated, aching—but you did it.

You spread your knees wider, and slowly began grinding your soaked core against the cold tile. It burned. It wasn’t enough. It was too much.

The leash pulled again—Yunho yanked it until your head tilted back.

“Don’t cum,” he snapped. “If you cum without permission, we’ll edge you all fucking night and not let you finish once. Got it?”

You nodded, tears spilling over as you rocked your hips helplessly against the floor.

And they kept going.

Mingi sucked Yunho off deep now, fingers gripping his hips, throat working around the length as Yunho fucked into his mouth slowly, deliberately.

The slurping sounds. Yunho’s moans. Mingi’s eyes on you the entire time.

You were shaking. You were so close.

And then—

“Stop.”

Everything froze.

Yunho’s voice, cold and deadly.

“Get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

You scrambled up, muscles screaming, vision blurry. They didn’t help you.

Because they liked watching you suffer.

As you collapsed onto the sheets, the leash still dangling, the gag soaked with spit—you knew.

You weren’t just going to cum.

Your body was trembling—leashed, gagged, flushed from crawling across the floor and grinding pathetically for nothing. And now, you were on all fours, chest pressing into the sheets, your ass up and begging.

Mingi smirked behind you. “Look at that hole,” he murmured, spreading your ass cheeks wide. “Red, twitching, already leaking. She’s starving for it.”

Yunho didn’t answer—not verbally.

He leaned down instead, one large hand pushing between your thighs to press his thick fingers into your pussy—already raw and slick from how much you’d been teased. You sobbed behind the gag as two fingers pushed in deep.

Your legs buckled. Mingi caught your waist just in time.

“She’s clenching already,” Yunho said, laughing softly. “We haven’t even started.”

And then the clamps came back.

Cold metal. Rubber-tipped, but still mean. They pinched your nipples sharply, making you whimper—too sensitive, too raw, but it didn’t matter.

Because they wanted the pain.

Mingi slid in behind you, his cock twitching, heavy and thick, dragging along your pussy folds. Teasing.

“Let me,” Yunho said, eyes dark. “You got her mouth last time.”

Mingi grinned. “Be my guest.”

You tried to whine, to protest—but the gag made it useless. Yunho knelt behind you, and without warning, slammed his cock inside with a brutal thrust.

You screamed behind the gag. Your thighs shook violently. You were so sensitive it hurt—but it also made your cunt flutter around him like you were trying to suck him in deeper.

He pulled back slowly—almost lovingly—then slammed forward again, hips snapping against your ass with the force of it. Balls hitting your clit to make a lightning sensation go through your body.

“Oh, fuck,” Yunho growled. “She’s fucking dripping.”

Mingi climbed onto the bed in front of you, tugged the leash tighter until your face pressed into his thigh.

“She’s gonna drown us,” he said, leaning in to kiss Yunho across your back. “You feel how tight she is?”

Yunho grunted. “So. Fucking. Tight.”

Their mouths met over your back—hungry, wet, biting. You could hear the moans they gave each other—could feel their tongues sliding as they kissed above your wrecked body.

Mingi reached down, flicked one of the clamps on your nipples. The sharp pain made you jolt and tighten around Yunho’s cock, which earned you another filthy moan from both of them.

“Oh, she liked that,” Mingi teased. “Maybe I’ll twist the other one.”

You wailed.

Yunho fucked into you harder—snapping his hips mercilessly now, every thrust knocking the air from your lungs. Mingi held your head still by the leash, watching you cry through the gag.

“Such a fucking slut,” he whispered, dragging his fingers down your wet cheeks. “Getting off to pain. Getting off to watching us kiss while you’re nothing but a warm hole.”

Yunho leaned forward, pressing his chest against your back, cock buried to the hilt inside you. He bit your shoulder. Hard.

“Cum,” he growled into your ear. “Now. I want to feel you break.”

The second he said it—your body obeyed. You came hard, clenching around him, convulsing, screaming behind the gag as tears spilled down your cheeks.

Mingi was already rubbing his cock over your face as you came, watching the way you trembled between them. “She’s still squeezing you. You feel that?”

Yunho groaned, hips stuttering. “Yeah. Fuck, I’m gonna—”

And then he pulled out fast and rough, just as Mingi yanked your leash back to tilt your head up—

Hot, thick cum hit your face, your gag, your chest, your clamps. Yunho moaned through his teeth as he stroked every last drop out onto your skin.

But they weren’t done.

Mingi moved behind you now. Lined up his cock with your pulsing, ruined pussy. And slid in slowly.

You sobbed.

“Time for round two, baby,” Mingi purred, kissing Yunho again right above your back. “We’re gonna fuck you until your body gives out.”

“And then we’ll fuck you some more,” Yunho whispered against your neck.

Your body was a mess—face sticky with cum, nipples clamped and raw, cunt wrecked from Yunho’s brutal pace and Mingi’s thick cock still deep inside you. The sheets were soaked. Your thighs were shaking uncontrollably. Your breath came in quick, panicked gasps through the gag.

But they weren’t done.

Not even close.

Yunho was breathing hard, hand still fisted tight around the leash that wrapped twice around your neck now—pulled taut, making your back arch like the perfect little fucktoy you were.

“I want her again,” he growled, staring down at where Mingi was still slowly grinding into you, your walls fluttering helplessly around him.

Mingi chuckled low, teeth dragging across your shoulder blade as he thrust in deeper. “Get in line.”

“I’m not waiting.”

“She’s mine right now.”

“She’s both of ours.”

And then Yunho was yanking the leash even tighter, forcing your head back.

Yunho glared at Mingi and whispered “Do you want to take her at the same time?”

Your eyes flew open wide—gag muffling the desperate little scream that clawed up your throat as Mingi’s cock slipped out of you, only for both of them to push your legs further apart.

You knew what was coming.
Your whole body trembled.

“Think she’s ready?” Mingi asked, thumbing your leaking slit open, watching how sensitive and messy you were.

“She’ll take it,” Yunho answered. “She always does.”

You whimpered, mind swimming, legs weak—but god, your pussy pulsed with need.

The bed shifted under their weight as they both lined up—Mingi first, sliding in halfway with a groan. Yunho followed close behind, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your stretched entrance. It was too much. Way too much.

But you didn’t say stop.

You couldn’t.

Mingi pulled you back against his chest, hand gripping your throat over the leash, whispering filth into your ear as Yunho slowly—brutally—pressed his cock in beside Mingi’s.

Your walls screamed—burned from the stretch, stretched to their absolute limit. The pressure was overwhelming. You writhed, body twitching, head falling back against Mingi’s shoulder.

“You’re taking both of us,” Yunho groaned. “Fucking look at that. You’re no one else’s but ours.”

They paused when they were both fully inside you, buried to the hilt—your pussy stretched wide around them, clenching desperately, your body locked in place like a trembling doll. The clamps still tugged at your nipples, every twitch sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure through your nerves.

“Look how full you are, baby,” Mingi growled, licking sweat from your temple. “You were made for this. For us.”

And then they moved.

Together.

Perfect rhythm—deep, slow thrusts at first. The thick drag of both their cocks splitting you open, seeing them bulge from the outside of your stomach, sliding against each other inside your pussy, making obscene wet sounds that filled the room.

You were crying now—tears dripping off your cheeks, mixing with spit from your gag, body shaking violently.

But you weren’t saying stop.
You never would.

Yunho leaned forward, teeth nipping your shoulder. “Gonna fuck you so full you won’t walk tomorrow.”

Mingi pulled the leash tighter. “Gonna pump you full of cum until it leaks down your thighs and you thank us for it.”

You screamed behind the gag as they fucked you harder—merciless now. The bed rocked. Your body jolted with every thrust, your nipples aching from the clamps and the movement. You didn’t know if you were begging or sobbing, if the wetness between your legs was cum or tears or both.

Yunho slapped your ass, hard. “Cum.”

Mingi bit your earlobe. “Fucking now.”

Your orgasm hit you like a truck—squirting out cum, ripping through your body so violently your knees gave out completely. Your vision blurred. Your throat strained as the scream tore through you behind the gag, your pussy clenching down so tight around both of them that Yunho swore and Mingi’s hips stuttered.

They were right behind you—Mingi slamming in deep with a groan, cock twitching as he spilled inside you, Yunho following seconds later with a loud growl, his cum mixing with Mingi’s until it was flooding you, leaking around both their cocks and dripping down your thighs.

You collapsed into the mattress, leash slack, body useless.

But they didn’t pull out.

Not yet.
Yunho’s cock was twitching inside you, Mingi’s hand wrapped around your throat, both of them panting from how hard they’d just come—together, inside you.

But they were looking at each other now.
Dark eyes. Wet lips.
Hungry.

“Open your mouth, baby,” Yunho murmured, tilting your chin.

Your jaw fell open automatically—numb, dazed, obedient. But instead of slipping his cock past your lips, he leaned closer to Mingi.

“You got more left in you?” he asked, licking the corner of Mingi’s mouth.

Mingi smirked. “Taste her with me first.”

And before you could even process what they meant, they were kissing—deep, tongues sliding messily together, groaning into each other’s mouths like animals.

You could see it—see the thick white drips from their lips, the obscene sound of it, the way Yunho sucked Mingi’s bottom lip into his mouth and tasted you. Your cum. Their cum. Everything they'd left inside you, now swirling on their tongues.

You whimpered, eyes wide, thighs twitching from overstimulation as they kissed—sloppier now, spit and cum mixing, dripping down their chins.

“Fucking filthy,” Yunho groaned against Mingi’s mouth.

Mingi growled, grabbing the leash still hanging from your neck and giving it a harsh tug that made you arch. “Look at your messy little hole. You love watching us eat your cum like this, don’t you, slut?”

You nodded desperately, pussy clenching weakly around their still-hard cocks.

And they kept going.

Yunho spit straight into Mingi’s mouth—white and stringy—and Mingi swallowed it with a grin before pulling Yunho in again, their tongues wrestling, cum smeared across both their lips now.

It was so wrong. So nasty. So… sexy.

“Think she deserves to come?” Yunho asked, not even glancing at you—his eyes still locked on Mingi’s as he bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood.

“She’ll cum,” Mingi replied darkly. “When I spit it back in her mouth.”

You moaned—loud and desperate—just as Mingi leaned down, grabbed your jaw, and forced your mouth open again.

“Say ah, baby.”

He spit thick—warm and bitter and dripping straight from that filthy kiss—right onto your tongue.

You gagged slightly. But you swallowed it all.

“Good girl,” Yunho praised, stroking your cheek as he finally pulled his cock from your sore, stretched pussy, letting a flood of cum ooze out after it.

Mingi dragged you up by the leash, guiding you onto Yunho’s lap. Your legs were jelly, your pussy still twitching and leaking from being stretched to its absolute limit by both of them—but Yunho’s cock was already hard again, resting against your sticky folds like it never left.

“Open up,” Mingi murmured, two thick fingers sliding between your thighs, scooping up the thick mess leaking out of your pussy.

You blinked, hazy and broken, before obediently opening your mouth.

He shoved his fingers between your lips—cum-soaked, dripping—and you sucked them greedily, whimpering as the taste filled your mouth again. Your own juices, thick and salty from both their loads, still hot from inside you.

“God, you’re disgusting,” Yunho growled, eyes dark as he watched you swallow. “Look at our little cum slut.”

You moaned around Mingi’s fingers, desperate for more.

“Want more, baby?” Mingi teased. “Want us to fill you back up? Stuff every hole?”

“Yes, please,” you whispered, barely coherent.

Yunho shifted, lining himself up with your messy, abused hole again. “Then sit, sweetheart. You’re gonna warm my cock while Mingi fills that pretty mouth.”

You sank down with a broken cry, your pussy spasming from the overstimulation as Yunho pushed all the way inside—again. The slick mess from earlier helped, but you were so sensitive it almost hurt. Almost. But you loved it. You needed it.

Mingi was already in front of you, cock in hand, stroking himself while watching your cunt swallow Yunho whole.

“Keep her open,” Yunho growled, grabbing your cheeks and forcing your mouth wide.

Mingi stepped closer, cock heavy and dripping. He slapped it against your tongue, sunk it deep enough to hit the back of your throat, then pulling out to spit straight into your mouth again.

You gagged, moaned, took it all.

Yunho was fucking up into you lazily now—just enough to keep you shaking on his lap.

And then Mingi pulled out again—fast—only to jerk himself over your tits, ropes of cum spilling across your chest, your neck, your lips.

“Rub it in,” he demanded, watching you gasp for air. “Smear it on your tits for us. Show us how much you love being our dirty little hole.”

You did—hands shaking as you smeared his cum across your nipples, coating yourself in it. Yunho groaned and reached up to slap one tit, hard, watching it jiggle under the mess. He even went in to lick the nasty mess off your chest.

“Fucking beautiful,” he growled. “Now open up, princess.”

You obeyed.

And Yunho leaned down, spit thick and full of cum—his and Mingi’s—and let it drip right into your mouth.

You moaned, eyes rolling back, tongue out to catch every drop.

“Swallow,” Mingi ordered, stroking himself again as he watched your throat move.

You did.

And Yunho, still buried inside you, held you tight and whispered in your ear—

“We’re not done…”

Yunho and Mingi were still going—drunk off the way you begged, your pussy puffy and leaking, your thighs trembling from how many times they'd filled you.

You were kneeling now, face down on the sheets, leash tight around your throat as Yunho sat in front of you and kissed you slow—tongue in your mouth, spit slick and messy—while Mingi was behind you… and deeper than ever.

Except it wasn’t his cock yet.

It was his fingers—two of them already stuffed inside your ass, twisting and curling while you squirmed and whimpered.

“Think she can take it?” Mingi asked Yunho, voice husky, free hand gripping your hip.

“She can,” Yunho smirked, pulling away just enough to watch the show. “She’s our perfect little toy.”

You barely had time to breathe before Yunho slid his own fingers in beside Mingi’s—thick and rough—and you screamed into the sheets. The stretch was obscene. Four fingers. Then more. Until both their hands were buried knuckle-deep in your ass.

And then they did it.
They laced their fingers together inside you—slowly, methodically—stretching your tight little hole until you were crying, drooling, trembling from how full you were.

“Oh my god—” you gasped.

Your body couldn’t decide what to do—tense or go limp. But they were there, whispering filth into your ear as your ass twitched helplessly around their locked hands.

“You’re taking it so fucking well,” Mingi groaned, licking up your spine. “Look at this perfect hole.”

“Let’s put her to better use,” Yunho muttered, and you felt them pull out slowly—together—with a wet pop that left you gasping, gaping, dripping.

Then—suddenly—Mingi grabbed your thighs, Yunho the leash, and you were lifted. Off the bed, in the air, legs spread, arms dangling as they manhandled you.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Yunho whispered against your cheek.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

So Mingi just shoved in—thick cock driving straight into your stretched, ruined ass as Yunho stepped behind you and gripped your tits, holding you up, anchoring you between them.

The force knocked the air from your lungs.

They fucked you like that.
Fucked you like a rag doll.

Mingi’s cock was brutal, relentless—slamming into you while Yunho whispered filth into your ear, tugging your nipples, slapping your clit, your whole body bouncing between their hands like a used-up toy.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.

Just noise—filthy, wet, perfect noise. Slap, moan, grunt, cry.

And when Mingi came inside you, snarling into your neck, cock buried deep, Yunho still didn’t let go.

He kissed you hard, then tugged you down onto his cock too—again—while Mingi pulled out and watched his cum ooze from your gaping ass.

“Fuck her from the front now,” Mingi breathed, eyes wide, still stroking himself. “Make her feel it in her soul.”

And Yunho did.

He jackhammered into your pussy like he wanted to break you, both of them holding you in the air while you screamed, body limp, mouth open in silent sobs of pleasure until you came again—so violently you soaked Yunho’s thighs.

Then finally—finally—they came together. Hot, thick, sticky. One inside your pussy, one leaking down your thighs, both panting against your skin.

And then the three of you collapsed onto the bed. A pile of breathless limbs, cum, spit, sweat.

“Fucking hell,” Mingi murmured, stroking your hair while you trembled, your body twitching between them.

Yunho kissed your cheek, still inside you, cock twitching lazily. “You’re the best thing we’ve ever ruined.”

[chrissturnsfav]

hello!! Can you write something about rapper Chris and singer reader at the Grammys and one of them wins best album??? Love your work btw <3

⋆.˚✮ singer!reader gets her first grammy

the energy at the grammys is suffocating—cameras flashing, voices buzzing, celebrities everywhere pretending they aren’t trying to compete with each other. you don't really like events like this, even though they’re part of your life now. it's just so fucking overwhelming, so good thing chris is here.

he’s sat in a manspread beside you, wearing a sleek black suit with a black tie, jaw set like he's bored out of his mind. he taps his thumb on his knee, probably counting beats in his head.

you fidget with the sequins on your pretty mini dress, nerves tightening your chest. "i’m gonna throw up," you mutter under your breath.

chris doesn’t even blink. "nah, you ain’t," he scoffs, lightly nudging your shoulder with a smirk, his voice is calm, gravelly. "you built f'this shit, kid."

you shoot him a look, furrowing your brows with a small smirk. "that supposed to make me feel better?"

he grins, lazy and cocky. "you tell me," he shrugs.

before you can snap back, the presenter’s voice booms through the speakers. your name rings out like some surreal echo.

"and the grammy goes to..."

you freeze. the applause hits you like a wave. it’s loud, disorienting. you've just won the award for best pop song of the year. how the fuck...

your realization is interrupted when chris leans in, close enough for you to hear over the chaos. "get your ass up there."

your legs feel like jelly, but somehow you stand. the walk to the stage is a blur—faces, lights, a hundred thoughts colliding in your brain. you grip the golden statue like it might float away.

"uh," you start, voice shaky, letting out a nervous laugh, "wow. this is... wild."

"well, i didn’t prepare anything ‘cause i really didn’t think i’d be up here, so... bear with me."

there’s a soft ripple of laughter from the crowd, but you barely hear it. your eyes instinctively find chris. he’s still seated, staring at you with that sexy stupid smirk that hits you right in the chest. it’s somewhat of awe, but also pride.

you swallow hard. "i wanna just say thank you to my team, my family, everyone who’s been in my corner through all the highs and lows. i wouldn’t be here without you."

your voice steadies, warmth creeping in. "and to chris..." you pause, lips twitching into a smirk as you chuckle quietly. "thank you for always being so supportive and positive."

his brow quirks, lips curling into that signature half-smile.

"you’re annoyingly good at it most of the time," you add, a little sass creeping in.

the audience laughs. chris shakes his head like you’re ridiculous, but his grin says otherwise.

"thank you so much," you finish simply, heart full and light as you step back from the mic. "couldn't be more thankful, this truly doesn't even feel real."

the applause follows you down the stairs, but all you care about is getting back to your seat. chris is already standing, waiting.

"see? you killed that," he says, voice low and smooth.

"did i?" you tease, still catching your breath.

he leans in close, shades slipping down his nose. "told you, you ain’t built like these other girls."

you roll your eyes, trying to downplay the way your chest tightens. "you’re so fucking cocky," you snicker.

"nah, m'just right," he shrugs, the smirk on his plush lips deepening.

you laugh despite yourself, knowing damn well he’s never gonna let you forget this moment.

his smirk morphs into a soft smile, one of awe and adoration as his eyes soften. he slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side and kissing the top of your head. "proud o'you, mama. knew you'd get this shit one day," he mumbles in a soft whisper against your hair.

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @mattysketchup , @coquettechris , @courta13

@chrissturnsfav ™

[humaling]

Stacking Seashells, Falling Hard.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

summary: a seashell competition between you and finnick on a random saturday afternoon.

warnings: none! just finnick being absolutely smittened by you

word count: 1k

author's note: a little treat for the angst i fed last time

The sky stretches endlessly above you, a cloudless canvas of pale blue as the sun hangs high, pouring golden heat over the world. You sit beneath your pink sunshade umbrella, the fabric fluttering gently in the salty breeze. The sand beneath you is warm, almost too hot, grains of it pressing into your bare legs, rough and scratchy against your delicate skin. Beside you, a small metal bucket overflows with seashells—smooth and jagged, large and small—each one carefully collected and sorted. You take them one at a time, brushing your thumb over their textures before stacking them with careful precision in front of you. The fragile tower rises steadily, seashells balanced precariously on top of one another.

It’s a dull day, painfully uneventful. Since you’d rolled out of bed that morning, there’s been nothing to do. Your father’s busy brokering deals over the seafood he hauled in at dawn, your mother’s off with her amigas on a rare no-husband-and-kids day, and your brother—well, he’s probably sneaking around District 4, up to something he’ll deny later. That left you alone in the house, bored out of your mind, until inspiration struck: head to the beach and see how tall you could make a seashell tower before it toppled over.

So here you are—at the beach, under the relentless midday sun. The heat presses down on you, heavy and thick, but you hardly sweat. You’ve been shaped by this weather, conditioned to the sun's weight after spending countless childhood afternoons racing down these very shores, salt in your hair and sand between your toes. The heat is familiar, almost comforting.

These days, though, you prefer the quiet. You’ve grown to savor the stillness, finding a kind of peace in your own company. Stacking seashells, listening to the waves, breathing in the briny air—it’s simple, but it’s enough.

You’re so lost in the rhythm of it that you don’t hear the approaching footsteps, the soft shuffling of feet over sand. Your focus sharpens on the 32nd shell, fingers steady as you carefully place it atop the growing tower.

“Bet I can make mine taller than yours.”

A sharp gasp rips from your throat as something small and hard whizzes past your face, close enough to stir a lock of hair. Your stack crumbles in an instant, shells scattering across the sand with soft, hollow clinks. Your jaw drops, heart stuttering as you stare at the ruins of your hard work.

The intruder drops down beside you, elbows digging into the sand as he props himself up with an infuriating ease. You whip your head toward him, your glare cutting sharp enough to draw blood.

Of course. Finnick Odair.

"Bet you can’t," you shoot back, picking up a seashell and chucking it at him. He snatches it midair without even trying, the movement so smooth it’s almost irritating.

He flashes you a grin, teeth white and perfect beneath the sun's glare. His sea-green eyes dance with mischief, strands of damp bronze hair clinging to his forehead. His skin glows under the sun’s touch, tanned and lightly glistening with sweat. Dimples carve into his cheeks as his smile widens.

“You’re on,” he says, voice low and teasing.

And just like that, the quiet of your afternoon is gone.

The sun melts into the horizon, bleeding warm shades of amber and rose into the sky. The soft, golden glow reflects off the ocean’s surface, rippling light across the sand and casting long shadows behind you. The competition had been brutal—neither of you willing to concede, both of you clinging to victory like it was life or death. Your pride was on the line, and Finnick’s was too—though, truthfully, he stopped caring about winning long ago.

He had taken the lead early on, his hands deft and steady as he stacked shell after shell. But the higher the tower rose, the shakier it became. He lost his rhythm while you found yours, his 40th seashell barely clinging to the precarious stack while yours stood tall at 54, stable and impressive. His breath hitched as he placed the next shell, heart racing—not from the pressure of competition but from the way you looked under the soft afternoon light. The sun kissed your skin, warm and golden, highlighting the curve of your cheek as you sucked it in, brows furrowed in intense concentration. A loose strand of hair fell into your face, and Finnick’s fingers twitched with the quiet urge to tuck it behind your ear.

He leans back, stretching his spine with a satisfied sigh—only to watch in horror as his entire tower collapses, seashells clattering into his lap. His mouth parts in disbelief, frozen as the wreckage sprawls across the sand. You take one look at the disaster and your face splits into a triumphant, mischievous grin.

“Ha! Loser!” you crow, pointing at the scattered shells with a glint of savage satisfaction in your eyes.

Finnick groans and lets himself fall backward into the sand, arms flopping to his sides in mock defeat. A laugh bursts from your chest—bright and unrestrained—and the sound of it makes his heart stutter. Your own tower wobbles and topples over, shells tumbling down into a pile, but you don’t seem to care. You're too busy soaking in the sight of Finnick Odair brought to ruin.

He shields his eyes against the sun with a lazy hand, squinting up at you as you sit above him, framed by the fiery sky. The sunset bathes you in shades of peach and rose, and the wind stirs through your hair, making it ripple like silk. His chest tightens. You look… breathtaking. Otherworldly. Like some sea goddess born of foam and starlight. His heart squeezes painfully at the thought. He knows better than to say it out loud—knows it’ll inflate your ego beyond repair if you found out that Finnick Odair—Capitol’s golden boy, the one everyone wants but no one truly gets—is utterly, hopelessly in love with you.

But he is.

A slow, helpless smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his irises dilating as he watches you. His gaze traces the soft curve of your jaw, the delicate slope of your nose, the faint salt-kissed sheen on your skin. He could look at you forever and never get tired of it.

“Fine,” he says, voice low and soft as the ocean breeze. His eyes glint with quiet affection. “You win.”

And in his head, he knows you’ve been winning for a long time now.

[caitified]

Hi Hi! just want to say first off your writing is wonderful and i check the wnba x reader tag daily to see if you posted, but I was wondering if maybe you could write a Paige fic where the reader is Caitlin’s best friend and she brings her to the wnba draft and the reader is essentially in love with Paige and Caitlin kinda try’s to set them up! just super sickingly sweet fluff💓

draft day

paige bueckers x reader

warnings:none, thank for the support 💜💜

you’ve been friends with caitlin clark for as long as you can remember. from the first time you both stepped onto a basketball court as kids, all the way through high school, and then at iowa together, she’s been by your side for every win, every loss, and every chaotic memory in between. she’s seen you at your highest highs and lowest lows, and honestly, you never thought she’d be the one to try and set you up with anyone—she’s way too protective. but, to your surprise, she calls you one day, excitement in her voice.

“you have to come to the draft with me,” she insists. “i want you there.”

“of course, i’d love to,” you say without hesitation. “but why do i feel like there’s a catch?”

there’s a pause, and you can almost hear the smile in her voice. “well… there might be someone i think you should meet.”

now she’s got your attention. “you’re setting me up?” you ask, half-laughing. “who are you, and what did you do with my best friend?”

she just laughs, brushing off your teasing. “just trust me, okay? i have a good feeling about this.”

the day of the draft arrives, and you find yourself nervous as you walk into the venue beside caitlin. she insisted on picking out your outfit—a sleek, fitted look that’s slightly more formal than you’re used to, but you have to admit, she has good taste. as you both make your way through the buzzing crowd, cameras flashing around you, caitlin seems completely in her element, greeting everyone with that effortless charm she’s known for.

“so,” you say, leaning in closer to her as you walk. “when do i meet this mystery person?”

she gives you a sly look. “soon. be patient, would you?”

eventually, caitlin drags you over to a small group of people, and that’s when you see her—paige bueckers, laughing and talking with a few friends. you’ve seen her play before, of course; her talent on the court is undeniable. but seeing her in person, all dressed up with a confident smile on her face… it’s something else entirely.

“paige, hey!” caitlin calls out, her voice light and easy.

paige turns, her eyes brightening when she spots caitlin, and then her gaze lands on you. she gives you a once-over, her smile turning a little softer, a bit more curious. caitlin nudges you forward, almost like she’s showing you off.

“this is my best friend,” caitlin says, a hint of pride in her voice. “i figured it was about time you two met.”

you reach out to shake her hand, and when her fingers wrap around yours, you’re caught off guard by the warmth of her touch. “nice to finally meet you,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “i’ve heard a lot about you.”

paige grins, a playful glint in her eyes. “all good things, i hope?”

you laugh, nodding. “mostly,” you say, shooting caitlin a teasing look.

as the evening goes on, caitlin seems to vanish at all the right moments, leaving you and paige to talk. she’s surprisingly easy to talk to, with this magnetic energy that pulls you in. she tells you about her pre-draft nerves, the pressure she’s been feeling, but there’s also this spark in her—an excitement about the future, the kind that’s contagious. you find yourself laughing at her jokes, leaning closer every time she speaks, and you notice how she mirrors your movements, her arm brushing against yours like she’s closing the distance without even thinking about it.

“so, caitlin really never mentioned you before?” paige asks, raising an eyebrow, her smile teasing.

“not really,” you admit, shaking your head. “she’s protective. probably didn’t want anyone stealing her best friend.”

paige chuckles, glancing over at caitlin, who’s busy talking to a few other players across the room. “yeah, i can see that. but i’m glad she introduced us.”

the conversation flows easily, and eventually, the two of you drift over to a quieter corner. she asks about your time at iowa, your favorite memories with caitlin, and somewhere along the way, the conversation turns a bit more personal.

“so,” she says, her voice softer now, her gaze steady. “do you ever think about what’s next? i mean, with caitlin going pro and everything… are you planning to stick around?”

you hesitate, caught off guard by the question. “i’m not sure,” you admit. “it feels like everything’s changing so fast. but i think… i think i’d like to see what happens. maybe explore a few new things, meet new people.” you give her a small smile, hoping she catches your meaning.

her eyes linger on you, and for a moment, you feel like you’re the only two people in the room. “well, i’d love to be one of those ‘new people,’” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

your breath catches, but before you can respond, caitlin reappears, looking between you and paige with a grin that’s far too smug for her own good. “am i interrupting something?” she asks, clearly aware of the tension.

you roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “you’re the worst, you know that?”

caitlin just shrugs, unbothered. “hey, i did you a favor. you’re welcome.”

the night winds down, and as people start to leave, you linger by the door with paige, not quite ready to say goodbye. she shifts, looking at you thoughtfully. “so… what are the chances i could see you again?”

you tilt your head, pretending to think it over. “depends. are you always this smooth?”

she laughs, a little breathless. “only when it counts.”

you give her a smile, feeling bold. “then i’d say the chances are pretty good.”

she grins, her eyes shining. “good. i’ll hold you to that.”

as you and caitlin leave together, she throws her arm around your shoulders, her face split into a huge grin. “so? was i right or was i right?”

you shake your head, laughing. “okay, fine. you did good.”

she just laughs, clearly pleased with herself. “oh, i know i did.”

[littlelamy]

You’d never felt more confident than you did today. The moment you stepped into the studio for your photoshoot, the air thick with the scent of fresh paint and perfume, you knew you were in your element. Your outfit was daring—more sheer than anything else, the fabric teasingly clinging to your curves. The soft light caught the contours of your body, accentuating every angle. You could feel Rafe’s eyes on you, his admiration palpable as he leaned against the wall, a predatory grin spreading across his face.

“You look fucking incredible,” he said, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. He stepped closer, his gaze drinking you in. “Like a work of art.”

“Thanks,” you replied with a playful smirk, turning to catch his gaze. “You think the photographer will like it?”

“He’ll have no choice. You’re the star of the show,” Rafe replied, stepping even closer. His hands found your waist, thumbs brushing over your skin, igniting a warmth that spread through you.

The photoshoot was a blur of flashing lights and sultry poses, your confidence soaring with each click of the camera. You loved the way the photographer guided you, encouraging you to unleash your inner vixen, yet Rafe's steady gaze anchored you amidst the chaos. Each time you caught his eye, he’d wink or mouth something suggestive, making it hard to concentrate. You could see the way he appreciated you, like you were the only person in the room, the only person that mattered.

“Let’s try something different,” the photographer called, snapping you out of your reverie. “Get on your knees, look up at the camera. Make love to the camera.”

Your heart raced at the suggestion, but you complied, sinking to your knees and glancing up at the camera with a sultry smile. Rafe leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, a dark smirk playing on his lips. You could feel the heat radiating from him, and it only fueled your performance. You wanted to make him proud, to show him how much you could own this moment.

After what felt like an eternity of posing, the shoot finally wrapped up. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you walked back toward Rafe, a satisfied grin plastered on your face. “How did I do?” you asked, leaning into him, your body still buzzing from the energy of the room.

“You were perfect, babe,” he said, pulling you closer, his hands resting possessively on your waist. “But it’s time for me to show you why youre my star.”

“Oh? And how do you plan to do that?” you teased, a spark igniting in your belly.

“Just wait and see,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent heat rushing to your cheeks. He led you to his car, the anticipation thick in the air.

The drive home was a mixture of laughter and heated glances, the tension between you two crackling like electricity. Rafe’s hand found its way to your thigh, fingers teasingly sliding up your leg, inching closer to where you ached for him. “You know,” he began, his eyes fixed on the road but his tone suggestive, “I can’t stop thinking about how good you looked in that outfit. Like you were made for me.”

“Made for you, huh?” you challenged, biting your lip, feeling bold and flirtatious.

“Absolutely,” he said, a wicked grin creeping onto his face. “And I’ll show you just how much you’re mine.”

Without warning, Rafe pulled over to the side of the road, the tires crunching against the gravel as he parked. Before you could react, he turned toward you, his expression dark, eyes smoldering with intensity. He reached over, brushing a thumb along your cheek with a mixture of tenderness and something far more primal.

“Spread your pretty legs for me,” he commanded, his voice a low, sultry growl that made your heart skip. The authority in his tone sent a rush through you, the world outside the car fading as the moment consumed you.

A playful smirk tugged at your lips as you met his gaze. “Bossy, are we?”

His eyes flashed, a hint of a smile at the corners. “You like it when I take control,” he replied, his hand moving down to your thigh, fingers caressing you softly at first, then more possessively. "And don’t pretend you didn’t see this coming. The way you looked back there, posing like that…you knew what you were doing to me.”

You shifted in the seat, letting him guide you. The moment you complied, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as his fingers traced a line up your thigh. He murmured, voice dropping to a whisper, “That’s my girl. You’re perfect, you know that?” His hands slid up, pushing your skirt higher with every inch, until his fingers found lace. He paused, looking into your eyes, savoring the moment.

“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” he said, his voice teasing yet undeniably reverent. "You planned this.”

“Maybe,” you replied, breathless, matching his grin. “What can I say? I knew you’d appreciate the view.”

A deep, throaty chuckle escaped him as he slid his fingers over you, his breath hitching. “Look at you…pussy so wet. All this just for me.”

“Always for you,” you whispered, shivering as his touch grew bolder, each movement purposeful, making you lose yourself in the feeling. Your fingers gripped the seat as his touch sent waves through you, filling the air with quiet, unspoken promises.

He leaned in, his lips trailing slowly up your thigh. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured between kisses. “And you’re mine, you hear me?” His voice dropped even lower, his tone possessive yet tender. “I’m not sharing a single inch of you.”

Your back arched instinctively, every sense heightened as his lips traveled with purpose. “You don’t have to,” you managed to reply, voice catching with each press of his lips. “I’m all yours, Rafe.”

“Good,” he said, barely audible as his lips pressed against your skin. His voice was a vibration that echoed through you, and you could feel his gaze rise, admiring the way you reacted to him. “Because you deserve to feel how much I want you. I’m going to make sure you remember it.”

A soft gasp escaped your lips as he lingered close, every touch deliberate, every word sending a fresh surge of warmth through you.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he murmured, voice rough and reverent as he pressed another kiss, firmer this time, letting his lips hover over your clit. "Every second you were in that studio, I couldn’t look away. And I don’t want anyone else seeing you like that.”

A warmth flooded your cheeks at his words, but you couldn’t help a soft laugh. “So what you’re saying is, you’re a little possessive?”

He gave a low chuckle, pressing another kiss, this one a bit harder, the edge of his teeth grazing your bud as he whispered, “Maybe more than a little. I don’t share.”

You sighed as his mouth found its way back to your thigh, biting gently making your pulse race faster, and your hand reached out instinctively, tangling in his hair as he moved closer.

He glanced up, his eyes dark and intense, catching your gaze. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice a husky whisper that sent a thrill through you. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget that.”

You drew in a shaky breath, your own voice soft, but firm. “Good. I don’t want to forget."

Rafe leaned in, his mouth grazing against your thigh before he plunged his tongue into your wet folds. Your back arched off the seat, a breathless moan escaping your lips. “That’s it,” he spits, the wetness from his mouth dribbling over your sensitive bud, the vibrations of his deep voice sending delicious shivers through you. “Let everyone know who you belong to.”

You bit your lip, fighting to keep your voice down as he licked and sucked your clit, driving you closer to the edge. “Rafe, I—”

“Don’t hold back, star. I want to hear you,” he encouraged, his tongue working magic as he devoured you. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he feasted. " 'such a pretty pussy....my pretty pussy"

The world outside faded away, leaving only the sensations building inside you. Every flick of his tongue ignited sparks that danced up your spine. “I’m so close, Rafey” you gasped, your body trembling under his ministrations.

“Then let go, babe. I want to taste you,” he urged, his voice thick with desire. You could feel the pressure mounting, and with one final lick, you shattered, your body erupting in waves of pleasure. You cried out, unable to contain yourself, the sound echoing in the quiet night.

As you came down from the high, Rafe pulled back, his chin glistening with your essence. “There’s my Star,” he said, a smug smile on his lips. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

“You definitely did,” you replied breathlessly, a smile spreading across your face. You leaned in, capturing his lips in a heated kiss, tasting yourself on him. “But just so you know, I’m ready for an encore.”

“Oh, we’ll definitely have more than one show,” he grinned, pulling you close as he started the engine again. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, the primal energy crackling in the air between you.

“Do you think anyone saw?” you asked, a mixture of embarrassment and excitement rushing through you.

“Who cares? You’re my star, and I’ll show you off however I want,” he said, glancing at you with a devilish grin. “Besides, you’re too fucking hot for me to keep you to myself.”

As he drove, his hand found its way back to your thigh, fingers dancing closer to your center again. “You have no idea how much I want you right now,” he confessed, his voice low and rough, eyes smoldering with need.

“Then why don’t you show me?” you challenged, feeling bold.

“Just wait until we get home, babe,” he promised, his grip tightening on your thigh. “I have plans for you that’ll leave you begging for more.”

“Plans, huh?” you teased, biting your lip as you imagined what he had in store.

“Yeah, you’ll see,” he said, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I’m going to make you feel so good that you won’t forget this night.”

“Good luck with that,” you laughed, knowing full well how much he loved a challenge.

As he pulled into your driveway, you could hardly contain your excitement. Rafe parked and turned to face you, his expression serious now. “Just remember, babe,” he said, his tone suddenly earnest. “You’re mine, and I’m going to show you exactly what that means.”

“Show me, Rafe,” you breathed, feeling the heat rise in your core once more. “I’m ready.”

He grinned, and before you could react, he had you pulled against him, his lips crashing onto yours. You melted into the kiss, a delicious mix of heat and urgency flooding your senses. “Let’s go inside,” he murmured against your lips, and you nodded eagerly, heart racing with anticipation.

The moment you stepped through the door, Rafe’s hands were on you again, his grip firm as he backed you against the wall. “This is just the beginning,” he growled, capturing your lips again with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

You could feel the weight of his desire pressing against you, every inch of him radiating heat as he deepened the kiss. Your bodies moved together, the world outside fading away as you got lost in each other. “You’re my star, and tonight, I’m going to make sure you shine brighter than ever.”

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @dinakisser @rafecameroninterlude @sstargirln

[versairic]

Thunderstorm | MV1

In which a thunderstorm passes over the city and Max helps an employee who is afraid of thunderstorms to survive the storm

pairing - max verstappen x reader

words - 3077

warning - fear of thunderstorms

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

The sky became increasingly cloudy. The clouds came closer and closer together, so that within a few minutes the blue sky disappeared and it became darker and darker.

The sun had been shining with all its might for the last few minutes, so it didn't even look like the weather would change in a few minutes.

The Dutchman squinted his eyes slightly to acclimatise his pupils to the now dark hotel room.

The dark heavy curtains were wide open and revealed the dark - almost black - sky.

"That's it for the jog, Rupert," he muttered quietly to himself, leaving his running shoes lying carelessly in the corner.

Max was actually grateful to the weather that he didn't have to go for another long jog after the exhausting Media Day and was more or less chased through the city by Rupert.

The Media Day was sometimes even more strenuous than the Saturdays or Sundays when the drivers spent most of their time in the car.

They had to face countless questions and answers from various reporters and also shoot one or two pieces of content for social media.

By the end of the day, some of the drivers' heads were already pounding and they enjoyed the peace and quiet in their hotel room, where they were alone and didn't have to talk to anyone.

So the Dutchman peeled himself out of his sportswear and swapped it for a pair of cosy jogging bottoms and a hoodie before taking the few steps to the huge hotel room window and standing in front of the glass.

By now, one or two drops had already broken free from the cloud, leaving small, shiny trails on the balcony that sparkled like diamonds in the weak light of the outdoor lighting.

It wasn't long before the rain became heavier and the odd puddle formed within a short space of time.

Without paying any further attention to the weather outside, which would continue to wreak havoc throughout the evening, Max drew the heavy dark curtains and then dropped onto the hotel bed.

The white bed linen, which already looked as sterile as hospital bed linen, was cold and scratchy.

A soft sigh escaped Max's lips as he reached out for the small bedside lamp, which soon became the only source of light in the room.

Even if he hadn't really wanted to go jogging with Rupert, his personal trainer, he now had even more free time that he didn't really know what to do with.

He had been scrolling through social media for the last fifteen minutes, which had turned out to be pretty boring after a while, so his mobile phone was left lying carelessly on the small bedside table - with the display facing downwards.

The large flat screen TV hanging on the wall opposite his hotel bed attracted the attention of the 4x world champion and shortly afterwards it was no longer too quiet in the hotel room.

Some kind of trash TV episode was playing, but the Dutchman didn't pay too much attention to it.

It was crazy how much you could get bored in a hotel room. You might think you needed the peace and quiet after the hectic days on the track and used the peace and quiet to recharge your social battery, but that wasn't always the case.

Often times, the loneliness and quiet was even worse and made you literally die of boredom and in those moments you actually wished for the hustle and bustle back so that you had something to do.

So Max switched back and forth between the different channels - none of them offered any entertainment programme that could even begin to entertain and distract Max, so that the world champion's hotel room was plunged back into silence shortly afterwards.

Until suddenly a loud clap of thunder sounded. The thunder rumbled low and menacingly over the horizon, as if to challenge the silence, before a flash of lightning bathed the sky in bright light and illuminated Max's hotel room, despite the drawn curtains.

The Dutchman was startled by the force of the thunder, causing the remote control to slip out of his hand and sail under the hotel bed.

"Verdomde," he mumbled quietly and freed himself from the scratchy bed linen to fish the remote control out from under the hotel bed as he suddenly paused.

There was something. A noise. A soft noise that sounded like a whimper. However, it had sounded so briefly and then disappeared again that Max had the feeling that he had imagined the whimpering.

In the dark, he groped around under the bed, hoping to find the remote control somehow, while the bed linen scratched under his touch.

The rumble of thunder sounded in the background and the lightning lit up the hotel room for a few seconds at a time.

And then it was suddenly there again. The whimpering and a short, soft scream, which made Max stop moving.

Was the noise coming from the corridor or from the room next to him?

The Dutchman got up and stood so that he was in the centre of the small corridor so that he could listen more closely to see whether the noise was coming from the hotel corridor or the room next door.

He listened intently. His ears pricked up almost like a cat, he literally waited for the sound to come again.

And sure enough. There it was again. With the next thunder, which was now carried directly over the city and the hotel by the storm, a louder, almost panicked whimper sounded.

Without thinking twice, Max opened his room door and peered out into the dark corridor. There was no one to be seen or heard.

So was it possible that the noise was coming from the room next to him?

Almost frantically, he began to think about whose room was next to his.

The whole team had been spread out on this floor so that all the employees were close enough to each other and even the drivers and the team boss had their rooms in the immediate vicinity.

But even through the spasmodic deliberation, the Dutchman just couldn't think of who owned the room next to him - but it didn't matter, because when the continued rumble of thunder was accompanied by a yell, Max scurried over to the room next to him on his socks and, without hesitation, raised his hand and started knocking.

And just at that moment, his own room door slammed shut and locked the Dutchman out - without having taken his key card with him.

Verdomde! he cursed quietly in his mind.

He heard soft footsteps at the other end of the door until it opened with a squeak and Max saw nothing but darkness.

" Uhm, hello..." Max greeted the unknown person, who he still couldn't see. What was he doing here anyway?

"H-hi," a squeaky, almost tearful voice came back to the Dutchman. In his memories, he tried to match the voice, which he clearly recognised, to a face. But he couldn't think of a face to go with the voice.

" I...um...I heard noises and it sounded a bit worrying, so I wanted to check if everything was all right? But apparently it is. I'm really sorry for the disturbance," stammered the Dutchman as he slapped himself in the forehead.

Maybe it was nothing or maybe he had just caught her and her partner having sex and had put his foot in his mouth. It would be best if he turned round and left.

And just as he turned round to leave, the thunder started again - this time even more intense, making it feel like the hotel was starting to shake.

There it was again, the whimpering sound he had heard and it came directly from the woman he had not yet identified.

The Dutchman looked over his shoulder at the young woman who had now switched on the light and Max knew immediately who it was.

The new PR manager, who had been on her first assignment this weekend and had done such a good job that she had immediately made a good impression on Checo, Christian and him.

In the flickering light of the lamp, Max could clearly see the wet cheeks of the young woman, who couldn't have been much younger than himself.

His heart automatically tightened slightly and he reflexively bit his lips for a few seconds so as not to bombard her with countless questions.

Max had always been an empathetic and helpful person - he had inherited that from his mum.

"I'm fine," her voice sounded brittle and quiet as she scrunched up her nose.

Max knew, however, that she was anything but fine. New tears were already shimmering in her eyes, threatening to roll down her reddened cheeks as she stood there, quite intimidated and afraid.

" I'm sorry, but I'm not buying it. You know, I'm a pretty good listener and I don't judge. "

Max didn't know if this was the right way to help the young woman confide in a stranger, but he didn't want to leave her behind. Not so sad and fragile.

The young woman hesitated briefly until she opened the door wider and let Max inside her dark hotel room.

The hotel room had the same layout as Max's except that it was mirror-inverted.

The only light in the room came from a small night light from the Disney film Lilo & Stitch.

Max recognised the blue monster Stitch immediately, as his sister had been quite fond of the film and the character when she was younger.

The curtains were drawn so neatly that not a single ray of light could shine through.

The young woman dropped onto the bed and pulled a blanket over her cute pyjamas, which she must have been embarrassed for the Dutchman to see.

"Why don't you sit down?" she said quietly but in a gentle voice and gently tapped the end of the bed.

Unlike in Max's hotel room, the bed linen was turquoise and embroidered with small flowers, although Max was immediately sure that she had brought the bed linen from home and swapped it for the disgusting hotel bed linen - it was perhaps worth considering doing the same.

After the Dutchman had settled down on the turquoise bed linen and his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he looked around a little and recognised nothing but order and cleanliness.

Hotel rooms always told you what a person was like. And the new PR manager seemed to be quite tidy and structured - as the lined-up suitcases and books revealed.

"I'm sorry if I've disturbed you..." the young woman's voice caught Max's attention again, causing the Dutchman to take his eyes off the hotel room and look over at her.

She was wiping her nose and then wiped her eyes with a handkerchief to make the few tears disappear.

"You didn't. I really didn't. I was worried and thought I'd just check that everything was OK," Max revealed to her, eliciting a gentle smile.

"Thank you..." she began as she started to search for the right words. " That's really sweet of you. "

Max returned her gentle smile and was about to ask her another question when the thunder rolled deep and ominously through the hotel room, as if it were trying to make its way through the walls. A first, hesitant rumble arose before it grew into a powerful, vibrating roar that made the windows shake.

The air seemed to vibrate and the walls, which were otherwise so safe and calm, seemed to shake for a moment, as if the hotel itself was feeling the force of the storm.

Lightning flashed brightly through the room, illuminating the corners for a moment and making the shadows of the furniture dance like fleeting ghosts.

The thunder rolled on, at irregular intervals, sometimes near, sometimes far, but never really disappearing - a continuous rumble that enveloped the room in an oppressive, harsh atmosphere.

And this thunder caused the person opposite him to flinch violently and disappear under the embroidered bed linen.

And then Max finally understood what was going on.

She was terrified of thunderstorms.

"Hey," Max's voice rang softly through the room.

He knew exactly what the fear of thunderstorms could feel like.

The rapidly beating heart, the shiver that ran through your whole body, the squinting of your eyes to somehow block out the lightning and your body paralysed with fear.

Max knew all too well how the young Red Bull employee must feel. After all, he had experienced the same fear for years as a child.

"I-I'm so scared," whispered the younger girl muffled under the duvet as she trembled all over and the tightness in her chest just wouldn't go away.

Her fear of thunderstorms was particularly heightened when she wasn't in familiar surroundings - her home.

Although she couldn't easily cope with the fear of thunderstorms at home either, she was able to relax better at home than here in the hotel room, which was foreign to her.

"It's okay," Max assured her cautiously, glad that she had opened up to him. "I know the fear of thunderstorms. I was afraid of thunderstorms for years as a child too. Can I help you?"

She slowly lifted her head from under the duvet and nodded as her fingers dug into the fabric of the bed linen.

"What else helps you with your anxiety? Have you got any tea to calm you down? Or are you listening to music, doing breathing exercises, talking or doing something that's good for you, like painting? " Max asked her as he clearly noticed how she slowly began to relax.

" I...I'm drinking tea. There... there's camomile and lavender in front," she carefully reached out from under the blanket and pointed over to the small sideboard, on which there was a travel kettle, a cup and two packets of tea.

Max nodded sympathetically and ran over to the sideboard to prepare everything for the tea.

They could still hear the thunderstorm raging over the hotel. The thunder had become a little quieter by now, but Max kept noticing the rustling of the bedspread and spotted the young woman flinching out of the corner of his eye.

" Ninja Turtles and Stitch, huh? " Max asked with a grin and pointed to the mug with the four Turtles printed on it.

" Uhm, yeah. I know, I'm a total freak," the young woman on the bed laughed softly - that was good. A good sign that Max was slowly managing to distract her from the storm.

"You said that now, not me. But the Turtles are really cool. Shall I tell you a secret? " he grinned as he came back to the bed with the cup and handed it to her.

Her long, thin fingers wrapped themselves around the hot cup as she took a light sniff of the tea, which would fill the whole room with the scent of lavender within a few minutes.

"I won't say no to a secret," she grinned as she leaned against the end of the bed and indicated to Max that he should sit down so that he didn't continue to sit uncomfortably on the edge of the bed.

Without thinking twice, Max did the same and leant his back against the upholstered headboard of the bed.

"I recently adopted a third cat and it's actually named after one of the turtels," he grinned, causing the young woman to start giggling softly.

And the giggle was indeed a lovely sound that filled the room and Max wished he could hear it a little longer.

"Really? Which one is it? "

Now he had the young woman's full attention, who scrutinised the Dutchman with curiosity while a warm smile spread across her lips.

"Well, I'm not going to make it that easy for you," he grinned cheekily and crossed his legs.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the PR manager tilt her head and think for a few seconds before sipping her tea.

"His name is Donatello," she then said, hitting the bull's eye. Max's new cat was indeed named after the purple Ninja Turtle.

The Dutchman's eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly.

The Dutchman's eyes grew wide as his mouth opened slightly.

"How...?" he stammered, actually wondering how she had come up with it. Everyone else he had told about his cat so far had bet that the cat's name was Leonardo.

"It's quite simple. And I'll be happy to explain it to you," she took another big sip from her cup before placing it on the dessert table next to her and continuing:

"He's intelligent, like you. You help with the development of the car and you also know exactly where the problem is if there is one with your car. You've also become incredibly relaxed with every World Championship title, no longer as hot-headed as you were back then. You are loyal to your team, although in difficult times it would have been understandable if you had looked for a better team - as one or two other drivers have already done. But not you, you are loyal to Red Bull and always emphasise how happy you are with the team and that you will finish your career at Red Bull. Donatello also has all these qualities - in other categories, but he is the most similar to you of the Turtels."

Wow, that was really impressive, thought Max. No one else had ever seen and analysed it in the same way as the young woman opposite him.

"That... that's impressive," he said part of his thoughts out loud.

"Thank you," she grinned and bowed playfully to him.

And so the two of them had a little guide that took them from one conversation to the next and the young woman began to forget more and more about what she had been afraid of just a moment ago. And thanks to the Dutchman, who sat next to her on the bed and laughed with her, this fear simply disappeared.

And the young woman couldn't be more grateful to the Dutchman. So the thunderstorm moved on towards the next village.

But even when the thunderstorm had passed completely and peace returned to the town, the two continued to talk until they fell into a peaceful sleep next to each other, knowing full well that this was just the beginning of something big.