#if someone else did this already then jokes on both of us: this is now a version for my records and we have MORE copies

[sunflowerry-vol6]

IF YOU WERE MINE || CEO Harry x Reader

characters count: 7682

summary: your husband opens your marriage, while his best friend Harry is determined to steal you

“So I decided to open our marriage.” I almost choke on my champagne as your husband shamelessly brags about it with a smirk to all our investors. Tom and I practically grew up together. We both came from wealthy families, and our parents have been friends forever, so it was already decided for us before we were born — like the rest of our lives. We went to the same kindergarten, the same school, the same university, and took over our fathers’ companies.

But we’ve changed — and Tom, not for the better. He’s one of those people you stay friends with because you have a long history, not because you want to. If I met him now, there’s no way I’d become friends with someone like that. Honestly, I would’ve cut him off if it weren’t for you. I don’t know how it happened; I don’t know what he did to deserve an angel like you.

I can’t even count how many times I’ve wondered and imagined myself in his place. I would take proper care of you. I would show you what you deserve. Hell, I would worship you. You’re incredibly beautiful, caring, kind, witty, and smart — God, you’re smart. I remember how many times you literally saved his company from bankruptcy, yet he never offered you a position or invested in your own business. But I did.

That caused us to spend more time together, but still, you never told me about this. You don’t like it, do you? Who would like having their husband rail other women and then brag about it to people from his work? God, he’s embarrassing you.

“Is it a one-way thing?” My voice cuts through all the filthy comments of these middle-aged balding men.

“No, of course not. She’s welcome to do it as well. But you know how she is — always loyal.” That sly smirk on Tom’s face makes my hand curl into a fist. Oh, y/n, sometimes I wish you were more vicious.

I nod as my eyes dart around, looking for you. There you are, politely smiling and shaking the hand of some rich guy — another deal in your pocket. You look so radiant in that dress, and I shamelessly make my way to you.

“Can I steal you for a second?” I whisper in your ear as I lean in from behind.

“I’m all done here, H,” you smile and turn to me.

“Great,” I smile softly. “Another deal?”

“There’s never too many investors,” you wink, and I can feel my knees getting weak.

“Atta girl,” I chuckle softly. “Do you know that your husband is bragging about your open marriage to everyone?” I watch your cheeks turn pink. Of course you didn’t — what a wanker. “So I was just wondering, since your relationship is now open, would you consider going on a date with me?”

Just say yes, and I’ll show you how you should be treated. After that, I know you won’t be able to go back to him or anyone else — because nobody will treat you as well as I will. Do I intend to steal you from your husband? Make you exclusively mine? God, yes. You were supposed to be my wife from the start, and now I’ll fix it.

Your lips part slightly, like the question took the air out of you, and for a second—just a second—the polished grace you always wear like armor slips. I see you. The real you. Not Tom’s quiet trophy wife, not the brilliant negotiator charming investors, but the woman who once told me she hated champagne but drank it anyway because it was “expected.”

You look up at me, blinking slowly, as if you’re measuring the weight of what I just asked. Your voice, when it comes, is quiet—but not uncertain.

“You’re serious.”

“I’ve never been more.” My voice is steady, low, only for you. “I meant every word. You deserve someone who doesn’t just admire your loyalty, but returns it. Someone who doesn’t make a joke out of you in front of a room full of men with gold watches and empty morals.”

You look down for a moment, and I swear I see your lashes tremble.

“It’s not easy,” you whisper. “Walking away from a marriage with a man you knew over a decade, even when it no longer fits.”

“I know,” I say, gently. “But you wouldn’t be walking alone.”

You let out a soft breath that’s not quite a sigh, not quite relief. “Tom didn’t even tell me he’d… announced it. I only found out last week. A phone notification. Can you believe that?” You laugh, but it’s brittle, hollow. “He didn’t even bother to look me in the eye.”

I clench my jaw. “That’s because he knows he couldn’t face yours.”

Your eyes find mine again. The pink in your cheeks has faded into something stronger now—resolve.

“And if I said yes?”

I smile, slow and real, every nerve in my body lighting up.

“Then I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow. No champagne. Just us. And no pretending.” I lean a little closer, my voice dropping. “And if you let me… I’ll start showing you what it’s like to be loved properly.”

There’s a flicker in your gaze, something that feels dangerously like hope. And then—God help me—you nod.

“Okay.”

Just one word. But it’s everything.

From across the room, Tom raises his glass to you like a man who still thinks he’s in control of the game. But he’s already lost.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

We leave the gala early.

Not dramatically—no slammed doors or shattered glasses—but quietly. Elegantly. You slip your hand into mine like it’s always belonged there, like this was inevitable. And maybe it was. Maybe everything in our lives has been leading up to this exact moment: you and me, walking out together while the rest of the world isn’t paying attention.

Tom doesn’t even notice. Too busy laughing at his own jokes, surrounded by men who clap each other on the back and call it ambition. I don’t look back. Neither do you.

The ride to your place is silent, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy—with everything we haven’t said. Your dress brushes against my arm, and every time the car takes a corner, your shoulder leans just slightly into mine.

You unlock the door, and I follow you in.

It still smells like him here—his expensive cologne, his taste in leather furniture, the soulless art he insists is “investment-worthy.” But as you kick off your heels and toss your clutch on the console table, something changes. The energy shifts. You walk barefoot through the hallway, not as someone’s wife, not as a socialite or business pawn, but as you.

Raw. Real. Ready.

You pause at the foot of the stairs and turn to me. “Are you still serious?”

“I wasn’t making a move,” I say. “I was making a promise.”

That stops you for a second. And then you nod slowly, eyes glimmering with something that’s not sadness anymore. Maybe it’s freedom. Or maybe it’s the first spark of something new.

You hold out your hand.

“Then come upstairs.”

It’s not sex—not tonight. Not yet.

You change into something soft. I take off my jacket and roll up my sleeves like I’m preparing for something sacred. And maybe I am. You let your head fall against my shoulder as we sit on the couch in the guest room—yours, not his—and talk.

About everything.

The things you wanted and never got. The things you dreamed of and had to bury. The ache of being seen but never understood.

And I listen. I hold your hand. I offer nothing but truth.

“I would’ve chosen you a thousand times,” I whisper. “Even if you came without the company, the elegance, the money. Even if you came to me messy, angry, torn—I’d still take you.”

You look at me with eyes that are both shattered and shining. “I don’t want to belong to anyone.”

“I don’t want you to,” I say. “I want to stand beside you. That’s all.”

A long silence settles between us, but it feels like peace. Your head leans against my chest. You breathe in. And when you exhale, it’s like you’re finally letting go of a weight you’ve carried alone for far too long.

Tomorrow will be complicated.

But tonight? Tonight, you sleep in my arms, safe for the first time in years. And for the first time in my life, I know exactly what I’m fighting for.

Taglist: @pauli-loveslouistomlinson @cherryberrystompers @hontpwk @avensgreenvans @venusnettles @nanaisinmars @sincerely-yours-marsbar @fallingwillow @myonlyangel13

[lightkrets312]

i'm sure i'm not the only one to figure this out, but transcribing this shit sucked. anyways, best attempt under my own efforts, (?) variations are parts I'm not sure about or couldn't read:

Hello.

My name doesn't matter. I am here to catalogue something I'm not sure is fully real. But it must be, I'm holding all the evidence (?) in my hands. Pictures. Characters. Text I can barely read. It's called "Welcome Home," and it looks like it might've been a children's show? Like I said, I can't tell.

It was sopping wet when I found it. When I first reached into one of the brightly colored (...?), my hand was already covered in some green, (...?) material. It feels like antiques are always covered in some kind of grime. I'm going to (clean up what...?) I have and do a little more digging

There's only one name I can make out right now. Wally. Probably important, but like I said(?), I'll keep looking.

XOXO

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

the divorce was far messier than you would have ever expected it to be.

sae had been traveling for a match when you filed for a divorce, signing the papers with messy black ink and sleepless nights. sae didn't know about the divorce; not yet, at least. you could only hope that he responds as calmly to the situation as he usually does with any other scenario that he's ever gone through.

it was almost a shame. almost. you truly did love the itoshi last name, and you would miss having the short-tempered yet kind rin as your younger brother-in-law. but sae was not only almost never home, but when he was, he rarely ever spoke to you unless asking for a favor or question, though they were usually sentiments such as "is dinner ready?" or "i have a match in a few days."

those were the two sides of sae. completely uncaring or only caring about himself or his career. you knew that he had to love you to an extent if he was willing to stay with you for nearly six years and not divorce you or cheat on you a single time, though that was the bare minimum that one could do. you grew up with sae, and he wasn't the type to cheat on someone.

your darkly inked pen soon ran out of ink, and you sighed, staring down at the straining amount of documents you had signed. you wondered how the media would respond to this, respond to the famous itoshi sae's partner having divorced him, especially one that he's known since five years old. you were twenty-nine now. there would probably were even worse rumors about him, about how he treats others. you wanted to feel bad. you wanted to recycle each and every one of the papers you just signed.

fuck it. it's his problem for neglecting you.

it's not like you didn't even try confronting him about it. it's just that when you did, it's always the same plain excuse. "i'm busy." scribbling your name and sae's onto some more papers, you finally reached the final piece of white material. you had felt nothing this entire time, and yet suddenly, before you could even realize why or how, tears began to pool at your eyes.

disappointment is a funny thing. it's like a mix of anger, sadness, and even hints of grief. really just the recipe for disaster. and at that moment, you could feel nothing but the emptiness of disappointment and warm tears streaming down your now burning cheeks. people always used to joke that sae was both your first and last love, and you had always laughed along and eventually began to believe it when you got married. you don't think you'd ever be able to love anyone else after loving sae. you always believed this notion, this joke, to be true, but not in the bitter way that it turned out.

you had sent the documents to court the next day, and already the damage was done. you didn't want a particularly loud case; you despised media attention. but only a few hours after having sent the documents, a dreaded phone call had arrived. it was sae.

"if you think you're being funny, you're not."

you cringed at sae's voice. he was in an entirely different country, and they you could feel the shards of his icy voice slicing your heart open. "i'm not trying to be. i'm serious. we're getting a divorce, and that's final."

for a few moments, the other line was silent. before finally, sae's voice returned once more. "...why?"

and for a moment, you regretted divorcing sae. his voice itself didn't show too much emotion, but the pause from earlier and the slight crack of his voice in the beginning told you everything you needed to know. he didn't want this. he didn't want to divorce you.

"sae, you spend most of your time in another country. sometimes even in another continent. you don't even talk to me at home except for the smallest things that someone can talk to another person about. you earn hundreds of millions of yen every year for the both of us, and yet i don't feel rich."

you could practically hear sae tightening his grip on the phone. "fine. do what you want." he finally stammered, and he hung up.

it was almost as if a marble slid from your throat to your stomach, and it now lay there uncomfortably. the phone slid from your hands, and you felt tears at the brim of your lashes. no "i'm sorry"? no "i can change"? you knew that sae wasn't the type to say those sorts of things directly, but he would usually say a harsher variation of the words.

and suddenly, you remembered. you remembered that sae was the one that began to say "i'll be both your first and last love" to you. he only ever said it once, and that was from when you were kids.

he had kept that promise, but he had broken a million more.

i had "back to friends" by sombr playing on repeat while writing this lmao

[windyremedy]

reeling revelation

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

scenario: finding out their bestfriend is a dad in the most unexpected way possible.

Time constraints and lack of availability are impossible to avoid and meeting up since after highschool had only gotten harder and harder. Each time they actually got close to hanging out, someone suddenly has to cancel because of either work related issues or whatever else it may be. Though everyone’s understanding for the most part including Mina but her in particular quite frankly had enough.

So when Bakugou called Kirishima up explaining that he couldn’t make it after 4/5 of the Bakusquad members attended she just couldn’t let it happen again and so she and really all of them were graciously invited (totally did not whine and beg) to the Bakugou household which doesn’t happen very often.

Last time anyone came there was back when they were just starting out their pro hero lives. It was honestly a surprise to everyone aside from probably Midoriya that Bakugou got married so early but they were invited to your wedding and from what they could tell you were super nice.

When they finally knocked on the huge door they were expecting everything else but an unimpressed look of what seems to be a mini Bakugou, almost a mirror copy of their best pal’s expression who did not inform them that he was now a dad.

Although he wasn’t a complete copy and paste with most of his facial features being from his mom and mainly baby Bakugou’s hair being a different color but his eyes, oh they knew that sharp ruby stare from anywhere. It was actually kinda worrisome how he seemed to pick up Bakugou’s temperament at their antics. Maybe they would even feel kinda intimidated (as much as you can with a baby at least) but he looked too cute all bundled up in an all might themed suit with a white pacifier in his mouth.

“Bakugou! you never told us you had a baby?” Mina excitedly exclaimed, squealing from the cuteness.

“Yeah! I thought we were your best buds??!!” Kaminari dramatically shouted in betrayal.

Bakugou shuffled Ryuu to a more comfortable position after the little one turned away from his loud friends.

“Didn’t know how to bring up and well you never asked.” he answered busy handling Ryuu who was getting more agitated by the second.

“So it’s our fault you never shared this big fact about your life?” Sero half joking half wryly asked.

“Yeah, you dumbasses would fuckin— shit nevermind.” He tried to recover placing his palms around Ryuu’s ears.

“Why is he so annoyed already? don’t tell me you’ve been talking bad about us?!! don’t hate me baby Bakugou.” Kirishima pleaded.

“S’ names Ryuu and he’s not mad at you, just thought it was his mom at the door. Come in before he actually kicks you out.”

“You mean you kick us out?” Kaminari corrected.

“Yeah, yeah.”

As they stepped inside the house they took notice of the evident amount of family pictures along the walls and on cabinets. Both admiring and unnerved about seeing Bakugou look so soft in all of them. They’ve seen many expressions from Bakugou before some more than others (like annoyance and anger) but this was a wholenother level they weren’t at all used to.

Leading to the living room where building blocks can be seen scattered across. They each took a seat around the area, Mina asking about your whereabouts as she sat.

“She’s coming back soon, supposed to be here today but her work called this morning and she had to come in.” he informed going into the connected kitchen.

“Ohhh that’s why you couldn’t come.” Kaminari solved albeit a bit late.

“Yep, sorry about that.” he apologized although not sounding at all affected by not being able to meet up with his self proclaimed friends (they are friends).

Grabbing a bottle of milk from the fridge as he fed it to Ryuu who sleepily closed his eyes.

“Bet you didn’t want to anyway. I mean I wouldn’t either, look how cute this little guy is.” Sero admitted getting cute aggression from Ryuu’s chubby little cheeks.

Bakugou only nodded, half heartedly listening to the conversations while chiming in once in awhile before getting back to rocking Ryuu to sleep. Who seemed to be dozing off before he jolted up after hearing the familiar ring of the doorbell.

“Hold on a second.” Bakugou briefed before going to the open the door, not knowing he was being secretly followed.

“Hey Kats.” you greeted lovingly as he pecked you on the lips, hugging you in the process as well as Ryuu whose arms signaled that he wanted to be handed over for a hug too.

“Hello to you too my little dragon.” you smiled as he wrapped his small arms around your neck.

Standing there by the doorway both of you failed to notice the scooby stack happening behind the corner of the doorframe sniffling at the domestic sight.

“This is so beautiful.” Kaminari sobbed.

Kirishima nodded in agreement. “What a manly sight indeed.”

“I’m so proud of him.” Mina whispered whilst shedding a tear.

Setting aside the dramatics Sero smiled, happy for his friend. “He definitely made it.”

©windyremedy

[xetlynn]

Arcane Imagines- Vander

It’s Quiet

⚠️WARNING🔞: SMUTTTT IF THERE WAS EVER SMUT

[arcane] [main page] [pt. 2]

Prompt: it’s grown so quiet since the kids have grown… (not requested, did this at my own free will. Also happy universe WITH VI because I can do that.)

Containing: thigh riding, multiple orgasms, fem!receiving oral, male!receiving oral, hike position, voyeurism, exhibitionism, praise, slight degradation.

“And that’s the last drunk of the evening.” You wipe your hands together after slamming down your rag on one of the tables you had just finished cleaning, going over to the door to turn the open sign to closed. Vander chuckles, cheering as he washes the last few glasses. You go behind the counter to join him in wiping everything down since it gets pretty sticky especially behind the bar. 

“Gosh it’s been so busy these last few days.” You huff, putting your body into the scrubbing. Feeling all the sweat that drenched your back, neck and face. You felt disgusting to say the least. “Mm yeah but think about that early retirement.” He jokes causing you to laugh in response. “So true!” You perk up, glancing behind you, his eyes already locking with yours. 

He places his glass down and scrummages over to you. His hands snaked around your waist. “You’re so beautiful.” He kisses the back of your head. You would normally lean into his touch but the sweat that enveloped all over you. You swiftly move away from him by turning around and taking his arms off of you. “I feel gross, babe.” You shake your head at his intentions.

“How come? You look ravishing.” His eyes darken along with his voice that laced with lust. “I’m so sweaty.” You whine, walking out from the bar to sit on one of the stools. “I feel like I just got dragged through mud.” You muster out, finally getting to sit down for the first time in 12 hours that day. 

“You’d still be the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on covered in dirt head to toe.” He leans over the bar as you scoff, rolling your eyes at his cheesy choice of words. “It’s the truth.” He puts his hands up in defense. You sigh. “I would like a shower first.” You mumble. 

He observes you as your eyes wander around the building seeing if there was anything else for you to do before the both of you chose to go home. “It’s so quiet in here.” You suddenly mention the lack of noise. “Well it’s just the two of us in here.” He shrugs his shoulders. You give him a dirty look. “I mean the fact that there’s no little Powder running around here with Ekko. No Mylo antagonizing his siblings. Claggor just being along for the ride. Violet attempting to show Mylo how to flirt.” You explain with sadness traced in your tone of voice. 

“Hmph,” He snorted out a laugh remembering the children as young teenagers. “They were something.” He shakes his head. “I miss them living with us.” You pout, he groans at your words knowing what is going to be next. The both of you took the children in young. Felicia has Vi and Powder quite young. Being only 18 with little Violet and 23 with Powder. 

Vander’s the same age as Felicia as you were two years younger than the both of them. You didn’t meet them until after Violet was two years old. Now Vi is 23 and Powder is 18. You are now 39 and Vander is 41. 

“I’m just saying! I don’t have much time!” You exclaim, grasping at his hand, practically begging for a child. “Zaun is good, better than it ever has been. Let’s dooo ittttt.” You bounce your legs for extra effect in pleads. “Love, you’ve never wanted children of your own. Why now?” He raises his brows, now fully enclasping your hand with both of his. 

Your stomach flutters at the size difference between the both of you. You could never get over it, not even with the nearly 20 years of being with one another. “I just,” you frown before continuing. “With the children being older and like I mentioned it being quiet… I want someone to depend on me again. Those sweet little eyes as they ask me to help them.” Your face grows sour, tears stinging at the brim of your eyes. “This could be my last chance to have that. And you’ve never wondered what our baby would look like?” You ask him with puppy-dog eyes. “I miss the old times. Not just with the kids.” You mutter. 

“Of course I have, but if that’s how you feel, love… I’m sorry to tell you but I just can’t give you that. A baby with the way we work. And if you need someone to depend on you, I’ll be that for you. I’ll ask for more help, meaning like little things at home that I know you miss doing.” He massages your hand, kissing at it a few times. You purse out your lips, knowing he was right. 

“Are you okay?” He tilts his head, a few strands of hair falling in his face. You nod your head, not verbally responding though. He lets go of your hand and joins you on the stools. “I’m sorry you’re upset, my love. I never want to see your lips fall downwards.” He pulls you onto his lap and you look into his eyes. 

“I’ll be okay, I guess I’ll just have to be patient until we are blessed with grandchildren.” Your head falls against his chest, wrapping your arms around his large torso. “Hopefully that’s not anytime soon.” Vander smacks your thigh and you snicker. 

“Yeah, yeah.” You smile, you always loved how protective he was over your guys’ family. You feel your arousal thicken in your gut. Feeling needier. 

You have to remind yourself that you need to take a shower first. That’s what you told yourself. Even though your husband definitely does not care about you being sweaty. You care. 

“We could always… pretend like I’m going to give you children.” He whispers in your ear, your body tensing up. It’s like he felt your pussy flutter for him even though you both wore thick clothing and it wasn’t possible. “Mmm, that’s an idea.” You watch his thick, large hand sliding up and down the outside of your thigh. “Gonna let me do it right here, right now? Just like the old days?” He questions, he was breathing heavily down your neck causing the hairs there to stand up at the feeling. 

“Remember how we’d pretend there were people still. Go behind that counter and I’d fuck you from behind as you ‘took someone’s order.’ huh?” He knows all the right buttons to push when it comes to you. He knew what you couldn’t resist. He knew how to get you riled up like no one else. 

Your face was flushed as he reminded you of those moments you had before you even took the children in. That was such a long time ago you were surprised he remembered. “How ‘bout we try that out again?” He nibbles at the tip of your ear causing you to whine. 

“Van- shower first. I told you.” You rub yourself against him, spite of what you were saying. “You were just saying how you miss old times… Let me help you relive a few things.” His fingers now dipping in between your legs. The seam of the jeans you wore were sitting in the right place too. It was too much. 

“Please~” You moan, gripping onto his forearm that held your form. “Please what?” He asks.

“I-I need you.” You moved yourself so you were now sitting on one of his thighs. Looking right into his grey orbs. “What about that shower though?” He teases you, watching you ride against him. Only to pleasure yourself. How selfish. “Fuck the shower.” You grab him by the back of his neck, forcing him into a deep kiss. 

He laughs into the kiss, amused by how turned on you got just by his words. He knew you too well. 

You go to stop your hips so you could get up but he stops you. “Uh-uh, ride my leg until you cum, love.” He holds your hips down. You give him a pout. “Do it or I'll have the night end right here and we can just go to that shower and right to bed.” It was an empty threat. You knew that but listened to him nonetheless. Your pelvis planting down on him. You roll back and forth on him. 

“Fuck, love. You’re so gorgeous.” He coos, getting your hair out of your face. You pant as you focus on reaching your high, hearing his words only drenching your already soaked cunt. Going right through those jeans of yours and onto his black slacks. 

Your hands were grabbing onto the top of his thigh, close to his cock that twitched as it was trapped underneath his now tight pants. Just begging to be free. “I- hah!” You grunted, squeezing your thighs against his. “What is it? What do you have to say?” He inquires with a hint of mocking you. 

“Mmngg, I want to kiss you!” You breathe out, eyes squeezed shut due to how determined you were to release on your husband's enormous muscled thigh. 

“What’s the magic word?” His hand goes to your neck, pressing lightly. “Mean, ‘s mean,” you whimper. “Not the answer.” He tsks, bouncing his knee a little bit to throw you off. You cry out, hands flailing to his shirt. Clutching it tightly in between your fingers. 

“Please let me kiss you, please! I just want to kiss my husband.” You sob, opening your eyes for him to see how much you needed it. He thinks for a moment but decides to give you what you want. 

The hold on your neck only gets tighter as his lips embrace yours. He bites at your lip producing a gasp out of you so he can roughly stick his tongue in your mouth. His tongue battling against yours. You didn’t even try as he had already invaded your muzzle, exploring it like it was his home. 

As you feel yourself get closer you weigh down further onto him, your hips at a lively, unyielding pace. You pull away as your attention needs to go back to your own core. His hand on your throat now gripping, helping you even more. The tension in your chest and head growing. “Fuck.” It was almost inaudible exiting past your lips. 

“Mhm, you can do it. My wife is so persistent. Such a hell-bent little thing.” He purrs in your ear. “Hah! Mmm.” You groan out, holding his wrist that clutched at your pretty open neck. 

And then that explosion of fireworks in your tummy at last comes. Your hole creaming, joining your arousal juices. Only wetting yours and your husbands pants 

His hand breaks free from your airway, allowing you to breathe once more. You pant heavily against him. “Shit.” Your legs shake underneath you. “You have fun there?” He pokes at you, you glare up at him. “Shut up.” You spit, weakly standing up. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Vander raises a brow, grabbing your waist, stopping you from crouching down. “I-I’m going to give you a blow job?” You said in more of a inquisitive tone, confused on how it’s not obvious. “I never said I was done with you.” He stands up from the stool, lifting you up with ease. You yelp from the sudden move. 

He places you on the counter. “I’d like dinner first.” Even being on a tall bar counter he was still wavering over you. “Where people drink?!” You utter out, reminding him what people do on this very countertop. “I’ll clean it up. No one will ever know.” He rolls his eyes. 

Before you could even argue with him his hands are back on you. You subconsciously lift your hips up helping him undress you. “Never get over the sight of this cute girl.” He compliments your pussy. Your thighs squish together, hiding yourself only to be pried back open. 

Your hands were behind you to keep yourself fully propped up. “This position isn’t really comfortable, Vannie.” You mewl, the top of your tailbone was slightly hurting. “I’ll have to make this fast then won’t I?” He asks, not even looking up at your face as he sits back down. Sliding your butt as close to the edge of the counter as possible. 

He adjusted the chair so he was at face level with that pretty little pussy. 

His face diving in but not doing anything so he can take in your scent. Feeling like a feral animal. You would’ve been embarrassed by this if he hadn’t done it almost every day for the past 20 years. You rest your legs over his shoulders, ankles crossed over one another, trapping his head at your core. 

“Stop teasing, Vander.” You sternly tell him, glaring down at him since he decided he was going to take his time. His dilated pupils lift upwards, mouth hovering over your clit. “Is that any way to talk to your dear partner who only wants to take care of you?” He asks, his facial hair tickling you down there. 

You lay your back down on the cold wood. Ignoring him. 

He snickers, now kitten licking at your clit. Toying with it until he hears the squelch after a few more. His tongue swirls around the nub, kissing it every now and then. His strategy was purely for his own enjoyment. Your moans filled the building, echoing and bouncing off the walls. 

“Imagine we didn’t lock the door.” He comments. “Imagine someone walks in thinking we’re open. And you’re getting eaten out right in front of them.” His mouth reattaching to your cunny. 

Ambushing every nerve with pleasure. 

“Fuck! I ho-pe someone doesss!” Your hands go down to his hair, pulling out the bun. “Yeah, you’d like the attention.” He mumbles into you, the vibration shooting through you. 

“Mhm… mhm!” Your chest jolts upwards as his tongue swipes over your sensitive spot. “I n-need your fiiingers!” You wail, playing with his hair so you have something to pull on. Not having anything else around you. 

Your head was upside down off the other side of the counter. “Need ‘em where, love?” He irritatingly asks you. “I-inside! Inside!’ You squeal out, toes scrunching and your calves stretching out at the same time.

His right hand joins his mouth, entering a single digit into that drenching, achy hole. 

His cock screaming to be let free now. His pre-cum drooling onto his boxers. 

You clench around the single but large finger. He enters another before pumping them in and out. Curling every so often to hit that perfect spot inside. Your moans and whines keeping him going. His jaw was certainly going to be locked after this. 

He says random compliments you can’t even understand against your pussy. You didn’t even care enough to hear anyways. Feeling his mouth along with his fingers abusing you. 

“I- how? Fuck!” You scratch as his scalp, bringing one of your hands to your shirt, ripping the buttons off to open it.  You had a few others. 

You own hand kneads at your breasts. “C’mon, make me cum, make me cum!” You pant, chest heaving rapidly. “Almost there?” He watches you grope yourself. He leers gleefully. “Fuck yes!” You nod your head only to let it fall back down off the counter. 

His fingers fucking your skillfully, your cunt splashing liquid on him along with the floor. 

“Close ‘s close!” You grit through your teeth, rolling your hips on his face, bringing him closer to you with the back of your calf. Shoving his head onto you. 

“O-ooohh… mmmm….” It hits you softer than the first time surprisingly, but your cunny still spurts into Vander’s mouth. Your thighs shake against his head, your feet dropping tiredly. “That was so good, love. So proud of you.” He kisses your soft skin, lifting your thighs off of him letting your legs fall on either side of him. 

You breathe heavily, now feeling all the blood that rushed to your head from it being upside down. You sit yourself up, using your husband's shoulders to keep you from slipping forward. He undoes his belt, unbuttoning his pants to take his cock out. Still keeping his clothes up though. 

“C’mere.” He huffs out a laugh, standing up so you can wrap your legs around his waist. His hands are squeezing at the plush skin of your ass. 

He takes you to the inside of the bar, his cockhead poked at your entrance with each step. “Tired girl?” He hums out a question. You shake your head, disagreeing. “No, want more.” You rasp out. Humping your hips downwards against his dick. 

“Need you to help me first, prove how much you want me to fuck you.” He ambushes your neck with his licked lips. “I’ll do anything.” You whisper. 

“Good, here comes the guy who brings our stock.” Vander smirks, your eyes widen and you drop to the ground, hiding under the counter even though he already couldn’t see you by being down there. Vander steps as close as possible to you, his chest against the wood. 

His cock was free game to you. “Heyy Mick!” Vander cheerfully grins, not feeling you touch him just yet. He also knew that your pants and little panties were laid out on the ground, available for Mick to see. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Mick comes into the bar with a dollie of alcohol boxes. “Where’s the wife?” He asks, coming over to the counter. “Oh, she’s a little bit under… the weather tonight.” Vander lies. 

Your heart was raising at the fact that there was now another person in the bar after you had just came twice. Your view trapped in darkness besides the little bit of light that snuck past your husband's legs. His dick still sprung out for you to play with. 

Your pussy clenches around nothing, another realization that your pants were where you two once were moments ago. You silently prayed that Mick didn’t notice it. Your husband’s and your guys’ stocker’s conversation was tuned out. You couldn't focus on anything that was happening. 

Besides the fact that you were going to now get revenge on the person in front of you. Your hands go around his thick member. Dry rubbing him at first. You hear his hiss and you smile mischievously. Your thumb swiping across the slit covered in Vander’s own goo. 

Your hands let him go, as Vander talks his shoulders dropped disappointed only momentarily before your mouth replaces where your hands once were. He bites his lip trying not to show his expressions. 

Your muzzle takes him in all the way, nose almost touching his pelvic zone. You let him go before you gag, sucking on his tip. Your hand massages the base of his cock. 

You hear his voice falter just a tiny bit. “Where do you want them tonight, boss?” Mick asks, talking about the boxes of glass bottles filled with booze. “Just on the counter, Claggor and Mylo are opening in the morning. Gonna have them stock up.” Vander chuckles. Doing his best not to let his voice waver in the slightest. You tried your damnedest too. 

“Arighty.” Mick lifts the boxes up, continuing to talk to the owner of the bar, not knowing he was getting his dick sucked so good his knees were about to give out. 

Your other hand began to fondle his balls, now all three stimulates attacking him at once. Vander lets out a low grunt that luckily wasn’t heard from either of the people in the building. 

“I gotta get going, now. Good seeing ya! Hope to see [Name] next week!” Mick kicks out his dollie, rolling it out as Vander waves him goodbye. 

And as that door shuts, his mouth opens, letting out all the noises he couldn’t before. “Fuck, I almost had to shout at him to leave.” Vander groans, taking a fist full of your hair to fuck himself into your mouth. You moved your hand out of the way, grabbing onto his thigh for support. 

“Shit, such a doll for me.” He drags your mouth down his member before pulling you away by your hair. He steps back. “Stand up.” He motions. You crawl out from your spot, standing up before him. 

“Turn around.” He spins his pointer finger. 

He watches your ass jiggle with each step, his hands roughly bend you over. Your hands hitting the floor. “Need this.” He puffs out, shoving his dick inside your hole without warning. 

“So perfect for me, after all these years. It’s like the first time all over again.” He ruts into you forcefully. Your fingernails claw at the ground as he fucks into you at an unfathomable pace. 

“Take it like the fucking champ you are.” He smacks your ass causing you to scream out a moan. “Fucking you stupid, ain’t I?” He laughs, holding your hips. Each time you try to lift your torso up he rams into you, watching you fall back down each time. It was amusing. He enjoyed it every single time. 

“I asked you a question.” He slaps your ass again. 

“Y-yes! ‘Stupid, ‘s ‘stupid!” You cry out, your head shaking side to side as tears brim your eyelids. “Gonna cum again!” You shrill. 

“Yeah you are.” He pants, finally helping you up by bending down to grab you by your neck. Your back up against his stomach. “Who’s making you cum for the third time?” He asks, your ass bouncing back on his black slacks. There were white splatters all over his pants from tonight. “Y-you a-re!” You seeth, sucking in your own drool. 

“What’s my name?” He tightens his grip on your throat, you gasp out for air. Not able to answer as fast as he wants you to. His cock pistoning in and out of you. 

“What’d I ask?” His other hand holds your lower stomach, the pressure now pressing on his cock through your tummy. “I- u-um! V-vander!” You choke out. “That’s right, doll.” He lets go of your neck but still keeping you close as he continues to fuck you. 

“Gonna fuck my seed into you, maybe there’s a chance you’ll get that baby.” He snorts out a laugh, thrusting into you. Your eyes roll back into your head. “Cummingggnghah!!” You shriek, your hands behind you, gripping onto his shirt. 

“H-huh- same.” He breathes heavily, getting a little slower and sloppier. His tip oozing out inside of you. Your walls spasm around him leading a domino effect, Vander fully plunged inside of you as he lets his semen shoot inside you. Your jaw slacks open at the feeling.

You wiggle yourself against him, trying to get as much of him as possible. He pushes the both of you forward, you lean over the wooden counter. A box hiding your face from the door. 

“Holy shit…” You quietly whined, your legs were shaking and very weak. Barely keeping yourself standing. His slips out of you, letting the mixture of yours and his cum drop to the ground from your cunny. 

“You took me so well. So good every time.” He praises you, rubbing your back. 

Afterwards he takes you to your shower, water already running. You sat on the floor waiting for him in the hot water as he cleaned up your guys’ mess the two of you made.

[freakmcnastyy]

After last night

Geum Seongjae x f!reader Pt.1

Warnings: mentions of sex, smoking, one-night stand

Note: Heyyy this is my first fan fiction ever, and honestly I’m super nervous. I know Seongjae is supposed to be 17, but let’s just say he’s 18 for safety reasons. Also, English isn’t my first language, so please be kind!

-> Pt.1 / Pt.2 / Pt.3 / Pt.4 / Pt.5

⸻

This isn’t where you were supposed to end up. Not in a stranger’s bed. The club? Fine. But this? No.

How did it happen?

The last thing you remembered was a guy —glasses, orange and white jacket— buying you a drink. And now… this. You were naked, barely covered by a white blanket. Something hard was pressing against your head. You turned to your left.

There he was.

His arm was awkwardly slung under your head like he wasn’t sure how to cuddle. He reeked of smoke and alcohol. You sat up slowly, wincing. The room was a mess —your clothes, his clothes, all over the floor. Your head throbbed, your body ached, especially between your legs.

On the nightstand, you saw a wallet. You grabbed it —not to steal anything, just… curiosity.

Geum Seongjae, age 18. Just like you.

Made sense. That club was full of 17-18 year olds anyway.

You stood up as quietly as you could and started putting on your black dress from the night before. You tried to ignore the dull pain in your body, especially there. You were so focused on leaving, you didn’t notice he was awake.

He sat up in bed.

You turned —your eyes met.

All that wild energy from last night was gone. Maybe it was just the morning daze.

“Morning,” he said, grinning lazily. You felt… weird.

You were already dressed and looking around for your phone.

“Where’s my phone?” you asked.

He yawned. “If you were so eager to leave, why didn’t you just go last night?”

He got out of bed, pulling on gray sweats and a black t-shirt. Another yawn.

“Probably in the car,” he muttered, grabbing his keys from the table and walking out.

He didn’t say anything else, but you followed.

You both headed to the parking lot.

He unlocked the car and gave you a little nod.

You grabbed your phone and purse.

The back windows were still foggy. Handprints. The whole car still smelled like sex.

You tried not to think about it. You turned to leave without a word. He watched you. Longer than necessary. He was used to one-night stands. So were you.

“Wait,” he called out.

You stopped, turned.

You just wanted to go.

He smirked and walked up to you quickly.

“Last night… wasn’t bad. I’d like to do it again.”

Was he serious? Joking? You couldn’t tell.

“I don’t sleep with the same person twice,” you said flatly.

It was your way to avoid emotional attachment.

“I’ll pay you.”

That one hit different. He sounded more serious now.

You stared. “Do I look like someone who does this for money?”

“Not at all. You look pretty decent, actually. The money’s just… an offer. Take as much as you want.”

You could’ve said yes.

Easy money.

And let’s be honest—he was hot. Doing it again wouldn’t exactly be disgusting.

“I’ll think about it,” you said, swallowing your pride.

You handed him your phone to put in his number.

He chuckled.

“Already saved it last night. As ‘Wolf.’ With a black heart.”

Still grinning like an idiot.

You rolled your eyes.

You looked back at him one last time before walking away for good.

He watched you disappear, then went back inside.

The car needed cleaning anyway.

With a bunch of wipes and cleaner in hand, he came back down.

Opened the back door.

That’s when he saw it—a silver sparkle on the seat.

A necklace.

Yours.

Obvious.

He smiled again.

He’d give it back next time.

For now, he slipped it into his pocket.

[bueckets]

The Prophecy | Part 1

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Parts: Part One (you're here) | Two

Description: They call her The Prophecy—basketball’s impossible phenomenon, rewriting what it means to be perfect on the court. With a near-flawless shooting record and a mind just as sharp in aerospace engineering as it is in breaking down defenses, her name sparks awe, envy, and relentless scrutiny. But perfection has its cost.

But even legends have weak spots. When a high-stakes matchup against LSU draws the attention of Paige Bueckers—the golden face of college basketball—The Prophecy’s flawless world starts to crack. On the court, they’re rivals, locked in a battle for supremacy. Off the court, late-night texts and shared moments blur the lines between competition and something much harder to define.

WC: 11.9k

Authors Notes: Slow Burn, Competitors to Lovers, SLOW, I'm heavy into world building so expect a lot of story, SMUT in next chapter. I've like proof read 70% there's already 40k words written and I've changed shit up like 40 times by now lol

They say there are two kinds of impossibilities in basketball: the ones you laugh at, and the ones that make you hold your breath. Your entire career has been about the second kind.

The numbers shouldn't exist: 847 shots attempted in college. Two misses. A percentage that makes statisticians check their math and then check it again. The first miss was a seventy-footer your freshman year that hit the rim so perfectly the sound echoed through the arena like a bell. The second? Sophomore year, caught an elbow to the face that had blood streaming down your jersey—the shot still almost went in.

Two misses in three years. They call you The Prophecy because watching you miss is like seeing a meteor strike, so rare that people mark their calendars by it.

Every sports network has tried to explain you. ESPN did a special called "The Prophecy: Breaking Down Basketball's Perfect Player." Sports Illustrated put you on the cover: "The Future Came Early." The New York Times ran a feature: "Harvard's Double Threat: Engineering the Perfect Game." They all tried to capture what makes you different. None quite managed it.

Because how do you explain someone who turned down every basketball powerhouse in the country—UConn, Stanford, South Carolina—to study Aerospace Engineering at Harvard? How do you rationalize someone who spends mornings in advanced fluid dynamics classes and afternoons making impossible shots look like a simple routine?

Your teammates get it, though. They've nicknamed you "Rocket”— partly for your major, partly for how you launch yourself through defenses. You're the heart of a Harvard team that's won three straight championships, turning the Ivy League school into a basketball dynasty that no one saw coming.

But that legacy isn't built on game days alone. It’s forged in moments like these: the hum of anticipation, the camaraderie, the banter that cuts through the tension as the team gets ready to take the court.

They say the silence before a storm is the loudest. But whoever said that never sat in Harvard's women's basketball locker room before a big game.

"I swear to god, if you try to explain zone defense using thermodynamics one more time—" Sierra launches a rolled-up sock across the room that you catch without looking up from your pre-game ritual: left shoe, right shoe, double-knot both, check laces twice.

"That was ONE time," you protest, but Maria's already cackling.

"One time? Girl, last week you tried to break down UNC's press using some dynamic—“

"And it WORKED, didn't it?"

The locker room erupts in laughter, the kind of easy joy that only comes from three years of championships, late-night practices, and inside jokes that no one else would understand. Taylor's already started your pregame handshake sequence; each title has added new moves until it's practically a full choreographed dance. 

"Speaking of Carolina," Jasmine pipes up while adjusting her headband, "did y'all see their point guard tried to claim she's almost as accurate as you?”

"How'd that work out for her?" Sierra grins.

"Shot 3-for-15 against Duke." Taylor shakes her head. "Meanwhile, our girl over here—"

"845 for 847," the team chants in unison, then breaks into laughter again.

You roll your eyes but can't hide your smile. 

"Yo, check this out though," Sierra's scrolling through her phone. "LSU's talking mad shit on Twitter. Their center says she's gonna 'expose the myth’ tonight."

Tonight's game against LSU has been circled on calendars since the schedule dropped. Defending national champions versus the team that's rewriting what's possible in college basketball. 

The banter continues as everyone goes through their pregame routines. Maria's got her headphones in, mouthing the same Drake lyrics she's been using since freshman year. Taylor's meticulously re-taping her ankles for the third time. Jasmine's practicing her crossover in front of her locker, adding a little extra flair each time.

That's when Coach Matthews steps in, game face already set. The room doesn't exactly go quiet- this team's never been good at that, but the energy shifts— focuses.

"Ladies," she begins, but Sierra can't help herself.

"We know, we know, sold out crowd, national TV, time to show them why they call us the best team in the country."

The locker room buzzes with the easy confidence of a team that knows what they're capable of. You've all been together three years, grown from underdogs to unstoppable. 

Coach tries to look stern but fails. "I see three rings have made you cocky."

"Nah, Coach," Jasmine grins. "We were cocky before the rings. Now we’ve just proven that we were right all along.” 

The team cracks up again, but you catch something in Coach's expression, a mix of pride and concern. Her eyes find yours across the room. You know what she's thinking: LSU's not here just to play basketball. They're here to make a statement. To prove that Harvard's dynasty, your perfect record, all of it, is just smoke and mirrors.

You peek out at the arena as you head to warm-ups. Every seat filled, signs everywhere:

"The Prophecy Has Spoken: Harvard by 20"

"845/847 ≈ Perfection"

"Future WNBA GOAT"

"Rocket Science + Basketball = 🐐"

The student section erupts with enough thunder that you’d think there was an earthquake outside as you step onto the court. Three years, and the roar still hits different every time. Your teammates spread out for warm-ups, but you can feel every eye in the arena tracking your movement.

"Remember freshman year?" Sierra bumps your shoulder as you start stretching. "When you were still trying to convince everyone you were just 'pretty good' at basketball?"

You laugh, remembering that first practice. You'd shown up in glasses and a Harvard Engineering t-shirt, trying to downplay the high school highlights that had ESPN calling you the next Sue Bird. Then you went 50-for-50 in shooting drills.

"Pretty good," Taylor mimics, feeding you the ball. "Meanwhile Sports Center had a ticker counting your made shots."

The ball feels alive in your hands as you start your warm-up routine. Crossover, behind the back, step-back three. Swish. The Harvard crowd counts each made shot, a tradition that started your freshman year. They're at "thirty-seven" when a murmur ripples through the stands like a shift in the air pressure.

That's when you see them.

The entire UConn women's team, filing into their seats behind your bench. Their presence is magnetic, commanding, like the world has suddenly shifted to center on them. Your breath catches for just a moment, but you keep moving. Eyes forward, muscles loose. Don’t look. Don’t look.

Your gaze flickers up, and that’s when it happens. Paige Bueckers—UConn’s golden child, the face of their dynasty—locks eyes with you. The briefest of seconds, but it feels like a spotlight on your skin. She's not just watching; she's studying. Calculating.

Without breaking stride, you add a little extra spin to your next move. A crossover that’s sharp enough to slice, a step-back three so effortless it’s almost insulting. Swish.

"Showing off for UConn?" Maria teases, but her voice feels distant, barely cutting through the thrum in your chest. You don’t answer. The crowd is at "forty-two" now, and so is Paige. You can feel her counting.

"Please," you roll your eyes, draining another three. "They're the ones who showed up to our house."

The arena's practically vibrating now. LSU's warming up on the other end, trying to look unbothered. Their coach keeps glancing your way, everyone knows their game plan will revolve around stopping you. Good luck with that.

"Rocket!" Jasmine calls out. "Give them the space shot!"

It's another team tradition. End of warm-ups, you launch one from near half-court, high enough to clear the International Space Station. The crowd holds its breath as the ball arcs through the air—

Bucket.

The place goes absolutely nuclear. Even some LSU players stop to watch the replay on the jumbotron. You don't celebrate, just turn and jog back to the bench, but you catch Paige Bueckers leaning forward in her seat. Yeah, she felt that one, too.

In the huddle, Coach Matthews keeps it simple. "They're going to try to get physical. They're going to try to get in your heads. But what do we do?"

"Let the scoreboard talk!" the team responds in unison.

You look around the circle—these girls who've become family. Sierra, who's never met a defensive assignment she couldn't lock down. Maria, whose no-look passes seem telepathic. Taylor, who crashes boards like gravity's just a suggestion. Jasmine, whose trash talk is almost as legendary as her three-point shooting.

The starting lineups are announced. LSU's players get scattered applause, but when they call your name, the sound is deafening. "At guard, a junior from Boston, Massachusetts, averaging 32.5 points per game, shooting 99.8% from the field—The Prophecy!"

You high-five down the bench, each teammate adding their own flourish to the routine. The crowd's chanting now:

"M-V-P! M-V-P!"

But you're already in game mode, that familiar calm settling over you. You can feel Uconn’s members watching from the stands, feel the weight of every expectation, every camera, every scout with an NBA team's future in their hands.

The referee holds the ball at center court. LSU's center—all six-foot-five of her—tries to stare you down.

You just smile. They have no idea what's coming.

The game opens exactly how LSU planned: double-team before you even touch the ball. Their guard and forward shadow your every move, leaving gaps all over the court. Rookie mistake.

You catch Maria's eye, give her the smallest nod. She drives right, drawing attention, while you slip backdoor. The defender realizes too late—you're already airborne, catching the lob one-handed. The rim's still shaking as you get back on defense.

"That's my point guard!" you shout, giving Maria her props. The crowd's already going wild, and you're only thirty seconds in.

LSU tries to establish their post game, but Sierra's having none of it. She strips their center clean, and suddenly you're off to the races. The ball finds you at the three-point line. One defender recovers, rushing at you with a hand up.

Time slows. You see every option: the drive, the pass, the shot. But there's something poetic about making the hardest choice look easy. You rise up, release. The defender's hand grazes your wrist—doesn't matter. Swish.

"And The Prophecy strikes first! Two possessions, two baskets!" The announcer can barely contain himself. "She's making this look like a shoot-around!"

Your teammates are feeding off the energy. Taylor's owning the glass, Jasmine's picking pockets, and Maria's threading passes through impossible angles. By the six-minute mark, you're up 18-7, and LSU calls their first timeout.

"They can't guard you for shit!" Sierra laughs as you huddle up. She's right—they've tried three different defensive schemes already.

Coach Matthews keeps it tactical. "They're getting frustrated. Gonna start trying to bump you off your spots. Stay composed."

You nod, taking a quick swig of water. Your eyes drift to the UConn section. KK Arnold shoots you a smile which you return. Sierra’s shown you enough of her Tik Tok’s for you to recognize the Freshman.

Back on court, LSU switches to a box-and-one. Four players in a zone, one dedicated to face-guarding you. Cupcake stuff compared to what you see in practice.

You set up on the wing, let them think they've got you contained. The defender's playing so tight you can smell her shampoo. Maria starts her drive, draws the zone's attention. You wait... wait...

Then it happens. Quick as thought, you plant your back foot, cut hard to the corner. The defender's still turning when you catch and release in one motion. The ball hasn't even hit the net before you're heading back on defense.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" The announcer's losing it. "The Prophecy with another! She's 5-for-5 to start the game!"

The Harvard student section's going ballistic. Even your teammates are shaking their heads—three years, and you still find ways to surprise them.

LSU's getting chippy now. Their forwards are throwing elbows on screens, talking under their breath. You've seen it before: when skill isn't enough, they try to get physical.

"Yo Rocket," Taylor mutters after a particularly hard screen. "They're hunting."

You just nod. Let them hunt. You didn't get here by backing down.

With two minutes left in the first quarter, they try to trap you at half-court. Two defenders, both bigger, trying to muscle you into a mistake. You hit them with a crossover so nasty the crowd gasps. Split the double-team, euro-step around the help defense, and finish with a finger roll that looks like it defies gravity.

The LSU coach is screaming now, face turning purple. Nothing's working. Every scheme, every adjustment, every physical play, you've got an answer for all of it.

Ten seconds left. You let the clock drain, waving off the screen from Taylor. Your defender's in perfect position, textbook stance. Doesn't matter.

You rise up from NBA range, the defender's hand right in your face. The ball arcs high, the crowd holding its breath—

Swish. At the buzzer.

Harvard's bench explodes. Your teammates mob you as you head to the sideline, perfect quarter in the books. 15 points, 6-for-6 shooting, 3 assists. Just another day at the office.

"Show off," Sierra teases as you sit down.

"Actually," you grin, slipping into your best professor voice, "according to my calculations, that was just the warm-up."

The team cracks up. This is what the cameras miss, what the stats can't show. The joy of playing the game you love, with people you love, at a level few have ever reached.

But LSU's huddle looks different now. There's an edge to their expressions, a darkness in their eyes. They're not just losing—they're being embarrassed on national TV.

You've seen that look before. It usually means someone's about to do something stupid.

Second quarter opens with LSU trying something new: they're running a full-court press, getting extra physical on every possession. Their coach has clearly given them the green light to push boundaries.

"They big mad now," Jasmine laughs as she inbounds the ball to you.

You weave through the press like it's a morning jog, finding Maria with a no-look pass that has the crowd buzzing. She drains the three, and you make sure to flex for the LSU bench on the way back. Their coach calls for a substitution, sending in Williams—their enforcer, known for walking the line between aggressive and dirty.

"Heads up," Taylor mutters as she runs past you. "Number 32's got that look."

You've seen players like Williams before. They show up in every big game, thinking they'll be the one to throw you off your rhythm. They usually learn.

The next possession, Williams tries to bump you off your cut. You absorb the contact, spin away like water, and catch the ball in perfect position. She's still recovering when you rise up for three. Nothing but net.

"That's 20 for The Prophecy!" The announcer's voice carries over the roar. "Still perfect from the field!"

The Harvard student section starts a new chant: "YOU CAN'T GUARD HER!" 

You spot some NBA scouts courtside, furiously taking notes. There's already talk about you leaving early, being a top pick. But that's future stuff. Right now, there's just this game, this moment, this next possession.

Williams is getting frustrated. Each bump gets a little harder, each screen a little later. The refs are letting them play physical, and LSU's taking full advantage.

"Yo Rocket," Sierra says during a free throw. "Want me to accidentally trip her?"

You shake your head, smiling. "Nah. I got something better planned."

Next play down, you call for a clear-out. Everyone knows what's coming, your teammates, the crowd, even the UConn section leans forward. Williams squares up, trying to look tough.

The move is pure poetry: crossover so quick it looks like the ball's on a string, between the legs, behind the back. Williams lunges, trying to stay in front. That's when you hit her with the step-back, creating just enough space to rise up.

The shot is perfect before it leaves your hands. Williams can only watch as it drops through, pure silk. The crowd absolutely loses it.

"SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE!" Jasmine screams, running past Williams, tongue out in mockery. "But not for her!"

Even some of the LSU players are trying not to smile. What else can you do when you're watching someone operate on a different level?

That's when you notice Paige Bueckers isn't just watching anymore—she's studying. Taking in every move, every counter, like she's downloading your game for future reference. You catch her eye for a split second and there's something there: not just respect, but recognition. Game recognizing game.

The half continues like a highlight reel. You're seeing everything in slow motion: every cut, every screen, every defensive rotation. It's like playing basketball in IMAX, everything crystal clear, every possibility visible.

With three minutes left in the half, Harvard's up 45-28. The game's starting to feel less like competition and more like an exhibition. That's usually when things get dangerous.

You see it coming in slow motion: Sierra bringing the ball up court, Williams setting up for what looks like a normal defensive position. But there's something in her stance, something in her eyes.

Williams launches herself at Sierra, sending her crashing into the scorer's table with a sickening crack. The crowd gasps as Sierra crumples, blood already streaming from her nose.

The arena goes dead silent.

Then everything happens at once. Your teammates rush to Sierra. Jasmine gets in Williams' face. The refs are blowing whistles. But you, you're standing perfectly still, a different kind of calculation running through your mind.

Three years of friendship. Three championships. Countless late-night study sessions where Sierra helped you with orbital mechanics homework while you ice your knees. All those moments flash through your mind in an instant.

You start walking toward Williams, and something in your expression makes everyone—teammates, refs, even the crowd—go quiet.

The silence in Lavietes Pavilion is deafening. Blood drips from Sierra's nose onto the hardwood—each drop echoing like thunder in your ears. Your teammates are surrounding her, but your focus is laser-locked on Williams, who's still trying to act tough, shoving Jasmine.

"Get the fuck out my face," Williams snarls, pushing your teammate back.

You cross the court in long, measured strides. Your teammates part like the Red Sea, something in your expression making them step aside. Williams turns just as you reach her, and for the first time tonight, you see fear flicker across her face.

The crowd holds its breath. Every phone is up, every camera pointed at this moment. Even the refs seem frozen, waiting to see what happens next.

You step right into her space, close enough that only she can hear you. Your voice comes out low, deadly calm. "Touch my teammate again," you say, each word precise as a scalpel, "and I promise you'll regret ever stepping foot in this fucking gym."

Williams tries to maintain her tough act, stepping forward. "Oh yeah? What you gonna—"

"Try me one more time," you cut her off, voice even quieter now, "and when I catch you outside this gym I’ll make sure you don’t get back up.” 

The refs finally restore order, whistles blaring. Technical fouls all around. As you check on Sierra—her nose definitely broken but she's insisting she can play—you hear the murmur rippling through the crowd. Nobody's ever seen you like this. The Prophecy's always been about grace under pressure, about making the impossible look easy.

This is something else entirely.

Coach sends you to the bench to cool off. You end up near the Harvard section, your teammates who aren't on the court surrounding you like a protective wall. Behind them, the UConn section hasn't made a sound, but you can feel their attention like a physical weight.

"I've never seen you like that," Taylor whispers, a mix of awe and concern in her voice.

"Nobody touches our people," you say simply, eyes locked on the court where LSU is shooting their free throws.

Sierra's getting patched up beside you, tissues stuffed up her nose. "You know I've taken worse hits in practice," she tries to joke.

“That’s beside the point." Your voice is still deadly quiet. "They came into our house thinking they could punk us. Thinking what—because we're Harvard we're soft? They can suck my dick.” 

The energy in the arena has shifted. Your teammates are fired up, talking amongst themselves. The crowd's still buzzing, cameras alternating between you and Williams. But you're not playing for them anymore. This isn't about highlights or SportsCenter or draft stock.

When the buzzer sounds for you to return, your teammates stand as one. "Light them the fuck up," Sierra says through her swollen nose, and the team erupts in agreement.

You step back onto the court, and the ball finds its way to your hands like it's meant to be there. Williams tries to meet your eyes, but she flinches when she does. She knows what's coming.

They all do.

The ball leaves your hands before their defense can set. Swish. 34 points.

Maria screens Williams hard—legally, but with extra emphasis. You curl around it, catch, release. Swish. 37.

"The Prophecy is taking no prisoners now," the announcer's voice carries over the chaos. "This isn't just basketball anymore, folks. This is personal."

Each possession is a message. No more fancy moves, no more style. Just pure, devastating efficiency. Catch and shoot. Drive and score. Again and again until the numbers blur together and the only sound in the arena is the whisper of the net.

Williams tries to guard you on a switch. You look her dead in the eye as you rise up. She knows it's good before you even release. 45 points.

The fourth quarter becomes a massacre. Not just because of your scoring, but the way your whole team moves now—like sharks that have tasted blood. Every screen is a statement. Every cut is a challenge. Harvard basketball isn't just winning anymore; they're sending a message.

With thirty seconds left, Harvard up by 35, Coach tries to sub you out. You wave her off. There's one more thing to do.

You catch the ball at the opposite baseline—ninety-four feet from your basket. The crowd realizes what you're about to attempt and rises as one. Williams is still trying to guard you, bless her heart.

You don't even look at the basket as you launch it, eyes locked on hers the whole way. The ball soars through the air, high enough to scrape the rafters. Time seems to stop as 4,000 people hold their breath.

Swish. As pure as a layup.

The arena explodes. Your teammates storm the court as you take off on a victory lap, tongue out, arms spread wide. The Harvard band is playing, the student section is losing their minds, and somewhere in the chaos, you catch Paige Bueckers standing up, shaking her head in amazement.

December hits Boston like a cold slap to the face. Three months since the LSU game, and Harvard's still undefeated, 12-0, ranked #2 in the country. Tonight's the game everyone's been circling: #1 UConn at Harvard. The Game of the Year, ESPN's calling it. Every headline is the same story in different words: you versus Paige, like the rest of the teams are just here to watch.

You haven't spoken to any of the UConn players since that night in your locker room. Sure, you see the occasional Instagram story when Jasmine reshares KK's posts (they're dating now, apparently, something that started with DMs and turned into weekend visits), but, that's about it. You don't even follow Paige Bueckers on social media. Why would you? 

"Earth to ____,” Sierra waves a hand in front of your face during warmups. "You good?"

"Yeah," you snap back to reality, draining another three. "Just locked in."

The arena's packed to the rafters, twice as loud as the LSU game. During layup lines, you catch glimpses of the UConn players, especially Paige, who moves with that same fluid confidence you remember. She's got that look in her eyes, the one you recognize in your own reflection: the quiet certainty of someone who's never doubted their greatness.

Your pregame outfit, fitted black turtleneck under your warmups, gold chain catching the light, has already made its rounds on social media. “She looks SO good!!” is trending on Twitter, complete with fire emojis. Not that you care about that stuff. (But okay, maybe you spent an extra minute on your appearance today. Professional reasons only.)

The game starts like a prize fight, both teams trading blows, neither willing to blink first. Paige opens with a three; you answer with a step-back jumper. She hits a floater; you counter with a drive that leaves her defender spinning. It's not personal, you tell yourself. Just basketball.

By the first TV timeout, you've both got 8 points and the crowd's already losing it. The energy's different from the LSU game, no cheap shots or trash talk, just pure, elite basketball. Almost like you're speaking the same language, even if you're on different teams.

"Yo," Maria whispers during a free throw, "is it just me or is Bueckers playing extra hard when she's guarding you?"

"Everyone plays hard against me," you shrug, but you've noticed it too. The way she locks in, the extra intensity in her defense. Like she's got something to prove.

The second quarter is where you start to take over. UConn tries everything, double teams, box-and-one, even a triangle-and-two. Nothing works. You're seeing the game in slow motion again, every passing lane, every defensive rotation crystal clear. By halftime, you've got 24 points on perfect shooting, and Harvard's up 48-39.

In the tunnel heading back out, you pass Paige. There's a moment— brief but loaded— where your eyes meet. She gives you this little nod, competitor to competitor. Nothing more. (But why does it feel like something more?)

The second half is a masterclass. You're not just scoring anymore; you're conducting an orchestra. No-look passes to Sierra for corner threes. Behind-the-back feeds to Taylor for breakaway layups. And when UConn makes their inevitable run in the fourth, you shut the door with a sequence of moves so filthy they'll probably end up on SportsCenter's top 10.

Final score: Harvard 89, UConn 78. Your stat line: 38 points, 9 assists, still haven't missed a shot this season. The handshake line is respectful, none of that LSU energy, and when you reach Paige, her grip is firm, professional.

"Good game," she says simply.

"You too," you respond, and mean it.

After the media obligations, your phone buzzes. It's Jasmine: 'Bar. Tonight. Both teams. No excuses.'

You consider begging off, you do have that Thermodynamics problem set due Monday, but something makes you change your mind. Professional courtesy, you tell yourself. Networking.

The bar is one of those trendy spots where the grad students pretend they're not drowning in student debt. You show up fashionably late in black jeans, a cream-colored silk shirt, and boots that add an extra inch you definitely don't need. The teams are separate at first, Harvard at one end, UConn at the other. Only Jasmine and KK bridge the gap, wrapped up in their own world.

You stick with your teammates initially, nursing a Moscow Mule and trying not to notice how Paige looks in a baggy jeans and a button up when she arrives with some of her teammates. The groups slowly start to mix as the night goes on, pulled together by Jasmine and KK's gravitational field.

"So," UConn's shooting guard, Emma, ends up next to you at the bar. "You always play like that, or were you just showing off?”

You arch an eyebrow, a light smile tugs at the corner of your lip. "Just playing my game." 

"Right," she smirks, ordering another drink. 

You change the subject, asking about their upcoming schedule. Basketball is safe. Basketball makes sense.

The night continues, groups shifting and reforming. You end up in a conversation with some UConn players about the WNBA draft, carefully maintaining your distance when Paige joins the discussion. But you can't help noticing things: how she commands attention without trying, the way her laugh carries over the bar noise, how she seems to know exactly where you are in the room at all times.

Or maybe that's just in your head. Maybe, you’re just down bad.

"Paige is single, you know," KK says later, appearing at your elbow with the subtlety of a brick through a window.

"Good for her," you say neutrally, even as something flutters in your chest.

"Good for you, you mean," KK mutters, dodging the half-hearted shove you send her way before melting back into the crowd.

The night winds down, groups splitting off for Ubers, some players already making plans for late-night food. You're standing near the door, tugging your coat tighter around you against the Boston chill seeping in, when you hear your name.

You turn, and there she is, bathed in the hazy glow of the bar's neon sign, her hands shoved into her coat pockets. For the first time all night, it's just the two of you, the noise of the bar fading into a distant hum.

"Good game tonight," she says, and it’s almost funny how understated it sounds after the week of media buildup and ESPN countdowns.

"Thanks." You pause, letting the silence stretch. "You too."

Her smile tilts, like she knows exactly what you’re doing. "You don’t have to play it cool all the time, you know."

"Who says I’m playing?" you counter, but the corner of your mouth betrays you, quirking up just enough to give her the edge.

Paige steps closer, the space between you shrinking but still electric. "You’re good, Rocket. Even better than the headlines give you credit for."

"Don’t tell me you came out here just to boost my already inflated ego," you say, leaning back just enough to keep the balance of power from tipping entirely her way.

"Maybe," she says lightly, though the way she holds your gaze feels heavier than that. "Or maybe I just wanted to see for myself what all the hype’s about."

"And?"

Her smile deepens, slow and deliberate. "I wasn’t disappointed."

The air between you crackles, her words lingering in a way that feels deliberate, intentional. But before you can decide what to say—or if you should say anything at all—one of her teammates calls her name from the curb.

She glances back, then at you again. 

"Don’t overthink your game plan," you say.

"And you don’t underestimate mine," she calls over her shoulder, her voice light but the glance she throws you anything but.

You stay there a moment longer, the cold biting at your skin but your chest feeling oddly warm. As you finally step outside, something about the night feels unfinished—like a play halfway through its best scene.

As you slide into the car, you realize your heart's racing—and it has nothing to do with the cold.

Maybe KK was right. Maybe this is good for you.

Later that night, lying in bed, you find yourself replaying moments from the game. Just the game, you tell yourself. The way she moves on court, like water finding its path. Her defensive intensity. Her competitiveness that mirrors your own.

Your phone buzzes: a follow request on Instagram from Paige Bueckers on your private Instagram.

You stare at it for a long moment, thumb hovering over the screen. Finally, you press accept. No big deal. Just professional courtesy.

But you can't help smiling as you set your phone down.

March suddenly feels very far away.

That night, sleep feels impossible. The win keeps looping in your mind—every play, every shot, every moment after the final buzzer. You’re still riding the high, but it's the interactions off the court that keep replaying, too. The way Paige’s eyes locked on yours during the game, that quiet intensity between you two. It was almost like there was something unspoken, an invisible thread pulling you together.

You try to shake it off as you lay in bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. Eventually, you post a late-night story: just you in your Harvard champion sweatshirt, hair a little messy, looking tired but satisfied. Caption: “some nights hit different 🏀✨"

You're not thinking about anyone in particular when you post it. Really. No, seriously.

But a couple of minutes later, your phone lights up with a notification: "paigebueckers viewed your story."

You freeze. Your heart does that annoying skip, the one you wish you could ignore. You try to play it cool, but the small smile on your face gives it away.

Before you can stop overthinking it, another story pops up from Paige. It’s her on the team bus, the weariness on her face somehow just makes her look even more perfect. Caption: “good games make you better. great games change you. 📈"

You stare at the story longer than you should. Three times, maybe four. Then you catch yourself. No, you're not doing this. You’re being professional. Totally. You swipe past it, but not before watching it once more—just for, you know, "research purposes."

Wednesday practice, you’re on the floor with Sierra, trying to explain orbital mechanics while stretching out your legs. The routine’s familiar, your voice calm and focused, like you’re explaining a simple layup. "So basically, if you account for gravitational force and initial velocity—"

"Rocket," Sierra interrupts, "you've been checking your phone every thirty seconds."

You look at her, feigning confusion. "Have not," you protest, but your fingers are already reaching for your phone, like they’re on autopilot. You can’t help it. Paige posted a drill video this morning, just pure basketball content—nothing that special, just her hitting a perfect jumper, maybe some footwork drills, nothing groundbreaking. You dropped an eyes emoji in response. Professional admiration only. That's it. Nothing to see here.

"Right," Sierra raises an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. "And I'm sure you've watched every other point guard's practice clips fifteen times too."

You give her a deadpan look. "I have no idea what you're talking about," you say, reaching for your foam roller and throwing it at her.

Thursday afternoon finds you in Advanced Fluid Dynamics, usually your favorite class. The equations and concepts feel like second nature to you, but today, your thoughts keep drifting elsewhere. You keep finding yourself thinking about basketball — about how certain players move like water, finding the path of least resistance, flowing through defenses with a grace you can’t help but admire.

You’re not sure if it’s the subject of the class or the strange pull you’re feeling, but your mind is elsewhere.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glance down discreetly. It's a notification from Instagram: Paige has liked your last three posts.

Including one from six months ago.

You blink. The screen feels like it’s glowing too brightly in your hand. You immediately glance around, making sure no one saw you checking, before quickly hiding your smile behind your textbook.

Because yeah, you definitely didn’t mean to feel this giddy. But here you are.

Friday night, you're in bed scrolling through film when you get the notification. Paige posted a new story: her at the gym, late night shooting session. Caption: “late-night grind. gotta stay sharp for what’s ahead. 😤"

Before you can overthink it, you reply: "living rent free in that head huh? 😌"

Three dots appear immediately. Your heart rate picks up.

just practicing for march 😘

You stare at that emoji for a solid minute. Professional rivals don't use kiss emojis. Right?

Saturday morning practice rolls around before you can even process what happened last night. Your mind’s still buzzing, trying to dissect the interaction with Paige, but you push it aside. Focus. You can think about that later.

As you’re stretching before drills, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. When Coach catches you grinning at it, she narrows her eyes.

"Whatever’s got you distracted better help us win games."

You quickly stuff your phone back in your bag, fighting to keep a neutral expression. "It’s just a text. No big deal."

"Sure, sure." Coach raises an eyebrow, unconvinced.

You try to shake off the grin still tugging at your lips. Definitely not in the middle of a debate with Paige about whether Kobe or Jordan had the better footwork. No. Definitely not.

Sunday night in the library, you're supposedly working on your Thermodynamics problem set. But your eyes keep flicking back to UConn's schedule page, calculating when they’ll be back in the northeast. You try to focus, but you find your thoughts drifting back to Paige.

A message pops up: "Shouldn't you be solving rocket equations or something?"

You bite back a smile, tapping out your reply: “shouldn't you be working on your left hand? Saw that weak drive yesterday 😴"

A few seconds pass. The dots appear, then disappear. You try not to let your heart race.

Finally, the response comes: “wow. and here i was about to say your last IG fit was 🔥"

You stare at your screen, biting your lip. The banter is easy, but there's something else there—something electric. Your pulse thuds louder than usual as you hesitate, fingers hovering over the keys. It feels like there's more hanging between you than just jokes. Did she feel it too? You quickly swipe back to your notes, trying to shake the feeling

Something that makes your skin buzz.

Tuesday, 2AM. You can’t sleep. Again. But this time, it’s different. The nervous energy swirling in your stomach isn’t from the game. It’s... something else.

Your phone lights up with a message:

you up?

Your breath catches in your throat. Two words. That’s all it takes.

You hesitate for just a second, fingers poised over the screen, and finally reply: “depends who’s asking 👀”

A beat. Three dots.

just your future march matchup.

You feel a grin tug at your lips, even as you try to keep your response cool. 

bold of you to assume you’ll make it that far.

guess you’ll have to wait and see.

You can’t help the quiet laugh that slips out. There’s something about these late-night exchanges that feels different.

You roll over, pulling your blanket tighter, trying to convince yourself it’s just another game, just another rival. But when your phone buzzes again, you’re already looking forward to her next message.

A month after the game, your phone buzzes again as you’re reviewing game film late at night. You glance at the time—1:47 AM. Too late to be analyzing, but you can't help it. The game keeps replaying in your head. Then another message appears:

you always study film this late?

You glance at the reflection of your laptop in the dark screen of your phone. It’s like she knows. You smirk, replying.

how'd you know i was watching film?

saw your laptop reflection in your glasses in that last story

Something warm settles in your chest. You didn't think anyone had noticed those details.

stalker much? 🤨

just scouting the competition 😌

You're about to reply when three dots appear again.

want company? i'm looking at our clemson tape

Your heart skips a beat. You weren't expecting this. You pause before responding, a nervous twinge running through you.  "facetime?"

Seconds later, the call comes through. You almost hesitate, but there’s something about it that pulls you in. You accept, suddenly hyper-aware that you're in your oversized Harvard hoodie, glasses perched on your nose, hair tossed into a messy bun.

When her face appears on the screen, you’re momentarily struck. She’s wearing a UConn sweatshirt, hair tied back, no makeup. She’s raw, real—like you’ve caught her in an unguarded moment, and for some reason, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"So," she starts, then seems to lose her train of thought. "Um. Basketball?"

You laugh, some of the tension breaking. “Uh-huh.”

"Listen," she grins, "I'm better at talking with a ball in my hands."

The conversation shifts easily into basketball, the two of you sharing screens and breaking down film together. She catches things you miss, and you point out nuances she hasn’t noticed. The back-and-forth flows—something about it feels natural. Like you’ve been doing this for years.

Hours pass without you even realizing it, and suddenly you’re talking about other things: favorite movies, worst recruiting stories, childhood dreams.

"Wait," she's saying through laughter, "you really wanted to be an astronaut AND a basketball player?"

"Still do," You shrug, trying to play it cool, even as something inside you aches with the lightness of the moment. "Who says I can't be the first WNBA player in space?"

Her expression goes soft for a moment. "You know what? If anyone could do it..."

There's something in her voice that makes your skin tingle. You clear your throat. "Anyway, uh, it's late."

"Yeah," she says quietly. "This was... this was nice."

"Yeah," you agree, not quite meeting her eyes through the screen. "Maybe we could do it again sometime y’know?”

"I'd like that."

Neither of you moves to hang up. The silence stretches, full of things unsaid.

Finally, she breaks it: “Well, goodnight, Rocket."

The nickname hits different in her voice at 4AM.

"Night, Paige."

You end the call, staring at your screen for a moment before you finally fall back onto your bed. The silence is deafening, but your mind is racing. You force yourself to calm down, to let your heart slow to a normal pace.

Then your phone buzzes again:

sweet dreams 🌙

You definitely don’t replay the entire call in your head. Definitely not.

And you certainly don’t dream about the way she looked when she laughed at your space joke.

Definitely not.

You’re sprawled on the couch in the apartment you share with Jasmine and Sierra, supposedly reading your Aerospace Engineering textbook. Actually, you're doing everything you can to avoid looking like you're grinning at your phone. The cursor keeps blinking in the reply box, like it’s daring you to type something stupid.

"earth surface temps are literally insane rn"

"why are you even awake?"

"says the girl who's also awake 🤨"

"homework doesn't count"

"nerd 🤓"

"bet you won't say that to my face"

"bet i will. next time i see you"

"when's that gonna be? 👀"

A part of you knows you should be focused on the problem set in front of you. But instead, your thoughts keep drifting back to the screen, to her messages. You bite your lip, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. There's something different about this—about her—that you can't quite put into words. Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast for it to just be casual.

"Oh my GOD," Jasmine’s voice startles you, making you jolt and nearly drop your phone. She's leaning over the back of the couch, eyes twinkling with that grin that’s a little too knowing for comfort. "You're texting Paige!"

"What? No, I'm—" you fumble your phone, nearly dropping it. "I'm doing homework."

"Mmhmm." Jasmine vaults over the couch to land beside you. "That's why you're making the same face I make when KK texts."

"I do not make a face."

"You literally look like this—" Jasmine demonstrates an exaggerated dreamy expression that makes you throw a pillow at her.

"I'm going to KK's this weekend," she says after dodging the pillow. Her voice is deliberately casual. "UConn has a home game Friday. You should come."

Your heart does a little flip. "I have that Physics midterm Monday..."

"Right, because you definitely weren't just texting about wanting to see her."

"I wasn't—" you start, but your phone buzzes again, Paige’s name lighting up the screen in a way that makes it impossible to ignore.

"Girl," Jasmine says, softer now. "It's okay, you know? To want something besides basketball."

You stare at your phone, fingers hovering again over the keys as those three dots show up. Paige is typing, and your chest tightens. Your heart’s racing now, too fast for this to just be some rivalry. You’ve never felt this way about an opponent before.

"It's complicated," you finally manage, your voice coming out quieter than you intended.

"When is it not?" Jasmine squeezes your shoulder as she gets up. "Think about it, okay? KK says the whole team's been asking about you anyway."

Later that night, Sierra finds you on the roof of your building. It’s your thinking spot—the place where you go to clear your head when the world feels too loud or when the equations refuse to make sense. Tonight, though, the equations have nothing to do with physics.

"Spill," Sierra says, sliding down to sit beside you.

"What?"

"You've been different lately. Good different, but different." She bumps your shoulder. "And I saw you smile at your phone six times during practice today."

You let out a long breath. The city lights blur below you, and somehow it feels easier to talk without making eye contact.

"I think... I think I like her," you say finally. The words feel huge in the quiet night air. "Paige, I mean."

"No shit," Sierra laughs softly. "I figured that out when you watched her coffee story four times."

You blink, feeling caught. "You saw that?"

"Girl, everyone saw that." She pauses. "The question is, what are you gonna do about it?"

You lean back against the roof, your gaze on the stars that are barely visible through the light pollution of the city. "I don’t know. It’s complicated," you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "We’re rivals, and we’ll probably face each other in March. If the media got wind of us, it’d be a circus. Not to mention—" You cut yourself off, because it sounds even worse when you say it out loud.

"Okay, forget all that for a second." Sierra interrupts, her voice quieter now. She turns to face you, her eyes soft. "How does she make you feel?"

Your breath catches in your chest. How does Paige make you feel? You think about those late-night video calls that always start with film study but end with laughing over something stupid. About how she remembers little details about your life—like your favorite late-night snack, your favorite places on campus, or how you sometimes still get nervous before big games.

"Like I can be both," you say finally, the words tumbling out before you even realize their weight. "Like I can be The Prophecy, but also just... me."

Sierra's quiet for a long moment. Then: "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you've spent three years being perfect. Maybe it's time to be happy instead."

You stare at the stars, trying to find your footing in this new reality that feels both foreign and exciting. "I don’t know if I’m ready for that."

Sierra nudges you, her tone playful again. "Then at least try. You deserve it."

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and for a moment, you forget about everything else. You pull it out, heart skipping when you see the name on the screen: Paige. The message.

 miss watching film with you

Sierra leans over to peek at the text, a grin spreading across her face. "Smooth," she says, barely suppressing a laugh.

"Shut up," you laugh.

"Is that why Jasmine invited you to Connecticut this weekend?" Sierra asks, an eyebrow raised.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "She told you?"

"Girl, I’m not blind," Sierra says, standing up. "Please. She’s been planning this whole setup for days. And you know what? You should go."

You look up, your gaze meeting hers. "I don’t know. The physics exam is coming up, and—"

"Physics will still be there when you get back," she interrupts, her voice light but serious. "But this? This might not be here forever."

You chew on that for a moment, the weight of it settling in.

"She’s waiting for you to say something," Sierra says quietly, her gaze flicking between you and the screen.

You hesitate, then smile softly to yourself. This is your chance.

You type back: "guess you'll have to come study in person sometime."

Sierra gives you a teasing look. "Oh, it’s on now."

Your phone buzzes again, and this time, Paige’s response comes quickly: "is that an invitation?"

Your fingers hover over the keys for a moment, and then, with a deep breath, you reply: "maybe. you gonna show me around campus?"

The message comes back almost immediately: "only the important spots. like where i practice my weak left hand drives 😏"

You can’t help it. You burst into laughter, your heart light and carefree for the first time in what feels like forever. Sierra shakes her head, smiling fondly at you.

"You’re totally down bad, huh?"

"Shut up," you laugh, feeling the warmth of it rush through you. But even as you tease her, you feel it too—this rush of excitement, the anticipation of something new, something that could change everything.

Sierra heads for the roof door, pausing just before she goes inside. "Hey Rocket?"

"Yeah?"

"Just... be careful, okay? Not because of basketball or rankings or any of that stuff. Just... because your heart's on the line too."

You nod, your chest tight as the weight of her words settles in. "I will."

She gives you one last look before disappearing inside, leaving you alone with your thoughts, your phone, and the lighthearted texts you’ve been sending all night.

Another buzz from Paige lights up your phone: "but seriously. come this weekend? i want to see you."

Her response makes your whole body warm: "can't wait 💫"

You stay on the roof a while longer, letting the night air cool your flushed cheeks. March feels both too far away and too close, but right now, in this moment, you let yourself focus on a different kind of countdown:

Three days until Connecticut.

The minute you step onto UConn's campus, you remember why being The Prophecy is complicated.

"Oh my god," you hear someone whisper. "Is that—"

"Holy shit, that's really her—"

"The Prophecy is here—"

You pull your hoodie up, hoping for some anonymity, but it’s futile. Jasmine’s already ditched you to find KK, leaving you standing in the middle of the chaos, awkwardly clutching your duffel bag. You check your phone, hoping for a distraction, when you see a text from Paige.

how’s campus so far? are you surviving the hype? 😂

You type back quickly, trying to act casual.

surviving. But UConn is like a zoo. 🙄

Before you can put the phone down, a text buzzes again.

i’m in the quad, come meet me? i’ve got your escape route ready 🏃‍♀️

You smile at her message, your nerves a little lighter now, but that doesn't make the reality of the situation any less surreal.

"Should I just text her when I get there?" you mutter to yourself, typing out a quick reply:

on my way. see you soon.

The crowd's whispers grow louder, and as you move through the sea of students, your phone buzzes again, this time with a message that makes your heart skip a beat.

turn around

You turn, and there's Paige, looking unfairly good in joggers and a UConn hoodie. For a second, you both just stare at each other, all those late-night texts and video calls suddenly feeling very different in person.

"Hi," you manage, hyper-aware of the growing crowd pretending not to watch. "Um. Nice campus."

"Thanks, I—" she starts, just as you say, "Should we—"

You both stop. Laugh nervously. God, where did all your game go?

"Yo, Paige!" some guy calls out. "Is that The Prophecy? Can we get a picture?"

Before either of you can respond, the crowd swarms in like a tidal wave. Students materialize from every direction, phones out, voices overlapping, and it’s all happening too fast. You’re caught in the whirlwind of questions and flashes.

"Can you sign my jersey?"

"Is it true you haven't missed a shot since high school?"

"Are you really majoring in rocket science?"

"Can you do the space shot right now?"

It’s nothing new. You've done this a thousand times, but today, it feels different. You're hyper-aware of Paige standing there, watching, her gaze unreadable. Her eyes flick from the crowd to you, amusement playing at the corners of her lips, but there’s something else there too.

You keep your composure—signing autographs, taking selfies, answering questions—but it’s harder when she’s so close. You try not to look over at her too much, but you catch her looking at you once. And her smile? It makes the whole world feel lighter, even in the chaos.

Then someone from the crowd asks, “Yo, did you come to see Paige?”

You freeze. All eyes are suddenly on you, the crowd waiting for your response.

“Just checking out the competition,” you say smoothly, though your heart skips a beat. But then you catch the subtle curve of Paige’s lips as she tries to hide her smile.

“She's already kicked our ass once,” Paige adds, her voice playful. “Maybe I’m trying to learn her secrets.”

The crowd laughs, and the tension in the air eases. You finally manage to break free from the swarm, and Paige leads you out of the madness, pulling you toward a quieter part of campus. She glances over at you as if to gauge how you’re holding up, and then says, “Sorry about that. I probably should’ve warned you… You’re kind of a big deal here.”

“Here?” You raise an eyebrow. “Not just at Harvard?”

She rolls her eyes with that charming little smirk of hers. “Please, you know what I mean.”

She bumps your shoulder lightly, and for a second, you’re both frozen in that little moment, and then—quickly—she steps away, as though surprised by the contact. She rubs the back of her neck awkwardly before continuing, “The perfect record? The space shot? Your major? You’re like basketball mythology at this point.”

The words settle over you, like a weight that makes you stand a little straighter. It's odd, but you can't deny the truth in what she’s saying. You pass a group of girls, and they absolutely squeal when they spot you. One of them is wearing a t-shirt with your number and "The Prophecy" written on the back, and it's like you’ve stepped into some weird alternate reality.

"That's..." you start.

"Weird?" Paige offers.

"I was gonna say flattering, but yeah, weird works too."

She chuckles, a little breathless, as you continue walking. You can’t help but notice how she looks at you—like she’s caught between admiration and something else.

By the time you reach the athletics center, the crowd starts to thin, but there's still a palpable buzz in the air. Students part for you like you're some kind of celebrity, whispering as they pass.

"—never misses, like ever—"

"—turned down every WNBA scout—"

"—heard she's already got a NASA job lined up—"

"—next GOAT for sure—"

You can’t hear it all, but enough of it sticks to your skin. You make eye contact with a few of the UConn players as you pass, and they do double-takes. The whispers don’t stop. The world still hasn't figured out how to react to you, and you’re still trying to wrap your head around it yourself.

When you get inside the locker room, you spot KK, draped over Jasmine on a bench. She sits up as soon as she sees you, and a wide grin spreads across her face.

“The Prophecy graces us with her presence!” KK announces, her voice carrying through the room.

You and Paige both turn to each other, saying “Shut up” at the same time. You exchange a glance, and immediately, you both look away, your cheeks heating up.

“Oh my god,” KK stage-whispers to Jasmine, her voice dripping with mischief. “They’re actually awkward. This is adorable.”

“I will literally murder you,” Paige threatens, but her face is flushed, the playful tone in her voice not matching her serious words.

You drop your bag, trying to act casual despite your racing heart. "So, this is where the magic happens?"

"Something like that," Paige responds, her voice quieter now. Then, her tone shifts, just a little, as she adds, “Want to see where I practice those trash left-hand drives?”

Her smile is nervous but hopeful, and something in your chest flutters in response. You swallow the lump in your throat, your eyes meeting hers.

"Lead the way, Bueckers."

The gym is quiet, empty this late—just the two of you and the space stretching out around you like a vast, hollow echo. The squeak of your sneakers against the court floor seems louder than usual, and the rhythm of the ball bouncing between you is a steady heartbeat in the silence.

You grab a ball, the motion automatic, instinctual. Some habits don’t break just because your heart’s doing backflips.

"So..." you start, dribbling slow, almost hesitant. Your palms feel too hot on the ball, like everything about this moment is too much, too close, but you can’t pull away.

"So..." she echoes, her voice low, mirroring your movements with a fluid ease that makes your pulse pick up a little faster.

"This is..." you trail off, looking for the right word. Something that fits the electric tension hanging in the air. 

"Weird?"

She raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye. "I was gonna say nice," you add, voice a little softer, but still trying to brush it off, to keep control. "But yeah, weird too."

She laughs—just a soft sound, but it breaks something between you. You feel your shoulders loosen, and the tightness in your chest starts to ease. "Want to play? Or are you scared I'll ruin your perfect record?" Her words are light, playful, but there’s an edge of something else there. Something beneath the surface.

"Please," you scoff, but the words come out softer than you expected, a little breathless. "You couldn’t guard me with a restraining order."

Her smile widens, but her eyes stay locked on yours, sharp, like she can see right through you. "Big talk from someone who's been stalking my coffee stories."

You nearly drop the ball at that. "I— that’s not—" You choke on your words, heat rushing to your cheeks, the sudden shift in conversation throwing you off-balance.

"Four views," she grins. "I counted."

"Professional research," you manage, trying to ignore how your face is burning.

"Right." She steps closer, her body moving fluidly, effortlessly, still dribbling the ball with that same steady rhythm. "And all those late-night texts?"

"Scouting reports," you shoot back, but your voice cracks, betraying the lie.

"The two-hour video calls?"

"Film study," you mutter, voice barely a whisper.

"And coming to Connecticut?" Her tone shifts—lighter, but with a question in it now. A challenge in her eyes, daring you to say something.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding against your chest. "Would you believe advanced aerospace research?"

She's too close now. You can smell the faint scent of her perfume, feel the heat radiating off her as she steps forward just enough to close the space between you. The ball’s still bouncing, the rhythm matching your heartbeats, and you can hear the beat of her pulse too—steady.

"Try again." Her voice is soft, but the challenge in it is unmistakable.

You take a breath, the air thick with something unspoken. "Maybe... I just wanted to see you."

The ball stops bouncing. It’s almost like everything around you freezes for a second. The echo of the gym fades out, and all you can hear is the steady thrum of your heartbeat, racing now, too fast, too loud.

Her eyes search yours, the gold flecks in them catching the light, and for a split second, everything feels suspended. She doesn’t move. You don’t either. There’s a moment between you, raw and exposed, like you’re both just standing there, waiting for something to happen.

Then, her phone buzzes, breaking the stillness—KK, asking where you both disappeared to. The moment shatters, and you both step back, like you’ve both just been jolted awake.

"We should..." she starts.

"Yeah," you agree quickly, maybe a little too quickly. "Team dinner, right?"

"Right." The word comes out like a sigh, a soft release, but neither of you move for a beat.

You both head back toward the locker room, but it feels like the distance between you has doubled, despite being only a few feet apart. You’re careful to maintain some space, but the air around you still crackles with the memory of the moment.

Just before you reach the door, you feel the lightest touch on your wrist. It’s a shock to the system, warm and soft, and you freeze.

"Hey."

You turn to face her, heart still thundering in your chest, your breath caught in your throat.

"I'm glad you came," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hang in the air between you, heavier than anything she’s said so far.

You open your mouth, but no words come out, your mind a blur, trying to make sense of the shift in the air between you. Before you can speak, though, she’s through the door, vanishing into the locker room, leaving you standing there, breathless.

You stand there for a moment, your heart still racing, trying to collect yourself. The touch of her fingers on your wrist is still warm on your skin, like an electric spark that lingers long after the contact ends. You can still feel the weight of her gaze on you, the way she looked at you just before she left—open, vulnerable, and for a second, everything in you just... paused.

You’re so fucking screwed.

Inside, KK takes one look at your face and starts laughing immediately. "Oh yeah," she says to Jasmine, her voice full of knowing. "March is gonna be interesting."

You throw a towel at her, but you can't help smiling. Because yeah, March is going to be complicated. But right now, watching Paige try not to look at you while she gets ready for dinner, you can't bring yourself to care.

Some things are worth the complication.

The team’s already piled into the upscale Italian place, the kind of restaurant where the hostess gives your group a double-take, eyes wide as she tries to figure out if you’re all really who she thinks you are. Emma starts giggling beside you, and you can’t help but let a laugh slip too. The entire UConn starting five, plus you, Jasmine, and a couple of bench players, fill up the space like a small parade. The table’s enormous, but somehow, fate—or possibly KK—decides that you should sit next to Paige. You know it's not her doing, but the thought of it makes your stomach do flips. Definitely not subtle.

Your knees brush under the table, and you both jerk away so fast it feels like a live wire just zapped both of you. It’s... a weird moment, but it’s over quickly.

"So," Caroline leans in, practically smirking with that devious look of hers. "We finally get to hear how The Prophecy got her name."

"Oh god," you groan, sinking back in your seat, hoping to disappear into the padded booth. But Paige perks up next to you, eyes lighting with interest.

"Wait," she says, "I don’t know this story."

You shoot Emma a glare, but she’s already opening her mouth, ready to spill the beans.

"Nobody tells it," you warn, but Emma's already launching in.

"Freshman year," Emma begins, her voice a little too loud in the suddenly quiet room, "first practice. Coach put her through this insane shooting drill—"

"It wasn't insane," you protest.

"Hundred shots from five spots," Emma continues, undeterred. "Most freshmen hit, like, sixty percent if they’re lucky. She goes perfect. Coach thinks it’s a fluke, makes her do it again. Perfect again."

You can feel Paige’s eyes on you, her attention sharp and focused. You don’t know how to feel about it, but you try not to squirm under her gaze.

"Third time," Emma's building to it now, "Coach says 'What are you, some kind of prophecy?' And right as she says it, this girl—" she points at you, "—sinks a half-court shot backward without looking."

"I was stretching!" you defend, but the table's already losing it.

"The name stuck," Caroline finishes. "Even before the no-miss streak."

"Speaking of," Tessa jumps in, her voice suddenly a lot more serious, "how do you actually do that? The never-missing thing?"

The entire table quiets down, all eyes suddenly fixed on you. Even the waitress, hovering nearby, pretends not to listen, but you catch her glancing over every few seconds.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of everyone’s attention on you, but the pressure isn’t all bad. You glance over at Paige—she’s still watching you, her expression unreadable, but there’s something in her eyes that makes it hard to focus. She shifts slightly closer, and it makes your heart race.

"I just..." You pause, unsure of how to explain the weird, inexplicable thing that happens when you’re on the court. "I guess I see it differently. Like, you know how some people have perfect pitch in music? They hear things that other people can’t even pick up on?"

Nods around the table.

"I see angles that way," you continue, trying to sound more confident, but you’re still not used to talking about it. "Trajectories, force vectors... like physics and the feel of it—they just... merge in my head, I guess?"

Jasmine, who’s been watching you this whole time, cuts in with a smirk. "She’s being modest. Yesterday, I watched her solve a quantum mechanics problem while sinking thirty straight threes."

You roll your eyes. "Multitasking," you mumble, but Paige’s knee brushes against yours again. This time, neither of you pulls away, and your concentration goes from laser focus to absolute mush. You feel heat rising in your chest, but you try to keep your voice steady.

The conversation shifts, but you’re barely listening anymore. Every little movement from Paige, every time her hand brushes your arm as she reaches for her water, every time she leans in a little closer to hear you speak—your mind is barely keeping up. Her perfume is subtle but intoxicating, making it impossible to think straight.

"Y'all should see her in class," Jasmine's saying. "Professors literally use her as an example in physics."

"One time!"

"Three times," Jasmine corrects. "Remember when Dr. Peterson used your jump shot to explain projectile motion?"

KK, who’s been silently watching you both like this is her personal reality TV show, grins. "No wonder half the team has a crush on you."

You nearly choke on your water. Paige freezes next to you, and you can feel the shift in the air.

"I mean," Caroline chimes in, clearly trying to smooth over the tension, but only making it worse, "who wouldn’t? Best player in the country, genius-level IQ, and look at her—"

"Okay!" Paige cuts her off, a bit too loudly. "Who wants dessert?"

The change in pace is enough to shake everyone out of the sudden tension. But as dessert menus are passed around and people start laughing again, your mind is still racing.

Later, as the group walks back toward campus, you notice how easily the team starts to scatter. KK and Jasmine vanish into the distance almost immediately, making some excuse about practice. The rest of the team drifts off to their own plans—study groups, dorms, whatever—but you and Paige end up walking together, side by side in the cool night air, the sound of your footsteps the only thing breaking the silence.

"So," Paige says, her voice soft but a little uncertain, "the hotel’s that way."

You glance at her. "Yeah."

Neither of you turns toward it.

"I have, um," she starts, then stops. Takes a breath. "I have a single. In my dorm. If you wanted to watch a movie or something."

Your heart goes into overdrive, doing flips and twists like it might just leap out of your chest. The words feel stuck in your throat, but your mind is running wild.

"Or something?"

Even in the dim streetlight, you can see her blush. "I didn't mean— I just thought—"

"I'd like that," you cut off her rambling, and the smile she gives you makes your knees weak.

Her room is exactly what you'd expect - basketball posters, team photos, neat desk with game notes spread out. What you don't expect is how intimate it feels, being in this space that's so completely hers.

"Make yourself comfortable," she gestures to her bed, then immediately looks panicked. "I mean, you can sit— I'll take the chair—"

"Paige?"

"Yeah?"

"Breathe."

She laughs, some tension breaking. You sit on her bed, back against the wall, and after a moment she joins you, careful to leave space between you.

"So," you say.

"So," she echoes.

"Half the team has a crush on me, huh?"

She groans, covering her face. "KK has the biggest mouth—"

"Just half though?" You're pushing it, you know you are, but something about the way she's blushing makes you brave.

She lowers her hands, looks at you directly for the first time since dinner. "You know exactly how many people have a crush on you."

"Do I?"

Her eyes drop to your lips for a fraction of a second. "You must."

The air feels thick, charged. Your hand is on the comforter between you, and slowly, so slowly, her pinky finger hooks over yours.

Just that small point of contact sets your whole body on fire.

"Paige?"

"Hmm?"

"I didn't come to Connecticut for film study."

She turns her hand, letting her fingers intertwine with yours properly. Your breath hitches.

"I know," she says softly.

You sit there for what feels like hours, neither moving except for her thumb brushing slowly across your knuckles. The touch is so light, so careful, but it feels like the most intense thing you've ever experienced.

"I should..." you start reluctantly.

"Stay," she says quickly, then blushes harder. "I mean, it's late, and the hotel's far, and—"

"Okay."

She blinks. "Okay?"

You squeeze her hand gently. "Okay."

Later, lying in her bed (she insisted, taking the floor despite your protests), you stare at the ceiling in the dark. Your hand still tingles where she touched it.

"Rocket?" her voice comes softly from below.

"Yeah?"

A pause. Then: "I'm really glad you're here."

You close your eyes, smiling into the darkness. "Me too."

Neither of you mentions March. Neither of you talks about rankings or rivalries or what any of this means. For now, there's just this: her steady breathing in the quiet room, the lingering warmth of her touch, and the feeling that something huge is beginning.

Just before you drift off, you hear her whisper something that might be "perfect." But you're already falling asleep, wrapped in her blankets that smell like her, dreaming of basketball and physics and the way her hand felt in yours.

Some equations, you think hazily, don't need solving.

Continue to part two.

[animelovelover123]

I SWEAR you have done this idea before, but I can't find it, so I'm assuming I dreamed it up or read it on someone else's blog 😭. But what would the DMC boys reactions be to reader squirting for the first time? I can imagine some would be cocky about it/extremely turned on by it, etc. It would be exciting to see your POV on them. Thank you for your amazing work! 🥰

Nope, never done this idea but I like it! Here you go, hope you enjoy making a mess with our demon hunting boys ;)

You Squirting On The DMC Boys

Dante

Dante is a messy lover. He likes clothes ripped off and thrown around the room; lipstick marks on his neck, abs, chest, hell even smudged over his lips; hair tousled crazily; making out so rough and sloppy that your lips are left glistening and connected by a string of saliva; and he prefers cumming ON you rather than in you.

The first time he makes you orgasm he is going down on you, because, of course, he wants to start this stage of your relationship by servicing you.

You get him in the face, much of the liquid going right into his mouth. There is a pause of shock then he suddenly sits up, now 2 kinds of your liquids dripping down from his grinning lips.

“Holly hell baby, do that again.” He flattens his hand and starts aggressively rubbing your clit, trying to force you into a back-to-back orgasm. He’ll even shove a couple fingers in you if he thinks it will help. “Come on, you can do it, baby girl, give me another, please, I need it.”

He already loved you, but finding out you squirt, he is going to get obsessed.

He loves it. The wet patches you leave on the bedsheets, his clothes, or whatever surface you two are fucking on is hot as hell and often has him getting excited for a round 2.

And even when you two are finished, he likes cuddling up against you and dragging his finger through the mess you made, drawing shapes and letters on you. Sometimes it was just to relax, other times it was to try to get you in the mood for yet another round, and occasionally…

“I…” Dante said as he drew the letter I on your tummy with the remnants of your squirt. “heart… U.”

Dante is a mess and we love him despite (or maybe for) it. I did not initially plan for it to get corny at the end there but I think that is also another reason many of us love him.

Reboot Dante

This man has had so much casual sex with so many people that he is unfazed when you squirt on him, he doesn’t act surprised at all.

He will tease you, call you “dirty” or maybe “slut” affectionately.

“I got you squirting already? Just wait till I have you screaming.”

He has no plan to stop, capturing your lips before you can respond properly, biting them a bit, and keeps pounding into you.

If he sees that you are legitimately embarrassed by it though, he’ll reassure you.

“Don’t worry babe,” Dante says as he wipes his hands off on the sheets below you. “I’ve had a lot worse things come out of people.”

His chill reaction continues all future times you have sex, though he does tease you both inside and outside of the bedroom. The amount of drooling and waterfall jokes you have to cover up and reprimand him for is insurmountable.

“Oof, you really gotta elbow me, babe?” He chuckles. “I guess I deserve it though. As payback, you wanna waterboard me with that cute little pussy of yours later?”

Perverted Reboot Dante has probably been squirted on many times, this man knows his way around watersports. But that also means I don’t have much to write about.

Vergil

When you squirt for the first time around him, Vergil devil triggers. He turns back quickly out of concern that the change in his body would frighten you or cause you pain for your first time together, but the strain of trying to keep his demon side from coming out is so heavy that he can’t finish.

That liquid was seeped in your scent, your pheromones. And you just sprayed it all over him and the bed like perfume.

He has to make an excuse, clean up quickly, and rush out of the room lest he ravages you.

When you are more accustomed to sex with him and he has more self-control he will let loose all of his animalistic lust but not yet, he did not want to hurt you or scare you away.

He will not explain this unless you press him and/or seem really hurt that he ran off after your first time together.

He does much training, both with and without you, and does get himself under control, though he and his sexual preferences are forever changed.

Now he’ll catch your squirt with some piece of his discarded clothing, claiming it is just to stop you from making too big of a mess. And besides, he cleans his clothes after every time you two have sex.

That is all true, but what he doesn’t say is that even after cleaning his clothes, when he wears them his demon senses can still pick up on the scent, on YOUR scent.

I was this fricken’ close to making him a pantie sniffer, I swear to god!

Reboot Vergil

Even though he likes to portray a prim, proper, clean, in-control aura, making a mess of you turned him on like nothing else.

Before he found out that you squirted, he would get his fix by suddenly pulling you somewhere private, pushing you up against a wall, and aggressively kissing and groping you. And just as you are beginning to process what was happening and get into the mood, he would suddenly pull away and remind you that you have things to do. He would then just watch you reeling, and if he was feeling extra cruel, he would drag you back out into the public space he had stolen you from and watch as you try to come to your senses and act natural.

Now he had something better though. Now he would wait until you were done getting all dolled up and ready for going out or to a house party then strike.

While assuring you that you had plenty of time, Vergil would shove his gloved hand down your panties and start playing with you, cranking up the intensity quickly to get you to that powerful release as soon as possible.

He did not need to be touched as he got plenty of satisfaction from seeing you standing there like a fawn trying to keep your balance with liquid dripping from your core and sliding down your legs. He’ll even avoid helping to support your weight so he can watch you struggle. He will help eventually though so he can link arms with you and use that as a shackle.

“Alright dear, it is time for us to welcome our guests/head out. What’s that? Oh, unfortunately, we simply do not have any time to waste. I’m sure no one will notice, now let's go.”

Reboot Vergil is a smart, tricky lover and a big ol’ bully.

Nero

Despite trying to act cool, confident, and mature, Nero is a virgin. And with where he grew up and the religiousness of his adoptive family, he was not given a sex education past “don’t do it before marriage” and what little he could learn for himself, which was practically nothing. So the first time you squirt on him he freezes mid-thrust in shock and confusion.

“Did you just piss on me?”

When you tell him what it is or he researches it, he feels stupid but at least knows how to approach things from now on.

He takes the time to lay out towels and clean you up after. That is unless you two get too hot and heavy outside of your home and end up fucking in the van or something. Even then though, Nero makes sure to clean up for your comfort and everyone else’s.

Usually he sees it as just a natural process of making love to you, though he does amusingly point out when you “make a good shot” and “launched it far”.

With his relationship with Kyrie, I see Nero as being quite the gentleman to his lover and her natural body functions, though dense at first. He is a good boy though.

V

V finds sex artistic in a way, and when he is in the midst of pleasure he finds it even more so.

When you first squirt on his hand, as he prefers to finger you before taking you completely, he is pleasantly surprised.

He wants to spread it around, utterly cover your crotch, inner thighs, and lower stomach with it. It makes you shine, glisten, just like when he kisses you enough to leave your lips a bit swollen and shimmering with saliva.

After fingering you and you are recovering, preparing for the true event, V grinds his body against yours in a kind of Nuru massage. Sliding his cock, now covered in your juices, along your drenched folds or, if your core is too sensitive right now, against your legs and stomach or between your closed thighs had him trembling and moaning just as hard as if your hand was wrapped around his member

And once he has pulled out of you and his seed is dripping out of you, the white mixes with the clear, creating a pearlescent liquid that V wants to paint with.

Not exactly what I intended but the vibe is there.

[bunny-jpeg]

tulips

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, retired!max, wife!reader, pregnancy & marriage, body worship, pregnant!reader, couch sex, cowgirl position, partially clothed sex, intimacy

this bunny lives off of comments & reblogs! feed the rabbit!

carnations (toto wolff) - roses (charles leclerc) (nov. 3) - sunflowers (lando norris) (nov. 3)

retiring after four world championships felt like the best decision for max. he had done everything he could, it was time to move on. time to do other things. he expected retirement to be a nice change of pace from the constant moving of formula one.

but while racing was one thing, expecting a child in a few months was something else. because three months into his retirement from formula one, you got pregnant.

you were barely halfway through it and max was already captivated by your beauty. you had told him that your son was almost three hundred and six grams, but max just wanted to feel the bump. he was amazed by it. it was the end of your fourth month, you were slowly getting the home stretch of it all.

the two of you would have a child soon. a human child, not the two cat children who loved nuzzling your belly as much as your husband did. but where as cats could only nuzzle your belly while you were on the couch, max got to feel more of it.

it was a cloudy afternoon and the two of you didn't want to leave the home you both shared. there was no reason to. with such grey skies and small streaks of light through the windows, it was better to stay home. which meant that max was even closer to you. curled up against you lovingly on the couch.

you tried to get up and max held onto you tighter. you ran your fingers through his blond hair and said, "you're as bad as the cats." then tilted your head to the side to gesture towards the animals lounging in the cat tree.

he sighed and nestled himself further, "want to be close to you." you couldn't blame him, for years his entire life was racing, thinking about racing, marketing for racing, racing, racing, racing. it meant weeks away from you, even if he was in the next country over it felt like he was halfway around the world. the last thing he wanted was to be away from you.

"well, someone is moving against my bladder and i'd like to go to the washroom." you said as you managed to move him a little away from you to get up. you stretched after being seated for so long, your shirt lifted up a little, exposing the underside of your bump.

max smiled with his cheek against the couch. he was almost irresistible, but there were more pressing matters. you headed to the washroom and when you opened the door once more. max was standing there waiting for you.

you chuckled, "max."

"come back to the couch." he said.

you crossed your arms, you wanted to say something but you couldn't stay mad at your husband. so you dropped your arms and kissed him on the cheek, "alright, alright. did you pause the movie at least."

you could joke that max is basically a herding cat, getting his favourite human back onto the couch. you weren't even that pregnant yet, a whole other leg of pregnancy left to go through. but yet he got you on the couch and his lips against your cheek and neck.

"max."

"you took too long." he said softly as his hand palmed your tender breast. which made you moan, which onto got the ball rolling. you used to think that the rumors of women being turned on by pregnancy were a farce. but even now, you yearned for your husband's sexual touch.

"please, my treasure. let me have you."

one thing led to another as he kissed you and soon you were in his lap. your knees on either side of him as you rubbed your hand across his clothed chest. you could almost feel his heartbeat against your palm. if he yearned to be impossibly close to you, then you'd get as close as possible.

"is this comfortable?" max asked as he eyed your almost naked body. you still had your t-shirt on, but your sweatpants and panties were on the floor. your knees are on either side of his thighs. but he looked up at your face, "does it hurt anything?"

you took him by the face and kissed him on the lips. you moaned into the kissed. he placed one hand around his cock and stroked it a few times. you guessed you answered his question. then with a little help, you sank down onto him and felt his cock hit against all the right places.

his cock made you feel warm all over. you clutched onto his clothed shoulders. you rocked your hips against him, he loved the feeling of you against him. you were a heat in his belly as he tried to meet your pace.

it wasn't particularly fast or rough, but it gave you both enough to feel close to each other. max's pushed up the t-shirt wore and roamed his hands across your swollen middle.

"you're beautiful like this." he said softly. his hands rubbed the soft skin, he leaned as best as he could to kiss he top of it, "doing so good for me. getting you pregnant was the best thing that could have ever happened to me." he touched the under belly and his rough fingers across more sensitive area made you moaned and hold onto him tightly.

"shit, max."

he chuckled lowly, "careful, mama. don't want to swear in front of the baby." then leaned up to kiss you on the jaw then the lips. he just thought you were beautiful, even at your lowest moments during the pregnancy. he just thought that you were not only beautiful, but strong. you were working so hard, and max wished there was more for him to do. that was why he wanted to be so close to you, in case you needed anything.

you looked at him for a moment before you started to kiss him once more. the kisses were heavy as you bodies moved together. it excited you, made you hot all over. you moaned an 'i love you' against max's lips as you thrusted up and down against him. he moaned agaisnt your sweet lips and felt hot all over. you were perfect for him. you made him yearn for your closeness at all times.

you were his life. you made everything brighter for him, so of course he was going to praise your body as he should. you were the mother of his child, putting yourself through so much for him.

"you're beautiful. my beautiful wife."

you chuckled a little, "well your beautiful wife is going to blow up like a beach ball."

he held onto your hips tightly and said, "then you'll be the most beautiful beach ball." you hid your face against his neck to hide your stupid smile and small laugh. he really knew how to pull at your heartstrings.

you continued to move against him, your felt your toes curl and the pleasure like a throb in the base of your skull. your chest was heaving as you panted wildly and you felt the flash of heat throughout your body. you tightened your grasp on him and thrusted up and down. your back arched a little bit as you moaned loudly. you came around him and he met your pace to get himself to completion as well.

his grunts were loud as he finished inside of you. then after he came, he let go of you and let you rest against his chest as you try to put yourself back together. but it didn't last long before max had captured your lips with his and his cock perking up once more.

"max."

he replied quietly, "you took too long in the washroom. i missed you too much." before he peppered your face with kisses. at last the second round you made it to the bedroom.

-

max hoisted the young boy up and held him in his arms. he couldn't believe that nicolas was almost three. it was the first time he was bringing his son to the track, and the first time he himself had been there since the birth of his son.

there was an excitement he felt. while retirement had been kind to him, the rush of being near the track was something ingrained in him. it was all familiar, it had been his home for years. and to share that with your son meant the world to him.

"that's the track." max smiled at his son, the young boy was not even paying attention. his pace started to quicken toward the paddock to see his old friends. he knew he was going to blow the young child's mind by getting him so close to the cars.

"max! slow down!" you called from good distance. max looked over and saw you standing there, beautiful as ever. the maternity clothes hadn't shown their face again because you only found out were expecting again a few weeks ago. but regardless, you didn't want to chase after your husband who was carrying your son.

"mama! i wanna see the track!" your son chirped before max could say anything. he held back a laugh as you gave a look to the both of them.

when the gap was closed between the three of you, you gave your son's cheek a slight pinch, "well i can't have your father running off." then looked at max, "the track isn't going anywhere." then kissed both of your boys.

max didn't regret retiring. to be a good husband and father meant more than any of the trophies and prizes. but, as he watched his son gawked at the cars in the paddock he felt a sense of pride. <3

[rentenier3148]

I Tried Not to Love You

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: You're an ex Avenger turned legislative assistant at the same time your ex boyfriend turned congressman. After avoiding him for years, Bucky calls you one night and asks for help. When a black void threat plunges the team, not only are you fighting the world—but also the versions of yourself you tried to forget.

Word Count: ~3.5k

Warning: THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, So... so much angst, ex boyfriend and congressman Bucky (yes, it needs it's own warning), PTSD with a dark past, mentions of violence but nothing graphic, no use of y/n, not proofread

A.N: I did say I want to write something for Loki which is in the works! But I had to get this out of my head after watching Thunderbolts. Requests are open! I'll gladly make more!

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“Are you kidding me, Barnes?” You tell him frustrated over the phone pinching your nose bridge.

You’re sitting at home munching on some grapes you had in a bowl while you reviewed some pending bills waiting to be signed on your lap. The TV is on with a movie playing that you stopped paying attention to. It’s just some background noise to disturb the silence.

“I need someone who won’t flinch.” He said on the other line.

You haven’t talked to Bucky in years, you tried avoiding him after your break up. Until you found out he was running for congress at the same time you became a legislative assistant. Then the gala came that Valentina Allegra de Fontaine hosted is where you—unfortunately, but quite amusingly—encountered him again. 

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

The tux he wore made you gasp slightly and stand still for a good few seconds. He saw you eye him down and a small softness glazed over his face that nobody else would notice but you. Then you both looked away at the same time. 

When you stood before the big ‘A’ he walked beside you. Quite frankly you didn’t notice him while you were reminiscing of your past as an Avenger. Maybe your keen assassin senses were starting to lack, or maybe his super soldier stealth was too good for you to catch up. You two were always butting heads about that.

“Didn’t think I would see you here.” He told you softly, he glanced my way but I stayed looking at the ‘A’. He pulled you out of whatever memory was playing in your head, and now you’re back to reality.

“Only here for the hors d’oeuvres and also my boss wanted me to gather information on others for an impeachment of someone.” You said with a sigh, like you were exhausted.

Bucky’s ears perked up. “Impeachment of who?” He asked but quieter this time. Hiding the fact he already knows who the suspected person is.

“It’s none of your business. Besides, why are you talking to me, congressman Barnes?” I say finally looking at him. I furrow my eyebrows at him, hoping it would scare him off but to no avail.

“I can’t compliment you and your outfit tonight, sweetheart?” He smiles the smile that makes you cause a flutter in your stomach. You hated it.

“No.”

“Well, you look absolutely beautiful tonight.” 

You stayed quiet with the scowl on your face that’s contradicting with the blush slowly coming up your cheeks. 

“Look, I know we ended things on bad terms back then. But since we’re in the same job now—why not at least be a bit friendly?” Bucky asks gently this time. That smile is still plastered on his face.

“I'd be more friendly if I was your assistant, but I’m not—aren't I? Plus if I was, one of us would've been dead by now.” 

“I would love to be killed by you, doll.” He says playfully. I’ve had enough of his smile and petnames already.

“You’re infuriating.” You say as you quickly turn around and walk away. You didn’t notice the biggest breath of air he let out and his smile faltering as he remembers how much he loved you. 

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“So… his name is Bob?” You ask. It almost sounds like a joke. On the other side of the line you hear a faint ‘Yeah, Bob.’ and a sigh from Bucky.

“... I’ll go.” You said after a moment. Bucky on the other side sort of hoped you didn’t agree so that you could stay safe. But he has no other option and really needed you to help him out.

“I’ll send you the coordinates so be prepared to leave soon,” he says until he goes softer, “thanks, by the way.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. You both stayed on the line until you finally tell him that you’ll be on the way. You hang up on him and stare off at the TV huffing a big sigh. You cannot believe that you got yourself roped into this. But you needed a bit of excitement anyway. 

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You are currently sitting in the back of a van on the way to the old Avengers tower—now called the Watchtower—where it held many fond and sad memories. You feel an ache in your stomach the closer you get. 

Bucky and a bigger and older—though probably not as old as Bucky—man who you met named Alexei sit in the front while Bucky drives. You can slightly overhear them talking about being super soldiers and what kind of ‘super serum’ each one got.

“I don't know. Regular? Hydra.”

It’s an awkward silence between everyone else that you briefly met. You try to look anywhere else but at the others, but you guess the ceiling is quite appealing.

“How do you know Bucky?” Asks the blonde short haired girl. Yelena you faintly remember. You were best friends with her sister, Natasha. Yelena sought comfort in you after she died trying to find some type of closure. But you don’t think you helped her out much with that, and you get the sense she still feels the same way.

“We fought together when we were in the Avengers.” You intentionally kept it short and sweet. Yelena slightly squints her eyes at you—probably sensing I’m hiding more. A lot more.

The man with an odd copycat uniform of Steve’s Captain America suit—John—barks a short chuckle with a small shake to his head. You’re confused by his reaction.

A soft hum of acknowledgement from the other girl in the much cooler uniform comes out of her—Ava you think—until you crash into the tower. 

You all get out of the van and start fighting the OXE group soldiers. 

Then someone’s voice overhead speaks. It’s Valentina. She says that she intentionally left the doors unlocked and was expecting us. You watch Bucky headbutt a soldier as they hit the ground, making you slightly jump at the sight.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

Bucky’s arm is broken off as he is hauled to the wall. Bob—or Sentry as he is referred to now—sees you and comes towards you. You don’t know if it’s because of how terrified you are or because he is too quick, but he seemingly appears behind you and grabs your neck. Cutting off your oxygen supply and throws you hard against the wall making everything in your vision a bit blurry and feeling lightheaded.

You lift your head and see Bucky’s metal arm being picked up at the same time you are lifted by your feet and stumbling quickly to the elevator. The lights in the elevator are so bright that you don’t notice that Bucky was holding your side, gripping hard enough to not let you fall but supple enough to not hurt you further.

You all stumble out of the elevator and into the streets. The heated arguments commence between each other while you try your best to catch your breath. With your eyebrows knitted together, you take a look at Bucky as he reattaches his arm and does that swing thing to get it working again. 

How it still makes your stomach flutter, but your emotions are so strong that you don’t notice.

“Are you okay?” He says to me with concern.

“James, what the hell was that?” You scold. “I didn’t agree to this, I agreed to help you get Bob and take down Valentina. Not almost die.”

“I… didn’t think this would happen.” he looks at me solemnly, a hint of regret behind that sentence.

“Yeah, like how you didn’t think I would be hurt after what you said that night.” You are full on angry and seeing red at this point. 

It was bound to happen that you and him were to eventually work together. But not like this. You expected an office, writing memos and debate about the tax increase on produce. Quick, simple, and nothing more. This was more than that, and you were livid. Along with the past starting to resurface. 

“What does that have to do with what’s going on now?” His eyebrows are now furrowed. By this point, everyone else had already walked away, you both were the only ones left in front of the tower. 

“Oh, it has everything to do with what’s going on now. I really didn’t want to be part of this at all. And I really didn’t want to see you at the gala, much less have you talk to me. I wanted to never see you again because you let me go that night and I wanted so badly for you to come chasing after me… and yet you didn’t.”

A beat.

“I want to hate you so bad… but I can’t bring myself to do that sometimes…” you grew quieter with your head starting to hang low and your eyes staring at the concrete. 

Bucky stood there listening to me. His eyebrows slowly unfurrowing and a sigh comes out of his mouth. 

“I didn’t want to let you go that night. I couldn’t chase after you either, I thought that you didn’t want me around anymore. At the gala, you looked so stunning that I needed to talk to you. I couldn’t resist how beautiful you looked. I thought things were okay and that maybe I could fix things.” He spoke softly, as if he slightly raised his voice that you would disappear. 

“Well obviously they aren’t okay. Especially now.” You huffed out, you looked up at him to fully see his sorrowful expression.

A quiet wave came over the both of you.

“I’m sorry, doll.”

“A bit late for that.”

Then suddenly a suspicious overcast started looming over you. You both look up with a squint and see a floating black figure, It’s hard to recognize who it is at all. Even the outfit and cape the figure wore was pitch black.

You see the figure stretch out their arm and slowly a black starts emerging from the ground. The moment it touched a person, it was just a shadow.

A panic crashes into you as you see people running, cars are crashing into each other, and a helicopter crashes into a building. The rubble starts falling, you and Bucky immediately run to rescue any standbyers who were about to be crushed. 

Bucky saves an elderly couple by a car flying towards them with his metal arm sending the car flying over. I speed over to a little girl to grab her away from the falling rubble.

The blackness is starting to creep closer and closer.

From the corner of your eye, you see John trying to hold up a large piece of rubble from a mother and baby. You go over and try to hold it up as well, then everyone who had swarmed off came to help. Bucky was the last to join, you sensed his reluctance. 

After saving the mother and baby, the six of you head over to find cover under an alcove in a building. 

The blackness is quickly spreading, turning more and more people into shadows. You lean against the wall looking down at the ground, wondering what can be done. This is basically impossible, there’s no way to fight a thing that can turn people into shadows. 

You’re taken out of your trance to see Yelena step out to confront the being. You stare off in shock when she's turned into a shadow. Something hits you on the inside which makes you realize what needs to be done—or perhaps a guess at trying to fix it.

You step out and follow Yelena’s footsteps immediately turning into a shadow. 

You didn’t hear when Bucky cried out your name thinking that you had just made a suicidal decision.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You jolt awake, looking around your surroundings. You recognize it too well.

You’re standing in the warehouse of your first mission during your youth. 

The organization was a hybrid between the Red Room and Hydra, it essentially was the worst of the worst. Training you and rehabilitating you to become their most perfect assassin. Potentially becoming better than their Winter Soldier program and the girls who were trained in the Red Room.

You stood with a pistol in your hand that’s aimed at the temple of your older sister. You remember that your age didn’t hit double digits yet while your sister just turned ten. Your sister is on her knees with her hands tied behind your back. Your job was to execute your family to prevent you from being held back and expressing empathy.

Your sister pleaded your name and cried to let her go. You did not want to remember anything else so you merely closed your eyes as you heard the ‘bang’ that little you produced from the pistol. Your breathing staggers, then you open your eyes.

The same scene is repeated. You go over and grab hold of the gun to stop little you from doing anything else. 

“Don’t do this, please.” 

“You’re in my way, you need to leave!” Little you squeaks, quickly positioning the gun to your face and pulling the trigger.

You seemingly open your eyes again to turn and see the same scene repeat again. Before doing anything else, you see an open door with a white light emitting from the other side. You run towards it and step through.

As you step through, you open another door. You looked back and it looks like you stepped out of a small storage closet with the warehouse completely gone. You look around and it’s your room back at the Avengers compound. 

You see ahead of you the scene play out. Past you and past Bucky in the most heated argument you’ve ever had. You look outside the large panned windows of your room and recognize it’s night time. 

It’s that night.

“I can’t believe you did that shit! Are you too stuck in your Winter Soldier ways? Is that why you turned on me?” Past you scolded. 

“You know I had no choice, you would do the same if you were in my position. I know how blood thirsty you can be…” He says with a scowl. You notice the blood stained knuckles past Bucky has and past you’s hair was slightly damp from sweat and stress. 

“I’m not as bloody thirsty as you, Winter Soldier.” Past you leaned closer with her finger pointing into his chest.

“Winter Soldier or not, I would’ve murdered you on the spot if I wanted to… And I really did.” Past Bucky said with no remorse. Not even a change of expression, from your perspective you could see a hint of Winter Soldier peeking through his pupils. 

Past you was mortified at his emotionless retort. With a small breath in, she looked deep into his eyes and said those words that you—and possibly her—never thought you would ever say in your life. 

“I’m done with you.”

With that, past you storm out of your room slamming the door. You watch past Bucky bury his face in his and a long breath comes out of his mouth.

He didn’t go chasing after past you. 

A single tear also falls from your face. You feel a presence slightly behind you. You quickly turn around and see it’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. 

You can’t contain it anymore and the flood gates open. A hitch escapes from you from the sight of him. Bucky comes over and holds you so tight as if the entire world depended on it. 

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Bucky whispers so gently. You cry into his chest, unable to produce any other word. But you feel like Bucky understood what you wanted to say.

The scene starts repeating itself. Neither of us could help to look at it again. It was already too painful to experience it a second time.

“I found a way outta here.” He tells you once you started to calm down. You look up at him and see a few tears falling from his eyes as he wipes yours away. His hand stays there a bit longer cupping your cheek and you both give in to a kiss.

It was deep and emotional that it almost made you cry again. You missed this so much, you’re certain that he does as well since his hands didn’t leave your face. Cradling you so soft and so warm, despite his cold vibranium hand and his flesh one. 

It feels like eternity when you both finally separate. Bucky’s hands graces down your neck to your shoulders, however the vibranium hand is the one that holds one of yours to guide you to the supposed exit out of this nightmarish memory. 

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

You wake up on the ground all sprawled out. Your head is pounding with a fading memory. The last thing you remember was holding back Bob from beating up his ‘Void’ with everyone else holding on as well. 

Also when we all reunited within the ‘Void’ someone asked about how our pasts were and Bucky said a sarcastic comment. “Oh I have a great past, so I’m totally fine.” or something along those lines with that stupid smirk he sometimes gives. 

You slowly gather yourself up and push your hair out of your face. You notice everyone else is getting up as well, then you see Bucky. You both embrace and lips crash. The moment was shortened when you overhear the others checking in on Bob who’s no longer the other ‘him’. 

Turns out, he doesn’t remember a thing and is just happy to know that he’s back with his friends.

You all spot Valentina Allegra de Fontaine getting up from the rubble. We walk up towards her as she tries to defend herself and walks behind a plastic sheet. From behind it, we are encountered with the press. The flashing lights and shuttering noise of the cameras overwhelm you that you don’t even hear Valentina introducing the lot of you as the ‘New Avengers’.

But you do see Yelena going up to Valentina and whisper something in her ear—a potential threat—as she falters slightly.

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

“I don’t think Avengers with a ‘Z’ is gonna cut it…” You say concerningly to Alexei.

“It’s so soft too! It feels like the bottom of a baby seal. ‘Lena touch it.” Alexei proclaims in his new ‘Avengerz’ jumpsuit as he walks to Yelena and stretches out his arm inviting her to feel the… softness.

“No. I don’t want to touch the bottom of a baby seal.” Yelena sternly says without looking up at him.

You sigh and lay back on the couch. You never would have thought that Sam—of all people—would have a lawsuit against us. He is Bucky’s closest confidant and someone he considers as family. You’re sure that Bucky feels a little backstabbed by all this.

You glance up at Bucky, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks down in deep thought. You place your hand on his lower back and draw circles of comfort on them. Bucky looks back at you and gives you a small kiss. This—unfortunately—catches the attention of Alexei.

“Wait, since when did you and him become… a thing?” He points between us trying to connect the pieces together.

“Since last year right? Our anniversary was a few months ago.” You say calmly while Bucky tries to—very poorly—hide his gentle smile.

“Months?!” Everyone says in unison. 

You draw an awkward smile at everyone with a prolonged “Yeah…” and a giggle right after.

“So there was more of a history between you two, huh?” Yelena confidently says. Her suspicions a year ago were proven correct.

“A lot more history.” Bucky quietly says looking back at you confirming his statement. You just softly nod back with a hum.

“Wonder when we’ll know the rest…” Ava says quietly.

Silence hits the room, until the suction of Bob’s milkshake ignites a lightbulb in your brain. You stand up immediately. 

“You know, if Sam is going to file a lawsuit against us he’s gonna have a good lawyer with him.”

Everyone chimes in, intrigued but confused at what you’re trying to say. 

You start pacing the room with a finger on your chin, Bucky could probably see the gears turning extra hard.

“That means we’re gonna need a lawyer.”

“Well duh, how else is this supposed to go down? We represent ourselves?” John retorts to you while fiddling with the unlabeled buttons of his chair.

“I think that wouldn’t go well if we did, you know… since my other ‘me’ did that last year… um, yeah.” Bob says out loud from his secluded spot, then returns to drinking his milkshake.

Your pacing stops as you look at everyone in the room, a devious smirk spreads your cheeks. Bucky also smirks, but you don’t think he has the same idea as you do.

“I know a lawyer… a really good lawyer…”

⚡︎ ⋯ ─── ★ ─── ⋯ ⚡︎

I really love all the engagement on my series so far! I promise I'll return to it soon. If you want to be tagged, just comment or pm me and I'll add you. Thanks for reading!! <3

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

night out

a/n: we back babyyy!!! i haven't been able to stop thinking about these two for fucking months, so i wrote both this aaaaand another part to wrap up their story and get it out of my system.

summary: “I can’t believe you’re fucking jealous right now…”

warnings: bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader x ex!peter parker, light smut, reader’s mom is the british ambassador to france, age gap (10-15 years), tattooed!bucky (both a metal arm and tattoos as picked in a poll by you), beefy!bucky, forbidden romance, bffs kate bishop and yelena belova, french rave, dancing, kissing, over-the-clothes fun, foreplay, references to public sex, choking, manhandling, jealousness, possessiveness, angst, arguments, brat mode activated (though its totally justified), these hoes are not dealing with their emotions in a healthy way but it's just for the sake of yummy drama

word count: 1993

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“I thought we were just going to a cute little wine bar, not a fucking rave,” you yelled over the music as your friends dragged you further into the warehouse. 

“Oh, come on, babe,” Yelena boomed, slinking her arm around both yours and Kate's neck, “don’t be a chicken now.”

“Yeah,” your brunette friend on the other side of Yelena tilted her frame to catch your apprehensive eye, “you already sneaked out, so you might as well make it count.” 

“I hate it when you’re right,” you groaned, your gaze narrowed to a squint as you got used to the warm flashing lights that dully illuminated the club. 

“Then you must always hate me,” a smug smirk spread across her features before the trio of you ventured further into the crowded space. 

As the night faded away, you found yourselves bathing in the strobes of neon light as your bodies moved on their own accord, like you were all part of a hive, buzzing together in harmony.

But then when you tapped both of your dancing friends on their shoulders and ushered their ears to lean in close to your lips, you told them, “I’m gonna go get some water,” receiving two thumbs up before you made your way through the crowd to the curved bar in the corner. 

However, after the bartender handed you a plastic bottle and you tilted your head back to take a much-needed sip, a familiar voice found your ears from across the bar. 

“As I live and fucking breathe,” you tipped the bottle back down and glanced down the way at the unexpected figure moseying closer to where you stood. 

“Peter!” a surprised smile couldn’t help but spread across your features, “what are you doing here?” 

Settling in beside you, he said, “it’s a Saturday night, where else would I be?”

“No, I mean, what are you doing in Paris?” 

“Oh, what, am I not allowed to be in your city anymore since the breakup?” he joked.

“No, of course, you can be here.” 

Leaning in even closer so that he didn’t have to yell as loud, he asked, “so how are you doing?”

“Me? I’m good, yeah,” your head bobbed in a nod, “how about you?”

“Can’t complain,” his gaze washed over you as if no time had passed at all, “so… can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you shifted the water bottle to your other hand. 

“You seeing anyone?” 

“Oh, wow,” you half coughed, “Peter Parker, king of subtlety.” 

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen you naked more times than I can count, so I figured subtlety went out the window a long time ago,” he smirked, “so, are you?”

“I–, uhm…” your eyes averted a moment as you uttered, “no.” 

You weren’t, it was true. Though the reason for why you’d sneaked out in the first place did have to do with a matter of the heart. 

You’d asked your friends what their advice would be if you hypothetically needed to get over someone. They both of course assumed that you were referring to the man standing before you in the disco and not the person who watched you like a hawk every minute of every day. The method they had suggested wasn’t a sound one, though one that still found you desperate enough to try. 

To go out, meet someone else and bang the dude out of your system. 

“Can I ask you something else?” Peter asked again, ripping you out of your thoughts, away from your bodyguard and back in the moment. As you offered him a nod, he smiled brightly, “you wanna dance?”

And that’s how you found yourself in the middle of a crowded dancefloor, plastered against your ex.

It didn’t take long before your lips reunited as well, staying locked as you both let your hands wander, though for you it wasn’t entirely in the spirit of rekindling something that you’d missed, and more to help you forget about the person who you truly wished to lose yourself on a dancefloor with. 

“Fuck,” you heard Peter groan in your ear and his desperation poked your lower abdomen for the attention you used to give it, “you wanna go slip into the bathroom?”

“Uhh,” you giggled as his lips tickled the side of your neck, “what kinda woman do you take me to be?”

“Mine,” he smiled, “that’s who. I know you. A club bathroom is nothing… remember Amsterdam?”

“Y-yeah, I remember,” your body tingled at the thought. 

“That’s also an option, if that’s the kind of mood you're in,” he winked. 

Chuckling as he squeezed your tit, you shook your head lightly, “I’m not fucking you here on the dancefloor.” 

“Oh, come on, it–”

But the rest of your ex’s sentence was cut short as a figure forced itself between you two and pried you apart.  

Instinctively reaching out for Peter as he was forcefully pushed back, your arm then faltered as you blinked up to discover who had shoved him. 

“Barnes,” a shiver ran down your spine at the stormy expression plastered all over his face, a side of him you’d never witnessed before, “I–”

But he cut you off, only to bark, “out, now.”

“But I–”

“Do you wanna walk on your own or should I just toss you over my shoulder?” he glared down at you just before you watched Peter’s hand plant itself on Bucky’s broad shoulder. 

“Hey, dude, don’t touch her, back off,” your ex tried to square up to the intimidating guard dog. 

“No, no, Peter, it’s alright,” you rushed to explain, knowing full well that your bodyguard could and would put him in the hospital, “he’s–…” your eyes briefly flickered up to Bucky’s steely blue eyes, still directed at you, “he’s my bodyguard,” before you let your touch graze Peter’s forearm, “I’m so sorry, it was great seeing you again, but I have to go.” 

Getting dragged out of the club like a perp from a crime scene was not the way you’d imagined your night would wrap up. 

After he’d virtually tossed you in the back and slammed the car door shut behind you, you fished out your phone and swiftly sent your friends an explanatory text while you half-watched Bucky march around the vehicle to the driver’s side. 

The silent treatment he then served you nearly felt worse than the heated words you imagined tumbled around in his head as he fumed, his knuckles nearly turned white from how fiercely he was gripping onto the steering wheel. 

But when you finally mustered the courage to break the eerie silence, your words came out just above a whisper, “I’m sorry…”

“Are you?” his eyes snapped up to find yours in the review mirror, “really? Because I don’t fucking buy it.” 

“Well, I am!” you threw up your arms, “what do you want me to do?” 

“Not sneak out like a fucking teenager to get drunk with your little boyfriend,” 

“I’m not drunk and he’s not my boyfriend!” 

Not taking any of your words to heart, Bucky went on, “you know how stupid this was, right? What if something had happened, huh? I know you didn’t personally read the threats you got back when I first got this job, but trust me when I tell you that if any of those fuckers had gotten their hands on you tonight, you’d be lucky if you were still breathing when the sun rose. This is exactly the sort of reckless behaviour that caused you to need my help in the first place.”

Your mouth then fell open, utterly stunned at his audacity, “oh my god… you’re unbelievable…” you uttered breathlessly before hazily commanding, “stop the car…”

“No–”

“Stop the fucking car!” you roared, casting your gaze to him once more till you felt his foot step on the break. 

As the car screeched to a stop, you wasted no time ripping the door open and storming out. 

Though you didn’t dare to look back, you still heard him exit the vehicle as well and shadow you as you wandered a few paces away, just far enough for you to be able to get some air. 

“Y/n,” you heard him from just a few meters behind you, “get back in the car–”

But you didn’t shift your feet as you then interrupted, back still turned to him.

“I can’t believe you’re fucking jealous right now…”

“What?”

“Well aren’t you?” you heatedly twisted around to face him, “because it sure fucking looks like it. Getting all fucking possessive, ripping me away from my ex before I can crawl my way back to him, before I get the chance to feel anyone inside of me but you–”

“Stop–”

“Is that it? You just want me all to yourself?” you kept on poking, too blind by your fury to consider the consequences, “you want it to be you that I’m so in love with that I’d make you personalised porn, which would consequently ruin my life and cause me to have a babysitter essentially stalking me.”

“Stop!” he took a step closer as he barked.

“Unless you’ve already seen the tape,” your feet shifted back, keeping him at a distance, “fantasising that it’s for you, getting yourself off to the image of me bouncing on that pretty pink dildo–”

Your sentence then crumbled into a shrivelled yelp as you felt his cold metal hand seize your neck and push you the last few inches up against the brick wall behind you. 

His fingers didn’t squeeze you in the slightest, though you still knew just how easy it would have been for him to tighten his grip and turn it into more than just a raging warning. 

“You done?” he spat as his eyes pieced directly into your soul, “or do you wanna give me more reasons why you’re nothing more than a spoiled little brat, why I should just quit now and not have to deal anymore with what a fucking pain you are in my ass?”

For the life of you, no attempts at offering him an answer were successful on your lips. 

He scared you. 

He’d never scared you before. 

Both because of the explosion you’d undoubtedly made even worse than it had to be, but also his fleeting threat of leaving you for good. 

It all terrified you… 

Though, there was also a different sensation that it awoke within you, one that caused your eyes to flutter down towards his lips, an action that your bodyguard surprisingly mirrored as well as your heated breaths synced up. 

You had no idea who moved first, if it was you or him, but the next thing you knew, you were kissing him.

With adrenaline still pumping in your veins, you clawed at his broad frame as you let your tongue flicker out and flutter against his own. The steely hand that had locked itself around your neck softened and whisked down your form, mirroring your own starving touch as he securely held you like you were about to fall. 

However, just as your palm slid down to find the bulge in his pants, rubbing it needily before your fingers tried to seize the short zipper, Bucky took a large step back, snapping to his senses and creating a wide distance between him and your melted form against the brick. 

His eyes refused to meet your foggy ones as he held them to the ground, slowly catching his breath before uttering, “get in the car,” defeat shining through in his low tone.

“Bucky–,” you tried, but without success as he then cut you off. 

“Please, just–…” his gaze fluttered shut a moment as you then heard him sombrely promise, “look, I’ll make sure your mom doesn’t hear word of what happened tonight. If we go now, then we’ll arrive before any of the staff wakes up, no one will notice.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble

[freshxsturniolo]

childhood sweethearts - chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: you and chris have been best friends since pre school, but your relationship had taken a new turn. you tried to hide it, but a family party at your parents house reveals all.

warnings : suggestive. fluff. swearing. slight angst. mentions of your family.

you were fucking your best friend.

there was no other way to put it.

and you were fucking him good. so good. too good.

it had started as soon as he turned 21. something inside of you changed. of course, you would never deny he was attractive to look at. all three of them where. you had grown up with them your entire life but you weren’t blind. you could appreciate when someone was attractive. but ending up panting and moaning in his bed was not on your 2024 bingo card. or ever, matter of fact.

it had been because you were both drunk, you had both said the next morning.

“happy birthday” you had joked, as you slid out of his bed that next morning, stark fucking naked with hickeys on your collarbone. he had laughed and threw your tshirt at you, and nothing between you changed.

until a week later, and you woke up in his bed again.

“did i satisfy you that well?” he had joked.

the third time, you both laughed.

“we better not make a habit of this” you had said.

but by the forth time, you lingered that next morning. he didn’t want you to leave. you didn’t want to leave.

and by the fifth time, which was approximately 30 minutes into lingering around after the forth tine morning, you were done for.

months passed and you were fucking him almost daily. a lot of the time at your own apartment, a silent confirmation between you both you didn’t want anyone else catching onto what you were doing. but it wasn’t just the sex. it was the longing text messages. it was the secret thigh and hand holding under a table. it was the quick glances and smirks when no one was looking. it was the stupid fucking pounding of your heart every second of the day.

you had told yourself it was because you were both bored. winter had come around, you weren't going out as much as you used to, you were both busy with work. you were both a little release in a cold winter. but it was when you all flew home to boston for the christmas and new year, and he secretly grabbed your hand behind your back when you were watching the fireworks on his parents back garden, the back garden you had grown up in, throwing mud at each other and eating ice creams, that this was becoming more than just casual sex.

when you had gotten back to LA, things had shifted. you cuddled together more often than not, he held your hand when you were out and alone in quiet spaces, he pulled you into his chest so he could play with your hair and you could feel the warmth of his body. you had even stopped trying to hide your new turn in the relationship from matt and nick. they never asked, never questioned, they just watched. by standers in what to them was clearly a growing shift between the two of you. he was your safe person. your safe space.

but neither of you said a word.

so when the butterflies run through your stomach at your moms party, you dont know if to throw up or act upon it.

_

the sun was shining on your childhood back garden and the chatter was loud. you hadn't been home since christmas and the first hint of sun and their daughter being home had your parents hosting a family gathering, just like they did when you were kids. your family where bustling around you, people were drinking, a ray of cups or soda cans littering the garden table already and music was playing softly. but you were disengaged. of course, it was without saying that the triplets would be here. your mom had treated those boys like her sons when you were growing up and she had such a protective streak over them, especially considering their now fame. it was not even a question or a doubt when you announced you were going to move to LA with them, to purse your own career too. your parents trusted them more than anyone else.

but as you sipped your glass, generously full with your favourite alcoholic drink, your legs began to twitch. when you were home for christmas, it had been easy. you were both so busy with your families that it was probably the one time over the last 8 months you had been able to keep yourself separated. but not this time. chris has snuck out your childhood bedroom this morning and down the stairs to your front garden with a giggle on his lips like you were 16 years old and your parents had no idea who he was. fucking him in your childhood bedroom, trying to keep quiet so your fucking parents couldn't hear you, had bought up stronger feelings than ever. you couldn't be apart from him. and he couldn't you.

"are you okay, m'love?" you mom asked as she walked past you. she was doing her usual hosting, making sure everyone was okay, make sure the music was fine for everyone and all the different age groups of your family around you.

"mm?" you ask, looking up.

"you seem ... on edge" she looked down at you with genuine concern, but you smiled, taking a sip of your drink.

"im good, mom. promise. sorry. do you need help with anything?" you asked.

and it was as if right on queue, that they arrived. it was nick who screamed your moms name first, a huge smile over her face when she turned and saw all three triplets walking over to her, but your head snapped immediately to his. its like he'd done it on purpose, or where you just absolutely insane? but either way, he was wearing your favourite outfit. the sweatshirt that you always tried to, and usually successfully steal, but he'd always take it back. just so you could play the whole game again.

"oh, my boys" she beamed, walking over and grabbing each of them in turn for a hug. they were all so gentle and sweet with her. "can you please sort out my daughter?" she asked now, looking back at you. chris speaks immediately.

"whats up?" he asks, looking at you intensely, but you roll your eyes, standing up and heading straight to him to give him a friendly hug.

"im fine." you say, pulling out of the embrace quickly. your mom had eyes like a hawk, one sight of anything different, she'd be the first to know. as you look at him briefly before moving over to hug matt, he sees it too. he knows.

you hug both matt and nick and your mom makes herself scares, telling them to help themselves to food and drinks as the usually, a laugh escaping all of you and her comments, but it isn't long before your family are pulling the triplets from pillar to post. they were genuinely part of your family by this point, and your family missed them as much as they missed you.

so you drank.

you stupidly fucking drank and drank.

and stupidly kept the triplets topped up to. walking past them every now and then and passing them fresh beers, nick fresh white claws, all the whilst getting through your own drinks like they were going out of fashion. after a couple of hours passed, your general feelings has subsided. you were doing a good job of avoiding chris the best you could so to not draw any attention to you, and everyone was in high spirits.

but when you stupidly caught his eye for a little too long, the alcohol surging through your system, you knew it was game over. you sat down, your parents on the chairs to your left, everyone laughing and engaging in conversation when he came and sat beside you. his legs spreading, knees knocking with yours, a slight lean on the arm of the chair closest to you. and you too, opened your legs a little wider, your knee connecting with his and resting their perfectly, leaning across so your shoulders touched.

your eyes stayed away from him, closing on your close family around you. thankfully the music was loud enough that you couldn't work out what anyone was really saying to each other unless you fully engaged yourself, so you knew no one would hear you two either.

"avoiding me, pretty princess?" he asked, a smirk you had to hide with your drink.

"avoiding me?" you reply back, a scoff escaping him.

"reckon anyone would notice if we went upstairs?" he said, the hint of beer hitting your nose letting you know he'd leaned closer. so your turn, your faces inches apart.

"feeling brave, are you?" you ask. he smirks, eyes looking down at you and then around you. but when he stops short, a smile illuminating his lips and he slowly pulls back, you already know. your heart stops.

"another drink, or you good?" he asks, his sultry voice now gone. you cough, sitting up.

"im good, thanks." showing him your full drink. his beer bottle was too full. he looked down at it, his mind thinking fast before he let out a laugh. his nervous laugh.

"im gonna get some food. starving." he says, and then he scrambles off. you watch him. you watch his strides as he enters your kitchen, the way he claps hand with someone who you can't quite see, and then you turn around. your moms eyes, burning into you like a stake.

you smile, going to stand yourself up, but a giddy look appears across her face. her hand immediately slaps on your own.

"mom" you say, but she shakes her head, leaning towards you.

"is he the boyfriend?" he asks, her eyes scanning the room so know one else can hear you.

"what boyfriend?" you ask, puzzled. she laughs.

"you've had a glow about you the last two visits. and when you call. both me and your dad noticed it. we haven't said anything in hopes you'll tell us but" she pauses, eyes scanning to the kitchen where chris has just walked. "is it chris?"

the butterflies running through your stomach almost make you sick. glow? had it been that obvious? you had tried, so hard, to not let anything show. tried to even gaslight yourself into thinking the whole thing was just casual, but your moms words where confirmation that it wasn't, at all.

"no, mom. its not."

she shrugs. she doesn't believe you.

"excuse me" you said, and she only laughs as she turns around, settling into conversation with everyone else around the table. you don't care about anyone else, your legs go into auto pilot as you stand yourself up, placing your drink down onto the table and heading towards the kitchen. your eyes scan but the room is empty, and you know damn well he didn't walk out back into the garden. so your legs carry you further, through into the living area, around the corner up the stairs and straight towards your bedroom door. one small push of the handle and he swings it open, pulling you inside, slamming you against the door as he recluses it.

his lips are on yours in seconds, and you can't help it, your hands instantly grab his hair as his hands come to your waist, squeezing tightly as his body presses you against the door. you're frantic, the alcohol running through your system, but you know this won't go further. not now.

when your kiss finally slows, and he rests his head on your forehead, you're both breathless. looking at each other, he gives you a smile.

"she notice?" he asks.

you pause for a second. "yeah."

"think we got away with it?" he asks. you don't say anything. "no?"

you smile faintly. "shes known since christmas, i think."

he closes his eyes, his jaw muscles tightening. but his forehead never once leaves yours. you wait. because you're scared if you speak, you won't be able to stop yourself.

"when do we expect defeat, y/n?" he asks now, eyes opening and his forehead finally leaving yours.

"what?" you ask. your hearts in your damn throat. he takes a step back, turning and walking towards your window. it faces the front of the house so unless anyone has gone round to the driveway, they won't see him. he doesn't answer, just stares. you stay pressed against the door until the silence becomes to much.

"chris-" but he stops you, turning around.

"what the fuck are we doing?" he asks. "you're my bestest friend in the world but i dont think it should feel ... like this?"

you gulp. "like what?"

"like im in love with you."

you let out a shaky breath, and then you can't help the laugh that falls from your lips.

"jesus christ," you say. "who'd have thought it, huh?" you walk towards him, and he looks at you wearily before you wrap your arms around his neck. "i feel like im in love with you too." you say.

he stares at you, his eyes scanning your entire face before he lets out a groan, picking you up and throwing you down onto your bed. a squeal escapes you as you don't expect the motion, before you're laughing as he straddles over you, pinning your arms behind your head.

"why the fuck has it taken us so long to fucking say it" he says, looking at you intensely. you're uncomfortable as fuck, legs hanging off the bed as your back is in a slanted angle, but somehow you never want to leave this spot.

"the sex just too good, makes you forget maybe" you tease, and he rolls his eyes as he lets go of your hands, standing off the bed. you sit yourself up, looking at him as he runs his hands through his hair before he holds his hand out to you.

"come on" he says, and you take his hand, allowing him to pull you up and over to him, smoothly placing his arm around your shoulder. "im sick of acting like this isn't happening"

you chuckle. "do you think matt and nick know?"

he rolls his eyes. "the way you scream my name sometimes, babe, i think they've known since day one."

you jab his side with your finger, and he laughs as he tries to move away. but when you reach out and grab his t-shirt, he swiftly pulls you into his chest.

"this might be a stupid questions," he asks, looking at you with a grin, "but will you change your title from best friend to girlfriend?"

stupid fucking question indeed.

"happily."

[beasangel]

what they don’t know p1

⤷ joel miller x ditzy!reader

💭“Don’t listen to them. You’re the only good thing I got left.”

you didn’t know joel felt anything until the night he kissed you. Now you’re tangled in something real and raw, and the world around you doesn’t understand. joel doesn’t care. not when you’re already his.

part 2 joel masterlist main masterlist

a/n i put ditzy cuz it's not what i would see as a bimbo but my friend said that's what this is, so you'll have to make up your own mind

At first, you thought Joel Miller didn’t like you at all.

He was gruff. Distant. Always watching you with that look, half irritation, half exhaustion, as if your presence made his day harder. He never laughed at your, admittedly shitty, jokes. Barely responded when you smiled. Whenever you spoke, he’d cut you off with some muttered “You done?” or “Ain’t got time for this.”

And yet…

He always knew where you were.

Always checked that you had food in your bag, that your boots were laced properly, that you weren’t sneaking off somewhere dangerous. “You ain’t stupid, so stop acting like it,” he’d mutter when you wandered too far from the group. When you tripped on ice outside the Jackson fence line and scraped your knee, he didn’t say a word- just picked you up and carried you like it didn’t mean anything.

You didn’t think much of it. You thought maybe he looked out for you because no one else did.

People saw you as sweet, but silly. Naïve, they called it. Ditzy. You liked soft things and old songs and took too long at the market because you couldn’t decide between canned peaches or soup. They’d smile at you like you were a child. Not malicious, just dismissive.

So when Joel started paying attention, you assumed he was just another person who thought you couldn’t take care of yourself.

You didn’t know he watched you for another reason. You didn’t know he noticed how when it came to what you loved you spoke so eloquently. How when you came across injured animals you took time to calm it. And how other saw that and still treated you like you weren’t worth the air you breathed.

You didn’t know until he kissed you.

You’d just returned from a run, cold, tired, and frustrated. Someone had mocked you the whole way there and back, calling you “Joel’s little charity case.” Saying you probably got him to protect you by batting your eyelashes and letting him touch you.

You told Joel about it. Not expecting comfort, just needing to say it out loud.

He didn’t speak for a long time. Just stood in the doorway of the small house you'd been using, arms crossed, jaw tight. You could barely look at him, your throat hot with embarrassment.

“I ain’t protectin’ you 'cause I think you're weak,” he said finally, voice low. “I do it ‘cause I can’t stand the thought of somethin’ happening to you.”

You blinked up at him. “Joel...?”

He looked at you like he’d already said too much. Like he regretted it instantly. But then he stepped closer.

And kissed you. Hard and quiet and full of all the things he never knew how to say.

You didn’t sleep that night. Not really. You lay curled into his chest, warm beneath borrowed blankets, while your brain replayed everything over and over again.

People didn’t like it.

They already judged you for being young and soft in a place that demanded hard edges. But now they looked at Joel like he was the problem. Like he’d taken something that didn’t belong to him. They whispered louder now. Stared longer. Made comments when they thought you weren’t listening.

“Midlife crisis?”

“Guess he he is just that kinda man.”

“Wonder what she’s getting out of it.”

And Joel, he took it. Said nothing. Shoulders square, jaw locked, like he could carry it for both of you.

But the one that hurt worst was Ellie.

She was already angry with him, for what you not quite , and your presence only made it worse.

She’d look at you and smile thinly. Say things like: “Wow, Joel. Bet she reminds you of better days, huh?” Or to you: “He got you on a leash, or do you just follow him around ‘cause you don’t know better?”

She tried to play it off as teasing, but the hurt behind her words was too sharp to ignore. And Joel… Joel didn’t know how to fix any of it.

Sometimes you’d watch him watch her and you’d wonder if you made it worse. If being close to him meant everyone else had to fall away.

Still, Joel never left.

He kept showing up, kept holding you like you were something precious in a world full of rot. He’d tuck your scarf tighter around your throat when it snowed. Rub your hands between his when they got too cold. Sit behind you in bed with his legs bracketing yours and grumble about your bad posture while brushing your hair.

He called you things he’d never say in front of others.

“Sweetheart.”“My girl.”“Jesus, look at you.”

And sometimes, when he thought you were asleep, you’d feel his breath against your shoulder and hear him whisper: “Don’t listen to them. You’re the only good thing I got left.”

You still get looks. Still hear the whispers.

But every time Joel chooses you, soft, messy, too young you, it makes something bloom in your chest. Something fierce. Something real.

You might be ditzy. You might be too kind, too trusting, too whatever. But Joel sees you.

And even if the world never understands what you are to each other… You do.

-

part 2

[prael]

Day 6: Revenge Or Fate

IOI/Gugudan Sejeong x male reader smut

words: 5,611 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

"What's that look for?" you ask with all the whimsy you can muster. "I only said that I bought your favourite popcorn. Why are you staring at me as if I just got down on one knee and proposed?"

"You did say you'd marry me someday," Sejeong jokes. Then she does that thing she always does when she's nervous—tugging at the lobe of her ear.

You roll your eyes. "Yeah. I mean when we are both in our sixties. When you have become the crazy cat lady and I the bachelor with a penchant for wine and cigarettes. It's not even close to that time yet."

"Why would you be smoking?" Sejeong wrinkles her nose. She knows you can't stand the smell.

"Because I'll be an ageing bachelor, duh," you answer with a dismissive wave of a hand as you sit by her on the couch. She's got her legs curled up against her chest, the way she always does when it's cold outside. You'd know—she's been sitting like that on your couch every winter since the beginning of time.

She lets out the softest of laughs before it quickly dissipates into silence. She's staring across the room, but not really looking at anything. Her face is painted in melancholy. You know her well enough to know that look, and you hate it. Hate everything it represents. You sigh. The first time you saw her like this was back as teenagers, after the dog she grew up with had been hit by a car. It still hurts your chest.

"You've got that look again," you tell her. "Like there's a million and one things in your mind and none of them particularly good."

"I'm okay. Just tired." Sejeong's smile doesn't quite convince you.

"I wasn't going to say anything. I thought you'd tell me if you wanted me to know, but it's been months since you asked me to come over on a Friday night, so something has happened. I haven't seen this much annoyance behind your eyes since the end of Game Of Thrones. What is it?"

"I'm just feeling overwhelmed, that's all. I wish you weren't so observant."

"You should be used to it by now."

Sejeong flashes a half-hearted smile and takes hold of your hand as she used to do when you were kids. You feel guilty for the way your stomach flutters.

"I guess we have always known each other better than anyone else," she admits, her hand still clasped around yours. It's warm and familiar. You feel the urge to push away, but how can you? It would give far too much away. She has always had this effect on you—you could never distance yourself from her warmth. "He's an asshole."

"You don't need to tell me twice," you chuckle. Then: "Tell me what happened."

"I think he might be cheating."

The air escapes from you at once. The way Sejeong said it is so casual, almost as if she'd resigned herself to this fate a long time ago. And here you are, trying your best to keep your anger under control, like always. But not for her sake—rather, for yours. You know where your feelings belong, and they have no place in the situation at hand. Not today, and definitely not ever. You take a deep breath and look her square in the eye.

"What did he do?"

"I shouldn't have mentioned it," she laughs nervously. She doesn't want to put any more weight on your shoulders than she already has, because that's who she is, you suppose. But how can she expect you to ignore it when she looks like a sad dog staring into the rain on someone's front porch?

"We're best friends. I want to hear everything," you insist.

"He's been acting differently lately." Sejeong pauses. "Distant. Like there's something he isn't telling me."

"Do you think there might be?" you ask carefully.

"It's always something with work. Or a friend that really needs him. Or a family member or—fuck. I don't know."

"I'm sorry."

Sejeong sighs and runs a hand through her hair. There are unshed tears in her eyes. This bastard is making her cry. You want to smash something, preferably his head.

"I don't wanna bother you with this shit," she whispers. She sounds exhausted.

"Don't say that," you retort softly, squeezing her hand in yours. It's clammy. "Don't ever say that again."

She gives a curt nod.

"God knows I've told you enough about my romantic misadventures over the years," you joke. Your chest tightens when Sejeong lets out the tiniest of laughs. Maybe you can still make this right, whatever this is. "Misery loves company."

"You know," she begins, pausing to look at you properly. There is something unreadable in her gaze, something that you've never seen before. It makes you hold your breath in anticipation of whatever is to come. "If there's one person I could choose to be miserable with, it would be you."

For a brief second, you forget that time exists.

"Well, I'm very honoured," you reply eventually. There's another pause where you ponder what to say next. Then, simply, because that seems like the easiest answer: "Do you want me to go beat him up?"

Sejeong laughs and punches you in the arm.

"I thought you were a pacifist?"

"Yeah, but exceptions must be made sometimes."

She raises an eyebrow at you. You can't tell what she's thinking. "For me?"

"Yes."

It feels like standing on a cliff. You want nothing more than to jump, to feel freefall in your whole body. The only problem is that you'll most certainly die. The ground below is made of jagged rocks and bad ideas. Yet, here you stand, willing to do anything in the world for the beautiful girl next to you. Even if it means lying broken beyond repair.

Sejeong breaks your trance when she explains, "There's this girl he works with. We had dinner together with some people from their office two weeks ago, and... I don't know. They just seemed off. She kept looking at him. You know that look? The one where they linger on someone just a bit too long."

"So that's what gave it away?"

"Well, that and the rumour. They had a thing before he met me. It's over now, or it was." A single tear rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away quickly, seemingly irritated at herself. You frown. Sejeong has no reason to be ashamed of being hurt. She should be allowed to shed tears, even buckets full if necessary. You wouldn't judge. "At least that's what he said. He promised me it was over. But... God."

You reach forward to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Her lips tremble, so you quickly move your eyes back up. Staring at her lips is dangerous territory.

"You don't deserve this shit," you say resolutely.

Sejeong chuckles sarcastically. "Then why do I keep ending up here?"

That question stings. Not because it's directed at you—it isn't—but rather because you know the answer. Sejeong has been in this kind of position too many times to count. She attracts guys like honey does flies; every single time, with no exceptions. Only the worst seem to make it past the rest. Sejeong gets caught in their deceitful net time and time again, only to inevitably break her heart after months and months of manipulation disguised as devotion.

"Want my honest answer?"

"Yes."

"I think it's because you're the sort of person that believes the best in everyone. And that is a beautiful trait. I love that you do that. I really do. But sometimes..." you trail off, not quite sure how to continue without sounding accusatory.

"Sometimes I get screwed over," Sejeong finishes. You nod in response. "You're right. I guess it's my fault for trusting too easily."

"No," you shake your head. "It's not your fault. That part is absolutely wonderful. It's just..." You're suddenly hesitant. What if Sejeong takes this the wrong way and shuts you out?

"What?" she probes.

"Have you ever heard the expression 'you can't see the tree for the woods'?"

"Sounds stupid."

"It means you can't see what's right in front of your nose," you explain.

Sejeong stares at you for a long time. You think she understands, but it's impossible to know. It would probably be better that way—if she understood and did nothing about it. You aren't supposed to feel this way about her. How many times haven't you imagined what it would be like if things were different? If circumstances were perfect, if her current guy hadn't appeared out of anywhere and swept her off her feet before you'd even realised what was happening.

But that's just your luck.

"Thank you," Sejeong whispers. "Can we, um, watch something? I don't wanna think about this right now."

You let out an awkward cough. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. Do you remember when you forced me to watch Twilight, and I spent the entirety of the movie complaining about how terrible it was?"

"You still watched all of them with me." A tiny grin appears on her face. Thank God.

"That was truly the highest form of torture," you joke. "I hope you brought something better today. Please don't tell me you downloaded another movie about sparkly vampires."

Sejeong punches your arm. "I'll have you know I am extremely cultured nowadays."

"Yeah? Show me then."

A couple of hours pass and everything feels decidedly normal. You rest against the arm of the couch and Sejeong rests against you. You make jokes at the expense of the film as you always do and she laughs that soft, carefree laugh of hers. The credits roll and Sejeong sits up, stretching her limbs like a cat after a nap. You smile at the familiarity of it all. For a moment it doesn't matter what she has—or hasn't—been crying over.

"I'm tired," she says. She blinks slowly as if to prove it to herself. It's quite endearing, actually.

"Yeah?" you ask nonchalantly.

"Will you let me stay here tonight?" Her voice is small, unsure. But why? It's not the first time she has stayed here. This place is practically a second home to her.

"Like you need to ask," you retort lightly as you stand up and look down at her.

She opens her mouth to speak, but that's when her phone rings. When she sees his name flashing across the screen, she visibly freezes. Annoyance seeps into you like acid rain. His nerve—to call at such an hour, and expect her to pick up. Sejeong just watches, almost paralyzed, until eventually, she does pick up.

"Hey," is all she says. The reply is much longer. You can't make out the words he's saying but the tone tells you all you need to know.

"I was going to," Sejeong replies tersely. Silence. Then: "I told you already, I went over to—" Pause. She swallows thickly. "You didn't tell me you were going out." A longer stretch of silence, during which his voice gradually increases in volume. Suddenly Sejeong sits bolt upright. Her eyes grow wide with confusion and disbelief.

"Me!?" She shouts. "He's my best friend! I wouldn't—" Another pause. She takes a deep breath. "No. No, that isn't fair. You can't—"

It sounds like he hangs up. Sejeong doesn't move. Her hands are shaking violently.

"Do I even wanna know?"

"I should go home," she murmurs flatly.

"To him? To the guy who's probably just fucked his co-worker?"

Sejeong turns to glare at you, eyes cold as ice. You immediately regret your words.

"I'm sorry," you quickly amend. "That was uncalled for. It's none of my business. I shouldn't have said that."

"Why?" she asks bluntly. Your heartbeat picks up in a hurry. There's anger in her eyes. Anger that could turn against you so quickly.

"Why what?" you reply defensively.

"Why don't you wanna be with anyone? You've rejected every single person who's tried to get close to you since we were sixteen. There's got to be a reason."

The world grinds to a halt. Time, space, and life itself stop existing for a minute while you consider your options. On the one hand, you could lie; come up with a suitable excuse and maybe she won't push for more. On the other hand, you could simply admit to the truth that's haunted you for years.

You open your mouth. Close it. Fuck.

Sejeong stands up, wading in the silence towards you. You can't help but take a step backwards. In that split second, you're sure she knows—and yet you cannot tell.

"Have you ever loved anyone?" Sejeong demands to know.

Your heartbeat roars in your ears. "I don't understand why you're asking me this," you choke out. A part of you wishes you were back there on the cliff. At least then you could've jumped off of your own accord, with a little dignity left intact.

"I need to know," is all Sejeong says. Her gaze is relentless. You hate it. It makes you want to claw your own skin off—and there are truths under there that you plan to take to the grave.

"Why?"

"Because I need to know if what I'm going to do next is the right thing."

She stands beside you now. On the edge of that cliff, though it's starting to feel more like you're on the roof of your car. Staring up at the stars on some forgotten summer night. The jump seems more like a flight.

"I have," you admit. Somehow it seems easier than to try and fight whatever force is controlling the both of you. It feels strangely liberating.

"But you won't allow yourself to do anything about it." You know her well enough to discern a question from a statement, no matter how carefully she might try to veil them as the latter.

"It's complicated," you say quietly. She's so close to you now that you can hear the hitch in her breath. Why is she pushing this? "Why are you doing this?"

Her eyes flit from yours to your lips, then back again. So quickly. One, two. But you saw it. And your entire body tingles in anticipation. You'll dare move away—not now, not when the leap of faith feels more like a hop.

She doesn't say anything else. One more small step and her body collides with yours. Lips press against lips and suddenly, all thought scatters. Sejeong tangles her fingers through your hair and pulls. A gasp escapes you before you regain control and kiss her properly. It's frantic, rushed. Years of pining bleed out with every touch. You grab her, pull her as close to your body as possible, and lose yourself completely. Something is swelling inside you. A feeling so large and uncontainable that you think your chest is going to explode any second.

It is indescribable.

All of it—the sensation of kissing her, holding her—surpasses description. You're falling from that cliff, but she's holding you, and before you can hit the rocks she's dragging you to the couch and climbing on top of you.

It feels unreal. The entire world disappears as your lips find hers again and again and again. You don't care to question what happens after. This moment is yours, forever branded in your memories, and nothing can take that away from you. Even if it ends here—even if she were to walk away now—it would've been worth it. Completely and irrevocably.

When you finally part to catch your breath, you can't help but stare at her in awe. She's so beautiful. A masterpiece. Your hand moves to her cheek almost automatically. Sejeong lets her head fall against it with a soft sigh.

"Wow," she whispers.

"Yeah," you croak.

"Please don't regret this in the morning." Her voice is so quiet, filled with so much pain, that it breaks your heart. Your own fears are secondary.

"I never could," you breathe. Then you lean in to kiss her again, slower this time, savouring every sensation as if it might be the last. By some miracle she responds eagerly, fingers wrapping around the collar of your shirt as she holds you steady. You have no idea where this leaves the two of you, but you want her closer—now. You reach around and slide your hands under her thighs, pulling gently upwards. She follows your lead, settling against your lap in a way that makes the situation undeniably real.

As you kiss, her hips start moving back and forth. Soft, shallow movements. Little whimpers escape her throat and fall directly into your mouth. Fuck. She moans—actually moans—into the kiss and a violent shiver travels through your whole body. You break away momentarily to look at her face, flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes staring back at you.

"Do that again," you whisper against her lips.

"Make me," she pants.

The next kiss is searing, open-mouthed, and accompanied by Sejeong grinding her hips against you. Harder now. Unrelenting. Your hands travel up her waist, slipping beneath her blouse to feel warm skin underneath. You feel every tremble of her body when your fingernails drag lightly across her flesh. A gasp—then she leans backwards, with her arms outstretched and clinging behind your neck, to look you dead in the eye as she continues moving her hips against you.

"Sejeong... What are we—"

"Shh."

Your hands snake further up her shirt. Her back arches in response as she grinds down hard, moaning loudly. Your eyes flutter shut briefly to enjoy the sensations—the sounds—coming from her. You force them open once more because you can't miss this show for anything. You push the shirt up and over her chest. Her hands slip from behind your neck momentarily so that you can get the garment over her head. And then she is there before you, bra and sweatpants-clad, panting softly and waiting.

"Sejeong—"

"Fuck me." It is barely more than a whimper, but it rattles the very core of your being.

"What?"

She lunges forward and kisses you forcefully. There are tears in her eyes—tears you didn't notice until now. Her desperation bleeds through.

"Please," she whispers into your mouth, her voice breaking slightly. "Please."

You can't deny her. How could you? You're unfastening the clasp of her bra and your hands are everywhere on her. Pulling her closer, exploring every inch of bare skin you can get your hands on. Her fingers start unbuttoning your shirt—clumsily, but getting the job done. Once open, her nails dig into your bare shoulders, as if testing out whether you're really here, tangible and real. As if you could disappear at any moment and leave her stranded. A loud groan escapes her when your fingers brush against her nipples.

"You're so fucking beautiful," you murmur into her ear. She whines at the words, nails digging deeper into your skin.

The friction between your legs is driving you mad. You've got the burning urge to pick her up and slam her into the nearest wall, but you savour what you have. First, you kiss her neck, then it's a trail down her collarbones. Your teeth nibble playfully at the skin until she moans, begging you to do something. You obey, leaning in to flick your tongue across a nipple before swirling it around the bud. Her fingers fly into your hair and hold you against her breast.

"Holy shit."

Your mouth latches on tighter. Sucking. Biting. The heat pooling between you grows more intense. Eventually, you detach and move on to the next, eliciting more delicious sounds from the girl above you. All those nights spent fantasising about exactly this don't come close to the real experience. You're supporting her, around the waist and the small of her back, while she leans back in your lap, presenting herself to you.

You appreciate every inch of her slender figure. By eye and then by tongue. You draw constellations along her skin, your touch is feather-light. Across her toned stomach to her hips, then right up the side of her body. She throws an arm above her head and giggles lightly as you lick all the way up underneath it. You follow a path to her armpit. Sejeong giggles more when you begin to nibble there too. When you raise your eyes to meet hers she blushes fiercely.

"Weirdo."

"Just appreciating you," you murmur, pressing soft kisses against her shoulder and up to her neck.

"Mm. I like it," she replies hoarsely.

So you spend some time like this. Appreciating her bare body and making her squirm. Kissing, licking, and biting everything that you can possibly reach until her writhing becomes borderline violent. Then she grabs a hold of your jaw, looks you deep in the eyes, and utters the most sinful words you've ever heard her say.

"Enough teasing. I want to ride your cock now."

Every inch of you lights on fire. From your forehead to the tips of your toes, you feel flames lick at your insides. Sejeong climbs off you without another word and starts pushing her sweats from her hips. You watch, spellbound, as she wiggles out of them. Her panties follow suit.

Then she turns to face you. Standing fully nude, absolutely breathtaking in every sense of the word. A goddess. Every bit as perfect as you had imagined. Even your fantasies weren't this good; nowhere near as intoxicating as this moment right now.

"You have ten seconds before I sit on your face instead," she deadpans, you both laugh. At least she hasn't lost her humour.

You unbuckle your belt and shuffle them down as best you can while still seated. Enough that she can reach down and pull your cock free from its confines. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull when she wraps her slim fingers around it. Pumping up and down. You're hard already, unbelievably so, and when she drags her thumb across the head of your dick it actually twitches. You suck in a deep breath, willing yourself to focus.

And then she sits on your lap, sliding along the length of your cock. Fuck. She repeats it a few times. Back and forth, slicking your cock with her wetness.

"I always pictured this," she admits.

"Really?" you croak.

"God yeah, I remember back in college. I must have rubbed one out to you more times than I can count." She smirks at you then—a wicked smirk that makes your entire body shiver. A filthy admission to you and you only. She does it again, drags her wetness along you. How on earth are you supposed to remain composed when she says things like that and does things like this? You wrap an arm around her back and pull her closer, staring at her as if seeing her for the very first time.

"You can't say things like that, I'm gonna—"

She cuts you off with her tongue in your mouth. Kissing you like it's the last thing she'll ever do, and your lips the only form of sustenance she'll ever need. It gives way to her frantic little moan, desperate and unrestrained. For the life of you you can't comprehend what is happening, only react, and fuck if it isn't the most incredible experience you've ever had. Her skin is burning against yours, hungry and yielding to your every touch.

Sejeong shifts slightly and grabs a hold of you properly. Your eyes widen when the tip of your dick brushes against something wet, warm, and soft. The very centre of her. She repositions herself, now holding you carefully against her, and then... slides down the length of your cock, pausing halfway down. The pleasure is so acute that you cannot control the way your back arches off the couch, and neither do you control the profanities that spill out from your lips.

A sinful grin spreads across her face. As her legs are pinned around your waist, you cannot move, but Sejeong certainly can. And boy, does she know how. She starts bouncing herself up and down, riding you so expertly and looking so good doing it. You've thought of this so many times—having sex with your best friend, of all people—but you did not picture it like this.

"This okay?" she murmurs in your ear. You hear the smile in her voice.

You utter the only word you can muster: "Yes."

She laughs airily, placing a kiss on your temple as she continues her rhythm. When she moans—a long, drawn-out moan, half-pained, half-pleasured—and throws her head back, you stare up at her, eyes drinking in the beauty that is in a position so incredibly vulnerable yet completely in control. How you long to capture this moment and keep it somewhere safe forever. She looks down at you now. Her heavy-lidded eyes pin you to your spot as much as the physical manifestation of her pinned against your skin. She traces her fingers down your jaw, your neck, and the top of your chest.

"I wish he could see me now," Sejeong hisses, anguish evident in her voice.

"You look so fucking good."

"He doesn't know what he had," she laughs bitterly. "Fuck him."

"Fuck him," you echo. Sejeong smirks and moves her hips more fluidly. Goddamn. Her tight little cunt feels so perfect clenched around your cock.

She watches your face closely as she keeps riding you. As you keep clutching her hips and help her along, grinding deeper. Groaning when she throws her hips forward faster and faster. Her cunt is so hot and tight. She sucks at the life seeping out of your pulsating cock and squeezes it with her inner muscles in ways that no one has ever done before. Sometimes she pulls completely off you, her breath shuddering as you twitch, only to take you deep inside her again.

Your hands have a mind of their own, sneaking upwards to grip her neck. You give it a gentle squeeze, just enough to get her attention. All the while you're staring intensely into her eyes. They've become glassy, intoxicated, more than just wanting but longing for it. Her voice is hoarse, strained, as she says, "How have I been so stupid? All this time—you're right here, and I never—"

"It doesn't matter. None of that matters."

"You're so—fuck."

Her body trembles and she falls forward onto you. She's gripping your arms, nails sinking into your flesh. Sejeong's breath grows increasingly laboured. After a long string of expletives, she lets her head rest on your shoulder as you snake an arm around her back and support her. Her whole body is rigid, teetering on the edge of an orgasm.

"Never felt this good," she forces the words out amid moans as you buck your hips up into her, picking up the slack as she begins to falter. The rhythm is quick now, urgent, filled with unbridled passion and everything left unspoken for too long.

When Sejeong cums, you feel it all around you—her pussy quivering, leaking her arousal around you, dripping down your thighs and saturating you, almost drowning in the intensity. It makes her moan into the crook of your neck and rock her hips, fucking herself while trying desperately to quiet the sounds of her ecstasy against your body. But that is unthinkable, to silence someone like that, and you tell her so. Whispering the filthiest things in her ear as she throbs around your cock, dragging out the last tremors of pleasure of her orgasm as much as you possibly can. She spills everything out into your shoulder, every word, every whimper. Until at last, you can feel her sagging in your lap, breathing heavily and spent.

"Keep going," she pants, tightening her grip on your arm. "Don't stop."

She throws herself to the side, pulling you with her, and somehow lands flat on her back with your body on top of her. You wince at the sudden shift. But not for long. Because Sejeong opens her legs wide, hooks her calves around your hips, and tells you again not to stop.

You smirk and lean forward, trapping her beneath your body and capturing her lips in a sensual kiss. It is deliberate, lingering. Her arms fly up and tangle themselves through your hair, locking you together. When your tongues meet, you sigh deeply against her. There is a warmth settling over you. Languid, dream-like. Like you're both floating through clouds, carried away by the sweetest of breezes.

There is nowhere else in the world that you would rather be than right here, between her legs.

You rock into her, once, then twice, each time more intense than the last. The angle is entirely different. You grab a hold of one of her legs and hitch it up a bit, allowing yourself to thrust deeper inside her.

"Are you okay?"

"Mm. Move slower. Nice and slow," she instructs.

And you do. Eventually, a hand comes up to cup the nape of your neck. Sejeong stares into your eyes and your breath catches. Then you're kissing, again and again, but there is not so much desperation and anger anymore, but something else. It is the feel of her hips meeting yours, the way you press your bodies together, the softness of her lips and the taste of her mouth. Her breaths rush from her lips to yours, from hers into you.

Sweat starts to bead at your temples as you rock into her. Slow, deep, patient strokes. It is not desperate fucking anymore, or an attempt to pour all of your heartbreak into some meaningless action. It's almost reverential—the way you're holding each other, soft and sure. A sweet torture, a sublime suffering, for as long as time allows.

You don't talk. Your mouths say nothing, at least. With your bodies, however, your fingertips whisper praise against her skin. Spirits float free and serenade each other. Sounds escape her that you haven't even dreamed of. Broken, wanton, as if wrenched out of her. They rise above and meet in a higher plane of reality, where two minds are one.

It takes time. A slow build to the crescendo. You know when you've struck the final note by the way she cries out, over and over again, her pretty little hole convulsing, spasming around your cock. She wants to squirm away but has nowhere to go. You refuse to let her. You smile against her neck and sink your teeth into the skin there.

Soon you follow, groaning her name into the warm flesh. It's a flood—your insides are melting, pouring out from your loins and into her heat, her insides contracting, trapping every ounce inside. Hot, sticky, yours. This feeling. It is as if your heart has grown wings, a phoenix born anew from the ashes of who you used to be. You don't have to be lost anymore. She will carry you, always, her fingernails tracing patterns in your damp skin. There is nothing to fear.

Sejeong whines and moans softly as you fill her. One more careful thrust and you still, collapsing on top of her as the waves subside. All the while she is there, stroking the back of your neck and quietly reciting every piece of filth that she can think of.

You wonder whether this will last longer than the night.

God. Would you be okay with that?

When you eventually move back to look at her, to make sure she's okay, there are tears in her eyes. Uncertainty overwhelms you. Before you can react, before you can ask what is wrong, Sejeong cups your cheek. "Thank you," she whispers, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. This girl. All these years. All the wasted time. It feels right being with her; everything is finally where it should have been all along.

"You were worth the wait," you breathe. You place a kiss against her brow before rolling off and settling next to her.

"Do you..." Her voice fades. She runs a finger along your collarbone, eyes anywhere but yours. "Do you want this to be a one-time thing?

"No," you answer without hesitation. You catch her hand in yours, entangling your fingers, willing her to understand everything that you're unable to tell her.

Sejeong smiles. Genuine, unapologetic. For the first time in months, she looks happy. Fuck him, indeed. "Good," she says with a soft laugh that evaporates any of her lingering doubts. Her eyes flick to your lips and she whispers, "So, uh, we've got some lost time to make up for."

"Yeah?" you whisper while rolling her back over and climbing over her. "If there's a debt to be paid..." You start trailing kisses down her neck, down her sternum, grinning at the tiny shivers it elicits. "What better time than now?"

Your kisses lead you over her toned stomach. Once you reach the juncture between her thighs, you pick up her leg and set it over your shoulder. Sejeong is already squirming, anticipating what is to come. You take a look at her—mussed hair and flushed cheeks, mouth slightly open, beautiful, tempting. It feels almost gratuitous—that you're able to see her like this. It makes you pull her even closer, and stick your tongue into her center. Her upper body lifts almost immediately and her eyes fly open. A shaky whimper leaves her lips.

She's right. There is a lot of catching up to do. Luckily for her, there's still the whole night ahead of you and a lot more you'd like to show her.

[rafedarling]

Can you write a moment of an interview with Jimmy Kimmel asks Drew one or two questions about his relationship since him and actress!y/n have confirmed that they are together on an instagram post (that they are currently this year in a relationship according to the rumor of Internet users and media) and Drew mentions actress!y/n abt how she's amazing, that he will love to work with her one day :)

since i already wrote one for drew at jimmy, i think i should put them both on the norton show. hope you like it!

𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧

pairing: drew starkey x actress!reader

summary: you and drew are invited to the graham norton show to promote your upcoming movie, set to release in april. however, the interview isn’t just about your movie, it also touches on your recently confirmed relationship, sending the audience into a frenzy.

warning(s): english is not my native language. fluff, playful teasing, past pining, and drew being the sweetest boyfriend ever.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore @issabellec7

marie’s note: i just opened my wattpad account! from now on, you can read my fanfics on both tumblr and wattpad. however, i can’t guarantee that i’ll be very active on wattpad. a little update on my upcoming work, i’m currently working on the return of superman mini-series!

Graham grinned, waiting for the applause to settle before dramatically placing a hand over his chest.

“Alright, alright,” he said, pretending to catch his breath.

“Let me sit down first because I simply cannot stand here and do an interview with such a powerful couple.”

The audience laughed, and you shook your head in amusement. Drew leaned back, his arm resting casually behind you on the couch, a smirk playing on his lips.

“So,” Graham continued, eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Not only are you both co-stars in your new movie, but also lovers off-screen. Is it true?”

The crowd went wild again.

Drew chuckled, shaking his head at the dramatic reaction.

“Yes,” he confirmed, his Southern drawl making the words sound even more charming.

“We are lovers off-screen.”

Graham leaned forward, clearly loving every second of it.

“Since you’ve already confirmed it on Instagram, let’s dive in a little. How did this all start? Y/N, do you want to take this one?”

“Sure,” you said with a smile.

“I actually met Drew through his sister, Brooke. I was in her friend group, and she invited me over to her new place once. That was the first time we met.”

Drew nodded.

“Yeah, Y/N was one of my sister’s friends, but after that, she kind of disappeared. We didn’t see each other again for a long time, maybe a year or so.”

“Ah, so was there an instant connection? Or did it take a little while to realize, ‘Oh, that’s the person I want to know more about’?”

Graham asked, clearly invested.

Drew turned to you with a teasing smirk.

“If we’re talking about our first meeting… I didn’t have feelings for her then.”

The audience gasped dramatically, and you burst into laughter.

“Hold on, hold on before you boo me!”

Drew added quickly, grinning.

“At the time, I was crushing on someone else. But when I met Y/N again later, it hit me hard. Like — why hadn’t I asked her out before? What was I doing?”

Graham gasped, clutching his chest for comedic effect.

“Scandalous!”

“I know, right?” you joked.

“Plot twist, I actually liked him from the very beginning.”

Drew’s head snapped toward you, eyes wide.

“Wait, what?”

Graham looked like he had just struck gold.

“Oh, this is juicy. Tell us more!”

You chuckled, shrugging.

“Yeah, I had feelings for him when we first met, but I knew he had a crush on someone else, so I just… kept quiet about it. I liked him so much that I couldn’t even date other guys.”

Graham covered his face, laughing so hard he had to lean back in his chair. The audience reacted with a mix of cheers and sympathetic awws.

“Wait, wait, wait… hold on,”

Drew said, pointing at you in shock.

“You never told me this!”

“I know,” you said, giggling.

“I guess I thought it was silly.”

“Silly?” Drew looked at Graham, then back at you.

“Babe, I feel like I need to apologize to past you.”

Graham wiped away imaginary tears.

“Oh, this is the kind of romantic drama I live for!”

Drew shook his head, smiling.

“I can’t believe you were out there suffering in silence while I was being an idiot.”

“It’s fine,” you teased. “You figured it out eventually.”

The audience burst into applause, and Graham clapped his hands together.

“Well, I think I speak for everyone when I say, thank goodness you did! Now, Drew, if given the chance, would you want to work on-screen with Y/N again?”

Drew didn’t hesitate.

“Oh, absolutely. She’s amazing; such a talented actress. I’d love to work with her again.”

You turned to him, surprised and touched by his words.

“Really?”

“Of course,” he said softly.

“I mean, I get to see how incredible you are off-screen, so getting to experience that on-screen again? That’d be a dream.”

The audience erupted into cheers again, and Graham dramatically fanned himself.

“Well, if you two ever do another movie together, let’s hope it’s a rom-com, because this kind of chemistry needs to be on display!”

Drew laughed, slipping his hand into yours.

“We’ll see what happens.”

Graham then leaned forward, eyes twinkling with curiosity.

“And Drew, since we’re on the topic, what has it been like dating Y/N? Fans are dying to know how you feel about it.”

Drew’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, and for a moment, he looked at you instead of Graham. The teasing smile softened into something more sincere.

“It’s honestly the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he admitted.

The audience collectively sighed in adoration.

“I know that sounds dramatic, but it’s true. Y/N is just… she’s amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who balances me out the way she does. She’s the most patient, kind, and ridiculously talented person I know.”

You felt your heart swell at his words, heat creeping up your cheeks.

Graham pretended to wipe away tears.

“Oh, this is too sweet. Keep going!”

Drew laughed but continued.

“She makes everything feel easier. My life gets pretty crazy, you know? Between filming, traveling, press there’s a lot going on. But with her, it’s like… I always have this anchor. Someone who keeps me grounded. And the best part? She never tries to change me. She just lets me be me.”

The audience let out a chorus of “Aww!” and you squeezed his hand, feeling overwhelmed by how openly he was speaking.

“Okay, this is getting too romantic for me,”

Graham joked, fanning himself.

“I feel like we’re intruding on a private moment!”

Drew chuckled, looking back at you with a grin.

“Well, you asked, man.”

Graham shook his head playfully.

“I did, and I’m so glad I did! You two are adorable.”

The interview wrapped up soon after, but that moment the way Drew looked at you, the way his words made your heart feel like it might burst, was already making waves across the internet. Fans were calling you the Hollywood couple of the year. And honestly? You didn’t mind one bit.

[piracytheorist]

So about that grenade pin...

On first glace, this is certainly a top-notch proposal scene. A spy and an assassin, who are hiding their identities from each other, arranging their marriage for mutual benefit while fighting criminals, and the proposal ring coming out of a grenade pin, followed by an explosion from said grenade behind them? It's so absolutely badass and fun and as wacky as the story goes.

But I also like over-analyzing this story and making that everyone's problem, so I would like to share with you my thoughts on the symbolism of that gesture.

1. It's unconventional.

Twilight's original plan was to use the diamond ring from the repossessed artifacts to propose to Yor. In his mind, he wanted to create a family that's as conventional as it gets, in the hopes that it won't attract too much attention. Losing that diamond ring is a sign by the narrative that there was actually no chance this family would be anything but extraordinary. A grenade pin is not only unconventional for a proposal ring, it's also the result of impulsive thinking, of using what he has on hand.

Over time, this family will cause Twilight especially to act more impulsive than he's used to. All three of them will also be able to be themselves within this family, without putting any acts - Yor has already started feeling more confident than what she started as. There won't be any need for fancy diamond rings, or for any part of the family to be the perfect husband, wife or daughter. They will feel free to be themselves and know that they won't be judged for their secrets.

2. It represents the life of violence both Twilight and Yor are living.

Being in dangerous situations, protecting themselves from such dangers, and killing people is by now second nature to both of them. Throwing a grenade at a group of thugs after them is nothing out of the ordinary for them. It's very fitting to connect that with the thing that brought them together - the mutual need for a cover spouse.

But it also represents a truth; Twilight lies to Yor about the reason why he's being pursued by murderous thugs, and Yor lies to Twilight about how she became so good with self defence tactics. There's a TON more violence in their lives than they let on. The grenade ring is kind of a symbol of all that violence they're hiding from each other, and almost like an admittance of it, from the narrative at least.

3. Despite its catastrophic nature, it's a gesture of defence.

Twilight might have stolen back the stolen art pieces, but getting shot at by the first thieves was not a fair retribution. Plus, they weren't shooting just at him, they were also shooting at Yor, without knowing for sure whether she was an accomplice or not. She did kick a few of them unconscious but neither that nor taking the art pieces back guaranteed the death penalty. So he was acting out of defence when he threw the grenade at the people shooting at him AND Yor. Yor, on her own, only attacked a thug when she saw he was directly targeting Loid, so she was also acting in (self) defence.

And this parallels the reason behind their motivation for their jobs; Twilight wants to stop a war from happening and to avoid all the pain and casualties brought by one, and Yor wants to stop violent people from causing pain to her family or other innocent people. It is dirty work, without any consideration of their own innocence and well-being, but it's one they do for someone else's peace and safety.

That's what that grenade did. It killed the thugs, but it kept both of them safe.

4. They're a match of weirdos.

I don't think I need to point out how downright wacky it is for someone to propose with a grenade pin. We joke like "If my significant other doesn't propose to me like this they shouldn't even bother" or something, and it's a good joke, but in reality we would be horrified to see someone pull a pin from a grenade, throw it at a group of people, then propose to us with that same pin while those people are being blown to pieces right next to us. We would also be horrified at the prospect of us being the person to pull the pin and propose like that.

Yet neither Twilight nor Yor find any of this weird in the slightest. Twilight doesn't hesitate for a second to use the pin as a proposal ring while he's reciting his vows to her, and Yor accepts it wholeheartedly and even looks at him with admiration, not even worrying about the fact that this near stranger is holding her hands in his - a kind of proximity that would normally cause a violent reaction from her.

Not only is neither of them weirded out by the whole situation, not only do they not suspect the other might find this whole thing weird... their inner thoughts even match here. Cause the main feeling in that moment, for both of them, is a kind of relief that their plan for a cover spouse was successful, much faster and much easier than anticipated, and a security that they don't have to fake their feelings to each other. Until Twilight's mission and Yor's real job do them part.

I can't be certain how much of all that was intentional, but it was fun looking for what that grenade pin could symbolize. And I'm always down for an excuse to go meta on this story :D

(anime only here, don't spoil me for the manga)