#my library ᝰ.ᐟ

[rafesteddy]

Can we get dilf!rafe and milf!reader? Max lets it slip to rafe that his buddies ogle and find milf!reader so hot when they saw her pick up Max and Winnie from school a few times? You can choose how it goes afterwards!! I love your writing of their fam saurrrrr much

awe thank you bb 💕 I'm so glad you like it 🤭🤭🤭 sorry this one got a little long—but I hope you enjoy 😋💕 This story is meant to be read either alone or with the rest of the au.

+18 -> smut

𝓭𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: teenage boys being gross, jealous rafe, swearing, ownership kink, possessive rafe, pet names, multiple orgasms, overstim., squirting, fingering, unprotected p in v, mirror sex, dirty talk, spanking, lots of cum, female oral (post-shared climax)

cameron kids= Max (18), Winnie (17), Rory + Poppy (4)

You lean into the counter, absentmindedly squeezing lemon after lemon into the glass pitcher. Cold juices run down your fingers, sticky as it slips into the creases of your palms and drips to your wrists. The whole kitchen smells like sugar and citrus, with that warm, buttery hint of cookies still cooling behind you.

The plate’s already half gone, devoured by teenage boys lounging in the common space: tall, tan, loud, sprawled across your furniture like they own the place.

“Sugar, please?” You ask, gesturing toward Kelce’s son, perched in front of the one cabinet you need.

“Yes, ma’am,” he hums, flashing you a grin as he hops down to grab it.

His hand brushes yours as he passes it off. You smile, polite and sweet as ever, returning to stir the mix.

“Fuck, she wants me,” he mutters to Max—just out of earshot.

Your son groans, tipping his head back against the cabinet. “Fuck off, Tripp.”

“Why else would she be in here squeezin’ her lemons?” Tripp groans, dragging the sentence out like it’s a double entendre.

“You’re still goin’, huh? Not scared?”

“M’not scared of shit—”

Before Max can answer, the door opens with a thud.

“Hi, Mom!” Winnie calls, sandals slapping the marble as she breezes in. Her boyfriend Jackson’s behind her, arms full, carrying the twins, still damp from the sprinkler, dressed like they’re headed out.

“Is it cool if we take the twins out for ice cream?” Winnie asks. Her tone’s breezy, but she looks sharply toward one of Max’s friends eyeing her up.

That same boy yelps when Max nails him in the arm. “M’gonna fuckin’ kill you,” he mutters, while the kid doubles down, clearly unbothered, shooting his shot at your daughter like it’s all just part of the game.

“Of course, sweetheart,” you say, crossing the counter for your purse.

“Mrs. Cameron, really—I’ve got it,” Jackson says, voice firm.

“That’s very sweet. But not necessary… Thanks for taking them off my hands.” You kneel in front of the twins gently brushing back your daughter’s curls; cupping your son’s cheek lovingly. “You two be good for your sister and Jackson, okay?”

You lean in to kiss their cheeks, and without realizing it, your sundress shifts. The neckline dips, your breasts press softly together, the hem lifts just enough to tease. You linger, whispering something about sprinkles and chocolate.

Behind you, the room goes silent.

One boy swallows hard. Another just stares—slack-jawed—like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Max… Dude. This is your life?”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?” Max mutters, jaw clenched.

“I’d move in tomorrow,” Tripp grins. “Be your stepdad today.”

“Bet she tastes like sugar—”

“I said shut up,” Max snaps, louder this time.

Just then, another boy walks in from the hallway, Trevor. He catches sight of you, still bent low in front of the twins, and freezes. Smiling like the goddamn Cheshire Cat, he lifts both hands like he’s gripping your hips and starts thrusting the air behind you in slow-motion silence.

The other boys lose it—coughing, choking on laughter, trying and failing to keep it together.

You straighten up, sundress swaying back into place as you smooth it down with both hands, blissfully unaware.

“All right, go have fun,” you sing out, waving them toward the door.

You turn back to the pitcher, lift it to the sink, and flip the tap without thinking.

Water churns—lemon juice and sugar swirling, rising to the rim—as your gaze drifts out the kitchen window. And then you see him. Rafe…

His white t-shirt’s soaked through, hose in hand as he rinses down the G-Wagon. Sunlight turns the spray to glitter. Water drips down his arms, soaking the cotton clinging to every curve and cut of his chest and abs.

He turns, flipping his hat backward with one hand, jaw flexing as he wipes his brow.

Your thighs press together. Grip tightening on the pitcher just as the lemonade spills over, cold and sticky down your wrist. You fumble the tap, blinking fast, but your eyes don’t leave him.

His shirt clings to his back, practically painted on, while his blue swim trunks ride low on his hips and high on his thighs.

One hand coils the hose, and the other grabs the wash bucket. His chest flexes with every move, muscles rolling under wet cotton like sin in motion.

“Have fun, boys,” you call out, pouring lemonade into a glass, still watching him.

The front door clicks shut as you step outside barefoot. The grass is crisp beneath your feet; sun shining hot on your shoulders.

Rafe looks up the second he hears you. His mouth curves into a slow, knowing smile. “Oh shit, pretty,” he drawls, eyes dragging down your body. “That for me?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, offering him the glass—but he doesn’t take it. He steps closer, warm, wet arm curling around your waist, pulling you flush to him like he can’t help it. His mouth finds yours instantly—hot and slow. Your fingers hook behind his neck, greedy for more.

You giggle into the kiss, breathless. “How much longer?”

Rafe pulls back just enough to smirk, water dripping down his temple “What? You want somethin’, baby?”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴ 15 minutes earlier…

The garage is quiet at first—just the clatter of golf clubs and the squeak of a sponge as Rafe scrubs the green off his chipping wedge. The radio hums softly from the corner, low and easy. But that peace doesn’t last.

Beer bottles clink inside the fridge; ice rattles in the machine. And just around the corner from where Rafe sits, the boys start talking their shit like they don’t have a care in the world.

“I’m done,” your son mutters—tone flat and fed up like he’s been saying all day.

“Not my fault your mom’s hot as fuck, Maxi.” One of the boys fires back, voice deep and smug. “M’just waitin’ for the day she gets stuck in the washer. I’ll pound her shit right there—”

“Fuck you,” Max hisses. There’s a sharp thud and a groan; Max hits his friend hard enough to give him a moment's peace from him, but it doesn’t stop the rest of them.

“Did you see her in that swimsuit the other day? Playing with the twins? That bikini? She’s still got an ass on her. Those tits too?” Trevor chimes in, practically drooling. “I wanna play with her twins. Slide my dick right between ‘em—”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” Max growls.

“Hey, you fucked my sister, Max. Both of ‘em. Think I get to tug one to your mom… every night—”

“She’s so hot, bro. Like stupid hot,” another pipes up. “Your dad doesn’t deserve that. He can’t keep up. Can’t handle all that. His stamina’s gotta be shot.”

“She made me cookies like it was foreplay,” one of them says, breathy and laughing. “You think she ever looks at us and wonders…”

“She made cookies for my dad,” Max mutters.

“Yeah. That’s what I said—”

And then Rafe clears his throat, loud and measured. The sound slices through the room like a blade. So quiet you could hear the soft clink of a stolen beer cap hitting the concrete.

The boys scatter like mice out the side door and back into the house. Their smug laughter from moments before dies on their lips, replaced by frantic whispers of “do you think he heard” and the squeak of boat shoes skidding across the floor.

“Come here,” Rafe says, low and calm.

Max exhales hard, stuffing his hands in his front pockets. His shoulders drawn up to his ears as he drags himself across the garage floor.

“You wanna explain what that was?” Rafe asks without looking at him, voice steady as he cleans his club.

Max shrugs, sullen. “I mean, you heard it.”

“Yeah… I heard everything—”

“Every fuckin’ day,” Max mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anytime we’re at the house. I try shutting it down—it’s impossible.”

“They were talking about your mother,” Rafe says. “You just gonna let that fly?”

“They’re fuckin’ idiots,” Max scoffs. “Just givin’ me shit. They’re not gonna do anything. And what am I supposed to do, huh? Beat the shit out of every guy who opens his mouth about mom?”

“Nah,” Rafe says, smiling without humor. “They’ll get the hint some way or another.”

“Well that’s not horrifying,” Max mumbles, giving him a side-eye—because he knows damn well Rafe might handle this himself.

“She’s not just your mom, you know. She’s my wife,” Rafe says, nodding toward the garage door. “So yeah. I know exactly how hot she is.”

“Ew.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Rafe grins. “I just had to listen to that perverted pissin’ contest over your mother. And Trevor’s sister? Really?”

“…Sisters,” Max murmurs, not meeting Rafe’s eye.

He cringes, face twisting in the exact same way his son’s had moments earlier. “Aren’t you dating Top’s daughter?”

“They’re Trevor’s sisters,” Max repeats. “Doesn’t count.”

Rafe stares at him. “And what’s the math on that? It doesn’t count? You serious?”

Max shrugs, then deflects. “Hey—remember who the enemy is here, alright? He was talkin’ about Mom.”

That earns a dry laugh. Rafe crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall, still giving Max a look like this conversation’s not over.

“I like that excuse better,” he breathes. “Y’all headin’ out?”

“Mhmm,” Max hums, already inching toward the door like he’s trying to disappear. “Just gonna grab some snacks.”

“Yacht Club?”

“Mhmm,” he confirms, eyes on the exit.

“Be safe,” Rafe says, a little quieter now.

Max mumbles something back as he pushes into the house, and the door shuts behind him with a soft thud.

Rafe doesn’t move. He just stands there for a second, staring at nothing, letting the quiet settle. He knows what he feels. Always has. He just doesn’t always want to name it.

He used to love the attention. The looks. The envy. Part of him still does. When you were younger, his friends couldn’t keep their eyes off you. Couldn’t help the comments, the sideways glances. And he loved it—loved knowing that no matter how many mouths whispered your name, it was his bed you came home to.

You were his. All his. Always. But this? This was different. Hearing that kind of shit from teenagers—his son’s idiot friends, their mouths full of his food, beers stolen from his fridge, spending long, lazy days on his boat—no. It didn’t feel flattering. It felt like a fucking insult.

The way they talked about you was like you were some option. Like if given half a chance, they’d step right into his role. As if they could touch you. As if they could handle a woman like you. His wife. It pissed him off. And he knew it shouldn’t—not like this.

It wasn’t new. It wasn’t shocking. But today? It got under his skin in a different way. Raw and hot and fucking personal.

He let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through his hair. This is what happens when your wife is you. People want you. They always have.

He laughs under his breath—half at himself, half at the absurdity of it all—and reaches for the sponge and bucket again. He wasn’t gonna fight them. He didn’t need to. There were better ways to remind them where they stood.

They wanted to act grown? Act like they could love you, care for you, fuck you like a man? Fine. Let them watch. Let them see what a real man does.

Rafe lets the door swing shut behind him and strolls across the drive, relaxed, deliberate. His gaze lifts straight to the window above the sink—and there you are, stepping into frame like you were waiting for your cue.

Rafe squeezes the hose handle, blasting water against the side of the G-Wagon. He shifts a little closer, just enough to let the spray bounce back misting his skin, ricocheting off the glossy paint.

The sun is hot, but the water is cool against his skin. The soaked fabric clings to the muscles of his chest and abs. He tugs his shorts a little higher on his thighs, watching the droplets slide down his body.

Then he smiles again—cocky and quiet—as he pulls the oldest trick in the book: flipping his cap from front to back like he’s not thinking about it at all.

Next, his shirt. He peels it off slowly and casually and tosses it aside, revealing his tan, chiseled frame. The gold chain with your initial catches the light.

“Five… four… three…” Bang. The door claps shut. He chuckles to himself, smug, reading you like a favorite book. He doesn’t even have to look to know it’s you. But he does.

Rafe glances over his shoulder as he hears your bare feet brushing through the grass; sundress swaying in the summer breeze. And then he sees you, glass of lemonade in hand, eyes already locked on him like he’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted.

“Look at you,” he mutters, watching you float closer. You took the bait. You always do. And he lives for it.

He spots movement through the glass, Max’s friends still inside, lingering, pretending not to watch.

Rafe praises you as he always does, a breathy “mhmm” buzzing past your lips is the only thing passing before he’s kissing you deep, hot, and possessive—right there in the driveway, letting them see. Letting them know who you belong to. How good you fit in his arms. How easily he could take you wherever and whenever he wanted.

He pulls back just enough to breathe you in; Rafe brushing his lips across yours like he can’t stop touching you. His big hand drifts lower, sliding over the slight curve of your back before grabbing a handful of ass—firm, slow, and so intentional it makes your breath catch.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. You laugh quietly, barely holding it in. His shirt’s been tossed somewhere behind him, skin warm and bare against yours, that heavy gold chain glinting faintly against his chest.

The teenage boys barrel out of the house, faster than usual. Lugging the cooler through the grass as they look anywhere but at you.

“Where are you headed?” Rafe calls out, still holding your waist.

“Told you—yacht club,” Max grits, like a chore.

“Yacht club, huh?” Rafe echoes. “Sounds real productive. Why don’t y’all finish cleanin’ the car before you go burnin’ my gas?”

“Dad, seriously?” Max groans, letting the cooler drop to the grass with a thud.

“You’re about to torch another five hundred dollars of fuel,” Rafe says, grinning as he jams the sponge into one of the boys’ chests hard. “Don’t even get me started on yesterday. Three-fifty in food, six bottles of cheap-ass liquor—none of which I’d let past my lips or hers… It’s the least you can do.”

“Pretty sure that was all Winnie—”

“Spare me the bullshit,” Rafe drawls, his Southern accent soaked in judgment, cutting like his smirk.

“Since when are you washin’ cars anyway?” Max mutters, dunking a sponge into the soapy bucket. You try not to giggle but you can’t help it. Rafe’s flair for the dramatics is so visible in Max it’s like looking in a mirror.

Rafe laughs as well, already turning back to you. He reaches up, wiping a drop of water from your cheek with his thumb, pressing a kiss to your lips—gentler this time, like he’s taking back the moment before their arrival.

“Now what did you need, baby?” Rafe murmurs as the boys start scrubbing the truck. You glance up at him, feeling nothing but butterflies. Rafe bites his lip slightly, head tilted slightly, making your brain short-circuit. “Name it, princess,” he mumbles, thumb tracing slow, possessive circles on the small of your back.

“You.”

That one word has him grinning, dark and knowing. “You want me, huh?” He mutters, voice dropping an octave. “Alright. Do somethin’ for me.”

“Anything…”

“Go on back inside. Head to the guest room. Get on the bed, just like this. Don’t take a single thing off,” he adds. “I wanna take it off you. You think you can do that for me?”

“Yeah… yeah, baby,” you murmur, lifting up just enough to press your mouth to his.

He leans in, lips lingering like he’s already counting down the seconds. “Beautiful,” he mutters, voice low, that crooked grin spreading as his hand lands on your ass with a lazy smack. “I’ll be right behind you— ”

“Love you, Max! Have fun, boys. Be safe,” you call out, voice bright and sweet as you disappear toward the house.

The driveway shifts the second the door closes, all the sunshine snuffed out the second you’re gone. The boys go silent, scrubbing like their lives depend on it.

Rafe’s shadow stretches long across the driveway. He folds his arms over his broad chest as he surveys the group, his gaze unreadable—far colder than anger.

“Yacht club, huh?” He says, nodding toward the cooler. “Gonna load up the boat? Burn my gas, drink my liquor, make some memories? I hope y’all have fun,” Rafe adds, and if they didn’t know any better, they might think he means it.

“Thanks, Mr. Camer—”

“Maybe you’ll even get lucky,” Rafe cuts in, clean and easy. “Pick up a few country club girls: pearls, spray tans; the kind who won’t notice your hands shakin’ while you fumble with their bras.”

A nervous chuckle slips out, quickly catching Rafe’s glare, his lips curling into a fake smile.

“You’ve seen my wife, yeah?” He asks casually. “Beautiful. Fuckin’ stunning actually. Prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

He looks back at the house giving the boys a moment to breathe before shifting his sights to them again.

“I’ve been working since I was eighteen. Built this house. That boat. Everything you boys use like it’s yours.” He leans in slightly, voice tightening. “And even after all that—I don’t deserve her.”

That hits. You can see it land—all of them blinking like they’ve just been slapped across the face.

“So what makes you think you do?”

“We were just joking, Mr. Cameron. I swear—”

“That’s my wife,” Rafe snaps. The words hit like thunder in their chests. “Mine. Always has been. Always will be. And I don’t give a shit if you go home and jerk off thinkin’ about her—hell, that fantasy’s older than any of you.”

His smile returns, slow and razor-sharp. “But if you say another word—if you breathe another comment about something you’ll never fuckin’ touch…”

He steps forward, and they shrink; stepping toward Max is self-preservation. His eyes zero in on Trevor. The kid nods before Rafe says another word, like he’s praying it’s enough to stay alive. “I’ll make sure the only thing you’re sliding into is a fuckin’ ditch. We clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Trevor stammers.

Rafe claps a hand on his back hard. The slap echoed through the grounds, making the boy stumble forward with a wheezing gasp.

Then, just like that, Rafe turns and walks away. Calm and steady, like it didn’t happen. He passes Max on the way back to the house, resting a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Love you, kid.”

“L-Love you too,” Max mutters, the lot of them holding their breath until he’s gone for good.

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴

You shift on the bed the second he walks in, soft and shy, biting your lip as your eyes meet his. His gaze darkens instantly, heat rolling off him like a wave.

“I know I changed…” You murmur, voice gentle as a pout tugs at your lips.

The robe’s already falling off your shoulders. Just hanging there. Lace underneath—barely visible, but that’s the point. One leg crossed, stockings tight on your thighs, garters showing just enough to make him stop breathing.

Rafe’s tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip as his eyes roam over you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

He’s already hard, straining against the front of his swim trunks, jaw tight as his fists curl at his sides—like it’s taking everything in him not to rip that robe off you.

“Baby… Don’t apologize. Not when you look that fuckin’ good for me.”

Rafe steps closer, making your thighs part without thinking, giving him room, inviting him in. His hands slide up your legs—rough palms dragging higher—his thumbs hooking under the garter straps, snapping them against your skin.

“You bought this for me, didn’t you? Knew I’d lose my mind over this. Fuck, you know me too well…”

Your pussy clenches at the raw need in his tone. You toy with the satin belt at your waist, slowly teasingly letting the knot fall loose. The robe slips open completely as you lean back, arching your back, tits round in the pretty lingerie.

“Fuck... You don’t even realize what you do to me. The way you picked this out thinkin’ of me? Wantin’ me to see you like this?”

He kisses you, soft and slow, then starts to trail lower—his mouth brushing along your jaw, every touch unhurried, deliberate. His hand glides up your thigh and grips tight, spreading you open. His eyes are sharp, blue, and hungry—fixed on yours.

“Rafe…” You whine, already feeling your thoughts blur.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you for them,” he groans, hardly holding himself together. “Make sure they never look at you the same. Make sure they know it’s me in your head when you close your eyes. You know what they’ll never have?” He whispers, breath fanning across your lips.

“This. This soft little mouth. These legs wrapped around them. This sweet pussy drippin’ for them.” His voice drops even lower. “All mine.”

You blink up at him, a little crease forming between your brows like you’re trying to figure him out

He lets out this low breath, almost a laugh, but not really. “Fuck, you’re perfect… You don’t even see anyone else, do you?”

“Who, baby?” You whisper.

He scoffs, low and humorless as he tugs down his trunks, tossing them to the floor. “You should’ve heard what they were sayin’ about you.”

“Rafe…” You blink. “Is everything okay?”

Your words tip up into a gasp as he pushes you back suddenly, one knee sinking into the bed, his body climbing over yours. “Those boys,” he mumbles. “They want you.”

“Max’s friends?” You gasp as your face twists in disgust; eyes flicking toward the door.

Rafe grabs your cheeks, forcing your focus back to him. His fingers slip under the lace and he groans—low and guttural—when he feels how wet you are.

“Already soaked,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You’ve been sittin’ here all sweet and innocent, like nothin’s goin’ on—when your pussy’s this fuckin’ desperate for me. Say you're mine… Who do you belong to?”

You whimper, breath hitching as he slips your panties to the side and drags two fingers through your slick slowly, savoring every second.

“Say it,” he demands, his forehead pressing to yours; hand working you open.

“You,” you whisper. “I belong to you—”

“That’s right… Mine to spoil. Mine to love. Mine to fuck.”

You go to touch him, but he grabs your wrists before you get the chance. Forces them up over your head, holding you there. His body presses into yours and when his hand slides down your thigh, it pulls a shiver straight out of you. “Uh-uh, angel. Not yet.”

His fingers curl just right, pressing into that spot that makes your hips jolt off the sheets. He keeps it slow, steady—watching your face with quiet adoration. He’s memorized every flutter of your lashes, every soft gasp that slips from your swollen lips. He knows what it takes… what you crave. And he knows you’re close.

“You’re gonna come for me, pretty,” he murmurs. “Just like this—”

You nod rapidly, falling apart not a moment later. “Fuck, Rafe,” you cry out, trembling as your pussy clenches around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop. He keeps working you through it, fucking you with his fingers until you’re gasping into his mouth, thighs twitching, hips jerking away from the overstimulation. You reach for his wrist, gripping tight, trying to slow him down—but he groans against your lips, loving how little it takes for him to unravel you.

He catches the lace of your panties and rips them clean off, the tear sharp and sudden. The sound snaps through the room, and your legs twitch from the jolt.

Rafe pulls you off the bed, guiding you right where he wants you, not wasting a moment. “Hands on the glass,” he says, voice rough as he unhooks your bra with one practiced flick. His other hand clamps around your waist, steadying you.

You press your palms to the glass, cool beneath you. Your reflection stares back: hair a mess, lips wet, chest rising fast—tits bare as you beg for more, fighting to keep your eyes open already as they flutter shut.

“Eyes on me,” Rafe whispers roughly, his chest pressed to your back now; hips flush against your ass.

He pushes into you slowly, giving you every delicious inch, your greedy pussy pulling him in. “Shit, baby… You’re tight.” Rafe grinds in deeper, hand splayed across your stomach as he holds you there, impaled on his thick cock. “This,” he pants, dragging back and slamming in again. “This is my pussy. My house. My fuckin’ wife.”

Rafe sets a brutal rhythm, hips snapping against your ass with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, lewd and filthy. He spanks your ass, hard enough to make you jolt forward into the glass.

“Let ‘em hear it,” he growls. “Let those little bastards outside hear what I do to you.”

Your body trembles with every ruthless thrust; the mirror rattles under your grip, the sharp slaps of skin echoing round the room.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” Rafe grits out, voice rough and hoarse.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp, voice breaking as the knot in your belly coils tight, ready to snap.

“Yeah?” He growls, dragging you closer, rough hands holding you right where he wants you. “Then fuckin’ give it to me.”

One arm binds around your waist while the other slips down, fingers working your clit in rough, relentless circles that make your legs shake. “Show me what I do to you.”

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your body jerks—cunt clamping down around him. You peel your eyes open, desperate to see him. And there he is in the mirror behind you: jaw tight, lip caught between his teeth as his hips slam into you again and again.

“Good girl,” he snarls, not letting up for a second. “You ain’t done yet.”

Rafe yanks you upright, chest to back, one big hand wrapping gently around your throat, thumb stroking just under your jaw as he fucks you deep and hard—so deep it’s almost too much.

You break with a choked sob, another orgasm tearing through you so hard your vision blurs. You go limp in his arms, legs shaking, body spent. He doesn’t let go. Just grunts out a rough “Fuck, baby,” right against your neck as his hips pump forward. One last thrust and he’s coming, cock throbbing inside you, breath hot on your skin.

You feel every pulse of it, thick and messy, spilling deep as he holds you there, buried and shaking, not ready to move.

Rafe nuzzles into your cheek, soft kisses dusting your jaw as your breath comes out in shattered little gasps. He listens to every sound. “You still with me, baby?” He murmurs, peeking over your shoulder with a teasing smirk.

“Barely,” you whisper, still catching your breath as you slump into his chest.

He lets out a soft laugh, mouth skimming the edge of your lips. “That smile,” he mutters, voice thick. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

You let your eyes fall shut, head resting against him.

He slips out of you slow, gentle to the last second, then gathers you up without a word. Carries you back to the bed like you weigh nothing, sets you down easy, and smooths your hair from your face with the back of his hand. Just stands there for a beat, staring like he can’t believe you’re real.

“Rafe…” you breathe, voice soft and pathetic, so sweet it nearly breaks him. He smiles, crawling between your thighs. “You gonna tell me you can’t take another?” He whispers, hands sliding under your knees, pushing your thighs open wide. “Yes, you can… You always do.”

Rafe kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other, mouth warm against your sex. His stubble drags across your skin, rough enough to make your lip tremble.

Your hands shoot to his hair the second he dives between your thighs. His tongue works you over, lips locking around your clit as he sucks hard. You cry out, fingers gripping his hair, and he groans into you, the sound vibrating so deep it makes your legs shake.

Rafe’s fingers slide inside without warning, drilling his cum back into you until your back bows and your eyes blur with tears.

You sob, thighs quivering as your heels dig into the mattress, your body barely able to take it anymore; your brain not able to think of a single coherent thought.

“Give it to me. Let ‘em know who owns this fuckin’ bed, aight. You and me… You. And. Me.” A scream rips from your throat, so cock-drunk you cum without warning, soaking his hand, his face, the sheets beneath you, everything drenched in the proof of your pleasure.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Rafe sighs in relief, licking and kissing through the mess, savoring every drop. He slaps your pussy once, firm and wet, just to hear the sound of it. “Atta baby. That’s what I fuckin’ needed… So damn good to me.”

He drags his mouth up your body. Every touch lingers, every breath shared. He settles over you, wrapping you up in him.

You reach for his face, thumb stroking along his slick jaw. He leans into your touch, his mouth just a breath from yours.

“I love you,” you murmur, voice barely there.

Rafe’s leans in, resting his forehead against yours. A quiet smile breaks across his face.

“I love you more, sweetheart,” he says, low and steady. “Always have. Always will.”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴ the next morning

“I warned you,” Max mutters.

Tripp doesn’t reply—just stares into the void like something sacred was taken from him last night. Trevor’s slumped next to him, hoodie up, eyes hollow, chewing his thumbnail.

“Warned us?” Tripp breathes, voice shot. “About the wet bed? The screaming? The headboard hitting the wall like a metronome set to ‘destroy pussy’ all night long?”

Knock. Knock. Knock. Bauer adds, thumping his fist against the kitchen table. “All damn night.”

Max shrugs, calm as ever. “I told you not to talk about my mom.”

“…She was crying about it,” Bauer mutters. “Crying about dick—”

“Enough,” Max snaps.

Tripp rubs both hands over his face. “I’ve got PTSD. Did you sleep?”

“You think I slept?” Trevor huffs.

“You could’ve knocked,” Max says casually, sipping his orange juice.

All heads turn to him fast. “Knocked?” They spat in unison.

Max shrugs again, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. “Could’ve asked to crash in my room. I slept great.”

You walk in like it’s any other morning—light on your feet, humming under your breath, dressed in a tiny pajama set that has no business existing in a house full of teenage boys. Your tank’s stretched snug across your chest, love bites just barely visible where your robe slips open at the collar.

You pull the cinnamon rolls out, set them on the counter, steam rising fast. Without thinking, you grab the icing, swipe some with your finger, and lick it clean. You smile, small and sleepy, still feeling kind of floaty from the night before.

And for the first time in god knows how long they sat there in silence.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Tripp whispers as heavy footsteps echo down the hall.

And then—Rafe.

No shirt, just his signature gold chain catching the light as it rested against his chest. His skin was tanned, muscles cut sharp, and those sweats hung low on his hips like he’d just rolled out of bed—or hadn’t bothered to pull them up all the way.

“Mornin’, baby,” He murmurs, already reaching for your waist.

“Good morning,” you hum, letting him pull you into him—cinnamon roll tray still in your hands—as he kisses your skin; fingers curling around the handle of the fresh cup of coffee you poured him, steam rolling over the rim of the handmade Daddy mug from a Father’s Day past.

“For me?” He asks softly, like the entire house isn’t holding its breath.

You giggle, warm and syrupy. “Made your favorite.”

“Already had my favorite last night.” It’s a whisper meant just for you, but every boy hears it.

Rafe grabs a roll, swipes his thumb through the icing, and licks it clean like he’s still tasting you. He sips his coffee slowly, his focus unwavering.

“Breakfast on the porch, baby?”

“Yeah,” you smile like he asked you on a date.

Then finally, with one last glance at his house, his wife, and the group of broken boys who will never forget last night, he mumbles, smug as ever…

“Ya’ll have a great day. ”

[ljubimaya]

One day, I too will be a Berlin city girl 💔

[mondaymelon]

MELON MY GRAPES FELL

i took care of em 👍

[callikari]

THE TUTOR —LEE HEESEUNG ᝰ.ᐟ ˎˊ˗

SYNOPSIS — being a broke college student meant doing whatever it took to survive, even if that meant lying your way into a tutoring gig you weren’t qualified for. when lee heeseung, campus golden boy and star athlete, mistook you for his assigned tutor, you saw an opportunity—he was willing to pay, and you needed the money. easy cash, right? except there was one problem: he was already acing the class. turns out, he just wanted an excuse to spend time with you. now, you’re stuck in a fake tutoring arrangement, trying (and failing) to convince yourself that his dumb little smirks and unnecessary close proximity aren’t affecting you.

PAIRING — lee heeseung x broke-college-student-fem!reader (ft. enhypen, yunjin & eunchae from le sserafim, wonyoung from ive)

GENRE(S) — written, college au, fake tutor au, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, comedy, and slight crack.

WARNING(S) — swearing, broke student struggles, scamming (for survival purposes), heeseung being an annoying flirt, your friends clowning you, lots of academic bullshitting, and mild secondhand embarrassment.

WORDCOUNT — 10k

you had no idea how you ended up in this situation. honestly, you were just a broke college student trying to make some extra cash by tutoring, and now you were stuck in a "mess" of a situation with lee heeseung—campus golden boy, star athlete, and the last person you thought you'd end up spending this much time with.

it all started in the library, where you had been buried under a mountain of textbooks and assignments. you were just minding your own business, trying to squeeze in as much studying as you could before the next exam, when heeseung walked up to you with a confused look on his face.

"hey, are you my tutor?" he asked, looking at you like you were the answer to his prayers.

you blinked. “your tutor?”

“yeah, you’re supposed to help me with my chemistry class, right?” he said, pulling out a crumpled sheet of paper.

the paper had your name on it. assigned tutor.

you looked at him for a long second, unsure how to respond. in that moment, your brain made a split-second decision.

no, this wasn’t right. you weren’t his tutor.

but then again, you were broke. and he was paying.

so, instead of correcting him, you smiled and said, “yep. that’s me.”

heeseung grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “great! let’s get started, then.”

you immediately regretted your decision.

and so, here you were.

heeseung was the "last" person you expected to be in your tutoring group. you knew his type—popular, charismatic, and completely "unbothered" by anything that had to do with studying. you weren’t even sure how he managed to get into college in the first place with his terrible grades.

he sat down across from you, all smiles, like he didn’t have a care in the world. meanwhile, you were scrambling to figure out how to get him to actually pay attention to what you were saying. you’d barely gotten into your lesson before he started yawning.

“is this really necessary?” he asked, his tone light and lazy.

you glanced up, trying your best to suppress a frustrated sigh. “yes, heeseung. chemistry is a requirement for your major.”

he looked at you, completely unfazed. “i’m pretty sure i can just ask my tutor to give me the answers.”

you stared at him, blinking. “i *am* your tutor.”

he smirked. “well, then you’re not doing a very good job.”

you couldn’t help the way your eyebrow twitched at his words. why was this so difficult?

the more you tried to get him focused, the more distracted he became. you found yourself flipping through the textbook and pointing out formulas that made sense to you, while he sat back and played with his pen. his lack of attention was grating on your nerves, but you refused to let him see how annoyed you were.

“heeseung, focus. we need to finish this chapter today,” you said through clenched teeth.

he glanced up at you lazily, a playful grin forming on his lips. “you’re kind of cute when you’re serious.”

you froze. "what?" you couldn’t even process the words. sure, you knew he was a flirt, but hearing him say that made your heart skip a beat. you swallowed, trying to shake it off. this was heeseung, after all. you couldn’t let him get under your skin.

he leaned forward, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. “i’ll try my best, tutor,” he teased, his voice dropping into a teasing tone.

you gave him a tight smile, trying to regain control of the situation. “let’s get to work.”

it was incredible how little heeseung actually knew about chemistry. each time you tried to explain a concept, he’d stare at you like you were speaking a foreign language. but it wasn’t just that—he was charming in the most infuriating way. his innocent questions and half-smiles made you question your focus. you had to admit, the guy was cute, and his charm was practically endless.

“so, like, what does this even do?” he asked, pointing to the periodic table in front of you.

you tried your best to stay professional, keeping your voice as calm as possible. “this is the atomic structure. see, each element has its own number of protons, neutrons, and electrons. you need to understand the structure in order to comprehend chemical reactions.”

heeseung nodded as if he understood, but the amused glint in his eyes told you otherwise. “right, right. so, can we just…skip this and get to the part where you help me ace the exam?” he asked, his grin wide.

“heeseung,” you groaned, rubbing your temples. “we need to understand the basics first. there’s no way you’ll get through the exam without knowing this.”

he just tilted his head to the side, his hair falling perfectly around his face. “but you’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

your eyes widened in disbelief, but you refused to give him the satisfaction. “stop distracting me. focus on the material,” you snapped, though you could feel your face heating up despite your best efforts to remain composed.

it was a constant cycle of distractions, laughter, and trying to drag him back into the lesson. every time you thought you’d made progress, he’d throw you off course with a casual comment or a playful smirk. it felt like you were running in circles.

the more time you spent with heeseung, the more you started to notice things about him. little things. like how he’d always brush his hair out of his eyes when he was concentrating—well, pretending to concentrate, anyway. or how his smile could light up the entire room, even when he was clearly being a little brat.

it was a slow burn, but you were starting to realize that heeseung wasn’t just the charming golden boy you thought he was. yeah, he was annoying as hell, but there was something more beneath the surface. he was smart—really smart, when he put his mind to it. you’d seen it when he actually listened to what you were saying. it was frustrating, to say the least. here you were, trying to keep him focused, but at the same time, you were starting to feel a little… distracted yourself.

“okay, okay,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head in a relaxed posture. “i think i’m getting it.”

“really?” you asked, eyebrows raised. “you understand how to balance chemical equations now?”

he shrugged. “more or less. but honestly, i think i’d understand better if you gave me some extra help.”

you crossed your arms, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “extra help?” you repeated, your voice a little too sarcastic for your liking.

he leaned forward again, a devilish grin curling on his lips. “yeah. like, you know, help outside of studying. maybe, we could—” he broke off when he saw the look on your face.

“no,” you said flatly.

“aww, come on,” he teased, his grin only widening. “what are you so afraid of?”

you felt your heart skip a beat, but you pushed it down. “nothing. i’m not afraid of anything,” you muttered, turning your attention back to your notes.

he leaned back again, clearly entertained by your reaction. “you know, you’re not as tough as you think.”

you didn’t know if you should laugh or just throw something at him. instead, you went with a fake smile. “don’t flatter yourself.”

he just laughed. “hey, no need to be so harsh. i’m just trying to help.”

“you’re trying to distract me,” you shot back.

“well, it’s working.”

the next time you met with heeseung for tutoring, something felt different. maybe it was the way he greeted you, with a casual “hey, ready to teach me something new today?” or maybe it was the way his usual teasing seemed to have softened. whatever it was, it made you more aware of how much you were starting to look forward to these sessions.

“we’re going over reactions today,” you said, trying to focus. “this is where things get a little trickier, but you can handle it, right?”

heeseung flashed you a grin, already making himself comfortable in his chair. “i’m ready. as long as you’re not as serious as last time.”

you shot him a look. “i’m always serious.”

he winked at you, and you couldn’t help but sigh. “seriously, though, pay attention.”

he was paying attention—or at least, he was pretending to. as you began explaining the basics of chemical reactions, you noticed how he watched you. his usual playful glint in his eyes was still there, but there was something else now—something more sincere. heeseung wasn’t just here to mess around. he was actually trying, and it threw you off.

“so, what happens when—” you stopped mid-sentence, realizing he wasn’t just looking at you but listening.

“when an element reacts with another, the atoms rearrange to form a compound,” he finished for you.

you blinked, surprised. “wait. you actually got that right?”

heeseung leaned back, a smug look on his face. “of course. i’m not a total idiot, you know.”

“well, you’ve been acting like one lately,” you shot back, but even you could hear the hint of affection in your voice.

heeseung’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, the playful energy between you two seemed to fade. “guess I’m not as bad as you thought.”

you weren’t sure how to respond to that, so you focused back on your notes. “let’s just get through this, okay?”

heeseung’s grin returned, but now, there was a sense of warmth behind it. “yeah. we’ll make a great team.”

you weren’t sure why, but those words made your heart race.

the sessions with heeseung weren’t just about chemistry anymore. they were about you and him. the more time you spent with him, the more you realized how much he liked to poke fun at you. but at the same time, he made you feel like you actually mattered. and god, that was frustrating. you were supposed to be the one in control here—not him.

so when he slid into the seat next to you one afternoon, throwing an arm across the back of your chair, you couldn’t help but feel a little too aware of him.

“ready to learn?” he asked, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

you tried to act unaffected, but there was a tightness in your chest that you couldn’t ignore. “we’re not here to talk about my learning skills, heeseung,” you said coolly, flipping open your notes.

he leaned closer, his voice lowering in that teasing way that always seemed to get under your skin. “you know, if you weren’t so good at teaching, i’d probably just be failing by now.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you say that now, but you wouldn’t even be passing if you weren’t such a good student,” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

heeseung chuckled, clearly unfazed. “oh, so you admit it? i’m actually a great student.”

you let out a dramatic sigh. “don’t flatter yourself.”

he leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “i think you like it when i flatter myself.”

you rolled your eyes. “no, i think you’re insufferable.”

but even as you said it, you couldn’t stop the faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

the silence stretched for a moment, and for once, heeseung didn’t say anything. he just looked at you, like he was trying to figure you out.

you hated how that made your stomach twist.

“you really don’t like me, do you?” he finally asked, his voice quieter than usual.

the question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. sure, you hated his teasing and his constant jokes, but something about him made you want to keep going. to keep being with him.

“i don’t know,” you said slowly. “maybe i do. maybe i don’t. you’re a pain.”

heeseung’s grin softened, his eyes narrowing playfully. “i think you like me, just a little.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “don’t push your luck.”

he just laughed, clearly enjoying the way he was getting under your skin. “okay, okay. but i know i’m not as bad as you make me out to be.”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. because deep down, you knew he was right.

the next few days passed by in a blur, with your study sessions becoming more frequent. heeseung had somehow turned into someone you could tolerate way more than you were comfortable admitting. and yet, you still couldn’t bring yourself to like him completely. not in the way he seemed to want you to.

you were walking through the campus courtyard, lost in your own thoughts when you spotted him across the yard, laughing with a group of people. heeseung was a natural when it came to making friends, effortlessly charismatic and always in the center of attention. you hated how much that bothered you. it wasn’t jealousy, you told yourself. it was just the fact that you hated how easy it came to him.

as you walked past, you caught his eye, and his expression immediately shifted. he excused himself from his friends and jogged over to you, that cocky grin on his face.

“you’re staring at me again,” he teased, his tone light, but you could see the playful glint in his eyes.

you blinked, startled. “i was not.”

he raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “you were definitely staring at me.”

you cursed inwardly. of course he noticed. “i wasn’t staring. i was just—” you stopped, realizing you had no excuse.

“it’s fine,” he said, a smug look appearing on his face. “i kind of like it when you stare. makes me feel special.”

you shot him a look, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “don’t get ahead of yourself, heeseung. i was not staring. i just… got distracted. okay?”

heeseung just laughed, a low chuckle that sent a strange warmth flooding your chest. “sure, sure. whatever you say.”

you started walking again, trying to ignore the way your heart was beating a little faster. “i have to get to class,” you muttered, already feeling the awkwardness creeping in.

“i’ll walk with you,” he said, falling into step beside you without waiting for an answer. “might as well since i’m already here.”

“you really don’t take a hint, do you?” you teased, but the smile on your face betrayed your words.

heeseung shrugged casually. “nah, not really. i like to make my own rules.”

“clearly,” you muttered under your breath, still not used to how confident he was. it wasn’t just his charisma—it was the way he seemed so sure of himself around you. it was like he knew exactly what he was doing, and you had no idea how to handle it.

the walk to class was filled with small talk. lighthearted banter, the kind of stuff that made the air between you two feel almost normal—if you could call it that. normal, until he dropped the bombshell.

“so, do you ever think about… us?” he asked, his voice quieter this time, a little more serious than usual.

you stopped in your tracks, your heart racing. “what do you mean?”

heeseung turned to face you, his gaze softening. “i mean… do you think we’re getting along better now?”

you blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift. “i guess? i don’t know. it’s… weird.”

“yeah, i get it. it’s weird for me too,” he admitted, looking down for a moment. then, as if trying to lighten the mood, he added, “but i’m kinda enjoying it.”

you frowned. “enjoying what? our bickering?”

heeseung smirked. “well, yeah. i mean, it’s fun, isn’t it? but… i also like the times when we don’t fight. when it’s just us, talking.”

you were quiet for a moment, your mind racing. could it be? could he really be saying what you thought he was saying?

“heeseung, you’re impossible,” you muttered, though your heart was beating faster now. maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

heeseung stepped closer, that signature cocky grin back on his face. “maybe, but you still like me.”

the following week, your study sessions with heeseung took a sudden turn. instead of the usual quiet library dates, he started dragging you around campus, making you go to random spots to “study.” sometimes it was by the fountain, sometimes near the campus cafe, and once, he even convinced you to sit in the middle of the quad in the grass—in the middle of the day, no less.

“are you sure this is productive?” you asked skeptically, looking around at all the students walking by. the noise was borderline unbearable.

heeseung, however, seemed completely unbothered. he had his headphones in, typing away on his phone, clearly in his own world. “the point of studying is being comfortable. if you’re uncomfortable, you won’t focus. so relax.”

you sighed, dropping your bag onto the grass beside you and following his lead. you hadn’t expected him to turn into this “study guru” who somehow knew all the right ways to study. but maybe it worked. you couldn’t deny that it made you focus better.

“okay, so what are we even doing?” you asked, still unsure how you were supposed to study in the middle of a bustling campus.

heeseung smirked, pulling out a notebook. “well, i figured you could help me with my notes. i’m clearly struggling,” he said with mock sincerity, even though he knew you were the one who had been tutoring him.

you gave him a deadpan look. “struggling, huh? sure. if you say so.”

heeseung flipped the notebook open to a page full of notes and highlighted passages. “help me go over this. i need to make sure i don’t bomb the next quiz.”

as you went over the material with him, you couldn’t help but notice that he was more… attentive than usual. it wasn’t just that he was asking you to explain things. he was genuinely trying to understand. and for once, you weren’t frustrated with him. you found yourself getting lost in the work and even… enjoying the way he listened intently, his focus entirely on what you were saying.

but just as you were getting comfortable, your friend group walked by, and of course, they had to notice you and heeseung sitting together.

“oh, look at this,” yujin teased, clearly amused. “the two study buddies are actually… studying?”

“what are you doing here?” you groaned, trying to hide the slight flush creeping up your neck.

“we’re just passing by,” wonyoung said innocently, but the smirk on her face betrayed her true intentions. she was way too into the idea of you and heeseung spending time together.

“don’t act like you weren’t just checking on us,” heeseung added, eyes twinkling. “you know, we’re not that interesting.”

“oh, we know,” yujin said with a wink. “we just came to make sure you weren’t actually getting along. because we all know you two are at each other’s throats most of the time.”

you groaned, throwing your head back in exasperation. “please, not you guys too.”

wonyoung sat down beside you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “sooo, tell me, how’s the heeseung tutoring going?” she grinned at you, clearly enjoying the chaos she was about to cause.

you shot her a glare. “heeseung is actually doing fine. for once.” you shot him a quick glance to make sure he wasn’t about to do something dumb.

heeseung, however, seemed unfazed. “yeah, i think i’m doing great. i’m just… naturally brilliant,” he said, giving you a mischievous look.

yujin laughed. “oh, right. naturally brilliant. that’s why you needed help in the first place.”

“you’re one to talk, yujin,” you shot back. “how’s your chemistry grade going, huh?”

wonyoung gave a dramatic gasp. “oh no, not the chemistry card,” she said, making a show of clutching her chest. “you didn’t just do that.”

heeseung grinned. “looks like i’m not the only one who’s got an ego problem.”

you rolled your eyes, but deep down, you couldn’t help but laugh along with them. there was something about being surrounded by your friends, even if they were shamelessly teasing you, that felt… nice.

it wasn’t long before the teasing died down, and your friends eventually decided to go grab some lunch. but before they left, wonyoung gave you a knowing smile. “we’ll leave you two alone. don’t do anything i wouldn’t do!”

“what?” you exclaimed, almost choking on your own laughter.

yujin threw a wink in your direction. “you know exactly what we mean.”

once they were gone, heeseung looked at you with an unreadable expression. “well, that was… something.”

you blinked, feeling the weight of the moment. it was the first time you felt like it was just the two of you—no teasing, no interruptions. just… him.

“yeah, it was,” you said, clearing your throat. “but, uh, we’re still studying. right?”

heeseung nodded, his usual smirk returning. “yeah, yeah. but… maybe later, we can have a proper study date.”

your heart skipped a beat at his words, and for the first time in forever, you didn’t feel the need to push him away. maybe—just maybe—you were starting to like this whole study partnership.

the next day, heeseung texted you a little earlier than usual. it wasn’t a huge surprise—he had developed a habit of doing that, whether it was to talk about studying or to joke around. but this time, the message was different.

heeseung: “hey, i was thinking about how much you need a study break. how about we grab lunch later?”

you: “seriously? i’m not a workaholic like you. i do know how to take breaks.”

heeseung: “i beg to differ. you’ve been glued to those books for hours. i can’t let that happen. lunch at 12?”

you stared at the message for a second. it was true that you’d been spending a little too much time with your nose buried in textbooks, but you hadn’t realized anyone was paying attention to it. you thought for a moment, then typed a response.

you: “fine. you win. lunch it is.”

at lunch, the campus was bustling with students, and as usual, heeseung had picked the most random spot to meet up: the food court. it was packed with people from different clubs and groups, but you didn’t mind it. somehow, even in the chaos, you felt like it was just the two of you. heeseung sat across from you, grinning from ear to ear.

“so, what’s on your mind today?” he asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

you narrowed your eyes at him. “don’t act like you’re not just using this lunch break to drag me away from studying.”

he chuckled. “okay, okay. maybe i am. but it’s for your own good.”

before you could respond, your friends walked by—yujin, wonyoung, and hong eunchae, all heading toward the smoothie stand.

“oh, look at that,” yujin said loudly. “the lovebirds are having lunch.”

“yujin, shut up,” you groaned, sinking into your seat in embarrassment. “why do you guys always have to tease?”

“it’s fun,” wonyoung said, winking at you both. “you two are adorable. i’m just waiting for the day when you admit you like each other.”

you shot wonyoung a look. “it’s not like that,” you muttered, but even you could hear the slight hesitation in your voice.

heeseung, ever the tease, smirked. “oh? but wouldn’t it be interesting if it was like that?”

your friends took a seat at the table next to yours, but the teasing didn’t stop there. eunchae chimed in, grinning from ear to ear. “oh my god, it’s so obvious. look at the way you two look at each other.”

you groaned and hid your face in your hands, while heeseung, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying this attention.

“we’re literally just studying partners,” you insisted, trying to keep your voice steady.

“uh huh, sure,” wonyoung said, not believing you for a second. “you’re totally just ‘study buddies.’”

heeseung laughed, nudging you playfully. “what, do you think we’re some sort of study machine? we’ve got to eat sometime, you know.”

“that’s not what i’m saying,” you said, trying your best to ignore your blushing cheeks. “it’s not like we have feelings for each other.”

yujin shot you a teasing glance. “whatever you say, y/n. we’ll see about that.”

as the conversation continued, you tried to focus on your lunch, but you couldn’t help feeling a little flustered. your friends were relentless, and you couldn’t escape their teasing. at some point, heeseung nudged you again, this time a little more seriously.

“don’t let them get to you,” he said quietly, his voice soft.

you looked up at him in surprise. “what?”

“i can see how uncomfortable you are. don’t let them mess with your head. we’re just friends. study partners,” he emphasized the words with a wink, making you laugh.

“right,” you said, finally feeling a little better. maybe heeseung wasn’t just teasing. maybe, he actually understood how awkward this whole thing was.

just then, yujin raised her eyebrows. “wait, wait. friends? no, no, no. you two have definitely been spending a little too much time together for it to be just that.”

you sighed and rolled your eyes. “can you all just stop?”

eunchae, still grinning, leaned in a little too close. “oh, but y/n, we can’t. you two are like a soap opera waiting to happen. all this sexual tension is just begging for a plot twist.”

you almost choked on your food, while heeseung, to his credit, just grinned. “you know what they say, though. you can’t fight chemistry.”

“heeseung, shut up,” you said quickly, shaking your head.

the rest of the lunch went on with the teasing, but by the end of it, you couldn’t deny that you were starting to enjoy it. the teasing wasn’t as annoying as it used to be. if anything, it was starting to feel… normal. maybe you were beginning to feel more comfortable with heeseung than you thought.

as you all headed back to campus, you couldn’t shake off the idea of what your friends had said. maybe they were right. maybe there was something more going on between you and heeseung than just studying. but that thought left you with one burning question:

did he feel the same?

after lunch, you tried to shake off your friends’ words, but their teasing lingered in your mind longer than you wanted to admit.

you two are like a soap opera waiting to happen.

all this sexual tension is just begging for a plot twist.

they were just messing with you… right? there was nothing going on between you and heeseung. sure, he had become one of the people you spent the most time with lately, but that didn’t mean anything. it was just studying. and occasional banter. and… him noticing when you needed a break.

ugh. this was so annoying.

before you could spiral further, your phone buzzed with a text.

heeseung: “you free later? study session part 12938?”

you rolled your eyes but smiled.

you: “more like part 20. but yeah, sure.”

heeseung: “great. library, usual spot. i’ll bring snacks. you bring your brain.”

you: “you make it sound like i don’t have one.”

heeseung: “well, you keep denying your obvious crush on me, so i’m starting to wonder.”

you: “EXCUSE ME?”

heeseung: “relax, i’m kidding. unless…?”

you: “don’t even start.”

heeseung: “lmao, see you later, study buddy.”

you groaned, flopping onto your bed. why did he always have to tease you like that? and why did it get under your skin so much?

later that evening, you met heeseung at the library, as planned. as soon as you sat down, he slid a chocolate bar across the table toward you.

“peace offering,” he said with a smirk.

you eyed him suspiciously but unwrapped it anyway. “what are you apologizing for?”

“for making you flustered earlier,” he said casually, flipping open his notebook.

you nearly choked on your chocolate. “i was not flustered.”

he looked up, raising an eyebrow. “sure. whatever helps you sleep at night.”

you glared at him but decided to drop it. you were not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you react. instead, you focused on studying.

for the next hour, you two actually managed to get some work done—well, mostly.

“y/n, you’ve been staring at the same page for five minutes,” heeseung said, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

you blinked. “huh?”

“see? you’re totally distracted. are you thinking about something?” he teased, resting his chin on his hand.

“no,” you said quickly, flipping the page for dramatic effect. “just… taking in the information.”

he smirked. “taking in information or taking in me?”

“heeseung, i swear—”

before you could finish, a voice interrupted.

“oh? is this a date or a study session?”

you turned to see sunghoon and jake standing nearby, both of them looking way too amused.

“neither,” you said flatly. “why are you guys even here?”

“because watching you two is peak entertainment,” jake said, plopping down next to you. “heeseung told us you’d be here, so we figured we’d stop by.”

“of course he did,” you muttered, shooting a glare at heeseung, who only grinned in response.

“so, when’s the wedding?” sunghoon asked, completely serious.

“i hate all of you,” you said, covering your face with your hands.

heeseung chuckled. “c’mon, guys, don’t scare y/n off. they still have to help me pass this class.”

“ah, right,” jake said, nodding. “but after that, you’ll confess, yeah?”

you gaped at him. “why would you assume that?”

sunghoon smirked. “because it’s obvious.”

you groaned. “can we please just study?”

heeseung leaned closer, his voice low so only you could hear. “aw, do i make you nervous?”

you shot him a look. “you wish.”

but the truth was… maybe he did. just a little. and you weren’t sure what to do about that.

for the next few days, you did your best to ignore the way heeseung had somehow weaseled his way into your daily routine. between studying, running into him on campus, and your friends’ constant teasing, it was like the universe was forcing you to acknowledge… whatever this was.

but you weren’t giving in. absolutely not.

until one night, when everything changed.

you were sitting outside your dorm building, scrolling through your phone and attempting to unwind from a long day, when heeseung plopped down next to you, startling you.

“what the hell—”

“hey,” he said, completely unfazed by your reaction. “what are you doing out here alone?”

“thinking about how much better my life would be if you stopped showing up everywhere i go,” you deadpanned.

heeseung clutched his chest dramatically. “ouch. and here i was, about to offer you a ride to the late-night diner.”

you paused. “…there’s a late-night diner?”

he smirked. “yes. and i know you haven’t eaten because i know your study habits by now.”

you rolled your eyes. “so what, you’re my personal meal tracker now?”

he stood up, holding out a hand. “just shut up and come with me.”

against your better judgment, you took his hand.

the diner was small, dimly lit, and surprisingly cozy. the kind of place you could see yourself spending hours in without realizing it. heeseung led you to a booth and, without asking, ordered milkshakes for both of you.

“what if i didn’t want a milkshake?” you challenged.

“please, you love milkshakes,” he shot back.

you narrowed your eyes. “…how do you know that?”

he shrugged. “i pay attention.”

you hated the way your stomach flipped at that.

as the night went on, you found yourself forgetting about your usual arguments. talking with heeseung felt easy—annoying at times, but effortless. he told you stories about his childhood, his dumbest mistakes, and his dreams of doing something meaningful after graduation. you found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks.

and then, as you were finishing your milkshake, he looked at you and said, “y’know, i like this.”

“like what?”

“hanging out with you. without all the arguing.”

you blinked. “you like hanging out with me?”

heeseung scoffed. “wow, don’t look so surprised. i do have a heart.”

“questionable,” you muttered, though you felt your face heat up.

he grinned. “but seriously. this is nice.”

you hesitated before nodding. “…yeah. it is.”

there was a beat of silence. then, because you apparently hated peace, you blurted, “but you’re still annoying.”

heeseung laughed, shaking his head. “god, you’re impossible.”

but he didn’t let go of the straw he had been absentmindedly playing with. and neither did you.

you didn’t know what was more shocking: the fact that you willingly spent an entire night with heeseung without plotting his downfall, or the fact that you actually enjoyed it.

either way, you refused to dwell on it.

the next morning, you convinced yourself it was just the exhaustion talking. a momentary lapse in judgment. surely, once you saw him again, he’d go right back to being the most irritating person on campus.

except… he didn’t.

instead, you found yourself sitting next to him in class, sharing your notes like it was the most natural thing in the world. instead of snide remarks, he shot you small, amused glances when you got frustrated over an assignment. instead of ignoring each other in the library, he casually placed an extra coffee next to your laptop, muttering, “you looked half-dead, figured you needed this.”

and instead of feeling annoyed, you felt… something else. something dangerous.

“you’ve been real quiet lately,” jay commented as he sat across from you in the student lounge.

you blinked up at him. “what?”

“you and heeseung. where’s all the fighting? the dramatic, public arguments? i feel like i’m watching the downfall of an iconic rivalry.”

you scoffed. “don’t be ridiculous. we still argue.”

jay raised an eyebrow. “really? because from what i’ve seen, you guys are, like… flirting now.”

you nearly choked on your drink. “excuse me? flirting?”

“yeah. all the ‘oh my god, you’re so annoying’ and ‘ugh, i hate you’ shit?” jay smirked. “that’s flirting.”

“fuck off,” you muttered, kicking his shin under the table.

jay yelped, but his grin didn’t waver. “hey, i’m just saying—if you ever need a best man at the wedding, i’m available.”

“i’m going to kill you.”

“damn, first-degree murder? sounds like love to me.”

before you could launch a full-blown attack, your phone buzzed. you glanced at the screen. heeseung.

heeseung [1:07 PM]: library in 10? i found something that might help with your paper

you stared at the message a little too long.

jay leaned over, reading it before you could stop him. “oh my god.”

“shut up,” you snapped, standing up so fast your chair scraped against the floor.

jay watched you with an infuriatingly smug expression. “you’re so fucked.”

you flipped him off before walking away.

the library was quiet when you arrived, but you spotted heeseung immediately. he was leaning back in his chair, one hand flipping through a book, the other twirling a pen between his fingers.

you hesitated before walking over. “hey.”

he glanced up, smiling slightly. “you’re late.”

“by two minutes.”

“yeah. unacceptable.”

you rolled your eyes, plopping into the chair across from him. “you said you found something for my paper?”

he slid a book toward you. “this has a whole section on your topic. figured it might save you some time.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’re being suspiciously helpful.”

“don’t get used to it,” he teased. “i like seeing you suffer, but i love proving that i’m smarter than you.”

“asshole,” you muttered, but there was no heat behind it.

heeseung just grinned.

and maybe jay was right. maybe you were so fucked.

if someone had told you six months ago that you’d willingly spend your free time with lee heeseung, you would’ve laughed in their face. maybe even fought them. but now? now you were waiting for him outside the library, scrolling mindlessly through your phone while he finished up an assignment.

this was getting out of hand.

"hey.”

you looked up to see heeseung walking toward you, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“took you long enough,” you muttered, shoving your phone into your pocket.

“relax, i was being productive,” he said, smirking. “you should try it sometime.”

“fuck you.”

“you wish.”

you scoffed, ignoring the way your stomach flipped at his words.

heeseung fell into step beside you as you both started heading toward the dining hall. this was becoming a weird habit—getting food together, studying together, exchanging notes without bickering. it was normal. and that was the problem.

you had no idea when the rivalry had started to feel less like a battle and more like an excuse to talk to him.

you shook the thought away.

“you’re spacing out,” heeseung said, nudging your shoulder.

you shot him a glare. “am not.”

“are too.”

“i hate you.”

heeseung grinned. “no, you don’t.”

before you could argue, a voice called out.

“ohhh, what’s this?”

you both turned to see sunghoon, jake, and jungwon standing a few feet away, watching with matching expressions of mischief.

jake gasped dramatically. “is this civil conversation i’m witnessing?”

“no way,” jungwon added. “they’re walking together without trying to kill each other.”

sunghoon grinned. “i knew all that tension wasn’t just hatred.”

you groaned, rubbing your temples. “you guys are so fucking annoying.”

heeseung just sighed. “let’s go before they start a conspiracy theory.”

but it was too late, jake had already pulled out his phone.

“this is groundbreaking,” he said, pretending to type. “i need to update the gc.”

you groaned. “jake, i swear to god—”

heeseung, on the other hand, didn’t seem phased. “you guys need a hobby.”

“this is our hobby,” jungwon said smugly.

“oh, absolutely,” sunghoon agreed. “we live for drama.”

you shot heeseung a look, but he just sighed and grabbed your wrist. “come on.”

you barely had time to process the sudden contact before he was tugging you away, leaving the three of them cackling behind you.

he didn’t let go until you reached the dining hall.

you cleared your throat, trying to ignore the way your skin still tingled where he’d touched you. “well. that was mortifying.”

“they’re insufferable,” heeseung muttered.

“and yet, they have a point.”

he glanced at you. “which is?”

you hesitated. were you really about to bring this up?

fuck it.

“this whole thing,” you said, gesturing vaguely between you two. “it’s not… normal.”

heeseung raised an eyebrow. “what, us not wanting to kill each other?”

“yes! i mean—no! i mean…” you exhaled sharply. “don’t you think it’s weird? one minute we’re at each other’s throats, and now we’re just—”

“friends?” he offered.

your stomach twisted. you didn’t like that word. not because it wasn’t true, but because it didn’t feel like the whole truth.

“sure,” you said weakly. “friends.”

heeseung studied you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression.

then he said, “well, that’s boring.”

you blinked. “what?”

“friends?” he repeated, tilting his head. “that’s so underwhelming.”

your heart stuttered. “what—what do you mean?”

heeseung smirked. “i mean, we could be so much more interesting than that.”

you stared at him. your brain was short-circuiting.

he took a step closer, and suddenly, the space between you felt way too small. “unless… you’re scared?”

your breath hitched. “scared?”

heeseung leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “of what this could be.”

your brain stalled.

“scared?” you echoed. “of what this could be?”

heeseung just looked at you, waiting.

you let out a breathless laugh. “oh, please. do you even hear yourself?”

“perfectly,” he said, still smirking.

“you’re joking.”

“am i?”

you crossed your arms. “yes. obviously.”

heeseung tilted his head, like he was considering something. “huh.”

“what?”

“nothing. just… i didn’t think you’d be so dense.”

your jaw dropped. “excuse me?”

he shrugged. “i thought it was pretty obvious. i like you.”

your stomach flipped. your heart flipped. but your brain? your brain was malfunctioning.

you narrowed your eyes. “okay, very funny.”

“i’m not joking.”

“yes, you are.”

heeseung sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “why would i joke about this?”

“because this is what we do!” you gestured between you. “we mess with each other, we push each other’s buttons—this is just another game to you.”

heeseung exhaled sharply. “jesus, you really don’t get it.”

you frowned. “what is there to get?”

he gave you a look. “the fact that i genuinely like you, dumbass.”

your breath caught in your throat.

heeseung shook his head, almost frustrated. “do you think i’d just say this for fun? you piss me off like no one else, but you’re also the only person i actually want to be around. figure that out.”

you stared at him.

heeseung liked you. like, for real. like, not as a joke.

and you… you had spent the past five minutes laughing in his face.

fuck.

you were malfunctioning. actually, no—you were buffering. like a shitty internet connection that couldn’t load the page properly.

heeseung liked you. and instead of responding like a normal person, you had laughed in his face.

“heeseung,” you started, trying to find something to say. “i—”

“forget it.”

your stomach dropped. “wait, what?”

heeseung sighed, running a hand down his face. “look, if you don’t feel the same way, just say it. but don’t act like i’m joking just because you don’t want to deal with it.”

your throat went dry. “that’s not—”

“then what is it?”

he sounded tired. like he had finally run out of patience.

and it hit you, all at once.

you had spent so much time convincing yourself that this thing between you two was just rivalry—just banter and competition and winning—that you had completely ignored everything else.

how your heart always raced around him. how you always looked for him in a crowded room. how his approval meant way too much, how his insults stung just a little more, how he made you feel alive in a way no one else did.

you had been so sure that he was messing with you. because the alternative? the idea that he meant it? that was terrifying.

but now…

now you could see the way his shoulders were tense, like he was bracing himself. the way his hands were curled into fists, like he was trying to hold something in.

he wasn’t playing around.

he never was.

“heeseung,” you said, voice quieter now.

he didn’t say anything.

you took a step closer. “i’m sorry.”

his jaw tightened. “for what?”

“for acting like an idiot,” you admitted. “and for not realizing sooner.”

his eyes flicked up to yours, searching. “realizing what?”

you swallowed. “that i like you too.”

the words felt big. heavier than you expected. but at the same time, saying them felt like a weight lifting—like something settling into place.

heeseung blinked. his whole body went still.

then he exhaled a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “you are so fucking annoying.”

you rolled your eyes. “jesus, thank you, i was really hoping for that to be your first response—”

before you could finish, heeseung grabbed your wrist and pulled you into him, crashing his lips against yours.

it took you half a second to catch up, but once you did, you kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his hoodie.

heeseung smiled against your lips. “took you long enough.”

you huffed. “shut up.”

he hummed, pulling back just enough to look at you. “make me.”

AUTHORS NOTE: wait i lowkey hate this IM SORRY IF ITS BAD

© callikari -- all rights reserved

[norrisradio]

SOME KIND OF FAITH

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ "I'm not a religious person but I do sometimes thing God made you for me." - sally rooney, normal people

ᝰ PAIRING: oscar piastri x reader | ᝰ WC: 1.6K ᝰ GENRE: fluff, angst, some religious themes, oscar yearns, mentions of australia 2025 ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: welcome to the first installment of line by line! super excited to bring all of your favorite quotes to life ꨄ︎ requested by anon!

send me an ask for my line by line event!

Oscar’s never been a religious man.

Not when his mum made him sit through Sunday mass as a boy in Melbourne, his little legs kicking the pew out of boredom. Not when the chaplain at boarding school passed around wafers that stuck to the roof of his mouth like paper. He was never moved by sermons or scripture.

But something shifted the first time he met you.

It was raining sideways the day you arrived—one of those rare cold weeks where the wind curled under the doors and the air smelled like damp textbooks and wet leaves. You’d transferred mid-term, shoes still caked with mud from wherever you were before. The hallway buzzed with whispers as you trailed the headmaster to your new dorm, expression unreadable and hair sticking to your cheeks.

Oscar was fifteen and mostly quiet. He liked things with order—lap times, smooth apexes, knowing exactly when to downshift. But you were chaos in sneakers. You rolled your eyes at the dress code and laughed too loud in the library. You asked him what he was always scribbling in the back of his notebook, and he lied, said it was maths. You caught a glimpse of a gear diagram and raised a brow. “That’s not maths. That’s obsession.”

He didn’t argue. You didn’t press. And that was the beginning.

Friendship came slow and steady, like watching frost melt in sunlight. One day he was ignoring you in Chemistry, the next you were shoulder to shoulder on the floor of the common room, arguing about whether Interstellar was overrated. You slipped into his life so easily he didn’t realize you were already a part of it until months had passed and your shampoo lived in his shower caddy. Until you were stealing his hoodies and he wasn’t asking for them back.

Now, years later, you’re still here. Not next to him, but close enough. Close enough to send voice notes that ramble and laugh and drift off like you're thinking aloud just for him. Close enough that his hands still remember the weight of your wrist during three-legged races at school carnivals, the smell of bonfire smoke in your hair when you fell asleep on his shoulder on that one frigid field trip.

He thinks about those things more often than he admits.

Oscar’s never been a religious man.

But he finds himself praying in traffic. To red lights that hold long enough for your voice to stretch across the Bluetooth. To quiet corners of hotel rooms, where the only thing he wants is to hear you laugh like the world hasn't chewed at your edges. To whatever force keeps you picking up his calls, even when you're half-asleep or halfway through dinner with someone who isn’t him.

He never says what he really means. Not directly.

And lately, he’s started to feel it again—that creeping, silent thing lodged in his ribs. That ache that doesn't quite have a name. Especially when you call him at 11:47 p.m., voice groggy and slow.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you say.

Oscar is thousands of miles away, in a hotel bed that smells faintly of bleach and stale air. He stares at the ceiling and closes his eyes like maybe, just maybe, you’ll appear there.

He doesn’t ask why you called him of all people. He just listens.

Sometimes you talk about your day. Sometimes about nothing at all. Tonight, it’s a story about some guy who tried to get your number at a conference—a guy who ordered for you without asking and called your job “cute.” You laugh about it, but Oscar hears the edge in your voice.

“Sounds... promising,” he says, but it comes out stiff. Like swallowing a stone.

You don’t notice. Or maybe you do and let him get away with it. You’ve always been kind like that.

There’s a pause. Not awkward. Just quiet.

You breathe into the receiver.

And not for the first time, he wonders if God is cruel — to make someone like you for him, and then keep you just out of reach.

He thinks it when you hum without realizing. When you say his name like it's a safe place. When your silences are the only kind that don't make him restless.

He never says it. Of course not. He just tells you to get some sleep, soft and low.

And when you do—when your breathing evens out and your side of the line goes still—he doesn’t hang up.

Just lies there in the dark. Listening.

As if you might stir. As if you'll whisper his name in your sleep. As if prayers ever worked for people like him.

Oscar’s never been a religious man.

But he starts bargaining with the sky the moment the rain begins to fall Sunday morning.

The plan had been simple. Seamless. Like the clean arc of a lap executed perfectly: maiden pole, win, you in the paddock. His home crowd thundering in his ears, champagne dripping from his suit, and you waiting for him at the barrier with that look that always melted him down to the screws.

It was supposed to mean something. He’d visualized it all week—crossing the line, holding your gaze as the national anthem played, telling you what he’s been holding in his chest for years, letting it spill finally, finally, now that he had something to give.

But the rain – the rain. 

It’s light at first, mist curling along the halo, soft enough to ignore. But it thickens during lap 40, silver threading through the clouds like a warning. He feels it in his chest before it even begins—the wrongness of it. The crack in the air.

Still, he clings to the plan.

You’d said yes to the race two months ago. Your first in person since uni. You’d booked flights around conference dates, rerouted your thesis schedule. You’d smiled when you said it, too—"Wouldn’t miss your home GP for anything, Oz."

And he had smiled back, because the timing felt divine. Like something had shifted in the universe just enough to make room for both of you again. He’d even practiced what he would say in the driver room after.

But then the rain came.

One corner. That’s all it took.

The rears locked just enough. The front twitched. The car was gone. Onto the grass, the gravel biting like teeth. Cheers turned to gasps. Gasps turned to the hiss of radio static and his own voice, low and stunned: “I’m off.”

He clawed it back. Ninth. Eight places from where he’d started. Every lap was a punishment he bore alone, helmet fogging, tyres screaming, the track never quite drying, never giving him what he needed.

And then there was media. Cameras, microphones, a parade of tight smiles and repeated questions—Walk us through the mistake. What were you feeling in that moment? Do you think you let the fans down?

He repeated the same phrases like rosary beads: "The rain caught us out." "It was my fault." "I should’ve handled it better."

Every word was a cut. Every smile, a lie.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he sees you. For a moment, he considers disappearing. Ducking the debrief. Flying straight back to Monaco. Avoiding the sting of it, the shame. He rehearsed a podium speech. Not this.

By the time he makes it to his driver room, his race suit feels like a wet second skin. His shoulders ache. He wants to disappear into the floor. He wants the world to stop spinning long enough for him to catch his breath.

He doesn’t expect you to be there.

But you are. Sitting quietly, back against the wall, a bottle of water balanced on your knee. You look up as he enters, eyes catching his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like the universe hadn’t just tried to drag him under and failed.

You don’t say anything at first. Just look at him like he matters. Like he didn’t just choke in front of his whole country. Like he isn’t unraveling by the seams.

And then you whisper it.

Soft. Gentle. “Oscar.”

And it breaks him. That’s all it takes.

And the way you say his name—

It feels like absolution.

He crosses the room in three steps, falls into you like gravity was always leading him here. You catch him like you knew how. Like you’d been waiting.

He doesn’t mean to say it. Not like this. Not in a rain-soaked race suit, with his hands still shaking and his throat dry from lies. But it slips out anyway, cracked and quiet into the fabric of your jacket.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I love you.”

You freeze.

Oscar’s never been a religious man. But he knows faith when he sees it. And he sees it now, in the way you hold him tighter, in the way your lips brush the shell of his ear like gospel.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. And he’s not sure what you’ll say. But you just touch his cheek, thumb running over the smear of dried rain and sweat.

“I thought you knew,” you say softly. “I’ve loved you since boarding school.”

He exhales, shaky. Half-laugh, half-relief.

The fluorescent lights above buzz. Somewhere outside, the sound of an engine roars as the next session begins. But here, in this small driver room filled with silence and sweat and grace, time feels suspended.

Oscar presses his forehead to yours.

And maybe Oscar’s never been a religious man.

But if this is what absolution feels like— Your arms around him, his name said like it means something, your heartbeat steady under his cheek— Then maybe he’s starting to believe.

[winterlico]

TANGLED IN YOU ᰔ sim jaeyun .ᐟ

ᯓ★ pairing : gryffindor!Jake x slytherin!fem!reader / fluff , , lots of teasing , makeout ᝰ.ᐟ

2.721 ｡ you thought Jake Sim’s relentless teasing was just a game. Now, you’re stuck between frustration and something far more irresistible.

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You were used to Jake Sim’s antics by now. The Gryffindor golden boy—Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, and an insufferable flirt. He had an uncanny ability to get under your skin, weaving his way into your life with relentless charm and a glint of mischief in his honey-brown eyes. If it weren’t for the fact that you were the top Slytherin student, you’d have long since hexed him into next week just to get a moment’s peace.

But you had a reputation to maintain. Composed, calculating, always in control, never showing a crack in the carefully curated persona that had made you one of the most respected—and feared—students in Slytherin.

“Come on, love, don’t look at me like that.” His voice, thick with amusement, interrupted your thoughts as he leaned lazily against the towering bookshelf in the library, his posture a stark contrast to the studious atmosphere around you.

He was watching you, as he always did, with that knowing smirk on his lips, an air of confidence that seemed to settle over him like a second skin. The golden glow from the lanterns flickered against his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the cocky gleam in his eyes. He had no business looking that good when he was being this insufferable.

You didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Instead, you met his gaze with an impassive stare, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your expression giving away nothing. “Like what?” you asked, voice cool, uninterested.

“Like you secretly enjoy my company but are too proud to admit it.” He didn’t hesitate, the words rolling off his tongue effortlessly as if he were stating an undeniable fact. He always did this—played this game with you, pushed you, prodded, teasingly walked the line between arrogance and charm, waiting for you to slip, for you to react.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, an unimpressed scoff as you shifted your weight slightly. “In your dreams, Sim.”

“Oh, believe me, you’re in plenty of those,” he shot back, his grin widening as your lips pressed into a tight line. His confidence was infuriating.

Jake Sim was relentless. No matter how many times you tried to brush him off, he kept coming back, like a stubborn cat refusing to be ignored. He had a way of making even the simplest conversations into a verbal game of cat and mouse, and it was impossible not to get caught in his rhythm.

To everyone else, he was the epitome of Gryffindor charm—bold, confident, an exceptional student. But with you? He was something else entirely. Playful, persistent, and annoyingly endearing in a way you refused to acknowledge.

If there was one thing that fueled the already complicated dynamic between you and Jake, it was Quidditch. You were Slytherin’s Seeker, and he was Gryffindor’s. Two of the best players in the school, locked in an unspoken battle of pride and skill that the entire student body kept a close eye on. Every match was an event, a spectacle that had students choosing sides long before the game even began.

The day of the big match was no different. The stadium was alive with excitement, the air thick with the roar of the crowd. The sun hung high, casting golden light across the pitch, illuminating the sea of green and red scarves that fluttered in the stands. Your grip tightened around the handle of your broom, fingers curling instinctively as you took a steadying breath.

“Try not to miss me too much when I leave you in the dust,” Jake’s voice carried easily over the noise, drawing your attention to where he stood a few feet away, his broom slung casually over his shoulder, his grin a little too confident for your liking. His stance was easy, relaxed, as if he weren’t about to launch into one of the most intense matches of the season.

You barely spared him a glance. “I’ll be sure to wave when I’m ahead.”

His laughter was rich, warm, and far too amused. “See, this is why I like you.”

Before you could formulate a response, the whistle blew, and the world shifted. The moment your feet left the ground, the adrenaline kicked in, the thrill of the chase overtaking every other thought. The wind howled past your ears, the crowd’s cheers fading into a dull roar as your focus narrowed to one thing—the Snitch.

Jake was fast. That much had always been true. But you were clever, sharp, able to anticipate his moves before he even made them. Every feint, every sudden dive, you were right there, matching him stride for stride. The tension was unbearable, the air thick with competition as you both pushed your brooms to their limits. Then, just ahead, a glimmer of gold.

Your heart leapt, your body reacting instinctively. But Jake saw it too.

“May the best Seeker win, princess,” he called over the wind, his voice filled with challenge.

“You’re looking at her,” you shot back, leaning forward, pushing harder.

It was neck and neck. The entire school held its breath as the two of you raced toward victory. And then, just as your fingers were about to close around the Snitch, Jake made a reckless move—swerving directly into your path.

The impact was immediate. A tangle of limbs, the world spinning, the weightlessness of falling before the crash of reality as you both hit the ground in a heap. The gasp of the crowd barely registered over the pounding of your pulse.

Jake groaned beneath you, breathless laughter escaping his lips. “Well, that was dramatic.”

You blinked, dazed, realizing just how close your faces were. His brown eyes flickered with amusement, his expression annoyingly charming even in his disheveled state.

“Get off me,” you muttered, your face uncomfortably warm.

“You sure? You look awfully comfortable,” he teased, voice low, smug.

Your glare was scorching, but you didn’t push him away immediately. You hated that his proximity sent your pulse into an erratic rhythm. Hated the way he looked at you—like he enjoyed every second of annoying you.

He lifted his hand, and there, between his fingers, was the Snitch.

Jake grinned. “Looks like I win this round.”

The Gryffindor stands erupted in cheers, but you barely registered the noise. All you could focus on was the way your chest tightened at his victory, not out of bitterness, but because of something else entirely—something you weren’t ready to name.

That night, you found yourself on the Astronomy Tower, the cool night air a welcome relief. The stars stretched endlessly above, a reminder of how small everything felt in moments like this. But, of course, you weren’t alone for long.

“You always pick the best spots,” Jake’s voice broke through the quiet, his presence settling beside you.

“Should’ve known you’d show up,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

“I wasn’t joking earlier,” he said after a moment, his voice steady. “I like you.”

The words hung between you, fragile and heavy all at once.

You swallowed, heart hammering. “Jake—”

“Just think about it,” he murmured, stepping close enough that the warmth of him reached you.

And, for the first time, you didn’t push him away.

For days after your encounter on the Astronomy Tower, Jake’s words became an unwanted echo in your head, replaying at the most inconvenient moments. His voice was relentless, a constant hum in the back of your mind, wrapping itself around your thoughts like a stubborn vine. You hated it. Hated how easily he had embedded himself there, as if he had always belonged in the quiet corners of your mind. Even worse, you hated the way the memory of his presence lingered—the warmth of his breath, the weight of his gaze, the way the air had crackled with something unspoken between you.

You told yourself it was nothing. A fleeting moment. A trick of the atmosphere, of the night, of exhaustion. But deep down, you knew better. Jake had looked at you like he knew something you didn’t, like he had already seen how this story would unfold, and the mere thought of it sent irritation prickling up your spine.

Avoiding him became your primary goal, but that was easier said than done. Jake Sim was impossible to ignore. He existed everywhere—at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, flashing you that insufferable smirk over breakfast; in the corridors, his shoulder brushing yours as he passed, as if by accident, though you knew better; even in the library, where he had never once cared for studying, but now seemed to have developed a sudden, suspicious interest in “reading” just a few tables away from you.

And he was always watching.

That was the worst part. The weight of his eyes on you, a silent challenge, daring you to acknowledge him, to react. You refused. You kept your expression blank, your posture rigid, your focus sharp. But inside, you could feel the cracks forming, the tension coiling tighter with every stolen glance, every near touch, every knowing smile that curled his lips.

It came to a head one afternoon outside the Great Hall. You had turned a corner too quickly, nearly colliding with him. His hands came up instinctively, fingers curling around your wrists to steady you. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through your skin, and you stiffened.

“Merlin, love, you in a hurry to get somewhere? Or just desperate to see me?” His voice was teasing, but there was something else in his eyes—something unreadable.

You jerked your hands away. “Neither. Just unlucky.”

Jake tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Unlucky? You wound me.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Do you actually have somewhere to be, or do you just enjoy being in my way?”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make your breath catch. “Oh, I enjoy a lot of things, princess. Watching you pretend I don’t get under your skin is at the top of the list.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. He had won this round, and he knew it. With one last lingering glance, he stepped aside, allowing you to pass, but not before brushing his fingers lightly against yours in a barely-there touch that sent shivers down your spine.

It was getting under your skin. Slowly, inevitably. And no matter how hard you fought against it, you were losing.

You were doomed.

It was late, the castle halls empty as you made your way back to the Slytherin common room. You had stayed behind after a late-night study session in the library, enjoying the solitude, the silence that came with the late hours. But as you turned a corner, you found yourself face-to-face with the one person you had been trying to avoid.

“Princess.”

You sighed heavily. “Sim.”

He grinned, stepping closer, his presence warm in the cool corridor. “Avoiding me?”

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him. “I have better things to do.”

But Jake wasn’t one to be dismissed so easily. He fell into step beside you, his hands tucked into his pockets, his voice deceptively light. “You’ve been acting strange. More than usual.”

You kept walking, ignoring the way your heart pounded just a little harder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sighed dramatically. “You wound me. And here I thought we had a moment up on that tower.”

You froze. Just for a second, but it was enough for Jake to notice. He turned to face you fully, the teasing edge in his voice softening. “Did I say something wrong?”

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Jake, you—”

“Like you?” he finished, his voice steady. “Yeah, I do. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”

The air between you shifted, something heavy settling in the silence. Your instinct was to deflect, to push him away like you always did. But this time, you hesitated.

And Jake, ever perceptive, caught it.

Slowly, he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His voice was quieter now, lacking the usual teasing lilt. “I’m not asking for an answer right now. I just need you to know.”

You swallowed, feeling your pulse in your throat. “Jake…”

He reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering just a second too long. “Goodnight, princess.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the corridor, heart pounding, mind reeling.

You were really, truly doomed.

Avoidance was no longer an option. After another week of stolen glances and accidental brushes of hands, you found yourself seeking Jake out instead of running from him.

You found him by the Black Lake, his back against a tree, flipping absently through a book. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the lake, the water shimmering as the breeze carried the scent of damp earth and pine. He looked up as you approached, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Finally came to your senses?”

You exhaled, crossing your arms, steeling yourself against the pounding in your chest. “Don’t start.”

He smirked but said nothing, waiting. Always waiting.

“I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, the words tasting foreign on your tongue. “But I do know I can’t get you out of my head.”

His eyes darkened slightly, the teasing gone. He studied you carefully, the silence stretching between you like an unspoken challenge. Then, his voice came lower, steadier. “So stop trying.”

The breeze carried his words straight to your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You opened your mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say, unsure if you wanted to fight him or let yourself fall. But Jake didn’t let you think too long. He took a step forward, then another, until you could feel the heat of him, the barely restrained energy in the air between you.

“Tell me to walk away,” he murmured, voice laced with something deeper, something desperate. “Tell me, and I will.”

You swallowed hard. You should. You should tell him to go, to leave this ridiculous push-and-pull where it was, but your lips betrayed you. “I don’t want you to.”

That was all it took. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing against the fabric of your robes as if he needed to feel something solid to anchor himself. His lips met yours, not gently, not cautiously, but with the force of everything unsaid between you.

The world blurred. There was no Hogwarts, no lake, no rivalry—just the warmth of his mouth, the press of his body against yours as he kissed you like he had been waiting for this moment forever. His fingers curled tighter around your waist, pulling you impossibly close, as if he could merge you together, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

You gasped against his lips, and he took the opportunity, deepening the kiss, his breath mingling with yours in a dance of desperate want and unspoken emotions. His hands slid up your back, his touch searing, his body trembling slightly against yours as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

By the time you broke apart, your breaths were ragged, your pulse a chaotic rhythm against your ribs. His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes still closed as if he were trying to hold onto the moment just a little longer.

“I was going to say that I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted, voice rough. “But I think you already knew that.”

You let out a breathless laugh, fingers still gripping the fabric of his sweater. “Yeah,” you whispered, voice steadier than you felt. “I think I did.”

Jake’s lips curled into a small, breathless smile before he kissed you again, slower this time, lingering, savoring—as if he had all the time in the world to make up for the moments you had wasted fighting this.

And for once, you let him.

[jeeseth]

# NEVER MINE — daniela avanzini x f!reader

ᝰ.ᐟ to make your ex jealous, you strike a deal with your long-time-not-so rival, daniela avanzini — fake date until prom. the plan is to post couple pics, flirt in public, and pretend you’re head-over-heels. easy right? except, she’s really good at pretending. a little too good.

˖⋆࿐໋ ( fakebf!dani x f!rᥱᥲdᥱr ) ── .✦ you might wanna tune in < boyfriend by ariana.g > ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

⟡﹒ tᥲgs ﹐ ﹅ ⟢ fluff? non-idol au, college au, fake dating au, enemies to lovers au, fakeboyfriend!daniela, mention of the other katseye members, mention of yunjin from lesserafim, mention of tattoos, jealousy?, kissing, LOTS of pda, lowkey suggestive if you squint your eyes, lowercase intended, mens dni, grammatical errors .

( ˶°ㅁ°) !! a/n - i’m clearly hooked on writing about katseye. THESE GIRLS ARE TAKING OVER MY LIFE HELLO?? but i’m not complaining obviously. ever since the sophia story blew up i HAD to write for another members and i hoped yall enjoy this! i use grammar checkers. english nawt my first language can you blame me? anyway enjoy :P

your ex is glowing. and you absolutely hates it.

like, unfairly glowing — instagram filter level, post-breakup confidence, ‘just got a new girlfriend’ type of glowing. she’s tagged in a post that makes your heart skip and your stomach turn. a soft photo. coffee cups on a windowsill, your ex’s hand intertwined with someone else’s.

"soft mornings with her 🤍"

ew. you blink at the screen. it’s not that you want her back. well not really. it’s just that she moved on so fast like you didn’t even leave a dent.

you’re halfway through doom-scrolling her profile when someone passes by your library table and nudges your charger off the edge. you lunge for it and absolutely miss it — and it clatters to the floor near a familiar pair of worn converse. oh boy. your stomach drops.

daniela avanzini.

she picks up the charger, holds it between two fingers like it might actually bite her, and places it silently back on the table without even glancing at you.

"um thanks," you mutter, barely making eye contact with daniela.

she hums and walks away. excuse me but what? she just hums? literally no words. no acknowledgment. no you’re welcome or anything. huh. classic.

-

daniela avanzini is everything you can’t stand. effortlessly cool, quiet. the kind of girl who rarely post on social media, doesn’t raise her hand in lectures, doesn’t care if professors mispronounce her name. and somehow, everyone still knows who she is. it’s like she’s carved out this unreachable space on campus where people talk about her like a myth.

you’ve only had a few classes with her, but in your head and you’d never say this out loud but, she’s your rival.

you always come in second. every time you get a test back, her name is right above yours. every time you answer a question in class, her bored "actually…" cuts through the room two minutes later and leaves yours in the dust. and the worst part? you’re pretty convinced that she doesn’t even know your name.

later that day, your ex passes you in the quad. she doesn’t look at you, but her new girlfriend does — with the same kind of polite pity people reserve for wet dogs and forgotten leftovers. yucks.

you turn around a little too quickly, almost trip over a freaking skateboard, and catch yourself on a bench. your roommate’s (lara) words from last night come screaming back.

"girl honestly? you need to make her jealous. like, get a hot girlfriend. someone unexpected. someone she’ll definitely hate seeing you with."

you laughed at that time but now, you’re still stinging from your ex’s perfect instagram life, you glance across the quad and see her again. daniela.

sitting under a tree, one headphone in, legs stretched out like she owns the earth beneath her. reading a book you know she won’t even annotate because she remembers everything. the only person your ex could never figure out and the only person you could never beat.

you don’t even realize it but you’re walking until you’re standing right in front of her, your heart pounding loudly like you’re about to make the worst decision of your life.

she looks up slowly and blinks once, doesn’t even take out her headphone.

"i need a favour." you say breathlessly. are you nervous? in front of your rival? daniela doesn’t answer so you press on.

"i told my ex I’m dating someone, and i kind of said it was you." you manage to say in one single breath. you pray to god that daniela won’t hear how fast your heart is beating from nervousness.

there’s a pause. you expect her to laugh, or roll her eyes, or walk away like this conversation never happened. but she just stares at you like a weirdo.

"okay." she mutters and it definitely caught you by surprise.

"wait- what?" you blinks in pure confusion and surprise.

"i’ll fake date you, only if you stop looking at me like you’re about to fight me in a parking lot." she shrugs and stands up from the grass. still doesn’t look directly into your eyes.

"why would you agree to this?" you asks, softer than intended.

she finally meets your eyes — and there’s the faintest twitch of a smirk at the corner of her mouth which makes you annoyed for some reasons.

"i’m bored."

and just like that, she walks away again, as if she didn’t just casually agree to change the entire trajectory of your college career.

-

you spend the next morning second-guessing every outfit in your closet and constantly telling yourself it’s not for her. it’s for the plan. the fake plan. the plan where you look convincingly in love so your ex gets jealous and maybe, for once, loses.

and definitely not because daniela avanzini is going to be walking next to you. definitely not because she looked you up and down yesterday and said "okay" like it didn’t mean anything. then suddenly your phone buzzes.

daniela

be outside in 10. you don’t need to dress up.

you stare at the message for a solid minute. you have so many questions. like how did she even get your number? but let’s put that aside because you are dressed up.

when you step outside, she’s already leaning against the bike rack, hoodie up, hands in her jacket pockets, looking like she hasn’t thought about anything once in her entire life. her eyes flick up when she sees you. then down. then back up. is she checking you out?

"you said i didn’t need to dress up," you say, trying to play it cool which lowkey doesn’t work.

"you didn’t. but you look good." daniela shrugs nonchalantly. you pretend that doesn’t make your chest do something weird.

"so how are we doing this?" you ask, sighing afterwards. "pda? couple walk? hand-holding?"

daniela looks at your hand for a beat. then, without a word, reaches over and laces her fingers through yours.

"we’ll walk," she says.

"that’s it?" you asks, dumbfounded.

"for now." she says and you swear you can see her smirking from the corner of your eyes.

the quad is too loud, too crowded. everyone’s outside. music from someone’s bluetooth speaker is bouncing off the walls, and you swear there’s a subtle shift in the air when you and daniela pass through. people notice and obviously they will whisper. a girl who you recognise from your chem lab literally nudges her friend and points.

"are they staring?" you whisper to daniela.

"mhm," daniela hums. like it’s nothing. like this is totally normal for her.

"okay. why are you so calm?"

"i’m always calm."

"i know and it’s annoying." you huffs before rolling your eyes mentally. you expect her to ignore you — like she usually does but she lets out a tiny laugh, low and quick.

"you’re funny when you’re panicking." daniela says quietly.

"i’m not panicking."

and then she squeezes your hand just slightly. not enough for anyone else to notice. just enough for you to feel it.

you’re passing the café when you suddenly hear it — your ex’s laugh. sharp. too loud. too familiar. you freeze up. and daniela notices. she follows your gaze. your ex is inside, tucked into a booth with her new girlfriend, all soft smiles and leaning in close. your throat tightens ever so slightly.

daniela shifts beside you. doesn’t say anything. just gently tugs your hand and keeps walking, guiding you away like it’s instinct.

"you wanna go in?" she asks quietly.

"no." you reply almost instantly.

"then keep your head up. don’t let her see you looking at her like she matters." daniela mutters softly but firmly. her words hit harder than you expect.

you stop outside your lecture hall a few minutes early. the crowd thins. people stop watching. technically, the act is over. but daniela doesn’t let go of your hand.

"you can let go now," you say as if you’re reminding her.

"i know." but she still doesn’t.

you glance over at daniela. she’s staring straight ahead, unreadable as always.

"that wasn’t horrible," you mumbles softly.

"high praise," she says, a tiny smirk ghosting her mouth.

then, daniela said something that almost makes you choke on your own saliva. she said it like it’s nothing.

"if you want to make her more jealous, i can kiss you next time."

"w-what?" you stutter, almost chokes upon hearing daniela’s words.

"i won’t do it unless you’re okay with it," daniela says, calm as ever. "but you looked like you were gonna disappear back there."

"that’s�� actually really considerate." you said shakily. she looks at you then. really looks. and for the first time since this whole thing started, you can’t read her.

"see you later." she says, finally letting go of your hands. and she walks away without another word.

you stay there a moment too long, hand still warm, head still spinning from everything. this was your idea. this was supposed to be fake. so why does it feel like she’s playing the role a little too well?

-

it’s one of those rare days when the weather is nice and the sun hits the campus lawn just right — the kind of afternoon where students sprawl across the grass, half-studying, half-napping, pretending they’re not drowning in deadlines.

you’re at your usual spot as always — a bench tucked under a tree near the south building. it’s your unofficial recess place. far enough from the cafeteria noise, but close enough to eavesdrop on the chaos if you feel like it. you’ve got headphones in, open tabs on your laptop, snack in one hand and phone in the other. and you’re definitely not expecting some extra company. which is why, when someone drops their bag next to yours and sits down without saying anything, your heart jumps into your throat.

you yank one earbud out and glance to your side. daniela with her hood up, sleeves too long, bottle of water in her hand, thumb resting lightly on the cap. just sitting beside you. like this is totally normal.

"um hi???" you says, eloquent as ever.

"hi." daniela replies, tone so chill it sounds like she’s been here the whole time.

you stare at her for a second, waiting for the punchline. she doesn’t look at you. just leans back against the bench like it belongs to her. like you belong to her.

"do you usually sit here?" she asks after a moment, eyes still looking forward. "you’re always in this spot. i noticed."

"you noticed?" you blink upon hearing daniela’s words.

"yeah. you always snack during break. same brand of chips too." daniela says as she glances at the bag of chips in your hands.

you also look down at the bag in your hand. it’s the same one you eat basically every day. you didn’t think anyone paid attention. even you barely pay attention.

"i mean—yeah, i guess? i like this bench."

daniela hums and then opens her water and takes a slow sip. you want to ask her why she’s here, why she’s choosing to sit next to you now, with people literally walking by and noticing but you’re too scared that if you do, she’ll leave. so you just keep existing beside her.

twenty minutes pass. you’re still pretending to scroll through your notes, but you haven’t read a single sentence. and daniela? daniela is leaned back, legs stretched out, water bottle resting between her knees, like she’s never been more relaxed in her life.

a few students walk past and you hear one of them whisper, "wait, are they dating? like for real?" and your chest tightens when you heard that.

"people are talking." you mumble softly, not even dare looking up.

"let them." daniela replies, calm as anything.

"aren’t you worried they’ll think it’s real?" you asks and look over at daniela. and then she finally looks at you. lile really really looks.

"isn’t that the point?" daniela says nonchalantly. you open your mouth, then close it.

and then, just to completely ruin your brain she reaches over, takes a chip from your bag, pops it in her mouth, and smiles.

"these are good."

daniela stays until the bell rings and doesn’t move when it buzzes. doesn’t rush. just stands up slowly, throws her bag over her shoulder, and glances down at you.

"same spot tomorrow?" she asks causing you blink up at her in genuine surprise.

"um yeah sure." you mumbles softly.

she walks off like nothing happened. like this wasn’t weird. like she didn’t just publicly chill beside you for almost half an hour and steal your snacks like you’ve been doing this for weeks. and just before she disappears around the corner, she turns back and says something to you.

"bring extra chips yea?"

you sit there, staring after her, snack bag half-empty, heart half-lost. you’re in big trouble.

-

you’re not used to people watching you. at least not like this. not the way students glance in your direction when you walk into the quad now. not the way group chats whisper and spiral. not the way yunjin looks at you across the lawn like she just saw a ghost wearing her old hoodie.

daniela’s beside you again today. sitting under your tree like she owns the shade. legs stretched, hoodie sleeves half-covering her hands, thumb lazily scrolling through something on her phone. she doesn’t care that you’re being watched. doesn’t even pretend to. and you kind of like that.

"you’re quiet today." you say, nudging daniela’s knee.

"you’re talkative today." she glances up and smirks faintly at you. you smile despite yourself.

you’re sitting a little closer than yesterday. not on purpose. just gravity, maybe. hehe. the air’s warm. the quad’s buzzing. and you’re halfway through offering her another chip when you hear it. the sound that lowkey annoys you.

her laugh. you know that laugh. you freeze for a second, chip halfway to your mouth. then you glance up. yunjin.

ten feet away. hair tied back, sunglasses pushed up on her head, walking with that girl. her new girl. the one who took your place so fast you barely had time to breathe. and they’re headed toward the quad bench nearest yours. of course.

daniela must sense it. or maybe she just knows your body language too well already. well either way, she shifts closer, leans in slightly but not enough to make a scene, just enough for anyone watching to get the message. and then, she does it.

she reaches up and smooths a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. her fingers are gentle, her face unreadable. but her eyes? oh her eyes flicker just slightly toward where yunjin’s standing. you don’t even have time to process it before you hear footsteps stop.

"wow. so this is real huh?" yunjin says, her voice coated in sugar.

you blink and look up. she’s standing right in front of you and literally smiling tight. daniela doesn’t move. hence she doesn’t even look surprised at all.

"hey, didn’t think you’d move on this fast." yunjin mutters, her eyes dragging over daniela slowly.

"we’ve been talking for a while," daniela finally says, casually but yet dangerous. "just kept it quiet."

and clearly you almost choke from hearing that cause what the hell?

"didn’t think you were her type." yunjin says, eyes narrowing.

"good." daniela replies, still so calm it almost unnerves you. there’s a glint in her eyes—mischievous and unreadable.

"i don’t like being predictable anyway." daniela’s words hang in the air, cool and confident, leaving you unsure whether to be impressed or nervous. maybe both and then total silence.

yunjin’s jaw clenches. just a little. her hand tightens around her smoothie cup. and you really wonder if she’s about to throw it.

"well, good for you." yunjin says, and clearly its all bite now.

"thanks. we’re really happy." daniela says, giving yunjin a small smirk that surely pissed her off.

and then like she’s rehearsed this moment, daniela reaches over and rests her hand lightly on your knee. her thumb tracing lazy circles like it’s the most natural thing in the world. and your entire nervous system shuts down.

yunjin doesn’t say another word. she just turns and walks away, grip on her smoothie so tight you’re surprised it doesn’t explode. and when she’s out of earshot, you turn to daniela.

"okay. what the hell was that?"

"what?" daniela asks, shrugging like she did absolutely nothing afterwards.

"we’ve been talking for a while?’ daniela?!"

"sounded better than ‘we fake started dating yesterday.’" daniela smirks. well barely a smirk.

"you really don’t care if people believe this, huh?" you ask, staring at her, trying to read something. anything on her goddamn face.

daniela just shrugs, the corners of her mouth twitching like she’s fighting back a smirk. she leans back on her hands, glancing up at the sky.

"nah," she says. "but i care that she saw."

your heart skips a beat.

"that was evil."

"you smiled."

"i didn’t."

"you did."

you look away, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the grin forming. daniela is hella evil. but god. she’s too good at this.

-

you don’t plan to end up in her dorm. let’s say that it just happens. somehow, between daniela walking you halfway to class and you saying something dumb like "my phone’s about to die" and she just offers a casual

"you can charge it at mine."

like it’s nothing. like you are nothing. which, frankly, is a joke — because your heart is doing backflips and she’s acting like you just asked for a pen.

daniela’s room matches her energy: quiet, muted, somehow colder and warmer than you expect. the kind of space that doesn’t ask questions, just exists—still, steady. a hoodie is draped over the back of her chair, worn and faded. a cracked window lets in the soft hues of dusk, the breeze carrying in the scent of evening. a basketball is shoved carelessly under the desk, like she tossed it there without thinking.

you hesitate by the door, unsure if you should step in or stay put. she doesn’t say anything. doesn’t look up. just grabs your phone, plugs it in like it’s the most natural thing in the world, then tosses you a water bottle without missing a beat.

and here you are. you’re on her bed. the laptop rests between you, trail mix scattered in the space where your knees almost touch. there’s music playing—rnb, soft and slow. it hums in the background, setting a rhythm that neither of you really follow. but it fits.

you’re actually supposed to be working on your slides but oh well. your fingers hovering over the keyboard. daniela’s sketching something on a scrap of paper, focused, lines coming to life beneath her hand. she doesn’t explain what it is. doesn’t offer. you don’t ask.

but you keep stealing glances. and she keeps pretending not to notice. until she does. her eyes flick up, catching you mid-stare. you flinch, caught like a guilty secret. she doesn’t. she just raises an eyebrow at you, like really? your gaze drops immediately, heat crawling up your neck. the corner of her mouth twitches just barely but it’s there.

you end up there for hours and obviously you didn’t mean to. but she never tells you to leave. never acts like you’re taking up space. just lets you sit, lets you snack, lets you laugh at her handwriting and kick her ankle under the blanket when she says something sarcastic. and when you finally check your phone, it’s almost midnight. gosh.

"shit. i should go." you mutter as you eyes the time on your phone.

"you can stay."

"i mean, just to crash. if you want. i’ve got an extra hoodie. you look cold."

you don’t answer right away. and maybe that’s the answer in itself. dani gets up and throws you the hoodie. and she doesn’t even look at you while she does it. but when you slip it on, oversized and warm and still smelling like her shampoo, she says something that caught you off guard.

"looks good on you." daniela says like it’s nothing. but you’re starting to learn that when daniela says something like it’s nothing. it’s definitely something.

-

it’s ten minutes between lectures. your brain is foggy from note-taking, your fingers are cold from the library air, and your bag is slung too low on one shoulder. you barely hear anything as people file out around you. just chatter and sneaker-squeaks and someone dropping a water bottle that rolls past your feet.

you step into the hallway and as always, daniela’s already there leaning against the wall. arms crossed. earbuds in. one side of her hair tucked back. she’s looking at her phone but you can tell that she’s been waiting for you. and she doesn’t even look surprised when you walk up. just pulls one earbud out, glances up slow.

"hey." it’s so normal. so casual. like it’s a daily routine. maybe it’s becoming one.

"you’re early," you says softly, looking up at daniela.

"and you’re late." daniela says making you grin and bump her shoulder lightly.

"i was gonna say you missed me, but okay." you sighs dramatically causing daniela to snorts.

"i did."

"what?" you blink.

"what." but she’s smiling. just a little and just enough.

-

you don’t even remember how you ended up here. one minute, you were walking together after your last class and joking about something dumb, bumping shoulders. and the next, you were toeing off your shoes by her door, dropping your bag on her floor like this is routine. like you’ve done it a hundred times before. you haven’t. but it’s starting to feel like you could.

her dorm’s still the same. soft lighting that makes everything feel a little gentler. cracked window letting in the evening air. a half-zipped hoodie hanging from the corner of her bed, swaying slightly whenever you move. but this time, there’s no assignment. no project. no excuse. just you and her and the quiet space in between.

daniela’s in the desk chair, legs stretched out, socked feet crossed at the ankles. her head’s tilted slightly, like she’s listening to the soft music that hums low from her phone speaker—some mellow instrumental that doesn’t ask for attention, just fills the silence. but she keeps looking at you. not in a way that demands anything. just literally watching. like you’re something she’s trying to figure out, or maybe already has. and you keep pretending not to notice.

fiddling with the hem of your sleeve, suddenly very interested in the pattern on her blanket, the chipped nail on your thumb, anything that isn’t the heat rising in your cheeks under her gaze. but she doesn’t stop looking. and you don’t really want her to.

you really try to focus on something, anything. on your phone, but it’s hard when she’s just there. sitting like she owns the room. like the silence bends around her. like she knows you’re flustered and she likes it.

"you’re comfy," daniela says, breaking the silence.

"it’s your bed." you mumbles.

"yeah, but you’re still cute in it."

"excuse me?"

"just saying. you look good when you’re relaxed." dani shrugs, all casual. like she didn’t just lob a grenade into your chest.

"dani stop." you choke on your own breath and toss your phone onto the blanket.

"what?" she leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. eyes too steady. too smug and definitely too much.

"you’re blushing." she pauses.

"is it the ‘cute’ part or the ‘in my bed’ part that’s doing it for you?"

you stare at daniela. then you grab the nearest pillow and launch it right at her face. it hits with a soft whump and she bursts out laughing — the kind that makes her lean back in the chair, eyes squinting, mouth wide with actual joy. and how you wish it didn’t make your heart flip.

"you’re so annoying," you mumble, face hot, covering yourself with the blanket like it’ll undo the last thirty seconds.

"you didn’t deny it, though." she calls out, muffled through the pillow she’s now hugging to her chest. you groan and she just grins in satisfaction.

-

you’re half-asleep at your usual table. recess is loud and laughter echoing off walls, sneakers pounding pavement but it all feels distant, muffled by the fog in your head. your eyelids are heavy, textbook open in front of you but untouched.

daniela’s next to you. elbow propped on the table, cheek resting against her hand, posture lazy in that way only she can pull off. she’s quiet, letting you trace across the back of her other hand with your black pen. and she hasn’t said a word about it. just watches. barely blinking. her thumb twitches slightly when your finger accidentally brushes the inside of her wrist, but she doesn’t pull away.

you’re not even drawing anything good. just dumb little stars. uneven. shaky. some filled in, some not. you draw one right in the center of her hand. it’s a little crooked. off-balance. but who cares?

"that one’s you." you mumble, not really expecting her to hear.

"tilted?" dani gaze flicks up, one brow barely raised.

"shining." you correct, without looking up and she doesn’t respond but her hand stays still and so do you.

you forget about it. the next day slips by in pieces—notes you barely register, teachers talking like background noise, friends pulling you along through hallways you don’t fully remember walking. everything blurs.

until you’re halfway to your seat. and then you see her. daniela. already there with her hood up and sleeves rolled to her elbows like she always does when she’s tired or pretending she isn’t.

you stop mid-step. because on her hand right where you drew it yesterday is the star. your star. the tilted one. only now, it’s not in pen. it’s in ink. clean, sharp black lines. not smudged, not fading, permanent. your stomach drops.

"wait— you didn’t erase it?" you slide into the seat beside her, still staring.

"couldn’t." daniela shrugs like she doesn’t feel your panic.

"cause got it tattooed." daniela says that calmly and your throat dries.

"you’re joking."

"i’m not."

you blink. you wait for her to laugh, for the punchline but it just never comes.

"why would you—"

"because you drew it and because i didn’t want it to fade." daniela explains to you in a soft tone.

you don’t say anything. you’re so busy trying to process that you almost miss the way her hand finds yours under the table. her thumb brushes your knuckles and her voice drops.

"i like you, y/n." and then suddenly the world goes quiet.

like the air’s holding its breath with you. like everything else—the noise, the nerves, the chaos pauses just long enough to make room for her voice.

"not fake-like. not for the deal. not because it’s fun messing with you."

your heart’s hammering in your chest. your hand is shaking and dani notices so she holds it tighter.

"i like you for real. and i’m kinda hoping you like me back."

your eyes drop to the star on her skin. your star. on her. damn. what even is happening. and then they lift—to soft fabric and steady eyes and that stupid calm voice that’s always said more than it was supposed to.

"you’re actually insane," you whisper, breathless.

"is that a yes?"

you don’t answer her instead you just lean forward and kiss her quick, barely-there, more breath than touch. but it’s everything. and when you pull back, she’s already grinning like an idiot.

"so yes?"

"ugh, yes." you roll your eyes, heart still racing and cheeks burning.

you’re still close maybe a little too close. her hand’s still holding yours, thumb brushing soft over your knuckles like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you kissed her. you literally kissed her. and now she’s just sitting there, grinning like she just won something in life.

"you’re smiling way too much." you mumble, still a little breathless.

"am i?" daniela hums, tilting her head, her eyes flicking to your mouth again.

"you could kiss me again to make me stop."

"oh my god. you’re unbelievable." you mumbles as your face heats up at her words.

"and kissable." she adds helpfully. you throw your head back and groan, hand covering your face. dani’s laugh is low and smug and entirely too pleased with herself.

"daniela."

"what? you literally started it." she blinks innocently.

"you kissed me. on school property. during recess. and now i have expectations." you grab her sleeve and tug it over her face.

"you’re really insane."

"maybe. but you did draw a star on me and now it’s permanent. so i think we’re even."

you’re blushing. hard and you can feel it. she pulls her sleeve down just enough to look at you, voice quieter now softer but still teasing.

"just one more?" you look at her. she’s not pushing. not demanding. just there. waiting patiently.

you sighs as you lean in — not rushed, not dramatic. just a quiet, warm press of lips against hers again. longer this time, a little closer. her hand finds the side of your neck. your other one curls into the fabric of her hoodie. and when you pull back, her eyes flutter open, slow.

"okay," she whispers. "maybe two more."

"you’re such a pervert."

"yeah." daniela grins. "but i’m your pervert now."

you shove her away with a breathless laugh and she grabs your wrist, pulling you right back in.

[norrissm]

ᝰ.ᐟ TEXTS WITH BOYFRIEND LANDO

lando norris x reader / est. relationship / LIBRARY

syn. texts with boyfriend lando <3 PART 2

reblog and follow <3 all rights reserved ©️norrissm please do not copy, save, or translate my stories.

[yeonmuse]

— Bloodlust 18+

IN WHICH, you’re stuck with him, following his rules, obeying every order all because your father had made a binding vow to strengthen your bloodline.

( pairing) - vampire!sunghoon x f!r 2.8kwc + smut. not proofread!! 3rd pov Contains!! Mentions of blood/sexual themes/asshole sunghoon [reqs are open] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary 🪷

Req from anon: “hi can you please do a vampire sunghoon x reader smut ive been reading all of your rockstar series and i can’t wait for you to finish it”

🔖 @jwonistic @bubblytaetae @pkjay @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @lillotus17 @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @jiamini @sol3chu @right-person-wrong-time

**Jake and Heeseungs parts can be found in my library **

It went without saying that you absolutely hated Park Sunghoon, since the moment you’d arrived at his estate he hadn't shown the slightest ounce of hospitality to you. He was cold, demanding, self centered and an absolute asshole.

Of course you are forced to put up with him nonetheless, having been given to him by your father under the agreement of some sort of pact he had made with the Park Bloodline. You’d be prompted to give both your family and the park family an heir, forever binding your bloodlines and ending the decade long feud between your ancestors and the parks.

Though just because you were forced into such an agreement didn’t mean you had to make it easy, you had made every day for Sunghoon hell as well, always talking back, flirting with his friends when they’d visit, you made the simplest of conversation with him an argument and it aggravated him to the highest degree.

Today would seem to be the only day of peace that you’d be getting, being told Sunghoon would be away on business for a while, You found yourself roaming the empty library you had now become quite familiar with. The warmth of the fireplace engulfed your body, and you let out a content sigh upon finally having gotten some peace and quiet. Fingers dusting over the old outdated novels, you scanned through most of them until finding one that caught your eye. A soft hum spills from your lips as you stretch out your arms to grasp a book on a higher shelf, jumping back once you feel two arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“Not quite tall enough to get it yourself hm?” The familiar tone was a dead give away that it was none other than Park Sunghoon.

“Get lost, I'm trying to read, I was told you wouldn’t be here.” Rolling your eyes you remove his arms from your waist as you continue to reach for your chosen book.

“Seems to me you’re rather struggling to get the book more so than you are reading one.” As if it took no effort he reaches for the book you had been eyeing for mere minutes now and raises it into the air.

“Tell me little one, are you interested in such a book?” Leaning down he made sure that his autumn colored orbs stared directly into yours all while you shot him an annoyed glare, seemingly struggling to retrieve the book from him.

“Oh, go on little bunny, maybe if you jump a little higher you’ll get it.” He found it amusing watching you struggle, since the moment you had moved in with him he made it his mission to get under your skin just as you did to him.

“I swear to god, do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk.” Your frustration had only grown the more he opened his mouth.

“No, but I do get tired of hearing you, little rabbit.”

‘Bunny’ ‘little rabbit’ two nicknames he has used frequently since you’d moved into his estate. That was how he viewed you, a helpless rabbit for him to prey upon whenever he desired, though when you first arrived he hadn’t expected a little thing like you to give him as much trouble as you had.

“It’d make that pretty face of yours even more desirable if you’d learned to keep quiet.” Finally he brought the book down and handed it to you only for him to grab your hand and pull you into his chest the moment you reached for it.

“You’re always so sweet and coquettish when it comes to Jaeyun or Jongseong, yet you love to make it difficult for me?” His thumb gently brushes over your wrists as he stares down at them, he could smell the blood running through your veins, and the beating of your heart didn’t go unnoticed by him either.

“Wait-” before you could even protest Sunghoon had already had you pressed against the shelf behind you, his leg locked in place between your thighs to keep you from moving. His thumb immediately pressed into your wrist, silencing you, making you yelp as his nails pierced your skin.

“From now on only speak when I tell you sweetheart, I’m sick of your mouth.” His eyes pierced into yours in a way that made you fall silent almost immediately. You hated it, you hated him, even more you hated your father for having made the agreement to give you up so easily. You also hated that the moment he gave you that command you were forced to comply.

“I told your father I’d be polite, that I'd wait until you were compliant and willingly giving yourself to me, but all you’ve done is act like a brat.” He chuckles and grabs your face, forcing you to stare into his eyes, a hunger seemingly lingering in them, a look you hadn’t realized until now.

“sweet little human, I could break you in far more ways than you know. Yet you still know how to pull strings until I’m singing to your tune.” He brought your lips to his wrist, and you watched as his tongue escaped past his lips and dusted across your skin sending a shiver up your spine.

“You’re so quiet now hm? Haven’t heard that pretty mouth speak a word.”

“Fuck off.” He chuckles before his lips meet your skin again, this time sucking at the bare flesh of your wrists as he presses his knee against you, a grin cutting into his lips as he hears a moan spill past your lips mere sections after you had just cursed him.

He eyed your every move as he slid his tongue across your skin, he found himself very much satisfied as he sensed a rise in the heat of your body. As your eyes met his and you spotted that familiar cocky smirk on his lips, part of you wanted to pull away from him, to tell him off. To not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had you feeling vulnerable to say the least. Though there was no fooling him he could tell you were struggling to pull upsets together, that you were failing at your attempt to fight against him. Though he also knew you were still annoyed with him, and that would make it all the more enjoyable having you crying and begging for him to make a mess of you.

“I’ll show you the proper use of that pretty mouth you got, I’ll teach you when and when not to speak.” He forces you down to your knees, holding your face in his hands to keep your mouth open. He absolutely loved the way you looked at him as if you wanted to destroy him, like you were completely pissed at him. His thumb brushes over your lip as he stares into your eyes and he leans in mere inches away from your face.

“Go on sweetheart tell me how much you hate me yeah?” Before you could manage even one word he yanks your head back by your hair and shoves his fingers into your mouth earning a frustrated moan from you.

“Let’s prepare you, yeah?” He watched as you almost instantaneously fell into your role and he couldn’t help but find it amusing.

“Already making good use of that mouth, look at you.” His eyes were locked in place, watching the way your tongue swirled and danced around his fingers. It gave him all the more reason to stuff your mouth full of him. He wastes no time undoing his belt and shoving his pants to the floor, his boxers not too far behind.

The moment he slid the tip of his cock between your lips a groan spilled past his lips. He was ecstatic. The feeling of your lips around him making him eager to explore the rest of you. He loved the way your sweet eyes gazed into his like you hated him, even though your actions said otherwise.

“Fuck,is this all I have to do to shut you up? Fuvk this pretty face?” He growls, his head falling back as he takes in the feeling of your mouth around him. Grinding his hips against your face. You took his thrusts so easily, eyes trained on him above you as you began to suck, one hand on his thigh to keep yourself still and the other on the floor beneath you. Falling into the rhythm was surprisingly easy and felt very fucking natural with him.

While Sunghoonseemed to be lost in the sensation of your sweet mouth.You on the other hand, you were a moaning mess, fingers digging into his thigh as he fists your hair and fucks your throat. The slurping and gagging noises that spilled past your lips were enough to make him cum right then and there, but he didn’t, he just kept fucking your pretty lips as if he were trying to permanently shut you up.

“Should have thought of this before you got so mouthy” Following his words Sunghoon forces the rest of his dick down your throat earning a cry from you as you feel the head of his cock excessively abuse it. He kept mercilessly fucking your mouth, muffling every moan that threatened to escape your lips. You simply whimpered pathetically, clawing at his thigh, clenching around nothing, feeling so pathetic at the fact that this had actually been turning you on. Your desperation pulled a grunt from him, making him yank your hair harder forcing a cry from your mouth which was swallowed up by his cock.

“Fuck”

Without any warning he forces himself to reach the back of your throat as he finishes in your mouth. Shooting his load into the depths of your throat, and not giving you any time to breath before he has to propped up against the bookshelf.

“Still hate me baby hm? Still angry at me?” Before you could manage even one word his lips wrapped around your lips and he began to suck at your clit. This earned a frustrated moan from you, when he treated your body in such ways there was no way you’d let out any words that were remotely coherent.

“I’m asking you a question, let me hear it.” His tongue began to lap at your folds like he was hungry for it. his nails digging into your thighs with every whine or moan of pleasure that spilled from your lips. It made him hungrier for it, hungrier to hear you crying and begging beneath him. Usually he was content with just annoying you but right now he wanted to break you.

When he was met with continued silence he removed his lips from your soaked cunt to kiss along your thighs. You became very aware of his fangs as they grazed the skin of your inner thighs earning a whimper on your part. A whimper that didn’t go unnoticed by Sunghoon, tempting him to do it again.

“Oh? Does that turn you on? You're so pathetic, all it takes is my cock down your throat and tongue deep in your pretty little cunt for me to get you compliant.” He seemed to call you out on everything, everything you tried to hide or deny he knew that’s what made him so frustrating. His eyes remained trained on your face as he continued to tease your body with his fangs. At some point he even went as far as teasing himself by piercing your skin and licking the blood that spilled between your thighs.

“Mmm, a sweet taste to match the scent.” As you watched the way his tongue lapped at your blood you couldn't help but want him to take more from you, to hear more satisfied groans as he drank from your body.

As his eyes remained focused on your face he immediately dug his sharp teeth into your thighs, a satisfied moan spilling past his lips at the taste. Your taste was addicting and it was now clear to him why the others always had such a rough time being around you. He watched the way your eyes rolled back as you pulled his hair, the wetness that gushed from your thighs all while your heart beat began to speed up at the painful pleasure. Once he had finally taken enough blood to satisfy his thirst he moved back between your thighs to once again hear the lovely Melodie’s that would spill from your lips.

The way he worked his tongue was godly and it went without saying that no matter how much you disliked him at times, with a tongue like his you could easily be put in your place.

“Fuck, Stop talking and just fuck me.” His nails pressed into your thigh, a mere warning for you to fix your attitude.

“Beg for it then sweetheart, if you want me so badly.” He forced his fingers past your folds and uses them to stretch you out, watching the way your jaw clenched in annoyance as you tried to force back a moan

“Please, please Hoon it hurts, I need more.”

"Yes, say that again..beg. My pretty little human, tell me what you’d like." He loved that you didn’t shy away from begging for it. You were his, his perfect little slut, his precious little human and he’d ruin you and watch you crumble in his arms.

“please.” Your fingers coiled within his dark locks and he watched as your eyes gazed down at him full of desperation.

“I’ll train you well enough, you’ll be able to take me any time and anywhere I please.”

“Fuck, just shut- u” before you could even finish you felt him push past your entrance stretching you out until he fully bottomed out inside you. Your tightness earned a low growl from him as he pushed so deep you could have sworn you felt him hit the top of your stomach

“Go on finish your sentence sweetheart” He continued to jerk his hips up into you knowing that if he kept at it you wouldn’t be able to say a word. He found pure amusement in watching the blissed out look on your face with every little thrust inside you.

“So pathetic, the moment you get stuffed like a pretty little cocksleeve you immediately go mute.” A chuckle spilled past his lips and he spread your legs wider and pushed your thighs back against your chest. Your moans were evident enough that whatever pain you felt if any had gone away. He wasted no time fucking into you, rough and feverish thrusts from the very beginning. Thrusts that caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head so hard you saw stars.

Your nails clawing at the shelf behind you and your mouth fell open, lines of saliva dripping down your chin as gargled moans spilled past your lips.

“H-Hoon.” The sound of his name spilling from your lips was like heaven. He immediately leans down to take your nipple between his lips while his other hand fondles your breasts. The pleasure had been overwhelming your bodies in ways you hadn’t thought to be possible. From the flicking of his tongue against your breasts every time he thrusted in to you feeling like the more he fucked the deeper into your stomach his cock seemed to push.

“Look at you pretty girl, you hate me so much yet here you are taking my cock like a desperate fiend.” Your thoughts had been so cloudy that you could barely even make out anything he had been talking to you about.

“Such a pretty little whore gonna cum all over my cock after complaining all this time about how much she hates me.” He immediately rested one hand on your waist while resting the other on your stomach and pushing down. He wanted to feel just how far his cock could go inside your little frame. This action was all it took to push you over the edge, the moment he pushed down upon your stomach your legs shook and it was a glorious sight for Sunghoon to see you squirt upon the impact of his hand. Your legs shook violently as his thrusts grew in speed and the low growls that spilled from his mouth made it all more easy for you to unravel right then and there, your cum spilling out onto his cock along with the desk in mere seconds. Subghoon wasnt too far behind as the fucked out look on your face and the way your tight cunt clenched around him was all he needed for him to spill his load into you.

He took pride in watching you struggle to catch your breath.

“Still hate me sweetheart?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good thing I have forever to fuck it out of you then.”

[rafesteddy]

Omg DILF!RAFE and MILF!READER’s recent post was so good, imma need you to consider maybe making one where they’re on vacation and some younger guys try flirting with her, thinking she’s around their age (20’s) and Rafe stepping in. UGH you write beautifully I just can’t

Hi bb!!! Thank you for your ask 🤭💕

+18 -> smut | the two of you steal a night away in Miami. One dinner, one dance, and it all comes rushing back.

𝓭𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: slight physical violence (not toward the reader), coarse language, pet name, unprotected p in v, possessive rafe, rough sex, breeding kink, jealousy, ownership kink, teasing, wet and messy, mentions of drinking, POV shift for smut, + dirty talk.

𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮’𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

Ｎｉｋｋｉ Ｂｅａｃｈ Ｒｅｓｔａｕｒａｎｔ…

Rafe still couldn’t believe you were here. Miami. Same streets, same salt in the air, same stretch of beach where he used to watch you run circles around him with that mouth of yours and those damn cutoff shorts.

It’d been years, decades even. Four kids later. Half a life lived. And somehow, even today, you still had him looking at you like a fucking lovesick idiot.

You’d spent the whole day on the beach, just the two of you. Max and Winnie had the twins, and he hadn’t asked twice. He needed this. Needed you. The sun. You in that tiny black swimsuit, laughing in the surf, making him ache like he hadn’t been married to you for almost twenty years.

Now, the sky was going dark, and you were sitting across from each other in one of those restaurants you loved. Five stars, full white linen, candles flickering. You in that red dress.

He felt like he was twenty all over. Shit, younger than that. His palms were sweating. Ridiculous, really. Just watching you lift that damn glass to your mouth like you hadn’t already ruined him hours ago.

You sat by the window, bathed in the last stretch of sun, skin glowing, hair falling soft around your shoulders. Every time you smiled, it did something to his chest. Like his lungs forgot what they were supposed to do. And when you shifted in your seat, crossed your legs, glanced his way—he couldn’t stop staring. Didn’t even try.

Shit.

His hands dropped to his thighs. He couldn’t get a grip. Not with you looking like that. You were his wife. He had no business feeling this nervous. Your husband. Your safe place. The father of your kids. But here he was—nervous. Damn near vibrating with it.

It felt like your first date. Like if he said the wrong thing, you might just laugh and walk away.

Except you wouldn’t. You were his. He knew that in his bones. Had known it for years. But it didn’t stop the rush of it now—watching you sip that drink, those bare shoulders catching the light.

Whatever he’d ordered, he couldn’t taste it. Could barely remember what they’d ordered.

The sunset was sinking fast behind you. Throwing everything around you into this perfect glow that made his chest ache. He motioned to the waiter, sharp and distracted.

“Rafe? Are you okay?”

“Not upset, baby. Promise… Just gotta do something.” And he meant it, because if he didn’t get you out there on that beach, in that red dress, with that sun sinking behind you—if he didn’t catch this moment, keep it somehow—he was gonna lose his goddamn mind.

But he wasn’t about to tell you that. Not yet. Not until he had you exactly where he wanted you.

You were already giggling by the time he stood, napkin dropping carelessly on the table.

“Rafe,” you laughed, grabbing your clutch. “What’s goin’ on?”

He didn’t answer—just took your hand, lacing your fingers tight, tugging you gently toward the door. The host caught his eye, nodded with a knowing smile. Rafe hardly noticed. His pulse was still going—loud in his ears, steady, but off somehow.

The air outside hit different. The air had cooled. Still salty, but heavier now—like something was shifting, even if he couldn’t name it.

The sky was already losing color. That soft pink sinking into gray-blue in patches, uneven and fast.

Down near the water, two people walked the edge of the tide, saying nothing. Just dragging the moment out, maybe. Or maybe they weren’t ready to leave yet.

“Rafe,” you said again, each breath coming shallow, chasing the last, laughing even as you kicked off your heels onto the sand. “You’re acting like—” But you cut off when he let go of your hand and stepped back a few feet and lifted his phone. “Oh my God,” you gasped, cheeks warming up as you realized what he was doing. “Baby—”

“None of that, pretty,” he said, thumb hovering over the screen. “C’mon now. Don’t start.” His voice caught a little, that shaky edge of pure want bleeding through. “You look like a goddamn dream right now. Let me have it.”

You covered your mouth, blushing harder, shaking your head in the softest, sweetest way. But it only took you a second. Because he was looking at you like that—like you hung the damn sun yourself—and his voice was full of it, that heat that never failed to melt you straight through.

“Please, baby,” he said again, softer this time. “Need this. Just you. Right here, alright?”

And that was it. Your hands dropped and your smile bloomed as you started to pose—light at first, playful, laughing between shots as the wind caught your hair and the hem of your red dress.

Rafe could barely breathe, thumb snapping the shutter as fast as he could, desperate to catch every second.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “You don’t even know…”

But you caught the way he was looking—eyes dark, mouth parted just a little—and your smile shifted, just a touch. A tilt of your head. A sway of your hips. A glance through your lashes that had heat licking straight through his veins.

“Fuck, baby… There she is—” Rafe’s grin hit slow and crooked, heat sparking all the way to his fingertips. "How are you so perfect?”

Every pose, each shift of your hips, and glance through your lashes, you knew exactly what you were doing, and your husband was helpless to it.

“One with you too, baby,” you smiled, extending a hand. His breath caught. He tried to play it cool, huffing a soft laugh.

“Yeah? Yeah, of course.” He cleared his throat, stepping toward you, phone in hand, pretending like this wasn’t unraveling him by the second.

You reached for him, fingers curling in his shirt to pull him in beside you. The camera clicked, barely. You turned before the shutter had even finished, like it didn’t matter, like you already knew what came next. Your lips brushed his jaw—light, quick, but it stopped him cold.

He didn’t think. Just reacted. Mouth on yours before either of you had a chance to speak. He barely even noticed the phone—just shoved it in his pocket, hands already back on you, sliding down to your waist, gripping like he didn’t want to risk letting go.

Everything else blurred. The ocean. The quiet voices nearby. All of it faded the second your lips touched his. There was no restaurant, no phone, no years between you. Just this. Just you, pressed up against his chest, warm and breathless and smiling into his skin like nothing had changed. And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe after everything, you were still those same two kids who couldn’t go five minutes without needing each other.

He kissed you like he meant it—like if he held on tight enough, the world might stop right here.

Ｂａｉａ Ｂｅａｃｈ Ｃｌｕｂ Ｍｉａｍｉ…

The air changed the second you left the beach—hot and heavy, thick with sweat and rum. It clung to him, soaked into his skin. Music was already pounding through busted speakers, something old, too loud, and then there was you, walking in like the night was yours.

You didn’t wait. As soon as the bass hit, you took his hand and pulled him in, laughing, already moving, your body catching the rhythm like it was built into you.

Rafe just stood there for a second, watching. Throat dry.

He wasn’t a dancer. Never had been. But for you? For this—this one damn night that felt like college all over again—he’d do it. Easy. Anything for you.

So he followed you into the crush of bodies, hands finding your hips like instinct.

You started slow, teasing him as you always do, rolling against him in time with the beat, hips grinding back into him, arm slipping around his neck, mouth grazing his ear.

Rafe let you take over, didn’t care who saw. He closed his eyes for a second, pulling you in tighter. It hit him like déjà vu—that first summer in Miami—sneaking out when you’d found a babysitter, slipping into clubs just like this one, you laughing against his neck while he pretended to hate dancing and really just wanted you like this… It hadn’t changed. If anything, you looked better now. Stronger. Warmer. Somehow even more his. Like you didn’t see the tired in his eyes or the gray at his temples. Just him. And maybe that’s why it ruined him even after all these years, you hadn’t stopped choosing him.

You tipped your head back to smile up at him, face flushed, eyes bright with it all.

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” you said, your fingers brushing his chest without really thinking.

He blinked, still a little dazed. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll grab a table.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, watching as you disappeared through the crowd.

Rafe made his way off the floor, weaving between groups of bodies until he found an empty booth near the edge. He slid into the booth, chest still warm from the floor, from you. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling his phone out without thinking.

Wallpaper? Changed—immediately. That shot from the beach, you in that damn dress with the sun behind you. Christ. He didn’t even hesitate.

He shot a quick text to the kids—Goodnight. Love you. Be good.

He glanced up—and there they were. Frat boys packed in by the taps, loud as hell, tossing arms over each other like they ran the place. Rafe just shook his head, couldn’t help the smirk. Same Greek letters from his old house. Hell, they probably knew his name, even if they didn’t know they knew it.

And then—you came back out. You had a whole group with you now, girls barely old enough to drink, laughing like you were one of them. And you were right in the center, flushed, glowing, smiling that smile, lighting up your whole face.

You caught his eye, gave a little wave toward the booth, but one of the girls tugged you toward the bar, mouthing ‘just one drink’.

Rafe leaned back, arm slung over the booth, watching. That old twist pulled tight in his gut.

It started slow. One guy at the bar caught sight of you, elbowed his buddy. Then another. The second one’s jaw actually dropped. Rafe saw it. The third leaned in, whispering behind a grin. A couple more straight-up turned around to watch you walk.

His hand curled tighter around the table’s edge. He exhaled, slow, steady. Yeah, he was proud. Damn proud. You looked… unreal. That glow, that dress, the way you moved—no one in the room could ignore you. But that didn’t mean it was easy to watch.

That old edge crept in—possessive, sharp. He’d felt it before. Years ago. Weeks ago. Days even… Too many times to count.

How many nights had it been just like this? You turning heads without even trying. And him standing there, the guy who got to take you home. Except now, there was a diamond on your hand and a couple of kids with his eyes asleep at home.

He laughed to himself—quiet and dry. Took a long drink just to cut the heat. And then he saw the kid. One of them broke off from the group—broad-shouldered, all confidence, that smug, slow swagger of someone who thinks he’s God’s gift.

Rafe clocked him instantly. President type. Probably the type who gave pep talks about leadership and thought a wink and a beer could get him whatever he wanted.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. He stood up, easy, but with purpose. Eyes locked. Let the kid try. Just once.

𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓟𝓞𝓥 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

You barely made it to the bar before the girls had you fully pulled into their circle—arms linked through yours, laughing, warm and tipsy already.

“We loved your lip combo,” one of them gushed, tugging your wrist toward her. “Tell me what that is—seriously. I need it—”

“—Wait, no, first you have to do my hair. I’m hot as fuck.”

Without thinking, you were sliding your fingers into her curls, twisting them up like second nature.

“There,” you smiled. “Perfect.”

“She’s ours now,” one girl grinned. “Not yours.”

You were mid-laugh, drink halfway to your lips, no idea what was heading your way until it was already there.

You looked up—and that’s when he walked in. Tall, tan, broad through the shoulders. Hat turned backward. Shirt clinging to him, far too tight. He smelled like sweat and weed, cheap cologne layered on top like that could fix it.

Two of his buddies flanked him like backup. One already smirking. One fixing his chain, sizing you up like you were something to claim.

“Hey,” the tallest one grinned, eyes dragging over you. “Didn’t think they let models in here.”

“Ewww,” one of the girls drones. “Leave, thanks. She’s with us—”

“She looks like she could use a real drink,” one of the boys shoots back.

Another cuts in, leaning way too close. “You come here with anyone, princess?”

The tall one grabs your arm this time, wanting you closer. “What’s your major, sweetheart?” His voice dipped, slow, like he thought he was already halfway there.

“I—I don’t go to school here.”

“No way,” one said. “C’mon. Don’t play—”

“FIU? UM?” Another tossed out. “You totally look like a UM girl… That vibe.”

“Yeah, you party here a lot?” The third cut in, resting his hand on your lower back. You opened your mouth, about to answer, but the girls weren’t having it—one shoved a shot in your hand with a wink.

“Take this,” she whispered. “Quick, before they ask if you live in the dorms.”

You barely caught the glass before a voice cut through the crowd—low, sharp, cold enough to crack ice.

“Baby—”

Everyone turned and there was Rafe. Broad shoulders cutting through the bodies, jaw tight, eyes hard as glass. No smile. No play. Just pure, protective heat rolling off him in waves.

One of the guys let out a short, nervous laugh. “Oh shit. Is this your dad?”

Rafe’s brows pinched tight, nostrils flaring in disgust, scoffing at the ridiculousness of the question as one of the girls gasped, clutching your arm. “Damn, babe, is that your dad?” Her voice, intrigued, way too interested if the answer was ‘yes’.

You were buzzed, breath short, pulse hammering—and when you saw him, the grin just happened. You tilted your head toward Rafe, voice sweet as sugar. “No, hun,” you said, laughing softly. “That’s my husband.” And just like that, the air behind you shifted.

Rafe’s arm came around your waist, hard and fast. No sweet little touch. No show for the crowd. His hand spread on your hip, fingers digging in like even air between you might kill him.

You sank into him without thinking—whole body going soft against his chest. Your heart was thudding, your smile stretching so fast you couldn’t stop it if you tried.

“Damn,” the frat boy grinned, not an ounce of sense left in him. “You’re married to that?” He tipped his chin at Rafe, lifted his fist like he expected a bump.

“Well, fuck me,” another laughed. “You don’t look like a wife.”

“You a mom, baby?” One slurred, loud enough to turn heads—voice slick and drunk. “Shit... That’s even hotter.”

Rafe’s laugh broke out sharp and mean, no warmth in it. “She’s got four,” he said, voice low and sharp enough to cut.

“Well, sweetheart… if you ever get bored—” CRACK. It landed clean, fast, and final.

The frat boy staggered, one hand flying to his cheek, eyes wide—like he’d just been snapped out of a dream he had no business having.

Rafe didn’t follow up the slap. Didn’t move. Just stood there, calm and steady, like he’d barely spent the energy.

“You don’t talk to her again,” he said, voice flat and even. “You don’t look at her. You don’t even think about her.”

No threat. No raised voice. Just fact.

He turned to you like none of it mattered. Like the moment was already behind him.

The second his eyes landed on you, something shifted—locked in, grounded. His hand found your waist, pulling you flush to him, thumb dragging slow against your ribs.

“You alright?” He asked, voice low, warm, only for you.

You gave a small nod, still a little dazed, breath catching as it hit you.

“Good,” he murmured.

Then he kissed your temple—slow, steady—his mouth trailing down to your jaw like he needed the reassurance just as much as you did.

His hand found yours next, fingers curling around it gently before he lifted it, slow and deliberate, like showing the world mattered just as much as holding on. The ring caught the light.

“You see this?” He said, voice low and scraped raw. “That means she’s not lookin’. Not tonight. Not ever.”

“We’re sorry—”

“Open your mouth again,” he said, cool and razor-sharp, “it’ll be your last.”

Your breath caught. Your hips shifted instinctively into his hold, body already giving in to him without thinking.

He moved in slow, hand sliding into your hair, mouth brushing your ear. His voice dropped, rough and close. “You have no idea what you do to me.” His hand tightened in your hair—firm and steady—just enough to keep you right there. “And these boys?” He growled, low and rough. “They can sit here all night with their dicks in their hands thinkin’ about you. Won’t change a damn thing.” He dragged his mouth along your jaw, slow. “You’re gonna be in our bed, takin’ every inch of me. Full of me. Understand?”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Just looked up at him—flushed, giddy, heart pounding out of rhythm.

A helpless smile bloomed across your mouth, too soft and full to hide.

“C’mon, baby,” he said, voice breath-worn and thick. “Let’s get you the fuck outta here.”

Ｔｈｅ Ｌｏｅｗｓ Ｍｉａｍｉ Ｂｅａｃｈ Ｈｏｔｅｌ…

The door hadn’t even shut all the way before Rafe had you; arms wrapping around your waist, spinning you so fast your shoulder thudded against the wood—sharp enough to knock a gasp out of you.

And then his mouth collided with yours, stealing whatever breath you had left.

You whimpered, one hand fisting in the front of his shirt like you were trying to hold your ground, the other already in his hair, tugging hard. He groaned into your mouth. Hips pressing into yours, craving the friction.

He groaned deep into your mouth, grinding his hips into you. “Mine,” he muttered, breath hot and jagged against your lips. His forehead dropped to yours, voice shaking as he growled, “You belong to me, you hear me?”

You could barely speak; barely breathe. Every inch of you was aching. “Yours,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Always yours.”

Then you were in the air. Rafe scooped under your thighs, the other braced tight across your back. You gasped, arms flying around his neck, your heart pounding like it was trying to escape your ribs. “Rafe—”

“— Shut up, baby,” he rasped, lips brushing your cheek as he carried you deeper into the room. “Been waitin’ all fuckin’ night.”

Your panties were already soaked, body burning, barely sure you’d even make it to the bed before he took you. But he made it—barely. He carried you through the room, tossed you down, and mounted you in one fluid motion; knee driving into the mattress, his big body looming above you, hands spreading wide across your thighs.

You looked up at him, breath shallow, chest heaving. And Rafe stared back—like he could never get used to seeing you like this, like he’d never be done worshipping you—it stole your breath, cleaned out your lungs.

“All night you just… Fuck, baby,” he murmured, voice hoarse and thick, “You sat there all fuckin’ night lookin’ like this. I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about your mouth. The taste of you…”

You whimpered, legs falling open on instinct.

“Want you naked,” he said, eyes dark. “Need to see all of you.”

You reached for the hem of your dress but he caught your wrists before you could move; his grip was firm and possessive. “That’s mine to take off.”

You nodded fast; your whole body humming with need as his hand slid slowly up your inner thigh. Rafe paused at the edge of your panties, fingers trapped between skin and lace, tracing just enough to make you tremble.

When he brushed the fabric and you felt him stop; the breath hitched in his chest as he rolled out his neck. “Fuck,” he muttered, eyes locked on the damp spot already bleeding through the fabric. “So damn wet…”

You arched toward his touch, hips shifting like they had a mind of their own.

“M’I teasin’ you, princess?” He asks through a teasing sigh, tracing the wet with his eyes set on yours. You bit your pouted lip, eyes pleading with his. “Hmm… I’ll make you a deal then, yeah? You stop bein’ so wet for me. And, I’ll stop teasin’ you,” he taunts as he peels your panties down slowly—agonizingly so—dragging them over your thighs inch by inch, eyes fixed on every part of you he uncovered. “We both know that ain’t gonna happen,” he mumbles as he tosses them to the floor, his palms coming right back to your skin, sliding up, chasing the heat.

“Arms up,” he murmurs. “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

You obey, lifting your arms as your dress bunches higher. Rafe pushes the fabric up slowly, pausing to kiss your stomach; to stroke his tongue along the curve of your breast, savoring every inch. When he finally tugs the dress over your head, and flung it aside, your whole body trembled beneath him.

He sat back on his heels, eyes sweeping down you like he was trying to memorize the way you looked. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed, his voice raw. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful. My girl.”

Then he stood, hands going to the buttons of his shirt. Your mouth went dry.

He caught the look on your face and smirked. “Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he said in that low, Southern drawl that always got to you. “Wanna watch me undress?”

You nodded, lips parting. “Good girl,” he hummed.

One button. Then another. He yanked his shirt off without thinking, undershirt right after, like he couldn’t get them off fast enough. You watched the whole thing—watched the way his skin caught the light, the way his chest rose with each breath.

He watched you watching him, grin darkening. “Love the way you look at me,” he murmured. “Like you’re starvin’.”

You reached for him, needing to touch something but he just smirked, stepping back a little as he undid his belt with one hand, slow like he had all the time in the world. The leather hit the floor with a low thunk, and you whimpered.

“Can’t even sit still, can you?” He teased, unzipping his pants slow as sin. “Barely even touched you yet.”

Rafe dragged them down, boxers clinging tight, cock already straining. When he pushed them down and stepped out, your breath caught.

Thick, flushed, his cock hung heavy, and you whined at the sight of it. His gaze darkened. He didn’t speak. Just climbed back over you, slow and controlled, body sliding between your thighs like it belonged there.

He bit down gently beneath your jaw, making you arch into him. “How the hell did I get so lucky, huh?” His hand moved up between your legs—fingers slicking through your folds, slow and teasing. You gasped, thighs jerking. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You want it that bad?”

“Yes,” you whimpered. “Please—”

His fingers circled your clit, barely brushing, just enough to make you reel. “Not yet,” he breathed. “Gotta be quiet for me, baby.” His mouth brushed your ear. “You remember this is a suite, yeah? Everyone’s asleep. But I know how fuckin’ loud you get when I make you cum.” You nodded quickly, breath ragged, hips twitching. “Can you stay quiet?” He asked, voice like gravel. “Can you be good for me?”

“Yes—Yes, I’ll be good.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, lips at your temple. “You say that now…”

You reached for him again—traced your fingers down his abs, caught the muscles flexing under your touch.

“Wanna hear you beg,” he rasped, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing your clit, watching your body jolt.

“You ready for me, baby?” he asked. “Want this cock?”

“Please,” you gasped. “Rafe, please—I need it—”

He lined himself up—pressing just enough for you to feel the stretch—and held still.

“Eyes on me,” he growled. “Wanna see you fall apart.”

You forced your gaze up, lips parted, eyes wide.

“Fuck,” he whispered, pushing in slow—inch by inch—stretching you open. “So tight, baby. Made for me.”

You sobbed, nails digging into his back as your body fought to take him.

“Shhh,” he whispered, mouth hot at your ear. “You promised me.”

You nodded fast, lips parted, breath held, just trying to be good. Trying so hard not to make a sound.

“That’s it,” he hums, voice low and rough. “You’re doin’ so good. You’re my good girl, remember?”

Another thrust—deep and slow—dragging a choked cry from your throat.

He growled, hips rolling. “You feel that? That’s me, baby. Deep in this perfect little pussy—right where I fuckin’ belong.”

Your body arched, shaking, overwhelmed.

“Please,” you sobbed. “I need—”

“You need it?” He rasped, pace beginning to pick up. “You’ll fuckin’ take it.”

He drove in deep, grinding against your clit, hips slamming again and again.

“Wanna be loud?” He taunted, breath hot against your cheek. “Wanna let ‘em hear? Want every fuckin’ man in this hotel to know who owns you?”

You could barely breathe, let alone answer.

“Shhh,” he murmured, gentler now. “You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good. Just stay with me.”

You nodded fast—submissive, desperate, right on the edge.

“That’s my girl,” he breathed, driving deeper. “Take it all for me. Let me see how sweet this pussy is.”

Your whole body locked—hips jolting, back arching, your orgasm tearing through you hard and fast.

He felt it—felt your cunt clamp down tight, fluttering around him.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “That’s it. Cum on my cock. Let me feel you.”

He didn’t stop. Just kept fucking you through it. “Wanted this, didn’t you?” He growled. “Wanted me to fill you up?” You sobbed against his palm, overwhelmed. “Take it,” he groaned. “I’m gonna give it to you, baby. Every fuckin’ drop.” Your vision blurred, heat crashing through you in waves. “Gonna fuck a baby into you,” he growled. “Keep you full for days.”

Your walls clenched again, another wave building, sharp and uncontrollable, and Rafe snapped. He groaned loud, hips grinding deep, cock twitching as he spilled into you. “Take it all,” he growled, staying buried, driving so deep your eyes rolled back and fluttered shut. You whimpered, too spent to move, body trembling under him.

His breath came hard against your neck, his voice softening with every second. “You’re perfect,” he whispered. “You hear me? Fuckin’ perfect.”

He eased his hand from your mouth to brush your cheek with his thumb as he tilted down and kissed you slow. You kissed him back, never more satisfied, still full of him, clutching onto his body, not wanting to let go.

And he didn’t move—not yet. Just held you open, his cum warm inside you, his voice gentle in your ear. “Gonna keep you like this,” he murmured, smiling against your skin. “Full of me. Just the way I like you.”

You shuddered under him. And in that moment—with his hands on your body, his breath in your ear, and his body still one with yours—you had never felt more his… More Rafe’s.

@rafesthroatbaby | @ietss | @lilithblackkk | @rafecameronsfavourite | @my-name-is-baby | @urmotherlvr | @forgiveliv | @barnesboo1967 | @wtfisastiles | @k4yr14 | @taliescapes | @rafesbuzzcutseason | @sky-44 | @biascriptum | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @lolasangelz | @st8rkey | @lhhlver | @slut-4-rafey | @gri959 | @prettybabyyyy | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @maybankslover | @littlelamy | @buckybarnessweetheart | @angelicameron | @lover-girlyy | @rcameronlova1 | @rafesbabygirlx | @mayanqueenxx | @bimbob1tch | @dylsdaily | @blair-bears-blog | @akobx | @countryclubwhore | @esmerai-artemis | @jkmylove97 | @wtfdudesblog | @livie4lifestarkeyblyth | @yasmin-oviedo | @queen-cs | @floredaqueen | @alexxavicry | @aerie717 | @cokewithcameron | @premiumshitt | @rcameronlova1

[pedriache]

The Wall 𖦹 Jack Hughes !

summary. though you and jack had been together for a little over a year now, you still had your perfectly constructed walls up. your last relationship had been horrible and caused a rift within your self confidence. but jack, jack had been the light in the dark. even when you had your walls up, his presence had light seeping through the tiniest of cracks.

wc. 525+

disclaimers. light angst, mostly fluff, jack being a good listener!!

notes. i’ve never actually written for hockey players b4 since, well, i built this platform on football & f1 mostly but.. hey.. lmk if you’d like more and feel free to req for anyone !!!!!

The sound of water and the faint clicking of dishes filled the kitchen as you stood by the sink, sleeves rolled up, and hands busy. Jack sat on a stool on the other side of the island, chin resting on the butt oh his palms, watching you with the kid of attentiveness that should’ve made you self conscious. But, thankfully, you were too busy to notice.

You were in the midst of talking about a new interest of yours, The Library of Alexandria.

“And then I found this video that went into the details, like every little thing I didn’t even think to realize mattered! And, well, it just completely changed my perspective. I mean who knew that—“ You pause mid-sentence, the realization hitting you like a splash of cold water.

You were rambling, again.

Your ex would’ve rolled his eyes by now. Probably muttering a sarcastic, “are you done yet?” just to make you feel small.

A familiar sense of shame and self-doubt crept in, brushing against the walls you’d been so careful to construct over the past three years. Your hands stilled as you fumbled to regain your grip on the yellow sponge, heat rushing to your face.

Your gaze darted up to your boyfriend cautiously, expecting even the smallest hint of annoyance. All you were met with was a confused Jack. His eyes—the blue so beautiful sometimes you couldn’t stop looking at them—narrowed and face scrunched slightly like he couldn’t understand why you’d suddenly stopped. Then, before you could utter an apology, he slipped off the stool without uttering a word, moving around the island with quiet purpose.

You felt his warmth before you saw him. His arms slid around your waist, pulling you gently into his chest. The kiss he placed on your shoulder was soft but deliberate, the kind of gesture that made any worry you felt dissipate instantly.

And cause a slight fluttering of your heart.

Jack’s chin rested lightly on your shoulder his hair brushing your cheek faintly. “You stopped,” he said simply, voice low and warm on your skin.

You opened your mouth to explain, but Jack reached past you, grabbing his water bottle on the counter and popping the lid open. “You were getting to the best part,” he adds, with a small, reassuring smile as he took a sip. “Keep going.”

Mouth still parted, you watch as Jack just moved to lean against the counter like it was the most normal thing in the world. His blue eyes were still on you, silently encouraging you to continue.

It was so different—he was so different. Where you’d been expecting frustration, Jack offered patience. A whole year of you trying to keep your walls so neatly placed, and he’d been so easy going about the whole thing.

He understood even without in depth details. The cracks in your walls spread a little further, a little deeper—just enough for his light to seep through.

With a small, grateful smile, you picked up where you left off. And Jack’s head tipped to the side, listening to you like your voice was his favorite sound in the world.

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any jack or hockey related posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @sakashq @joaoflms @be11ingham @spidybaby @piastri-fvx

[ljubimaya]

Nerd Baji my beloved

[nemisuki]

𐔌✧.* ʀᴜᴍᴏʀꜱ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ೀ⋆ || When hiding your secret relationship leads to sneaky note passing and cutting classes ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

. ♬ ݁˖ || inspo song : spotify version & yt version ᯓ★

ᝰ.ᐟ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, physical touch, 1.4k word count •°. *࿐

Physical affection was certainly not what she expected from her grumpy classmate of all people.

Going out with the short-fused blonde undeniably led her to uncover the secrets behind the irritable third year — her secret boyfriend — and all the desires he truly craved from the depths of his soul.

Despite the boy being quick tempered, he had a side to him that she never would've imagined, a strong yearning to stay close to her.

She honestly found it a bit cute; how his unwavering gaze would always be on her from across the classroom, as if drowning out the murmurs of everyone else and solely focusing her.

Only to play it off when she asks him about it later, mumbling stuff like "Tch, you're just seeing things" or "I wasn't starin' idiot, something was in my eye."

But what he can't find an excuse for is when he'd subtly — at least what he considers 'subtle' — toss a crumpled ball of paper in her direction, the crushed parchment hitting her foot with a plop!

Y/N jolts out of her little daydream, looking around to see the culprit but is met with classmates either dozing off or paying attention to the lecture ahead.

All but one that is.

His crimson gaze bores into hers, flickering back and forth between her and the ball of paper, a silent message in his eyes as he returns his stare to the front of the classroom.

She slowly picks it up, carefully undoing the sheet to read the little note — his neat handwriting on full display — the blonde's words, no doubt blunt and straight to the point.

𓉘rooftop. lunch. be there.𓉝

It took all her strength to not burst out in laughter right that second, I mean, could he be any more cliche?

Her racing heart rate wasn't any more help with the situation, feeling elated at the romantic thought; that he'd want to spend even more of their free time together.

This continued for some time, Katsuki randomly handing her notes throughout the morning before lunch, giving her daily updates for where he'd like to see her next.

Sometimes it would be the field, an empty classroom or even the relatively empty library.

But her favorite was definitely the rooftop — and it seemed to be his as well — often meeting to have their mid-day meal under the warm sun and blue sky, away from all the prying eyes of friends and other students.

This time however, when they should be in class, she finds herself sneakily walking up the steps to meet him, after all, he was never really fond of study hall.

He frowns as she enters his line of sight, narrowed crimson eyes and all, looking at her as if she greedily took her time.

"You're late."

She sheepishly smiles, quietly closing the door behind her with caution.

"I'm sorry Katsuki! Deku was rambling on about potential improvements for my hero outfit, so I couldn't just leave midway—"

He scoffs.

"Course ya' can, it's the damn nerd! Told you to stop asking Izuku for help in the first place."

Y/N can almost see the waves of jealousy radiating off him at the mention of their green haired friend, no doubt about it as he takes a seat, his shoulders looking more tense than usual.

She shines a teasing smile.

"Are you jealous~?"

He writhes under her stare, avoiding her gaze and grumbling with heightened defensiveness.

"Jealous of the nerd? Psh, as if! Now c'mere."

She giggles and moves to take a seat beside him.

"Alright, alright."

With newfound joy, she happily discusses random topics as they sit together, the blonde responding with an occasional comment or two as the minutes go by.

He was always relatively silent for the most part.

At any rate, she did happen to notice him inching closer, it was always a habit of his, wanting the distance between them to practically be non-existent.

"Graduation is nearly here, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous... what about you 'suki?"

He looks up to the sky with an unconcerned expression.

"I think it's finally about damn time for me to kick some villain's ass."

She smiles at his declaration, having no doubt he'll become an amazing hero after high school, however, she can't help but to feel a bit angsty at the thought of them being apart.

Once they graduate, they'll certainly have busy schedules, it won't be the same as now, always at each other's side.

The feeling makes her feel a bit sad; and he seems to catch onto her silence.

"Oi, what's wrong?"

His brows furrow, using his hand to lift her chin up, their gazes meeting and re-igniting the warmth in her body at the intimate gesture.

Katsuki Bakugo is a rough man, but at the same time, so incredibly gentle.

She leans into his palm.

"I'm just gonna miss this, you know? Being together all the time..."

"Tch, you idiot."

With an almost terrifying amount of raw strength, he easily scoops her up — with y/n yelping in shock — placing her right on his lap with pure devotion in his gaze.

Gently forcing her eyes to stay on him.

"Stop thinkin' 'bout that sappy shit, fuckin' course we're always gonna be together."

It was like the breath got sucked right out of her, pupils dilating with a mix of shock and affection, her face heating up at his serious look.

How could he say something so romantic with a straight face?

She shyly smiles, her arms wrapping around his neck, beginning to play with his — surprisingly soft — locks of hair.

"Does this mean I can work at your future agency?"

His eyes glint with something close to pride and approval, a subtle smirk ghosting over his lips as he leans closer, his gaze roaming all over her features.

"Only if ya' got what it takes. Do you?"

She chuckles, deciding to tease him and lightly rub her thumb across his mouth, feeling the plush skin underneath.

His grip on her briefly tightening in response.

"Maybeeee, is there no other way for me to be accepted~?

He bites back a smug smile, trying to act aloof as he raises a brow, only giving her butterflies in her stomach despite being the one trying to fluster him.

"You tryin' to flirt with the future boss to get yourself a position hah?"

Her breath hitches as he leans even closer, the distance between them long forgotten, her pulse reaching her ears.

The blonde scoffs.

"You outta' be punished."

She couldn't help the smile forming on her face as he closes the gap, eyes shutting closed as their lips move in unison, it was a bit funny; he speaks so rough yet his kisses are consistently tame.

His thumb gently caresses her cheek as they continue the gentle exchange of affection, her own fingers treading through his hair.

Y/N's earlier worries are now erased from her mind, because like his notes in class, his kisses have hidden messages, moving with purpose against her own.

A form of intimacy that leaves her breathless, their touches holding a thousand of unspoken words.

The moment comes to an end a few seconds later as the bell rings, signaling next period.

He reluctantly pulls away, slightly flustered, standing up and pulling her with him.

"...c'mon, we gotta go back before someone notices."

She hums, intertwining her hand with his as they descend down the stairwell, his hand tightly holding onto hers, as if making sure she won't slip away.

"I love you."

He stiffens.

Glancing back at her for a moment as they walk down the hallway of passing students — giving him the perfect coverage to protectively hold her close — looking forward with a hidden expression; one of adoration.

"...i love you too."

It was a faint mumble in the sea of chattering students, but she heard it, a bright smile appearing on her face at his words.

They returned to class just in time, letting go of each other's hand before they walked in, acting as if nothing ever happened.

Katsuki could only roll his eyes as some of their friends asked where he wandered off too, everyone suspiciously looking at y/n as well — given they entered seconds after each other — attempting to connect the pieces.

The blonde chooses to ignore such accusations, taking his seat with an annoyed frown, while y/n politely denies such claims with a 'innocent' smile.

Nevertheless, their gazes lock together even across the classroom.

Although the future may be unclear, it won't be as scary if they stay like this, soaking in their undying sentiment.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

ᴀ/ɴ ||| hi my beautiful flowers! this is a bkg fic request from anon, hope u enjoy! i didn't mean to write it this long but oh well hehe.. now time for me to go, plus ultra! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ ᴛᴀɢꜱ ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 @qyuin @sunnyalmighty (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

[sexlapis]

ᝰ.ᐟ read me to sleep (zhongli’s version)

── .✦ zhongli x gn!reader

s4w, fluff, reading, established relationship, petnames

. wc: 1k

a/n: i’m finally living up to my name who would’ve thought? anyway. i’m just so obsessed with the idea of someone (with a very sexy voice) reading to me and that’s why i’m made this fic with zhongli (& nanami). it was lowkey tricky figuring out what petnames zhongli would call his s/o but i know he would not say ‘baby’ or anything modern.

masterlists

*

He’s not in bed when you wake up.

You blink sluggishly, rubbing the matter and tiredness out of your eyes before you paw at Zhongli’s side of the bed.

It’s only a little bit lukewarm, meaning he left bed quite a while ago.

But to do what?

You recall completing your nightly ritual which included showering, brushing your teeth, washing your face and kissing Zhongli goodnight and falling into a light sleep.

The bedroom door is slightly ajar and you decide to take initiative and find your partner yourself.

Sitting up, you unravel yourself from the warm, pleasant satin sheets, wrap yourself in your thin blanket and pad out of the bedroom door and into the hallway.

You wander down the hallway of you and Zhongli’s shared home. It is furnished with cabinets and drawers of the freshest, finest mahogany, the walls embellished with painting of ancient myths of dragons, goddesses and vast mountains, created with an utmost delicate hand, along with traditional, treasured Chinese ornaments and decor.

It is like everything Zhongli touched turned to gold.

You pass the bathroom, guest room and office on your short journey, and then you end up in front of the library.

Of course he would be here.

The library was Zhongli’s favourite room in the entire house. Though it was not exactly sizable, it was cosy and contained rare collections of books that could not ever be found elsewhere.

Amber and vermillion light flickered from the sill of the door emitting from the fireplace, signalling to you that the room was very much in use by Zhongli.

You twist the doorknob and peek in.

There, sitting on a leather armchair, is Zhongli, his reading glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, and a book held within his hands. The lights from the fireplace dance across Zhongli’s skin and his long, ombré hair.

He seems so engrossed in his book, he doesn’t seem to notice you at first. Something like this, him not noticing you come in or hearing you whatsoever, would only occur in the comfort of your shared home, where he feels safe.

“Zhongli,” you quietly call out.

Zhongli’s head perks up, looking at you.

“Oh!” He says your name in surprise. “I was not aware that you had awoken! I did not wake you, did I?”

“No…not necessarily…” You rest your temple on the doorframe, pouting a little. “I got up and went looking for you ‘cause you weren’t in bed.”

“Oh, I see.” Zhongli rests his concern frown. “I had only wished to read some pages of the book I am reading. ‘Rex Incognito, Volume 2’.”

“Ooooo…” You tiptoe over to him, looking over his shoulder at the book, “and is it good?”

“Well,” he sighs, “the ideas are…very interesting.”

You laugh, knowing that that is Zhongli’s way of saying ‘the book is trash’.

“But, I suppose I should get some rest. Sleep is essential for me now, after all.”

…When has it never been essential?

You shrug off that comment and stop him from getting up from his seat. “No, it’s okay. You can keep reading, I just wanna be here too.”

“Oh…well then…” Zhongli starts, then he realises you are blatantly eyeing his lap and he hums, a smile appearing on his lips. He spreads his legs a few inches, patting his thigh, “Come here.”

You practically hop into his lap like a bunny, causing him to laugh so wholeheartedly at your eagerness. The blanket around your shoulders now lay across your legs, and you nuzzle your head into his neck.

“Comfortable?” He asks.

“Yes…” You pause for a few moments, “Zhongli, I want you to read to me.”

“Hm? Do you? This book or another? This book is not exactly thrilling…”

“Yes, Zhongli,” you place your hand over his one, gently stopping him from moving, “I wanna hear you read this one.”

Zhongli’s warm eyes crinkle as he smiles at you, a tender look on his face. “As you wish.”

His body is hard. Solid. Like a rock. It makes you feel safe, steady and protected, guarded in his arms and his grand house like a dragon shielding his precious, beloved jewels.

Zhongli reads. His voice is rich, dulcet, sapid. It is so gentle yet so strong, like the thick stalk of bark and tree, sturdy and stable, yet smooth, like pouring a red wine into a delicate glass.

His voice flows through your body. With your ear pressed near his chest, you revel in the low rumble of his speech, the undeviating beating of his heart, and the bodily warmth that radiates from him.

All of this, along with the cosy ambience and the crackling of the fire has you on a journey to your perfect slumber.

“Does my reading bore you, dearest?”

Your eyes snap open, suddenly wide awake. “Huh? No! Keep reading!”

“I jest, I jest.” Zhongli chuckles and you flick his arm. “Try to stay awake. The best part is coming soon.”

“Okay…”

You try to pry your eyes open with willpower alone, the sleepiness causing them to droop every few moments. Your heart wants you to stay awake so bad, to please Zhongli, but your body says ‘sleep, sleep, sleep’ and you have no choice but to obey.

“Zhongli,” you murmur with drowsiness, “Zhongli, ‘m gonna fall ‘sleep…”

He hums. “I know, my love. Please, sleep. I will continue reading to you until you are having the sweetest of dreams.” Zhongli rests his head on to of yours.

You are just so sweet in his eyes.

You grumble.

And then, slowly but surely, you are fading away into a deep, endless sleep, with Zhongli's melodious voice being your lullaby.

“‘And’-Ah.” Zhongli stops his reading when he realises you are fast asleep, you breath even and snores quiet. “Alright then,” he places a soft kiss on your forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

*

Upon your awakening, Zhongli is gone again, most likely to perform his daily work duties.

But not before leaving you a traditional breakfast, cooked perfectly to the minute, along with a small note written in cursive penmanship, that reads:

Good morning, beloved,

I apologise for leaving so early, duty calls I’m afraid.

I hope you enjoy the breakfast I prepared. It is healthy and good for the start of the day.

Luckily, my duties will be complete at an earlier time. Perhaps we can have a satisfactory dinner and then have a relaxing night in?

No boresome books this time around.

Yours,

Zhongli

*

a/n: i tried to write him in character but i think i did too much lmao.

[norrisradio]

HALFWAY HOME

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ "I guess I was running from something / I was running back to you" - 5 Seconds of Summer, Outer Space / Carry On

ᝰ PAIRING: lando norris x reader | ᝰ WC: 1.9K ᝰ GENRE: a study on something to everything, fluff, angst, some suggestive scenes ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: god i miss u 5sos. i could fill a library with the number of situationship!lando ideas i have but i digress ꨄ requested by anon !

send me an ask for my line by line event.ᐟ

The first time Lando kissed you, it tasted like he was trying to forget something.

It was Monaco, of course. Everything always began there—the city of sunlight and shadows, champagne-slick smiles, and nights that never seemed to end until they bled into morning. You weren’t supposed to meet him. You weren’t supposed to stay. And yet, you did both.

You met on someone else's yacht. Someone with too much money and not enough personality. You were there for a reason you couldn’t remember now—something about a friend of a friend and needing a break from your own life. He was leaning over the rail, drink in hand, face tilted toward the wind like he was hoping it would carry him away. When he turned and saw you watching, he smiled like he’d been waiting for you.

And maybe, in a way, he had.

That first night was laughter and fingertips brushing in the dark, the thrill of someone seeing you in a place where you didn't belong. He looked at you like the world wasn’t loud for once. You let him.

It was easy at first. That’s the dangerous part.

It was late-night texts that buzzed against your thigh like a secret.

You up?

Come over.

And you did. Even when you knew better. Even when you told yourself this was the last time, that you wouldn’t fall back into the same gravity.

His hotel room always felt like a suspended world—half-lit, half-dream, the kind of place where time slipped between your fingers and consequences didn’t exist. He'd answer the door in joggers slung too low on his hips, hair tousled like he hadn’t really slept since you last saw him, a ghost of a grin playing on his lips like he already knew you weren’t going to say no.

You never said no.

There were no pleasantries, not really. Just the heat of his mouth on yours before the door even clicked shut, your back pressed to cool walls or warm sheets, hands in each other’s clothes like you’d both been starving. It was teeth grazing skin, fingers threaded through hair, the sharp sting of need wrapped in laughter and breathless curses.

You’d lie tangled in the aftermath—his hand tracing idle patterns along your spine, your leg thrown over his like it belonged there. Sometimes he’d whisper things in the dark, half-jokes, half-truths. 

You drive me insane.

This was a bad idea.

Stay.

And you always did, curled into him like it meant something.

For a while, it was easier to pretend that it didn’t.

He told you things he didn’t tell anyone else—like how sometimes he felt like he was driving in circles, chasing something he couldn’t name. And you told him things you’d buried years ago, things you didn’t even remember knowing about yourself.

But still, you never called it love. Not then.

Lando was the kind of boy who said I miss you without meaning I need you, and you were the kind of person who pretended that didn’t hurt. You called what you had a thing. A situationship. Like naming it would make it easier to lose.

You started keeping track of the cities like notches on a belt—Barcelona, Montreal, Budapest. He’d fly you out, and you’d come running, telling yourself each time that this would be the last. But it never was. Not when his hand fit so perfectly at the small of your back, or when he said your name like it meant home.

There were silences, too. Days where he disappeared into the noise of the world he belonged to. You watched him on your screen, smiling that familiar smile, your name buried somewhere between the lines. You’d tell yourself not to care. You never listened.

You broke it off on FaceTime, halfway through the season.

He’d just finished a press day—still in his fire suit, hair a mess, jaw flexing the way it always did when he was tired but wired, running on adrenaline and caffeine and whatever else kept him going. You were curled up on your couch, blanket around your shoulders like armor, pretending it didn’t make you feel pathetic that you'd waited all day for him to call.

He grinned when he saw you. “You look cute.”

You didn’t smile back. “Don’t.”

“What?” He tilted his head, playful. “I’m not allowed to compliment you now?”

“Lando.”

His smirk faltered. Just a little. “Okay… what’s up?”

You stared at the little box of his face on your screen. Thought about all the nights you'd spent falling asleep to the sound of his voice, all the mornings you woke up alone. Thought about what it felt like to watch him post and perform and glow for everyone but you.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I’m breaking up with you.”

“But we’re not together, baby,” he said, like this was some joke, like maybe you were just feeling a little too much and he could charm you out of it.

You exhaled, slow and quiet. “Exactly.” 

There was a beat of silence, long enough for your stomach to twist.

He laughed. A hollow sound. “So you’re breaking up with me… from something that doesn’t exist.”

“I know it doesn’t.” You folded your arms tighter. “That’s the fucking problem.”

He didn’t say anything. Just stared at you like he was trying to figure out whether this was real or not, like maybe if he said nothing, you’d take it all back.

You didn’t.

“I need space,” you told him. “I need to feel like I matter to someone who doesn’t just want me when it’s dark and convenient.”

Still nothing.

You ended the call before he could hang up first.

He didn’t call for three weeks.

You didn’t breathe for four.

And then—Brazil.

The track was slick with rain, the paddock quiet except for the hushed shuffle of crew and cold wind. You weren’t even supposed to be there. You’d come with a friend, told yourself it didn’t matter if you saw him.

But when he saw you, something broke open in his face.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just walked up, wrapped his arms around you like you hadn’t been gone at all. You stiffened, then melted. Because you always did.

“I thought you hated me,” he murmured, voice low against your temple.

“I did,” you said. “I still might.”

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You found yourself in his hotel room again, familiar and strange. He kissed you like he’d been starving. You kissed him like you were scared it would be the last time.

It wasn’t.

The next time he texted you, it wasn’t at 2 a.m.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and your phone buzzed with a quiet, cautious How’s your week been?

No winky face. No follow-up demand for a photo. Just that. Like he was knocking instead of barging in for once.

You stared at the message for a while before answering.

The shift was slow, almost unspoken—like he was trying to rebuild something without naming what had broken. He started calling at odd hours. Not just when he was lonely or half-drunk in a hotel room, but in the middle of the day while waiting at the airport, or on the drive back from the track. The conversations stretched longer. Silences didn’t feel like landmines anymore.

Sometimes he just wanted to hear your voice.

“Tell me something boring,” he said once, voice muffled through the speaker. “Like… what you had for breakfast.”

You laughed. “Lando—”

“I’m serious. I wanna hear the stupid stuff. The everyday stuff.”

So you did. You told him about your run-in with the woman who always blocked the elevator with her dog, how your coffee machine made a noise like it was possessed, how you accidentally sent a flirty email to your boss. He listened like it mattered. Like you mattered.

Then there were the cities.

He started showing up in ones he had no business being in. You’d look up from your table at a café in Rome, and there he was across the street, sunglasses pushed into his curls, grinning like he hadn’t just flown five hours on a whim. Once, he knocked on the door of your Airbnb in Copenhagen with a bag of pastries and no explanation except, “I had a free weekend.”

“You raced yesterday.”

“Yeah. And I wanted to see you today.”

You stopped questioning it. Not because it made sense—but because it started to feel like something you could believe in.

He never said what changed. You didn’t ask.

But he started saying goodnight instead of send a pic, and I miss you with a kind of softness that didn’t try to cover its teeth.

Then, one night—London, rain glossing the streets until the streetlights looked like they were floating—he knocked on your door again.

London was cold that week. The kind of cold that crept into your sleeves and settled in your bones no matter how many layers you wore. The rain hadn’t stopped in two days—it tapped against the window in a steady rhythm, soft and insistent, like it was trying to lull the city to sleep.

He hadn’t meant to stay long. He was supposed to drop by, grab the charger he left the last time, and leave. But now it was past midnight, and he was still there, cross-legged on your floor, eating crisps out of the bag with one hand and scrolling aimlessly with the other. His hoodie was damp at the cuffs, his curls flattened from the drizzle, and he looked so soft like that—disarmed, a little tired, almost real.

You sat on the couch above him, your fingers absently carding through his hair. You didn’t mean to. You just started and never stopped, and he didn’t ask you to.

The silence had stretched long and comfortable, but he broke it.

“I always felt like I was running from something.”

You paused. Your hand stilled in his hair.

He didn’t look up. Just kept staring ahead, like the truth was easier to say if he didn’t have to see your face. “Turns out I was just running back to you.”

Your breath caught.

He said it so simply, like it wasn’t everything. Like it hadn’t been gnawing at the edges of both your hearts for months.

Your fingers slipped from his hair. He finally turned his head, resting his cheek against your thigh now, eyes lifted to yours.

The rain filled the space between your heartbeats.

“This still isn’t perfect,” you said. Your voice was low, careful.

You watched the way his jaw tensed, the way he swallowed like he was bracing himself for the worst.

“I don’t want perfect,” he said.

He leaned forward just slightly, enough for his palm to find your knee, warm through the fabric of your joggers. His thumb brushed the curve of it, grounding.

“I want you.”

There was a pause—not dramatic, just true—where you realized he meant it.

All the nights he hadn’t called. All the times he held you like a secret. All the versions of him you tried to make peace with.

And still—him, here. You, here.

You didn’t answer. You just leaned down and kissed him, slow and certain, like maybe this time, it would mean everything.

And maybe, for once, it did.

[parfreitte]

Friendthat'stotallyinlovewithyou!Theodore Nott x fem!reader ᝰ.ᐟ

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ

‪‪❤︎‬Hey lovies! Thanks for voting, here it is! Go send me more fic ideas! GOT CARRIED AWAY SO NOW ITS KINDA A LONG FIC SIEGEJIW SORRYY!. This was set somewhere in their 5th year! Also pls excuse my Italian it's only been like what? 3weeks since I've started learning!

જ⁀➴₊⊹ Studying for your OWLS has never been so easyy

‪‪❤︎‬ 1.2k word .ᐟ not proofread.ᐟ sorryy

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The OWLS were killing you! You've practically been studying for 3 weeks, but once you realized the exams were getting closer, everything you've studied seemed to go poof! You were this close to going mental. If it wasn't for your best friend, you would probably be admitted to st. Mungos in the time span of..... 3hours.

ᝰ.ᐟ

"Theo, I don't know how you do this!" You said whisper-shouting laying your notes on the library table in front of him. Potions was definitely one of the worst subjects ever! How could you possibly remember all the notes? There's too many, there's more notes on potions then muggle cooking books. Well maybe that's a bit too dramatic but who cares at this point?!

"I honestly can't keep up with this! Please help I'm in dire need of help from—somehow— the top student in our potions class!" You said covering your face with your hands. " How do 'ya have this much trouble, amore mio?" He said putting his book down, looking at you. He was studying as well but for history of magic. That damned ghost couldn't be anymore boring!

"My notes are all scrambled up! I can't barely make use of anything," you said rolling your eyes as you sigh. "Don't you know where most of those potion books are? Pleaseeeeeeee help me??" You added, desperate for help.

You can't fail potions! You need to get at least 3 O's for your OWLs. "Since you're being so polite about it.. I'll go get it from the book shelves, you stay here and look pretty hm? I'll be back soon bella. Capito?" He said smirking, you barely got to reply to his little joke-flirt—well you thought it must've been a joke, right? He's always been like this—he left right away. Tsk, tall men with their fast walking abilities. You rolled you eyes.

Theo was of course your best friend, been that way since 2nd year when you guys first met because of Blaise Zabini. A nice man Theo was— but sometimes you can see the way he looks at you with the yearning in his eyes. Well maybe? You're not sure it is actually but you see something in his eyes that doesn't seem like he looks at you best friendly? If that's a word.

You didn't think much of it since it's Theo, he's been like that.

જ⁀➴₊˚⊹♡

Theodore was going through the potions section in the library trying to find books that could possibly help you study. He already had 2 books in his hand, but he doubts that was enough, he needed at least 2 more! He needed to be quick, he knew if he took long you would start looking for him—that's just how you were.

"Oi Nott, what's a potion master doing here?" Vincent Crabbe told him, "Aren't you like what? The top 2 of our class in potions? Sad that Granger best ya to being top 1." He said also holding his notes in hand. "You didn't need to add that in there you know?" Theo replies not wanting to deal with him "If you must know since you're a pain in the arse, I'm helping a friend study for the OWLS" theo snarked.

"Oh is it that L/N girl? You know you guys should practically just date already!" Crabbe told theo "We all know you like her anyways, been flirting with her since the world started" Crabbe added rolling his eyes.

"I'm working on it Crabbe, I also suggest you walk away before you get punched I'm not in the mood to talk to lowlifes today."

ᝰ.ᐟ

"Teddy! Took 'ya long enough" you didn't finish your sentence after seeing the books he brought. Why were they so big??? How were you supposed to study a book that practically had 200000 pages in it?! "I'm supposed to study that?" You said not believing what you just saw. "Well, I'll be here to help you, tesoro. 'would never leave you, you know?" He said sitting beside you.

"Awh theo, you're so kind!" you smiled at him, taking one of the books in front of both of you. He didn't say anything after words and went straight back to his notes to help you. He finally found his notes, and started writing something on the pieces of paper. However you didn't notice as you were trying to figure out what was written on your own notes. You shouldn't have rushed them!

"Here you go, make sure to give it back huh? Even a top class student like me needs it, tesoro" He smirked as he gave you the papers. "Thank you teddy! You're a life saver honestly," you said and hugged him. "Oi Y/N! Did you forget about the girls study night? Come on!" You heard Pansy walk up behind your seat.

"Oh my Merlin I'm so sorry I forgot all about it!" You apologized quickly, "Sorry Theo I have to go! I'll see you soon" you said gathering your things quickly.

You took his notes and put them in your pocket and headed your way to the common rooms. While walking a piece of paper fell out of your pocket. 'It's probably one of Theo's notes' you thought to yourself and hurried to pick it up. When you looked at it closer you realized it wasn't notes for potions but however a note for you.

"tesoro, you're one of the most beautiful girls I have laid my eyes upon. It's been almost 3years since we met and I knew that I've loved you from the start. Y,/N I love you and I dread that you might not share the same feelings as me. -Your Theo"

Merlins beard, you were blushing like crazy! You never knew Theo could write letters like that. You didn't know how to reply to him, well you didn't even know what to say! Theo was your best friend of course, you wouldn't be lying if you said he was sweet, if you said he was charming, and ,if you said he was handsome—not to mention the butterflies that appear when he flirts with you!

Well that seemed like you also liked him didn't it? Wait did you?

You do!...

You liked Theodore Nott, maybe even love but that's too early, for you but who cares! You needed to tell Theo you liked or even loved him! This could wait, you ran back to the library not caring if you missed out on the girls study night. Pansy would understand right?

ᝰ.ᐟ

Theodore Nott was now in the library rethinking his life choices.

Should I haven't written that letter? What if she doesn't me back? I've been telling my nonna all about her! Theo was going mental he didn't know why he did that! Crabbes words really influenced him. He was sure to punch him later. He was about to gather his things to go back to the dorms, until he saw you, running towards him.

"Woah, woah, what's gotten you in such a rush dolcezza?" He said completely forgetting about the things he was stressing over earlier. "Teddy! Merlin's beard sorry wait" you said catching your breath, running from the hall back to the library was WORK.

"Theodore Nott! I ran all the way back here to tell you I feel the same way. And also thank you for those kind words!" You said blushing again remembering the letter. You didn't know what else to do other than giving Theo another hug. He was honestly really like a teddy.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

જ⁀➴₊⊹©ᴘᴀʀꜰʀᴇɪᴛᴛᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ 2025. Reblogs are super appreciated! ‪‪❤︎‬